Chapter Sixty-Two

The evening light fell across the mirror's surface, spreading a deep gold around its rim, making the mirror face appear even dimmer — but it had been polished so smooth that the image within it was not at all blurry.

Chú Róng's long, dense lashes lowered slightly. A thread of light flowed through his eyes. In Wusong Lodge, the original host's room had had no bronze mirror — he had never once had the chance to see the original host's face.

He recalled that when he had first arrived in this body, he had once touched his own face with his hands. The skin had been perfectly smooth — not at all like something scorched and ruined by fire. A faint stirring moved through Chú Róng's heart.

Chú Róng's jade-pale fingertips curled slightly inside his sleeve. He walked two steps toward the bronze mirror, held his breath, and looked at the reflection.

The next moment, his lashes trembled. Those luminous, captivating eyes suddenly flew wide open.

In the bronze mirror, a young man in deep crimson gauze robes looked back at him. His ink-black hair was scattered like mist and cloud. He had a pair of beguiling peach-blossom eyes, the corners tilted upward, the tails stained with a vivid flush of red.

His nose bridge was high and straight. His lips were thin and beautiful, deeply red, and at the corners, it was easy to see that someone had been harvesting them without restraint.

His skin was fine and smooth — luminously white as jade. His face was devastatingly beautiful, almost to the point of otherworldliness. The aura around his entire person was astonishingly alluring and glamorous. Even while completely still, he had the power to bewitch and entrance, making it impossible to hold back the desire to draw near.

In the four months since his transmigration, Chú Róng had met every protagonist in the story. Each one was strikingly handsome, leaving a deep impression — yet even the most beautiful of the main characters, the male lead Cen Yan, did not measure up to even one-tenth of what the mirror held.

But what truly shocked Chú Róng was that the face reflected in the mirror looked exactly identical to his own original face — it was practically his own long-haired reflection!!

Wh — what was going on?

How could the original host look so similar to him?

And furthermore — the person in the mirror had skin luminously flawless as white jade, not a single blemish visible anywhere. No trace whatsoever of the burns described in the original text!

Hadn't the original text said the original host was disfigured, his appearance hideous and revolting?

Chú Róng walked quickly forward, losing a measure of his usual composure as he picked up the bronze mirror and examined the face from every angle. The more he looked, the more shaken he felt. It truly was identical to his own face, without a single difference.

…A coincidence?

And since the original host had not in fact been disfigured — why had he been hiding his face behind a mask?

Still, that at least could explain why the men in the story had been looking at him the way they had, one after another. After all, a fascination with ugliness was a niche preference. One Xú Zǐyáng might not be so strange — but two appearing in a short span of time was decidedly unusual.

One puzzling mystery after another rose from the depths of his mind, like a dark cloud settling overhead, and a creeping unease began to spread through Chú Róng's heart.

He set the bronze mirror gently back down. Step by step, he moved back to the edge of the table. His pale hands braced against the tabletop. His thoughts sank into a tangle he could not unravel, and for a long time, he could not settle.

Without noticing, night had fallen. The pure, clear moonlight poured into the hall, blending with the bright candlelight within, and the two cast their glow across each other.

Chú Róng's long lashes fluttered twice, and he gradually calmed down. He pressed down the swirl of cluttered thoughts in his mind and looked toward the tightly closed hall doors, letting out another long breath.

Chú Róng didn't know why Ning Yuan hadn't returned for so long — but with the imposing man absent, his nerves didn't need to be perpetually strung taut, and he felt considerably lighter.

Since he had slept through the day, Chú Róng felt no drowsiness. He walked to the writing desk and idly took out a volume of books, leafing through it at a casual pace.

One time-unit passed.

Two time-units passed.

……

He was, after all, a mortal's body. By the time he had gone through most of the volume, heavy drowsiness swept over him again. Chú Róng rubbed the bridge of his nose, stood up from the writing desk, and by habit began to walk toward the jade couch.

Two steps in, the memory of what had happened on the couch that day hit him. His slender frame stiffened, and he quickly walked back and sat down at the writing desk again.

Chú Róng forced himself to stay awake and ploughed through another volume, then folded both arms on the writing desk, laid his head down on them, and fell asleep right there at the desk.

The candles in the hall burned on, low and steady. When his breathing had turned soft and long, a tall figure appeared out of thin air before the writing desk — five features sharply handsome and imposing, bearing solemn and dignified, the suffocating, domineering aura radiating from every inch of him.

Ning Yuan cast his gaze down and looked at the man sleeping peacefully at the desk. In the dark, fathomless depths of his black eyes, the dark-coloured tide surged and churned.

Would rather spend the whole night at a writing desk than go to the couch?

Ning Yuan's powerful frame bent. He stretched out his arms and lifted the person into his embrace, walking toward the only jade couch in the hall.

Ning Yuan sat at the edge of the couch, settling the person in his arms onto his solid, strong lap, then curved one finger and hooked down the band from Chú Róng's hair. Three thousand strands of black hair cascaded at once, like a waterfall, spreading across his robes and sleeves.

The faint orchid fragrance floated up to his nostrils. Ning Yuan's gaze deepened slightly. He raised his hand again to remove the outer robe and white boots from the person in his arms, then leaned forward and set him down on the jade couch.

Chú Róng lay on his back with both hands at his sides, resting quietly. His beautifully shaped eyes were closed. Beneath the delicate little nose, his lips had returned to their pale, water-like colour.

Beneath the outer robe was a silk inner garment — thin, delicate, and close to the skin. The purple sash knotted at his waist clearly delineated the alluring arc of his slim figure.

Ning Yuan held his bent posture and didn't move. The moonlight fell across the surroundings of the jade couch and cast a shadow across his god-like face.

His deep gaze swept, inch by inch, over the skin of the person on the couch. After a long while, he pressed one hand against Chú Róng's side and bowed his head, covering those pale, water-coloured lips once more.

Afraid of a repeat of what had happened during the day, Ning Yuan made a deliberate effort to lighten his touch, forcibly suppressing the instinct to plunder, and confined himself to a slow, careful grinding and nibbling.

In the midst of sleep, Chú Róng felt a vague discomfort. He frowned in distress, and his consciousness struggled to surface — but his eyelids were as if glued shut, trembling finely and ceaselessly, unable to open no matter how he tried.

—

The next day.

When Chú Róng opened his eyes, the hall was already fully lit. A heart-clearing, lingering incense wound upward in soft wisps, drifting past the bronze mirror standing upright before him.

Chú Róng's clear eyes stilled for a moment, and his not-quite-awake mind sharpened at once into full clarity.

He sat up quickly. The corner of his eye caught the snow-silkworm quilt on his body, and his body went rigid all at once.

Chú Róng looked hastily around the room. He remembered — yesterday he had been sleeping at the writing desk. How had he ended up on the jade couch?

He wasn't prone to sleepwalking. That meant someone must have carried him onto it. And on this spirit ship, apart from himself, the only other person was…

Chú Róng's expression changed slightly. He immediately threw off the quilt and pushed back his long sleeves to check. Seeing that the skin — white as snow, flawless and unmarked — bore not a single trace of anything, the heart that had leapt into his throat finally settled back into place.

Good.

Aside from the hair band being removed and an outer robe being taken off, Ning Yuan hadn't done anything to him.

The hair band and outer robe were folded neatly on the pillow beside him. Chú Róng picked them up one by one and put them back on, then climbed off the couch.

Passing the bronze mirror, he turned to glance at the reflection again. The face of the person in the mirror was one he knew better than anyone — except that the lips looked even deeper red than yesterday, and slightly swollen-looking.

Chú Róng ran a long finger across his lips, and was about to take a closer look when the main hall doors were pushed open from outside. Ning Yuan walked in carrying a tray of fragrant dishes. The dishes were different from yesterday's, yet equally appealing in colour, fragrance, and flavour, drawing the appetite.

Ning Yuan set the dishes down on the table, looked up at Chú Róng, his gaze — unreadable in its emotion — pausing briefly on his lips, then shifting, bit by bit, to his face.

The man's presence was powerful to begin with, and being stared at this directly made Chú Róng's body tense of its own accord. A measure of wariness showed in his eyes.

"The nights are cold. Your body is delicate and you're easily chilled." Ning Yuan's flat, cold voice paused, then continued: "For the next few days I'll sleep in another hall."

Was Ning Yuan actually making a concession?

A Mahayana-stage cultivator — yielding to a mortal?

"Is that true?" Chú Róng didn't quite believe it — but the thought of not having to live every moment in anxious dread of Ning Yuan was genuinely tempting.

Ning Yuan said nothing. He took Chú Róng's bundle from his storage artefact and placed it on the jade couch, then turned and left without looking back.

Chú Róng stood where he was and waited for a while. Seeing no sign of Ning Yuan returning, some of the tension in his body eased. He walked to the table, lowered his eyes, and quietly ate his meal.

Completely unaware that just on the other side of the door, Ning Yuan stood perfectly still — in front of him floating a water mirror made of condensed spiritual energy, within which his every movement was reflected.

Seeing a trace of sauce graze the corner of Chú Róng's lips, Ning Yuan's Adam's apple rolled. He raised one large hand, and his fingertip — through the water mirror — traced accurately and precisely over Chú Róng's lips.

……

Night fell.

When the water mirror showed the person inside had fallen asleep, Ning Yuan waved the mirror away, entered the hall as if there was no one to stop him, came to the jade couch, lay down on his side, and spread his arms out to draw the person on the couch into his embrace.

Breathing in the deep, orchid fragrance from the person in his arms, his sharp-edged face descended and pressed, close and intimate, against those pale lips.

—

The third day.

The fourth day.

……

The sixth day.

Chú Róng knew nothing of it. Seeing that Ning Yuan kept his word and, aside from delivering three meals a day, did not appear before him, he let his guard down toward Ning Yuan by several degrees.

The seventh day.

Ning Yuan delivered breakfast on schedule, but uncharacteristically did not leave.

"What is it?" Chú Róng turned his head. On his lustrous pale face, a look of puzzlement arose. After several days of Ning Yuan's attentions without Chú Róng's knowledge, his lips had grown even deeper red, set against his extraordinary face, bewitching enough to leave one's mouth dry and tongue parched.

Ning Yuan's breath caught. His throat tightened again and again, and his cold, flat voice suddenly turned hoarse: "Qīngxū Sect."

The sentence had neither head nor tail, but Chú Róng quickly understood what the man meant: they had arrived at Qīngxū Sect.

In the original text, the first male lead Nán Xíngyě was a disciple of Qīngxū Sect, and the text had described Qīngxū Sect at considerable length.

The foremost immortal sect in the world of cultivation, gathering brilliance and talent. At least eighty percent of the sect's disciples had entered cultivation, meaning eighty percent had reached Foundation Establishment level at a minimum. The remaining twenty percent, though not yet able to cultivate, had all succeeded in drawing Qi into the body.

The sect's overall strength was unchallenged by any other, its cultivation resources abundant, and nothing the assembled sects could compare to.

In the original plot, Qīngxū Sect's sect master, upon learning that Nán Xíngyě was with Cen Yan, had looked down on the unremarkable Qingyang Heavenly Sect, and had invited Cen Yan to join Qīngxū Sect on more than one occasion. Only Cen Yan's deep sense of attachment — unwilling to abandon the debt of nurturing he owed to Hè Míng and the others — had led him to refuse every time.

And it was precisely because of that persistence of Cen Yan's that in the later part of the original text, Qingyang Heavenly Sect was able to soar to prominence — rising in a single bound to become the second greatest sect in the cultivation world, earning the admiration of the Hundred Immortal Sects.

Outside the Spirit Canal.

The gate-keeping disciples of Qīngxū Sect spotted the enormous spirit ship drifting toward the sect from a great distance, and hurriedly sent a signal to the main hall.

Inside the hall.

Sect Master Jìn Tuò and the assembled elders were still deliberating on sect matters when the disciple's signal arrived. They rushed out of the hall to investigate, and their expressions changed drastically the moment they saw it.

"The Spirit Canal!"

The Spirit Canal was Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan's magical artefact, but it had not been seen for nearly two hundred years. Why had the Immortal Venerable suddenly thought to use it?

Could it be that the Immortal Venerable had resolved the matter of the evil energy this quickly?

Judging by the Spirit Canal's direction, it seemed to be heading straight for Wangxian Peak. Jìn Tuò turned back to the assembled elders: "Quickly! Everyone come with me to welcome the Immortal Venerable!"

With those words, Jìn Tuò mobilised his spiritual energy and set off in the direction of Wangxian Peak.

The assembled elders dared not delay, and followed Jìn Tuò one after another.

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