Chapter Fifty-Eight

"Wh — what kind of explanation?" A disciple of one of the sects flushed red to the tips of his ears, swallowed two gulps of saliva, and couldn't help but speak up. The tone of his voice had unconsciously dropped quite a few notches.

"That's right. We are responsible for our own actions and will not try to wriggle out of them." Líng Quán's rough face was also flushed. He was tall and broad, built like a wall of muscle, and yet his booming voice had been reined right in — an absolute reversal from the moment before, when he had been clamouring to beat and kill Chú Róng.

Chú Róng's lashes trembled faintly. A sliver of surprise flickered through his eyes. He tilted his head slightly to the side, casting a sidelong glance at Líng Quán, his eye corner tilting upward, a flush of red spreading at the tail of his eye like a blush of peach blossom, dazzling and dizzying to behold.

Líng Quán's face grew redder still. His tongue tied itself into knots, and even his speech stumbled: "Wh — whatever compensation you want, y — you just say it."

Chú Róng looked over the assembled Hundred Immortal Sects one by one. Every person who made eye contact with him immediately averted their gaze, their faces flushing, their expressions turning identical to Líng Quán's.

Chú Róng didn't think too much of it and simply assumed they were all ashamed of themselves. Still, he knew well that the world of cultivation operated on the law of the jungle, and that these people had a deeply ingrained instinct to plunder. However fine their words sounded right now, their hearts might not match.

In the world of cultivation, spiritual energy was scarce and cultivation resources even more so. Asking for spirit pills, magical artefacts, or other related cultivation resources was out of the question — even if these people couldn't get out of this situation gracefully and genuinely gave him some resources, as a mortal he wouldn't be able to hold on to them anyway.

As the saying went: a man carrying jade invites his own robbing. The moment he left Qingyang Heavenly Sect, those resources would likely be snatched away — and worse, his very life might be put at risk. It was simply not worth it.

Fortunately, Chú Róng had never intended from the start to demand any physical goods. He only wanted, as far as possible, to eliminate the dangers the original host had left buried for him.

Chú Róng lowered his hand. The long sleeve slid back down like flowing water, concealing his pale wrist and leaving only a glimpse of jade-like fingertips. His pale lips curved slightly upward. A few wisps of black hair drifted down across his devastating profile, a beauty so absolute it defied description: "All a mortal asks for is peace and smooth sailing. If all of you can guarantee that from this day forward you will never make things difficult for me again, let today's matter be written off entirely — as though nothing ever happened."

This had been their mistake from the start — wrongfully accusing Chú Róng. His request was entirely reasonable, and for the assembled sects, it was simple and easy enough to comply with.

The only thing they couldn't understand was: with any random item from a cultivator's possession being worth a fortune to a mortal, and such a perfect opportunity presenting itself, how could Chú Róng want nothing at all?

The assembled sects exchanged glances, surprise evident in their eyes. Chú Róng seemed not to notice, his expression unchanged as he said: "Does everyone agree?"

Líng Quán was big, loud, and impulsive — easily riled up by others — but his conduct was, all told, reasonably above board. He slapped his palm heavily against his chest, and was the first to step forward and declare his position: "Today's business was Líng acting on impulse. Líng hereby swears to Young Master Chú: henceforth, no one from Fēngqīng Sect, from top to bottom, will make things the slightest bit difficult for the Young Master!"

With Líng Quán leading the way, the rest of the assembled sects no longer held back, and one by one, right there in front of Chú Róng, they made their promises.

In this campaign of condemnation, the people of Qīngxū Sect, Yúnyǐn Valley, Dùfǎ Monastery, and Tiānjī Sect had not openly participated on the surface — and so the few male leads among them said nothing.

Chú Róng cast a mild glance over the few men, then lowered his eyes without any trace of it, quietly letting out a breath. The dangers he had inherited from the original host had diminished by another measure.

Chú Róng always liked to think three steps ahead in everything he did — but the matter of transmigrating into a novel was simply too strange and unpredictable for that. There was nothing he could do but take it one step at a time.

Staying any longer in the world of cultivation would only invite more chaos. The most pressing thing right now was to leave Qingyang Heavenly Sect as quickly as possible. Chú Róng understood the wisdom of knowing when to stop. Having obtained what he wanted, he said nothing more, turned, and went back into Wusong Lodge to collect his luggage.

The eyes of the crowd followed his slender figure of their own accord, still a little unfocused.

Suddenly, a heart-pounding pressure swept toward the crowd from out of nowhere. It felt as though each of them had been struck squarely in the chest by a palm, and a rush of blood surged up in their throats.

Ning Yuan's towering frame stood before the main gate, completely blocking Chú Róng's figure from view. His gaze looked down at the crowd with absolute contempt, devoid of any warmth: "Get out. If there is a next time — die."

The minds of the assembled sects snapped back into full clarity. Clutching their chests, they retreated from Wusong Lodge in undignified disarray.

Hè Tíng's expression was rigid. He tugged the corner of his mouth in a smile that did not reach his eyes and turned to leave, deeply unsatisfied. His fists clenched tight inside his sleeves, with enough force that the muscles in his forearm twitched visibly beneath the skin.

He hadn't expected that after all this effort, he would end up losing ground to a mortal.

But it didn't matter. No matter how shrewd a mortal was, they were no match for a cultivator. Next time, he didn't believe Chú Róng would be this fortunate again!

Jīng Héng, his entire person wrapped in gloom, took one long look at Wusong Lodge and walked away.

Yún Tán worked his prayer beads, respectfully bowed to Ning Yuan, and as he withdrew, let his peripheral vision drift, without quite seeming to, toward the interior of the manor.

Nán Xíngyě suppressed the emotions in his eyes and bent to bow respectfully to Ning Yuan: "Immortal Venerable, the matter of the evil energy still requires the Immortal Venerable to oversee it. Please, Immortal Venerable, return to Zhēngtíng Courtyard to take command!"

Ning Yuan did not even look at him. His cold, flat voice carried no inflection: "I have already sealed the evil energy. All remaining matters are fully entrusted to you."

The evil energy could not be destroyed, but once sealed, it would not cause any further trouble for twenty or thirty years. That was more than enough time for the Hundred Immortal Sects to devise a countermeasure.

"But—" Nán Xíngyě wanted to say something more. Ning Yuan pressed his gaze down and swept it over him. A chill ran down Nán Xíngyě's spine, and the rest of his words died in his throat.

"This disciple accepts the order." Nán Xíngyě had no choice but to change his answer and comply.

Outside Wusong Lodge, only the people of Qingyang Heavenly Sect had yet to leave. Péi Zhàn stepped forward to help Lian Ci to his feet, while Hè Míng went to help Cen Yan.

Having one's cultivation forcibly stripped was no different from flaying skin from bone — the pain was beyond the endurance of any ordinary person. Looking at the half-conscious, barely-breathing Cen Yan, Hè Míng's heart ached unbearably, yet he dared not utter a word of anger.

Hè Míng mobilised the spiritual energy in his body to stabilise Cen Yan's heart meridians. He gathered Cen Yan in his arms and was just about to leave Wusong Lodge when Ning Yuan's icy voice sounded from behind him, sending a shudder through anyone within earshot: "The debt you owe has not yet been repaid. Where do you think you're going?"

—

Inside the manor.

Chú Róng had taken only a few steps inside when another wave of screaming and wailing came from outside. His brow furrowed slightly. He instinctively turned to look, when a tall, broad figure came striding swiftly toward him.

"Young Master, are you alright?" Yunzhi's dark face was full of worry. His rough, large palms spread open — as if to check whether Chú Róng was hurt — but afraid of dirtying Chú Róng's clothes, he held his hands up in the air and kept them there, not daring to bring them down.

Chú Róng took a step back, dodging Yunzhi's hand, and shook his head lightly. His smooth hair swayed like rippling water, carrying a waft of orchid fragrance with it: "I'm fine."

Something came to mind, and he paused his words, speaking with genuine sincerity: "Thank you for yesterday."

When the aphrodisiac had taken hold and the pain was intolerable, leaving him unable to move, if it hadn't been for Yunzhi coming to his aid yesterday, he feared he might have been locked inside the restriction seal forever, never able to get out.

He owed Yunzhi a debt of gratitude. He would keep it in his heart always, and if an opportunity arose, he would repay it twofold.

Yunzhi's complexion flooded red. His throat bobbed, his hands fidgeted uselessly in the air, and he managed to stammer: "Young — Young Master is this servant's lifesaver. This — this is all what this servant should have done."

Young Master had saved him from the fire. Even if it cost him his life, he would offer it without a word of complaint!

Chú Róng let out an inward sigh. His expression was a little helpless. He had only pointed Yunzhi toward a path forward — the person who had truly saved Yunzhi was Cen Yan. And yet for some inexplicable reason, Yunzhi always credited the debt of his life to him.

"The one who saved you was Cen Yan. The debt you owed before has already been cancelled out by the Qi-Induction technique I taught you. We are even on that score."

"No. The person who saved me was Young Master!" Yunzhi shook his head. His expression was very firm. He was deeply grateful to Senior Brother Cen as well, but the deepest gratitude he held was still for Young Master.

It was Young Master who had swept aside the dark clouds hanging over him and let him see the light. In Yunzhi's heart, Chú Róng was his lifesaver. No one could take that place.

Seeing Yunzhi's stubborn expression, knowing it would be useless to argue further, Chú Róng said no more on the subject. He only instructed him: "I'm about to return to the mortal realm. Take care of yourself from now on. Be careful in Qingyang Heavenly Sect, and if anything happens, go to Cen Yan just as before — he will stand up for you."

Cen Yan was the hope of the entire sect. Now that his cultivation had been abolished, the sect's people would surely have a hard time of it.

And then there was Xú Zǐyáng. Xú Zǐyáng appeared gentle and polished on the outside, but was anything but. Yunzhi had ruined his plans. He would very likely not let Yunzhi go unpunished.

Wait.

Chú Róng suddenly remembered — just now outside Wusong Lodge, the people of Qingyang Heavenly Sect had nearly all been there, but he didn't seem to have seen Xú Zǐyáng anywhere?

Return — return to the mortal realm?

The expression on Yunzhi's face froze. His hand hung suspended in mid-air, all thought completely gone from his mind. Only one thing remained in his head: "Young Master is leaving?"

"That's right. I'm going back to the mortal realm." Chú Róng didn't hide it. The world of cultivation was not where he belonged. Especially with the original host having done so many things — it was like a collection of ticking time bombs, one going off every now and then.

Chú Róng had no desire to be handed over like trade goods again.

Besides: you keep walking along the riverbank and sooner or later your shoes get wet. He'd managed to escape once, twice — but what about the third time, the fourth? The original text gave so little description of the original host that if something like today happened a few more times, he might not be able to keep from showing his hand.

The only option right now was to leave the world of cultivation and get far away from all this trouble — maybe then he could hold onto his life.

Yunzhi's mind went completely blank. His thoughts tumbled into a panic, and even his words came out disordered: "Why does Young Master have to go? Is — is it something this servant did wrong? From now on this servant will serve Young Master with all his heart and soul…"

If Young Master left, what would he do? The mortal realm and the world of cultivation were worlds apart, and the Mountain-Guard Formation stood between them — did that mean he would never be able to see Young Master again?

No!

It cannot happen!

"Young Master, please stay — or take this servant along!" Yunzhi suddenly lunged two steps forward. His strong frame closed in on Chú Róng, his breathing rapid and heavy, the light in his eyes burning with a frightening intensity: "This servant swears to follow Young Master to the death!"

"Yunzhi!" Yunzhi's expression was clearly not right. Chú Róng was startled. He furrowed his beautiful brows instinctively and stepped back. His raven-wing lashes trembled. The red flush at his eye corner deepened, growing more beguilingly vivid by the moment: "Calm yourself!"

Chú Róng had absolutely no idea what had come over Yunzhi — he had been perfectly fine just a moment ago.

Yunzhi seemed not to have heard him at all. His eyes locked onto the flush of red at the corner of Chú Róng's eye, his chest heaving violently, and unable to stop himself he pressed forward again toward the person in front of him: "This servant's life was given by Young Master. Wherever Young Master goes, this servant goes. This servant will serve Young Master well and will never let Young Master suffer a moment of hardship…"

The words were not yet finished when Yunzhi was abruptly toppled by an invisible force and sent flying a great distance!

And at the same time, Chú Róng's back met a hard, solid chest. A strong and forceful arm looped around his slender waist and locked him in, pulling him tight, and in an instant the aggressive, male scent of the man enveloped him from all sides.

Ning Yuan's profile was all sharp angles, and his gaze was as cold as frost. He looked toward Yunzhi as if looking at something already dead, and his voice was very deep, very cold: "Courting death."

He raised his hand, his long fingers curving slightly. Realising what the man was about to do, Chú Róng hurriedly reached out and grabbed Ning Yuan's arm: "Wait — Elder, don't kill him!"

A cool, jade-like smoothness transferred from the arm to Ning Yuan's hand. His breath caught. His imposing frame stiffened almost imperceptibly. He lowered his eyes and fixed his sharp gaze on the person in his arms, the force around the lean waist tightening ever so slightly: "You're asking me to spare him?"

Chú Róng tilted his head back and met Ning Yuan's eyes. His lips parted and closed. The scent of orchids drifted upward from his open mouth in soft, warm wisps, disturbing the mind of the man before him: "He did me a kindness. Yesterday, he was the one who saved me."

Ning Yuan's gaze darkened. His throat grew tight. After a long moment, the ice in his eyes began to thaw, and with one great palm he flipped his hand — and as casually as one throws out rubbish — tossed Yunzhi out of Wusong Lodge.

"Thank you, Elder." Chú Róng put his hand down and worked himself free of the warm, large hand at his waist, stepping out from the man's broad embrace.

The door of his room had not been closed. Chú Róng walked inside and spotted the packed bag sitting right where he had left it on the bed.

Ning Yuan remained standing on the corridor and did not move. He lowered his eyes and raised his palm, running his wide hand across his forearm. His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

He looked up again to find Chú Róng walking out of the room, bag in hand, his slender frame bowing in a bow of courtesy: "Elder, until we meet again."

After this, they would be at the far ends of the earth, and the mountains and rivers between them would ensure they never crossed paths. He supposed they would not be meeting again.

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