Chapter Seventy-Eight

It appeared that the young master's final cultivation stage would be the Great Completion of the Golden Core. In the current environment of such scarce spiritual energy, he had reached the Golden Core stage in a single session, one step from Nascent Soul. Had this been three hundred years ago, or even further back — would he not have stepped directly into Nascent Soul?!

Chú Róng's talent was terrifying beyond measure.

In the past several hundred years, the cultivation world had produced countless geniuses of exceptional aptitude — Cen Yan, Nán Xíngyě, Yún Tán… but every one of them paled entirely in comparison to Chú Róng!

What was true cultivation talent?

Chú Róng was. A gift this staggering did not seem like something a person should possess.

Jìn Tuò's heart pounded like a drum. Wild joy surged through his chest. He could not contain his excitement and called out "wonderful" three times in a row: "Qīngxū Sect has truly found a treasure!"

Hmph — the people of Qingyang Heavenly Sect were blind both in eye and in heart. They did not know the treasure right in their midst. Let them regret it until their intestines snapped!

"Something's wrong." The Second Elder raised a hand, cutting off Jìn Tuò's complacency, and fixed his gaze on the dark clouds that continued to swirl and thicken without dispersing: "It appears the young master is attempting to force a breakthrough."

What?!

Jìn Tuò's face went pale with shock. He hurriedly looked up at the sky. Indeed, the tribulation clouds showed no signs of dissipating. Within the cloud layers, lightning rolled and coiled, as if gathering force, ready to strike at any moment.

It was clear the tribulation was not yet over.

"Reckless!" The look of delight on Jìn Tuò's face vanished entirely, and his brows knotted tight. The greatest taboo in cultivation was impatience — at best, one could go on a demonic rampage; at worst, one's entire cultivation could be destroyed. How could the young master act so rashly!

"It is perfectly normal for the young master, cultivating for the first time, not to understand the severity of what he's doing. But is the Immortal Venerable not there? The Immortal Venerable will absolutely not let anything happen to the young master." Yún Sōng also noticed the anomaly in the tribulation clouds and spoke in a low voice to reassure them. But even as he said the words, his hands inside his sleeves were clenched tight, and his anxiety was no less than Jìn Tuò's.

As if to confirm his words, the restriction seal over Wangxian Peak suddenly lifted, and a cold, commanding voice descended from the summit: "Come up. Protect the dharma."

Jìn Tuò and his party snapped to attention and responded in unison, summoning their spiritual swords and riding them up to the summit, positioning themselves outside the palace, ready to meet the tribulation lightning that could fall at any moment.

Meanwhile, Ning Yuan strode back into the hall without looking back. On the jade couch, the person who was entirely covered in black sat on the couch, that sticky dark substance obscuring every inch of skin and making it impossible to make out their face.

Yet Ning Yuan could still discern, from the person's ceaselessly trembling body, that they were in great pain.

Around the jade couch, the protective barrier Ning Yuan had laid three days before flickered faintly, teetering on the edge of collapse — as though it might shatter at any moment.

Ning Yuan's still-pool pupils contracted sharply. The expression on his face — which had not changed even when a mountain might have come crashing down — shifted in an instant. A fear unlike anything he had ever felt before rose like a pair of vast hands from the darkness, gripping his heart without a sound, making even his breathing difficult.

"Róng'er!" Ning Yuan's voice was unsteady. He hastily re-expanded the protective barrier and called out again and again to the person on the couch: "Stop! Now!"

Chú Róng could not hear a single sound from the outside world. Within his elixir field, the Golden Core was spinning at terrifying speed, entirely beyond his control. Vast quantities of spiritual energy surged out from every part of his body, streaming toward the Golden Core.

Chú Róng felt as though countless steel wires were coiled around his bones and flesh, tightening and tightening without cease, as though about to slice his body apart inch by inch.

He trembled in agony with every breath. Cold sweat seeped through the black coating on his forehead in layer after layer.

Just as Chú Róng was on the verge of succumbing to the violent pain, his mind beginning to waver, a voice — seemingly coming from the very edges of the sky — penetrated his hazy consciousness and reached his ears.

"Róng'er!" In the man's low voice was a panic he had never before displayed, calling his name over and over without tiring.

This was… Ning Yuan?

Through the murk of Chú Róng's mind, a thread of clarity suddenly returned. The man's instructions before he had begun cultivating also surfaced in his mind: if you feel anything wrong at all, stop immediately — do not force yourself.

Stop.

Stop.

Chú Róng's feather-lashes trembled beneath the black coating. He repeated those three characters over and over in his mind, clenched his teeth, cleared his breath and steadied his heart, and tried again to take control of the Golden Core within his body.

Once.

Twice.

……

After how many attempts he could not say, the Golden Core in Chú Róng's elixir field — spinning at breakneck speed — finally began to slow. It settled into a steady, measured turning. The spiritual energy that had been rushing toward the Golden Core flowed back into his limbs, and the pain throughout his body receded like a retreating tide, ebbing away little by little.

"Róng'er!" Came another urgent call close to his ear.

The eyes beneath Chú Róng's thin, pale lids shifted faintly. He wanted to open his eyes and look at the man — but the dark substance adhered to his skin, and no matter what he tried, he could not pry his eyelids apart.

His limbs ached profoundly, not the slightest strength to be mustered. His body tipped forward beyond his control.

"Róng'er!" Just as Chú Róng was about to fall off the couch, Ning Yuan dissolved the barrier. A long arm shot out and caught him, pulling him firmly and completely into his embrace.

The black coating on Chú Róng's body smeared onto the white robe, staining it in dark patches. Ning Yuan paid no heed whatsoever. His large, clearly-jointed hand seized the wrist of the person in his arms and sent a thread of spiritual energy probing along Chú Róng's meridians.

Confirming that the person in his arms was unharmed — merely exhausted and having fainted from the severe drain of advancing too rapidly in cultivation — the taut string of Ning Yuan's composure eased. He drew the person in his arms tighter against himself.

—

Outside the palace.

At the summit of Wangxian Peak, the sky-blotting dark clouds dissipated little by little. The clear blue sky they had been concealing revealed itself once more before everyone's eyes.

The tribulation clouds had receded. It seemed the young master was safe.

Jìn Tuò and his party let out long sighs of relief. The hearts that had been lodged in their throats finally settled back in place. They turned their wrists and dismissed their spiritual swords.

Within Wangxian Peak, nearly half of the spiritual energy channeled from the other peaks had been consumed. The remaining spiritual energy formed great vortices that spiraled around the palace.

"Immortal Venerable." Jìn Tuò bowed with deep respect: "The tribulation clouds have dispersed."

"You've worked hard. Stand down." Ning Yuan's level voice came from within the hall. In this advancement of Chú Róng's cultivation, Jìn Tuò and the others had played an indispensable part.

"Yes." A cultivation advancement depleted enormous energy, and Chú Róng urgently needed to rest. Jìn Tuò and his party did not dare to disturb him. They accepted the order and withdrew from Wangxian Peak, channeling the remaining spiritual energy back to the side peaks.

Once everything was done, Jìn Tuò returned to the main hall and, as was customary whenever a sect disciple advanced in cultivation, posted an announcement to the entire sect.

Name: Chú Róng

Cultivation stage: Great Completion of the Golden Core

Days of cultivation: Three

Strictly speaking, Chú Róng had not cultivated for even a full day, but writing the truth would be too outrageous. After a moment's consideration, Jìn Tuò rounded up and included the three days of weathering the tribulation.

"Thr— three days?!" The Qīngxū Sect disciples crowded around the notice board, eyes popping nearly out of their sockets.

Three days of cultivation and straight to the Great Completion of the Golden Core?!

This… this… surely the sect leader had made an error?

And who was Chú Róng?

Since when did Qīngxū Sect have a disciple of such jaw-dropping talent, and why had none of them ever heard of this person?

The shock of the sect's disciples did not reach Wangxian Peak. The peak returned to silence. The rushing waterfall struck the cliff rocks, sending up countless droplets that refracted into a brilliant, many-colored light beneath the sky's illumination.

Inside the palace, Ning Yuan sat at the edge of the jade couch, his eyes lowered, gazing at the person in his arms whose face remained invisible beneath the black coating. He lifted the person into a horizontal carry and walked toward the hot spring behind the peak.

The hot spring behind Wangxian Peak was, like the one behind Wusong Lodge, a natural warm spring with flowing water. The gentle sound of water trickled through the air. Mist curled and rose above the surface, while around it jagged cliff stones rose in clusters and flowering plants and trees grew in abundance — as though a scene from paradise.

Ning Yuan carried the person and waded step by step into the warm spring. The hem of his white robe soaked through with spring water, clinging to his thighs and tracing the clear, firm lines of the muscle beneath.

Fluid. Straight. Filled with latent power.

The spring pool was vast. Ning Yuan walked all the way to its center before stopping, and settled into the warm water with the person in his arms.

The water surface reached only to Ning Yuan's waist. His powerful, long arms — one holding fast to the waist of the person in his arms, keeping them seated on his lap and leaning against his chest — cupped the water with his free hand and gently, carefully cleansed the filth from the person's body.

Dark, ink-black water spread out around the two of them, then was carried away by the current.

When the water turned clear again, the rich, quiet fragrance of orchids spread through the spring pool — several times more concentrated than before, drifting and floating, parching the mouth and throat of all who breathed it in.

Without the black coating to obscure him, the face of the person in Ning Yuan's arms was fully revealed. Ink-black hair flowed down the graceful curve of his shoulders and back and spread out into the spring, floating on the water's surface like lotuses in bloom.

His skin was luminously white as snow. Every inch of it was as if carved from white jade — smooth and translucent. His thick, crow-feather lashes lay downward, wet and clinging to his lower lids.

His nose was straight and high. His lips were a deep, vivid rose, their surface caught by the mist of the spring, gleaming and lustrous.

The spring water rose to his chest. The shark-silk gauze of his robe clung wetly to his body. His frame was slender and supple. The taut, lean lines of his waist were half-concealed beneath the water, flickering in and out of sight. The tasseled cord at his waist swayed gently back and forth with the rippling surface.

The same devastatingly beautiful eyes and brows as always — yet the whole of him seemed as though a jade carving had come to life. More dazzling than before, more heart-arresting — even simply lying quietly in his arms like this was enough to make one lose all composure.

The depths of Ning Yuan's eyes darkened. Violent undercurrents churned within them. He raised a hand and brushed the water droplets from the lashes of the person in his arms, then — unable to restrain himself — lowered his head and, unable to bear it, pressed his lips to the oblivious person's rose-red mouth.

In his unconscious state, Chú Róng's damp lashes gave a faint tremor. Small water beads on his hair slid to the tips and dripped into the spring pool.

Drip—

The water's surface sent out a ring of shallow ripples, scattering the reflections of two figures pressed close together.

—

The surroundings of the spring pool were utterly quiet and still.

The spring water flowing down from the summit fed into the pool in an endless stream. At the center of the pool, the tall man's powerful frame leaned down, kissing the person in his arms with fervent, unrelenting thoroughness.

The young man's eyes were closed. He rested obediently against the man's chest. The corners of his lips, under the ceaseless assault, reddened and swelled. Glistening threads of saliva spilled down in long trails.

As though feeling discomfort, the young man's beautiful brows unconsciously furrowed, and a low, soft sound of distress escaped from his trembling throat.

Ning Yuan's advances paused. He withdrew from the young man's mouth little by little, and gazed down at the person in his arms with heavy, darkened eyes.

Chú Róng's long, dense lashes interlaced and trembled. He slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was shimmering with a liquid clarity. The flush of crimson at the corners of his eyes was softened by the mist of the warm spring, carrying a damp, hazy quality.

The journey from mortal to cultivator was like having one's entire body dismantled and reassembled from scratch. Over three days and three nights, Chú Róng's flesh and blood had undergone countless rounds of tempering.

His pupils were slightly unfocused, as though he had not yet recovered from the violent pain that had been there before he lost consciousness.

Ning Yuan leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Chú Róng's pale brow, and guided him in a low, rough voice: "Róng'er, try to channel the spiritual energy within your body to regulate your breathing."

This voice…?

Chú Róng blinked, and instinctively raised his lashes. The chiselled face came into focus, close enough to touch. His swollen lips parted and closed, and he called the man's name in a barely audible murmur: "Ning… Yuan?"

作者有話說：

Sorry for the long wait~