Chapter Eighty

Feeling the supple body in his arms go soft, Ning Yuan's tall frame gave a slight pause. The dark undercurrents churning in his ink-black eyes surged more violently. The large hand that had been pinning the slender wrists let go. He took hold of the smooth, white jaw before him and leaned in, his advances growing even more frenzied.

Chú Róng's beautiful brows furrowed with discomfort. His wing-like lashes trembled. The corners of his upturned eyes were flushed a deep rose — yet he showed not the slightest intention of resistance. On the contrary, he raised his jade-white, slender arms and hooked them around the man's neck, clinging to Ning Yuan's powerful frame.

The meaning of that willing surrender was plain without a single word.

Ning Yuan's body seized again. Rationality nearly collapsed entirely in an instant. Every muscle in his body pulled taut, like blocks of solid stone.

"Róng'er."

Ning Yuan withdrew from the wet, reddened mouth of the person in his arms. His thin lips traveled to Chú Róng's translucently luminous earlobe, his voice low and rough. The breath he exhaled was scorching. A faint crimson flickered in the depths of his eyes. His large, clearly-jointed hand moved with unbearable need toward the silk cord at the waist of the person beneath him.

His long, powerful fingers hooked the tassel at the end of the cord, just about to pull it loose — when something gave him pause, and he stopped abruptly.

No.

Chú Róng could not bear him yet.

Ning Yuan's large hand clenched into a fist. He closed his eyes briefly, drew in a slow, quiet breath, and with great restraint withdrew his hand. He lifted it to cup Chú Róng's pale cheek, pressed his forehead against the brow of the person beneath him, then peeled a thread of his divine sense from his sea of consciousness and sent it toward Chú Róng's mind: "Róng'er, open your sea of consciousness. Let my divine sense in."

Chú Róng's head was a little dazed. His jade-white cheeks were flushed with rose. His eyes were veiled in a warm, hazy mist. He parted his swollen lips to breathe: "Sea of consciousness?"

Chú Róng had read the original novel. He knew what the sea of consciousness was, knew where it was, and knew how to open it — but what was Ning Yuan trying to do inside his sea of consciousness?

The sea of consciousness and the elixir field were the most critical locations in a cultivator's body. As a general rule, one would never allow a second person to enter and touch them.

Ning Yuan could see his confusion, yet offered no further explanation. He only guided him in a low, rough voice: "Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Do not resist my divine sense."

Chú Róng did not know what Ning Yuan intended to do — but after all, Ning Yuan would not harm him. He closed his eyes, preparing to follow the man's instructions — and then a particular scene from the original novel abruptly surfaced in his memory.

In the later part of the original novel, Hè Tíng — who was rather inventive in the bedchamber — had once coaxed the protagonist shou Cen Yan into opening his sea of consciousness, and engaged in a spiritual communion with him.

This so-called spiritual communion referred to a practice between two cultivators of great intimacy, where one's divine sense entered the other's sea of consciousness and fused with it.

Compared to the pleasure of physical union, what spiritual communion produced was an imprint upon the soul itself — causing one to lose all self-awareness entirely, trembling in every way from body to heart. Not even the most potent aphrodisiac in the world could compare to it by a fraction.

A jolt went through Chú Róng. He snapped his eyes open and met the deep, bottomless gaze before him. The man's expression was devastating — the burning desire within it utterly undisguised.

What further understanding did Chú Róng need?

Ning Yuan's intentions were entirely dishonorable.

Chú Róng lowered the arms he had hooked around the man's neck. He pressed his palms against Ning Yuan's broad shoulders, pressed his rose-red lips together, turned his head away, and refused without any hesitation: "No."

A flash of surprise passed through the depths of Ning Yuan's eyes. How did Róng'er know what he intended to do?

Ning Yuan was at the Mahayana stage, his divine sense incomparably powerful. If he had wanted to force his way into the sea of consciousness of a cultivator at the Great Completion of the Golden Core stage, it was not beyond his ability — but with one wrong move, he might damage Chú Róng's sea of consciousness.

Ning Yuan could only reluctantly abandon the idea simmering within him, and force down the restless urge in his body: "Who told you?"

Cen Yan?

Or the person who had drugged Chú Róng before?

Chú Róng steadied his breathing. The corners of his mouth were still flushed. He said nothing, and paid the man no mind whatsoever.

Ning Yuan lowered his gaze and let out a low laugh. He opened his arms and pulled Chú Róng tightly against his chest. The overwhelming presence he radiated wrapped around Chú Róng in fine, dense layers: "Is there anywhere that feels unwell?"

Chú Róng's entire body was locked inside the man's embrace and he could not move. He was quiet for a moment, then said softly: "No."

"Next time, do not be so reckless." The path of cultivation held a thousand dangers. One misstep could mean an irreversible fall.

Ning Yuan was confident he could protect Chú Róng — but even the smallest chance in ten thousand of something going wrong was not a risk he was willing to take.

Having spent more than twenty years clawing his way through the modern world alone, Chú Róng understood what mattered. He would never act impulsively. This time had been an accident. In future, he would be more careful in his cultivation.

Chú Róng lightly pressed his lips together and gave a small nod: "All right."

The rich orchid fragrance drifted across the jade couch and spread into the air, pressing down the mingled smells inside the palace.

The man had been holding him for too long, and Chú Róng was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He raised a hand and gave Ning Yuan a light push.

Ning Yuan kept his arms wrapped around the slender waist in his embrace. He lowered his head slightly, his prominent nose drawing close to the soft hair, breathing in the orchid fragrance from Chú Róng's hair with undisguised greed: "What is it?"

The warmth of the man's breath brushed past Chú Róng's ear, bringing a subtle tremor in its wake. The words on the tip of Chú Róng's tongue paused. He tilted his head up and looked at the man. The pale flush at his eyes was dazzlingly vivid: "Can you teach me some techniques?"

Like the Dust-Clearing technique.

Back at Qingyang Heavenly Sect, Chú Róng had already been envious of that one.

He had had no spiritual energy before and could not cast techniques — learning them would have been pointless. But things were different now. He had cultivation, and he very much wanted to learn.

Ning Yuan's breath hitched. He lowered his head and brushed a kiss to Chú Róng's brow, and his thin lips slid all the way to the tip of his nose, coming to rest at the soft corner of his lips: "Why not?"

Even without Chú Róng mentioning it, Ning Yuan intended to teach him everything. Not just techniques — every cultivation method he had practiced throughout his entire life, he would pass on without holding a single thing back.

Ning Yuan's guiding Chú Róng to cultivate had its selfish side, he could not deny that. But the most important reason was that he wanted Chú Róng to be free and unrestrained in the future, so that no one could ever hurt him again.

Something like the Puppet Gu incident — Ning Yuan would never allow it to happen to Chú Róng a second time.

Ning Yuan helped Chú Róng sit up, naturally drawing him fully into his wide embrace, and right there on the jade couch began teaching Chú Róng how to cast different techniques.

The techniques of the cultivation world were as vast as the sea — but all things stemmed from a common root, and at their foundation, most shared the same origin.

Below Nascent Soul, one used the Golden Core to channel spiritual energy and cast techniques. Above Nascent Soul, one could freely absorb the forces of heaven and earth, and the method of casting became far more flexible.

Chú Róng leaned his back against the man's broad chest and studied seriously — the Dust-Clearing technique, the Immobilization technique, Teleportation, setting restriction seals… every technique that he had only ever encountered in cultivation novels or xianxia dramas, he took in without missing a single one.

Chú Róng was deeply interested, and learned with animated enthusiasm. His long, dense lashes drooped as he studied, the reddened corners of his eyes just showing. His ink-black hair cascaded like a waterfall across his robes, and the orchid fragrance around him drifted faintly, intoxicating all who breathed it.

Ning Yuan stared at him with doting, entranced eyes, and could not stop himself from reaching up a large hand to cup his jaw, pressing a thumb pad against Chú Róng's lips and rubbing back and forth.

The man's thumb pads were callused, and as they moved against the tender flesh of his lips they sent fine, dense sparks of stinging sensation through him. Chú Róng turned his head slightly to avoid it, lifted his gaze and shot the man a look sideways. Those shimmering, shifting eyes were utterly bewitching — enough to make Ning Yuan lose all reason entirely.

Ning Yuan could no longer hold back. He lifted the beautifully curved line of Chú Róng's jaw, leaned down, and pressed over him.

Chú Róng's lashes gave a faint tremor. He did not pull away. Over these two months, he had grown somewhat accustomed to Ning Yuan's intimacy.

Chú Róng still did not quite understand how one man could desire another man — yet the resistance he had felt in his heart was no longer as strong as it had once been.

When the man's tongue finally withdrew from his lips, Chú Róng's eyes were hazy as he panted for breath, his chest heaving: "I want to go out."

He had been at Qīngxū Sect for two months, and had not yet left Wangxian Peak. In this advancement of his cultivation, Jìn Tuò and his party had helped him enormously. Both propriety and gratitude demanded that he thank them in person.

Ning Yuan kissed away the glistening threads at the corner of his lips, his voice low and rough: "All right."

—

Wangxian Peak was a haven of warmth and peace. At the main hall of the central peak, however, Jìn Tuò and his party were watching the horizon with desperate longing.

Was the young master all right?

Why had there been no movement from Wangxian Peak for so long?

In nearly a hundred years, the cultivation world had produced only this one person of supreme talent. Nothing must go wrong.

Jìn Tuò gripped the armrest in anxious agitation, drumming it repeatedly, glancing frequently in the direction of Wangxian Peak. The row of elders below him also kept looking outside from time to time, every one of them visibly distracted.

Grand Elder Yún Sōng stroked his chin, weighing whether to go to Wangxian Peak to check things out, when a thread of rich orchid fragrance drifted into the hall and wound past the tip of his nose.

Yún Sōng gave a faint start, and immediately turned his head to look toward the entrance to the hall.

作者有話說：

Sorry for the long wait

I was waiting for the paywall unlock until past 5 AM and I really couldn't hold on anymore. The missing wordcount for this chapter will be made up later.