Chapter Eighty One

"Of course I know." Lián Cí nodded, his tone casual, not taking it at all seriously: "It's nothing but a lie Ning Yuan manufactured to build up Chú Róng's reputation."

Hè Míng was likewise entirely unconcerned: "Qingyang and Chú Róng have already settled accounts and parted ways cleanly. There's no need to mention him again."

"Build his reputation?" Cen Yan, who had not said a single word up to this point, suddenly raised his head. His clear, cold eyes — previously filled with confusion — brightened in an instant, like the clouds parting to let sunlight through.

Right.

When he had encountered Chú Róng inside the secret realm, Chú Róng had still been an ordinary person. How could he possibly have transformed into a Nascent Soul cultivator in the span of just two days?

If Ning Yuan was orchestrating things from behind the scenes, then it all made sense.

Ning Yuan had probably brought Chú Róng to the secret realm precisely to build his reputation — trying to make Chú Róng's name spread far and wide, to elevate him to a position of standing.

Ning Yuan was certainly going to great lengths — but that still couldn't cancel out the coercive things he had done to Chú Róng.

Péi Zhàn stood with his arms crossed over his chest. At those words, he tilted his head and glanced at Cen Yan. A dark current stirred in his gold-tinted eyes. Inwardly, he quietly let out a breath of relief.

He knew it — how could Chú Róng, an ordinary mortal, possibly be Nascent Soul?

No matter how high Ning Yuan elevated Chú Róng, it couldn't change the fact that Chú Róng was a mortal. As long as Chú Róng was still a mortal, he was powerless before any cultivator. Now that his own cultivation had advanced another step, he had even more confidence in taking Chú Róng back.

Péi Zhàn lowered his hands and, without drawing attention, ran his fingers over the dragon-scale jade pendant resting beneath the fabric at his chest. A slow warmth spread through his chest.

"As if I would know what the Immortal Venerable is thinking." Going to such extraordinary lengths for an ordinary mortal. Chú Róng was quite something — having secretly gotten entangled with the Immortal Venerable, and even getting the Immortal Venerable to lose his head over him like this.

But right now, the sect was beset with internal and external troubles, its vitality badly depleted. Lián Cí truly had no energy to spare on anything else. He waved a hand, not wishing to discuss Chú Róng further. He furrowed his brow. His voice turned gradually heavier, his expression heavy with worry: "The evil energy, though — we can't let it keep staying in the sect."

Two months had passed. The spiritual tool Hè Míng had been using to seal the evil energy had been corroded through, leaving a gap. If this continued, the evil energy would burst free and sweep everything in its path once more.

And in those two months, Qingyang had been utterly isolated, with morale throughout the sect frayed and shaken. More than a few disciples had been entertaining thoughts of abandoning the sect. It had only been Lián Cí's decisive use of forceful measures that had kept the sect from being deserted entirely.

But if the evil energy couldn't be kept at Qingyang — where else could they put it? The Hundred Immortal Sects were no fools. Not one of them would take on such a scorching hot burden.

In the main hall, everyone looked at each other and fell silent.

* * *

Qīngxū Sect.

Unlike the anxious gloom hanging over Lián Cí's group, Jìn Tuò and the assembled elders were rushing about so busily their feet barely touched the ground, preparing everything Chú Róng would need for his departure. Superior-grade spiritual tools, medicinal pills…… all of it was being crammed one after another into storage spiritual tools, as though they wanted to pack up half of Qīngxū Sect and send it along.

Chú Róng was still entirely unaware of any of this. For several days straight, he had been in seclusion on Wangxian Peak, sitting cross-legged on the jade couch, stilling his mind and consolidating his cultivation stage.

Once the consolidation was complete and his cultivation stable, his crow-feather lashes gave a light tremble. His red lips parted gently, and he exhaled a long, slow breath. Before he had even opened his eyes, a tall, heavy body covered over him and pressed him down flat onto the jade couch.

The man's sharp, handsome face loomed close. His broad, powerful tongue, like an unstoppable blade, pried open his teeth and occupied his lips, sweeping through his mouth and claiming every inch of it.

"Ning——" The upturned outer corners of Chú Róng's eyes were instantly flooded with a vivid, burning flush. He turned his head, trying to dodge. But his fine, pale jaw was caught by a large hand, tilted gently upward — which only deepened the invasion.

Chú Róng tilted his slender neck back and let out a sound that sent the blood surging. His lithe body went completely soft, his lips parting as he bore the man's kiss.

He didn't know how much time had passed. When he felt the man's large hand reaching toward his waist, moving to undo the silk sash, he abruptly opened his eyes and used all his strength to shove the man away.

Ning Yuan was caught off guard and his upright body shifted back a little. The tongue that had been in the person beneath him also withdrew. A glistening trail hung from Chú Róng's swollen, reddened lips — like a peach blossom holding dewdrops, lush and close to dripping.

Ning Yuan's throat rolled, a dry, burning thirst surging up. He couldn't stop himself from bowing his head again, moving toward the tantalizing lips right before him.

"Will you calm down." Chú Róng raised his hand and covered the man's mouth a step ahead of him. His eyes shifted, shooting the man a sideways glance: "I still have something I need to do."

The outer corners of his eyes were a vibrant crimson, utterly captivating. The palm now pressed against the man's lips was fine-grained and pale, the skin warm and lustrous, carrying that pleasing orchid fragrance.

Ning Yuan's deep eyes went suddenly darker. The dark tide churning in their depths was enough to make one's scalp prickle just looking at it.

Chú Róng's brow gave a small jump. A bad feeling stirred in his chest. He stared at the man warily, opening his mouth in a fluster: "Don't you dare!"

His voice carried a note of weakness and exhaustion. It sounded utterly without threat. Ning Yuan's expression darkened further — but in the end, he still didn't do anything more to Chú Róng.

Ning Yuan took out a clean set of clothes and helped Chú Róng change into them. Then he half-knelt before the couch, cradled Chú Róng's jade-white feet in his hands, and helped him on with his boots. His movements were gentle and practiced — entirely at odds with the god-like presence and bearing of his appearance.

The small flicker of irritation in Chú Róng's chest dissolved in an instant. He turned to ask about what mattered: "Has anything happened these past few days?"

"Nothing." Ning Yuan set down the spotlessly clean sole of the boot in his hands and sat on the edge of the jade couch, pulling Chú Róng into his arms.

From the Dragon Vein Ancient Land expedition, Qīngxū Sect had reaped immeasurable resources and opportunities, its strength advancing by several more measures. The Hundred Immortal Sects were becoming ever more reluctant to stir up trouble with them.

There had been a sudden spike in people covertly probing for information about Chú Róng — but they were all small fry. Not worth paying attention to.

Chú Róng let out a breath of relief. He took the three strands of dragon breath he had separated out, peeled one off, and held it out to Ning Yuan: "For you. I know your gifts are exceptional — you've cultivated for three hundred years without ever hitting a bottleneck. But the world is unpredictable. Keep it for when you might need it."

Ning Yuan gazed at him intently and did not refuse. He carefully put the dragon breath away.

Of the remaining two strands, Chú Róng had originally kept one in reserve for the moment he broke through to Nascent Soul — but since the breakthrough inside the secret realm had gone so smoothly that there'd been no need for it, he might as well keep it too.

As for the last strand, Chú Róng deliberated for a moment, then put it away and stepped down from the couch: "Let's go."

It was time to go pay a visit to an old acquaintance.

Ning Yuan rose and followed him out of the main hall. He raised one hand and released the Spirit Canal.

* * *

Qingyang.

With no mountain-guarding array to protect it, the sect gate could not be left unattended for a single one of the twelve hours of the day.

Two small squads of gate-guarding disciples were in the middle of a handover. A massive shadow suddenly fell over their heads from above. They looked up instinctively — and saw an enormous object sweeping past high in the sky above the gate, like a roc spreading its wings for flight.

"What is that?!" one of the gate-guarding disciples cried out in shock, trembling as he pointed upward.

The gate guards were made up of inner and outer gate disciples. Apart from one or two who had successfully drawn qi, none of them had any cultivation experience whatsoever. They had never seen anything like this.

But one thing was perfectly clear — this thing did not belong to Qingyang.

"Go! Go report to the Sect Master at once!" The gate guards came back to their senses and sprinted frantically toward the main peak.

But their speed on foot was no match for the Spirit Canal's flight. By the time they scrambled breathlessly up to the main peak, the Spirit Canal had already come to a steady stop directly above the front hall, covering and blocking out more than half of the main hall below it.

The people inside the hall felt that something was wrong and swept outward to investigate. When Lián Cí and Hè Míng saw what was hovering above the main hall, their faces changed drastically. Their bodies lurched as they nearly lost their footing.

Péi Zhàn's fist clenched abruptly. He stared fixedly upward.

Wasn't this the Spirit Canal — Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan's spiritual tool?

What was the Immortal Venerable coming to Qingyang for?

With no prior notice, barging right into the sect bold as you please — given all the history between the sect and Ning Yuan, Lián Cí did not believe this sudden visit was anything good.

Was he here to settle scores, to seek justice for Chú Róng?

The last time the Second Elder had brought people here — revealing the truth to everyone and clearing Chú Róng's name — they had not otherwise made things difficult for the sect.

This time, with the Immortal Venerable himself coming in person, things probably wouldn't be resolved so easily. Qingyang might be about to have another layer of skin peeled off.

Cold sweat broke out across Lián Cí's back all at once. But his cultivation was far too inferior to Ning Yuan's, and he had absolutely no way to deal with him.

Lián Cí drew a slow breath, pressed down the unease in his chest, arranged his expression into something resembling a smile, and bowed toward the Spirit Canal: "We greet the Immortal Venerable. We do not know what instructions bring the Immortal Venerable to visit us today?"

Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan?

A flash of surprise passed over Cen Yan's refined face. The last time the Spirit Canal had appeared, his cultivation had been destroyed and he had been unconscious — he had never seen the Spirit Canal, and had had no idea it was Ning Yuan's spiritual tool.

The Spirit Canal was entirely silent. A long time passed without anyone coming out.

The smile on Lián Cí's face stiffened slightly. He held his bowing posture and didn't dare move.

Hè Míng furrowed his brow, but didn't dare raise any objection either.

Péi Zhàn's expression grew darker by degrees. He narrowed his gold-tinted eyes and said coldly: "Since Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan has arrived, why not make an appear——" ance.

"Everyone at Qingyang." A soft, lingering voice drifted from the Spirit Canal, cutting Péi Zhàn off.

Péi Zhàn's tall figure abruptly went rigid.

Lián Cí and Hè Míng also snapped their heads toward the Spirit Canal. This— this voice was……?

Cen Yan's eyes lit up. Holding his breath, he stared at the Spirit Canal without blinking. In no time at all, a slender figure was reflected in his bright dark pupils.

A young man walked at an unhurried pace out to the edge of the spirit vessel. From above, he looked down at the people below with a languid, sideways gaze. Rosy light haloed his entire body, illuminating his devastatingly beautiful features — so vivid and otherworldly he seemed to belong to a realm beyond the mortal world.

His red lips parted slightly. He finished the sentence one deliberate word at a time: "It has been a long time."