Chapter Eighty One

Nascent Soul?

Who was at Nascent Soul?

The Immortal Sects' cultivators were slow to process it. One by one they widened their eyes, staring in disbelief at the devastatingly beautiful young man. Chú Róng was Nascent Soul??

Hadn't they just said, a moment ago, that he was a mortal?

No.

Everyone focused carefully on the pressure radiating from Chú Róng's body. It was indeed and unmistakably the aura of Nascent Soul.

Chú Róng truly was at Nascent Soul!

How could that possibly be?

The cultivators who had seen Chú Róng at Qingyang before — their pupils dilated wide, their faces going pale with shock, as though they were hearing some fantastical tale, their hearts filled with a sense of absurd unreality.

Last time they had seen him, they had been completely certain Chú Róng was an ordinary person with no power to resist at all. Only two months had passed, and he had overturned everything in a single leap, becoming a Nascent Soul great cultivator?

The cultivation world was impoverished in spiritual energy and scarce in resources. Some of the Immortal Sects' members spent more than two months breaking through even a single cultivation stage. Yet Chú Róng had gone from mortal to Nascent Soul in just two months? Who would believe it?

Absolutely outrageous!

Especially when calculated this way — didn't that mean Chú Róng's innate gifts were even stronger than Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan's?

Everyone in the cultivation world knew how absurdly extraordinary the Immortal Venerable's gifts were. Countless geniuses of outstanding talent existed among the Hundred Immortal Sects — yet not one of them could touch even the hem of the Immortal Venerable's robe. For an ordinary mortal to surpass that was even more impossible.

And yet the Nascent Soul pressure radiating from Chú Róng's body was so real — so palpably, bone-shakingly real — that it left them trembling with trepidation, as though walking on thin ice. They had no choice but to face the reality before them.

Madness.

This was madness.

Utter madness.

The understanding built up over a thousand years and more was subjected to an unprecedented shock. The expressions on the Immortal Sects' cultivators shifted and changed — dazed, disbelieving, ashamed, envious…… like a palette knocked over and spilling everywhere.

And those disciples who had fancied themselves somewhat gifted — the so-called prodigies of their respective sects — amounted to nothing at all when placed before the truly gifted Chú Róng.

Having broken through to Nascent Soul, Chú Róng's five senses were sharper than they had been just days before. He could feel the gazes of everyone around him with complete clarity, and could roughly guess what they were all thinking.

He hadn't forgotten the scene two months ago when the Hundred Immortal Sects had cornered and pressured him. He had no favorable impression of these people.

Chú Róng looked straight past the Immortal Sects' cultivators and turned his attention to the people of Qīngxū Sect. Not bad — every disciple's cultivation had clearly advanced considerably compared to before they had entered the secret realm. It seemed the opportunities inside the realm had been largely obtained. That was not a wasted effort on his part.

The disciples who happened to catch Chú Róng's glance felt their faces go red and became even more respectful in their bearing.

"Return to the sect." Chú Róng gave the Second Elder a meaningful look, without mentioning the dragon breath by so much as a single word. There were too many people present. Letting word of the dragon breath slip would only invite unnecessary covetous attention.

The Second Elder understood at once and bowed to receive the order: "Yes!"

The Second Elder turned around and called out to the disciples: "Return to the sect!"

The disciples answered in unison, summoned their spiritual swords, and rode their swords away from the Dragon Vein Ancient Land.

Ning Yuan pulled Chú Róng close and stepped onto the Spirit Canal. The massive spiritual vessel shot out from above everyone's heads.

The Hundred Immortal Sects' disciples were left staring at one another, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and suspicion. They had been inside the secret realm seeking opportunities, and had inexplicably been teleported out without warning.

There were surely still plenty of opportunities inside the secret realm — and Qīngxū Sect was just going to leave, just like that?

Before anyone could think it through, three teleportation arrays like curtains of water materialized out of nowhere outside the forest. Cen Yan, Yún Tán, and Péi Zhàn came out one after another.

Sensing the strange atmosphere outside the forest, Péi Zhàn furrowed his brow slightly, his gold-tinted eyes sweeping one by one across the faces around him.

He had reaped considerable gains inside the secret realm. His cultivation had already reached late Golden Core, with faint signs of a breakthrough to Great Completion of Golden Core. In the past, he had always been a step behind Cen Yan at every turn. Now, the two of them were evenly matched.

Yún Tán's handsome eyes and brows were lowered, making it impossible to read the emotion in his eyes. The sandalwood beads in his hand were nowhere to be found. There was blood at the corner of his lips, yet it did nothing to diminish his Buddha-like bearing.

Cen Yan, by contrast, was far more disheveled than either of them. His face was drained of color, his lips speckled with dried blood. And yet he seemed utterly unaware of anything unusual around him. His eyes swept back and forth, a trace of anxiety visible on his face — as though he was searching for someone.

Where was Chú Róng?

Why was there no sign of Chú Róng anywhere?

Could it be that Chú Róng still hadn't come out of the secret realm?

Cen Yan spun sharply around, his gaze fixed on the ancient land deep within the dense forest. The ancient land was deeply sinister. He had been inside the secret realm looking for the person, and had been teleported out for no discernible reason.

He was a cultivator, and even he couldn't avoid such a thing — let alone Chú Róng, an ordinary mortal.

The thought of Chú Róng potentially being in danger made it impossible for Cen Yan to stay calm. He took out the last few detoxification pills from his medicine vial, threw one into his mouth, and charged toward the forest.

But the moment he approached the forest's edge, an invisible force blocked his path at the perimeter, keeping him outside.

What was this?

Cen Yan reached out, pressing frantically at the air around him. His palm touched an invisible barrier. No matter how hard he pushed or struck at it, it remained completely intact.

It was clear: the secret realm was preventing everyone from re-entering.

"No!" Cen Yan's face went white. He drove his fist hard against the barrier: "Let me in! Chú Róng hasn't come out yet!"

His fiancé was still inside. He could not abandon Chú Róng!

Who?

Péi Zhàn wheeled around sharply, teleporting directly to Cen Yan in an instant, seizing his shoulders with a grip so forceful his nails nearly dug through to skin: "Who did you say?"

Chú Róng?

Chú Róng was just an ordinary person — how could he be inside the secret realm?

Cen Yan struck back with a palm blow, pushing Péi Zhàn off, and turned again to pound at the barrier. He drove his fists so hard his knuckles cracked, his hands soaked in blood.

"Cen Yan!" Péi Zhàn steadied himself and reached out to seize Cen Yan again: "Explain yourself — how did Chú Róng come to be……"

Before he could finish, the Hundred Immortal Sects' cultivators, who had been watching all along, suddenly came to life. Someone pointed toward the distant sky: "Are you looking for Fellow Cultivator Chú? He has already left with the people of Qīngxū Sect."

He— he left?

The expression on Cen Yan's face froze. His blood-soaked hand hung motionless in midair. He looked like someone on whom an immobilization spell had been cast, turned into a statue that didn't move a single inch.

Chú Róng had truly been inside the secret realm?

A flash of wild elation swept across Péi Zhàn's handsome face, immediately replaced by fierce vexation. He had had no idea Chú Róng was there as well — otherwise, he would certainly have seized him.

Only Yún Tán had noticed the form of address the sect's cultivators had used. Something felt off: "Fellow Cultivator Chú?"

"Yes." The disciple who had spoken replied, his tone more respectful than it had ever been: "Fellow Cultivator Chú is a cultivator just like the rest of us — his cultivation stage even surpasses ours. He is at Nascent Soul."

Chú Róng was a cultivator?

His cultivation was Nascent Soul??

It wasn't just Yún Tán — Cen Yan and Péi Zhàn alike could not believe what they were hearing. How could Chú Róng be a cultivator?

Especially Cen Yan — he had spent nearly four years with Chú Róng. It was Cen Yan who had brought Chú Róng back from the mortal world to the cultivation world. Whether Chú Róng was a cultivator or a mortal, Cen Yan knew better than anyone.

"Impossible!" Cen Yan said flatly. "Chú Róng has never cultivated."

And more than that — not long ago, he had encountered Chú Róng inside the secret realm. Chú Róng had had absolutely no cultivation whatsoever. He had seen it with his own eyes. Whatever else might be in question, that much could not be falsified.

"Hah — so, fellow cultivator Cen's implication is that all of us are lying?" Duàn Lěng stepped out from among the Long River Sect's disciples, looking at Cen Yan with a mocking expression: "We are not your Qingyang. Ingratitude and framing innocent people don't exactly come to our lips unbidden."

Duàn Lěng hadn't wanted to believe it either.

But the facts were what they were — he had no choice but to accept them. The cultivation world had truly produced a person of unparalleled, heaven-defying gifts — someone so far beyond reach it was humbling.

"I……" Cen Yan's mouth opened. Thousands of words jammed in his throat, and not a single one came out. The people of Duàn Lěng's group didn't look as though they were lying. Then what had he seen inside the secret realm?

Cen Yan could not make sense of it no matter how he tried. Duàn Lěng's group had no goodwill toward Qingyang and didn't bother to argue with him further. They took a long last look in the direction of the Dragon Vein Ancient Land, then led their disciples away.

By the look of things, it was no longer possible to re-enter the secret realm. In that case, there was no point wasting further effort here. A new Nascent Soul cultivator had emerged in the world of cultivation — that was a major development. Word had to be sent back to their sects at once.

One by one, the Hundred Immortal Sects took their leave, passing the news back to their respective sects.

* * *

On the Spirit Canal.

Within the palace.

Chú Róng sat properly on the jade couch. His jade-white fingers idly turned the solid, substantial dragon breath over in his hands. His black hair trailed like a cascade over the couch. His dense lashes were lowered, the light in his eyes rippling and shifting.

Having received so many past memories all at once, his head felt somewhat swollen. He had never imagined he had originally been a person of this world.

And yet the memories of three hundred years ago were genuinely real and inescapably present — nothing he could ignore.

"What are you thinking?" A tall silhouette settled on the edge of the couch. A pair of strong, long arms spread open and drew him into an embrace. In an instant, the man's intensely pervasive scent wrapped around Chú Róng completely.

Chú Róng leaned compliantly against Ning Yuan's chest. When the Heavenly Dao had told him about his past, the outside world had been blocked off. The man had not been privy to any of it. Chú Róng hesitated, uncertain whether to tell Ning Yuan everything.

"Don't you have anything you want to ask?" Chú Róng tucked the dragon breath into the man's large palm, tilted his head to one side, and glanced at Ning Yuan sideways. The dizzying flush at the outer corners of his eyes was captivating and beautiful.

About the Heavenly Dao.

About his past.

Though the Heavenly Dao hadn't said everything in front of Ning Yuan, it had mentioned quite a bit. And yet from that moment until now, Ning Yuan hadn't asked him a single word about any of it.

Ning Yuan's eyes darkened slightly. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye: "Why would I ask."

If Chú Róng wanted to say it, he would say it. If he didn't, he wouldn't. All he wanted was the person in his arms. Nothing else mattered. He would never force Chú Róng even the slightest bit.

Chú Róng was far too clever not to catch the meaning beneath the man's words. Whether it was the three hundred years before or the twenty-odd years he had lived in the modern world — he had never experienced love in either life. Romantic feeling was entirely foreign to him, and the love between two men even more so. But he found, setting aside Ning Yuan's feelings for him, that Ning Yuan's conduct and character were actually quite to his taste.

Chú Róng's heart gave a sudden leap. A blazing, flame-like warmth rose in his chest and traveled out through his every limb. Something inside his heart was rapidly, quickly putting out new shoots.

His butterfly-wing lashes trembled softly. He curved his red lips into a bright smile directed at the man, spread his slender arms, and wrapped them around the man's thick neck. He tilted his head slightly upward and pressed a light kiss to the man's thin lips: "A reward for you."

Ning Yuan reflexively raised a hand to curl around Chú Róng's shoulder and back. His gaze went suddenly, completely dark.

Looking at the person before him — as beautiful as blossoming peach flowers — every muscle in his body pulled tight. His throat worked up and down without stopping. The veins on the backs of his hands stood up in sharp relief. His breathing changed in an instant, growing deep and heavy: "Not enough."

What kind of a reward was that tiny thing?

He wanted more. More.

Ning Yuan lowered his head. Unable to endure it any longer, he kissed the upturned, flushed lips right before him. His broad, thick tongue forcefully pried open teeth as smooth and closed as a clamshell.

Dark currents churned in his eyes. The force of it was fierce to the extreme — almost feverish in the way it seized every trace of the orchid fragrance from the person in his arms, as though he meant to swallow that person whole into himself.

There was no time for Chú Róng to dodge. He tilted back his slender neck, letting out faint, soft sounds, instinctively wanting to push the man away. His jade-colored fingertips pressed against the man's broad chest — but never pushed. All he could do was let Ning Yuan hold him tight and be kissed until his body went soft.