Chapter Eighty One

On the jade couch, a rich orchid fragrance drifted through the air.

Ning Yuan set the dragon breath beside the pillow, leaned in, and pressed the person in his arms down onto the couch. As his breathing grew heavier and heavier, his kisses began to drift gradually downward from the already swollen, reddened lips.

Chú Róng lay on his back on the jade couch. His smooth black hair spilled beneath him like a waterfall. His luminous eyes were dazed and unfocused. His slender, pale neck was arched back, flushed with a deep spread of crimson.

It was covered in the marks left by the man's lips and teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dragon breath glowing faintly. Something occurred to him. Chú Róng's quickened breathing came in shallow, light gasps. The reddened flush at the corners of his eyes was damp and vivid — like peach blossoms drenched in spring rain.

"Wait, wait a moment." Chú Róng's damp red lips parted and closed, dodging the man's kisses. His earlobe had been worked by the man's lips and teeth until it glowed like a ruby. When he turned his head to dodge, another tempting stretch of his neck was laid bare.

The dragon breath was still with him. By the agreement made earlier, he had to hand it over to Qīngxū Sect to manage.

"There's no rush." Knowing exactly what was on Chú Róng's mind, Ning Yuan fixed his gaze on the neck right before him, and his eyes darkened by several more degrees. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against it: "Róng Róng — the reward isn't finished yet."

Chú Róng's lithe, slender body gave a violent shudder. The red at the corners of his eyes deepened a shade. He suddenly felt a twinge of regret about having provoked Ning Yuan in the first place.

But if it was a reward, it should be his to give — not something for Ning Yuan to demand of him with this kind of overwhelming force.

Chú Róng raised his palm and pressed it against the broad shoulder before him, giving the man buried against his neck two futile pushes. His voice held something between shyness and warning: "Ning Yuan — don't go too far."

But Ning Yuan appeared not to hear him at all. His large, knuckle-defined hand crept further, pressing in toward the slender waist beneath the gauze robes, and with a curl of his fingers, he tugged open the silk sash tied at Chú Róng's waist.

Chú Róng felt his clothing go loose all at once. The outer robe slipped and fell open.

The collar spread wide, baring the large expanse of fine, smooth skin hidden beneath the inner garment. The jade-white body, clean and unblemished as white jade, began to be slowly, defenselessly exposed — the delicately shaped collarbones, the perfectly proportioned trace of chest muscle, the orchid fragrance drifting from the skin itself…… there was nowhere on that body that wasn't enough to drive a person mad.

Ning Yuan's breath hitched tight in an instant.

Back at Qingyang, in his spiritual awareness state, he had seen Chú Róng bathing several times — but no matter how many times he had seen it, it still sent his blood surging, his heart pounding with scorching fervor, the blood throughout his entire body burning hot.

An uncontrollable frenzy swept Ning Yuan's mind into disorder in an instant. His dark eyes fixed on what was now visible through the gauze robe — faintly, tantalizingly — and as though drawn by some irresistible compulsion, he lowered his head and closed his lips around it.

Chú Róng's lashes quaked violently. Every muscle in his body tensed. His whole body curved slightly upward in a rigid arc. He came back to himself and realized what was happening — and on instinct kicked his legs twice, trying to escape: "Ning Yuan!"

Something wasn't quite right.

Since their reunion, there had been no shortage of close physical contact between them. But throughout, the man had always seemed to be holding himself back, as though suppressing something — never overstepping too far.

Right now, Ning Yuan was different from the past two months. He seemed to have shed all restraint entirely. The aggressive force radiating from his entire person sent an involuntary shiver up Chú Róng's spine.

Chú Róng cried out involuntarily once more. His soft, enticing voice was threaded through with undisguisable panic — and yet it didn't evoke any pity; instead, it only made the man's pulse surge faster and harder.

The thread inside Ning Yuan's mind labeled "reason" snapped with a sharp crack. He could no longer take in a single word. His mountain-like, towering, solid body pressed down, and in an instant, pinned the thrashing limbs of the person on the couch into stillness.

"Does Róng Róng know — my reason for teaching you to cultivate was never selfless." The man's mouth was occupied, making his words somewhat unclear, yet his voice was husky and deep to the extreme.

Chú Róng's jade-pale cheeks were suffused with crimson. The white fingertips hidden beneath his long sleeves curled slightly, like something carved from fine jade. His voice trembled beyond his control when he spoke: "Sel— selfless?"

What did he mean?

Was Ning Yuan implying there had been some other purpose behind teaching him to cultivate?

No.

An ordinary mortal was far easier to control than a cultivator. If Ning Yuan had truly had ulterior motives from the start, he had no need to go to all that thankless trouble.

Ning Yuan raised his head, relenting from the reddened chest he had been so thoroughly occupying. His rough fingertip pads traced along the still slightly swollen lips of the person beneath him. He leaned close to Chú Róng's ear and, in a low, pressed-down voice, spoke several words.

Chú Róng's eyes widened slightly. In an instant, his jade-white face went completely, thoroughly red.

Tiānyáo Chronicles had followed the protagonists' growth arc as its primary storyline. There were quite a few romantic scenes in the novel, but when it came to the actual intimate moments between the protagonist couple, the lights always went out and the narrative moved on with a single brush stroke. Yet even from those few scattered words, Chú Róng had still been able to read what had happened.

"No." Chú Róng bit down on his lip. His crow-feather lashes lowered unnaturally, the intense shame inside him threatening to spill over: "A cultivator's primordial yang is of the utmost importance — you can't……"

Before he finished, Ning Yuan seized his slender wrist and placed his hand against the man's own swelling, muscled chest.

Scorching heat radiated out through the fabric. Chú Róng's flushed fingertips curled reflexively, wanting to pull his hand back. But Ning Yuan was already pressing his hand in place, moving it inch by inch down toward his abdomen: "Róng Róng's primordial yang — it's right here."

Chú Róng paused blankly, momentarily forgetting even what he had been about to do. What did that mean?

Ning Yuan lowered his head, stopping up his breath in his throat. He spoke each word deliberately, the syllables like thunderclaps bursting in Chú Róng's ear: "At Qingyang, Róng Róng already gave me your primordial yang."

At Qingyang, they had spent four months under the same roof, but their first true face-to-face meeting had been the moment he was leaving. So when had he……?

Why didn't he remember?

——Wait!

Chú Róng suddenly recalled the incident where Xú Zǐyáng had drugged him. It seemed Ning Yuan had been the one to break the drug's effects for him — yet when he had woken up, he hadn't felt any discomfort on his body at all.

Ning Yuan's deep, heavy eyes looked down, taking in every flicker of expression on the person beneath him: "It seems Róng Róng still hasn't remembered. That's all right — I'll let Róng Róng experience it again firsthand."

What?

Chú Róng's head felt as though it had been tapped with a small hammer. Before he could react, Ning Yuan released his damp lips, lowered himself, and reproduced in exact detail what had happened the time Chú Róng had been drugged.

Chú Róng's pupils shook violently. His slender waist instinctively arched upward in a white jade bow. His hands, without thinking, pressed down on top of the man's head. A damp trail slid from the corner of his eye.

* * *

Outside the Spirit Canal.

The disciples of Qīngxū Sect rode their swords, keeping a safe distance from the massive spiritual vessel as they traveled. Every so often, the corner of an eye would dart toward the bow of the ship. The memory of that devastatingly beautiful face they had seen outside the ancient land sent their hearts lurching, the tips of their ears turning faintly red.

But it was a pity — for several days running, the person aboard the Spirit Canal had not shown their face even once.

The disciples' mouths drooped at the corners, their eyes going flat and dim, their faces full of disappointment. They were clearly returning with a full harvest of gains — and yet their spirits were nowhere near as high as they had been in the days before.

And at the same time, the news spreading from the Dragon Vein Ancient Land had reached the Hundred Immortal Sects and set the entire cultivation world in an uproar.

The Heavenly Secrets Sect had the widest and fastest channels of intelligence. They received the news first.

A disciple in yellow robes didn't dare delay and passed the intelligence directly into Hè Tíng's hands at the earliest possible moment: "News from the Dragon Vein Ancient Land. Please examine it, Sect Master."

Hè Tíng had one hand propping up his jaw, his eyes cast down at the visiting letter that had, once again, been returned to him. His gentle, handsome features were shadowed by a dark cloud.

The resources of the Dragon Vein Ancient Land had originally been intended as a bargaining chip in dealing with Qīngxū Sect. Unfortunately, Qīngxū Sect hadn't taken the bait. Hè Tíng had consequently lost most of his interest in news related to the ancient land.

Without even lifting his eyes, he casually picked up the intelligence and flipped through it. A familiar name caught his eye unexpectedly, and his gaze locked in place.

Chú Róng?

What was Chú Róng doing in the Dragon Vein Ancient Land?

Hè Tíng's tall frame straightened abruptly in his chair. He spread the intelligence open at once and began reading it with meticulous care, not skipping over a single word. With every line he read, the disbelief on his face grew more pronounced.

Chú Róng was at Nascent Soul??

How was that possible?!

But the Hundred Immortal Sects had all borne witness. There was simply no way it could be falsified.

"Investigate." Hè Tíng's expression darkened. He slammed his palm heavily against the desk, sending the teacup on its surface rattling with a clatter: "Every single thing that has happened with Chú Róng over the past two months — leave out nothing, no matter how minor. Have it all investigated and made clear to me."

He was certain — two months ago, when he had seen Chú Róng at Qingyang, Chú Róng had been a genuine, undeniable mortal.

In just two months, how could Chú Róng have turned everything around and become a Nascent Soul cultivator?

What on earth had happened in those two months?

* * *

Yúnyǐn Valley.

A young man of somewhat ambiguous, androgynous features suddenly rose from his seat, his eyes locked dead on the newly received intelligence in his hand. The cold, eerie aura around his entire person threatened to solidify into something tangible.

Chú Róng was at Nascent Soul?

And the puppet gu?

As a medical cultivator, Jīng Héng knew full well that as long as the puppet gu was not removed, cultivation was impossible. Was there truly someone in the world, other than himself, who could extract a gu?

Jīng Héng clenched his hands into tight fists, his nails sinking deep into his flesh. Blood flowed freely.

* * *

Qingyang.

Hè Míng had been keeping a close watch on everything happening at the ancient land out of concern for Cen Yan. The moment he received the news, he examined it without delay.

But in only a breath or two, the look of eager anticipation drained completely from his face. His eyes bulged like a pair of copper bells. His arms trembled, as though he were staring at something horrifying.

"This— this— this……" Hè Míng's face had gone deathly pale. His mouth worked, but he couldn't seem to piece together a coherent sentence.

Lián Cí saw that his face had gone wrong and felt his heart shoot up into his throat. Unable to stop himself, he asked in a rush of anxiety: "What is it? Did something happen to Zhàn'er and the others?"

Failed to obtain resources?

Severely injured?

Or— or…… the most terrifying thought surfaced in his mind, and Lián Cí's whole body gave a shudder, almost losing his footing: "Hè Míng — say something!"

Hè Míng seemed not to hear him, still staring fixedly at the intelligence in his hand.

Lián Cí was burning with anxiety. He didn't bother asking again. He channeled his spiritual energy and snatched the intelligence out of the air from a distance, hurriedly unfolded it, and read through it at a glance.

When his eyes landed on a particular line, his gaze stuck there and refused to move. The expression on his face became identical to Hè Míng's.

Chú Róng?

Nascent Soul?

Hah — absolutely outrageous.

Lián Cí quickly composed himself and his expression returned to normal. Chú Róng — did he need to be told who that person was?

Lián Cí didn't know how this intelligence had come to be circulated, but he absolutely refused to believe a word of it. Hmph — Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan and his ridiculous behavior on prior occasions had probably all been the Immortal Venerable's tricks, some scheme to build Chú Róng up and manufacture his reputation.

To think the Immortal Venerable was going to such painstaking lengths — wasn't he afraid of destroying his centuries-long reputation in one fell swoop?

* * *

The other Immortal Sects' reactions upon receiving the news varied from Lián Cí's.

Most had only heard accounts of Chú Róng but had never personally seen him. Beyond their shock, they dispatched people without delay to investigate Chú Róng's background.

* * *

And as the source of all the upheaval, Chú Róng had absolutely no idea that the Hundred Immortal Sects had, for once, united in a common purpose — all of them investigating a single person.

His knuckles were pulled taut. His jade-white fingertips had sunk into the man's long black hair. The light inside the palace played through his mist-filled eyes. One vivid trail of red after another was wrung from the outer corners.

His crimson lips were parted, as if wanting to say something — but all that escaped was one breathless gasp after another.

The shimmering, iridescent gauze robe lay in disheveled layers around him. His jade-white upper body was covered in crisscrossing, densely packed marks. The breathtaking flush and the alluring lines of his figure wove together into a deadly net — one that even the most pious saint placed before it would be unable to resist.

Ning Yuan was being driven absolutely mad. His calloused large hands steadied the limp, yielding waist beneath him. His throat worked up and down. He leaned in and covered Chú Róng's lips, pouring everything in his mouth into him.

"Róng Róng — it's time for me to give you my primordial yang."