Tan Huai murmured in disbelief, his face full of incredulity: “Not human, ghost, demon, or spirit… then what is he?”
Su Xuan remained silent. Faced with such an utterly bizarre matter, it shattered everyone’s understanding. He had never imagined that such a thing could exist in this world.
“Absurd, utterly absurd,” Tan Huai muttered repeatedly. “Though the Four Realms are vast and boundless, you and I are but insignificant mayflies, yet all things have their laws of existence. And he—he’s not human, ghost, demon, or spirit, and doesn’t cultivate using spiritual power…”
A cry of pain suddenly echoed in the room.
The deathly silence was broken. The three of them followed the sound.
Liu Lixue’s brows furrowed slightly. It should have been his voice just now, but now his expression had eased, and it seemed he had fallen asleep again.
Tan Huai wiped the sweat from his forehead, suppressing his panic: “Perhaps it was a nightmare. Tonight, this humble monk will stay here and keep watch over Young Master Liu. Beast King and Miss Sang, you should both rest early. We can discuss further tomorrow.”
Su Xuan glanced at the sword cultivator. She had taken in too much information tonight, leaving her pale and weak.
The little fox stroked her hair, still comforting the sword cultivator: “Let’s go rest. Liu Lixue needs rest. He’s fine. I’m using my spiritual power to sustain his dantian, and the spiritual pills he crafted himself are very effective.”
It was indeed late. Sang Dai nodded gently. “Alright.”
She gave Tan Huai a polite nod. “Then I’ll trouble Master Tan Huai.”
Tan Huai performed a Buddhist salute. “Miss Sang, you are too courteous.”
Back in another upper room with Su Xuan, she suddenly seemed to lose her strength. Sitting quietly at the table, she sipped tea lightly, as if drinking a cup of tea could calm her unsettled mind.
The little fox took her tea, warmed it with Hellfire, and handed it back to her. “Drink it hot, not cold.”
Sang Dai raised her eyes to look at him. Su Xuan’s expression remained calm.
But Sang Dai knew he was worried.
He was worried about Liu Lixue’s safety and also about her future.
None of them knew what the black energy within the spiritual power was, nor why she alone was unaffected by it.
She was so unique, and yet Heavenly Dao seemed determined to kill her.
She could feel Su Xuan’s worry.
Sang Dai took the initiative to hold the little fox’s hand, smiling as she said, “Su Xuan, everything will be fine.”
Su Xuan set the tea down and looked her in the eyes. “…How can you be so foolish?”
[How silly. At a time like this, why are you trying to comfort me?]
He had never been this afraid before. From the moment he learned that Heavenly Dao wanted to kill her, he had been terrified. Though he appeared calm and confident on the surface, inside, he was a chaotic mess of fear.
Just the thought that she might die made him feel terrified, his spine tingling, his hands trembling, and his heart racing.
Sang Dai read all his fears in his eyes.
The sword cultivator intertwined her fingers with his, curling her beautiful eyes as she smiled brightly, “I’m just foolish. I was never very smart to begin with.”
She dragged a small stool over, scooting to Su Xuan’s side, and gently patted his head.
“Your ears, let me touch them.”
The little fox snorted coldly but still revealed his fluffy ears.
The silver fur was soft and plush, with pale pink tips on the pointed ears, warm and tender. She rubbed the little fox’s ears—a silent form of comfort, the most intimate form of reassurance between them.
He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the sword cultivator’s waist, pulling her close until she sat face-to-face on his lap.
The little fox buried his head in the crook of her neck, his muffled demeanor slightly amusing.
Sang Dai patted his shoulder and ran her fingers through Su Xuan’s smooth silver hair.
“Dai Dai.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I won’t be afraid, and you shouldn’t be either. Both Young Master Liu and I will be fine.”
Sang Dai hugged him, patting the little fox’s back.
“Su Xuan, I’ve always been brave. If It wants to kill me, then I’ll strike at the heavens and climb to the Eighty-One Layers of Heaven to demand an explanation.”
A thunderclap exploded in the void, jagged lightning streaking through the night sky, shattering the stillness of Linglong Town.
Soon after, torrential rain began to fall, pounding against the windows like shards of broken pearls, as if declaring someone’s wrath.
But neither of them inside the room paid it any mind. Su Xuan kissed her cheek softly, murmuring, “I’ll go with you, Dai Dai. I’ll never leave you behind again.”
He had always regretted those thirteen years he spent in closed-door cultivation, a guilt he had never let go of.
Sang Dai’s nose pressed against the little fox’s neck, catching the soothing scent of grass and wood from his body.
They were getting closer to the truth.
In a soft voice, Sang Dai said what was in her heart: “Su Xuan, you’ve never owed me anything. I’m just grateful to have met you.”
It had always been that way.
Sang Dai felt that she owed Su Xuan a lot, but he never owed her anything.
“Dai Dai.”
“Mm.”
Su Xuan lifted his head, meeting the sword cultivator’s gaze.
The little fox brushed aside a lock of her hair and lightly kissed her forehead, his breath warm against her face.
“Why do I like you so much?”
[“I really, really like you.”]
Sang Dai had heard Su Xuan confess his feelings many times, and every time, no matter what tone he used, it was always just as sincere.
She cupped the little fox’s face, tracing his brows and eyes with her fingertips. This face was so beautiful—Sang Dai thought Su Xuan was the most handsome person in the Four Realms.
Su Xuan deliberately lightened the mood, asking her, “Another day has passed, and now it’s a new day. Do you like me a little more today?”
Sang Dai smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Su Xuan’s eyes reddened slightly.
In a soft voice, Sang Dai said, “Young Master Liu will be fine too. We’ll all be fine. Su Xuan, if I had the chance to start over, I’d seize every opportunity.”
The little fox didn’t understand what she meant by “start over.” Perhaps only Sang Dai herself knew.
The little fox hugged her waist and kissed her cheek.
“Dai Dai, I really like you.”
Sang Dai let him bury his face in the crook of her neck, his hot breath tickling her, making her want to laugh.
He liked her so much—more than she liked him.
But Sang Dai would try to like Su Xuan more.
She stroked his head, smiling as she said, “I know, Su Xuan.”
—
Dry leaves crunched underfoot, the faint rustling unusually loud in the night. Muffled thunder cracked, and rain poured down in torrents.
A young man tilted his head back to look at the sky. There was no moon tonight, only thick clouds suddenly gathering, making the already dim night so dark that one couldn’t see their hand in front of them.
“Hmm, why are you angry again? Who said something to upset you this time?”
His lips parted, and he spoke softly, as though carrying a hint of amusement, though the smile didn’t quite reach his tone.
“So easily agitated, like a childish brat.”
A sudden bolt of lightning struck down toward him.
He didn’t dodge. The lightning hit him directly, and his body was instantly reduced to ash.
The smoke and ash were quickly soaked by the rain, and the forest fell silent for a moment. In the distance, however, a thick black mist began to form.
The black mist slowly coalesced into a human shape, and in the blink of an eye, the figure reappeared in the rain.
He shook his head. “Such a bad temper, always striking people.”
The thunder in the sky rumbled as if preparing to strike him again, but before it could, his figure flickered and disappeared.
A hundred miles away, space was torn open, and he stepped out from a crack barely wide enough for a person.
Brushing off non-existent rain from his clothes, the young man waved his hand to dispel the barrier outside a cave and walked straight in.
Several luminous pearls hung on the walls, lighting the path ahead.
The cave was deep, and as he reached a certain point, a voice suddenly came from the walls.
“What did you go out to do?”
He raised the Qiankun Pouch in his hand. “Went to get medicine for Ying Heng, of course. If he dies, the plan fails.”
A peregrine falcon flew down from the stone wall and perched on his shoulder.
“I’ve already said, even if he wakes up, he’ll be a cripple—a man with no senses, shattered meridians, and no spiritual power. Why bother saving him?”
The young man strolled leisurely inside, popping a piece of sugarcane candy into his mouth.
“Why does a bird like you ask so many questions? I’ve already told you—it’s just for the mission, the mission.”
“Then why—why haven’t you killed Sang Dai?!”
“Can’t kill her. Two Grand Ascension-stage cultivators by her side, plus a full-stage Nascent Soul monk, and she’s still carrying the contract seal left by the Weisheng clan. Making a move isn’t a smart choice. She counters me perfectly. If I really provoke her, I can’t beat her.”
His tone was casual and flippant, as if he never took anything seriously, and he spoke with the same irreverence.
The peregrine falcon shrank into itself, cowering on his shoulder, muttering in a low voice, “You need to understand, if Sang Dai doesn’t die, many things will have to change. Destiny cannot be altered, and the result may not be what you want.”
The young man bit down on the candy with a sharp crunch, the sweetness spreading across his tongue as his eyes squinted with satisfaction beneath his mask.
He held out a candy to the peregrine falcon. “Want one? Eat it, and I guarantee you’ll shut up.”
The peregrine falcon snapped back, “…Get lost.”
It left his shoulder, turning and flying out of the cave.
“Tsk, so ungrateful,” he muttered to himself, slipping the candy back into his own mouth.
At the very deepest part of the cave was a simple stone platform that could hardly be called a bed. To be precise, it was just a smooth slab of rock with a thin mattress laid on top, sparse and rudimentary.
Someone lay silently on the platform, their face pale as snow and their entire body exuding a lifeless aura. If not for the soul lantern burning in the distance to tether his spirit, the young man might have thought Ying Heng was already dead.
The young man approached the platform, staring coldly at the figure lying there. He lazily chewed on the candy in his mouth, treating it like sunflower seeds as he cracked it between his teeth.
“You and your disciple are really alike—both look gentle and harmless but fight with moves meant to kill.”
He sat down on the ground carelessly, tossing another candy into his mouth and chewing it slowly. After all, Ying Heng was asleep, his five senses completely gone, so there was no way he could hear anything the young man said.
After munching through several candies, he suddenly mused aloud, “Still, Sang Dai is the same as always. After all this time, she hasn’t changed one bit…”
There was no response, and he stopped speaking as well, slowly finishing the candies he had bought, treating them as if they were seeds to pass the time.
The young man pulled out the Qiankun Pouch he had pilfered from that peacock and poured out a variety of bottles and jars onto the ground.
Opening one to sniff, he grumbled, “What the hell is all this stuff?”
No one answered him. Since he didn’t understand pills or elixirs, he hesitated for a long time before deciding not to risk poisoning anyone. He figured he’d wait until Ying Heng woke up and let him pick for himself, not considering whether someone with no senses could even choose or whether he might accidentally pick something lethal.
Standing up, the man tossed the Qiankun Pouch casually beside the stone platform.
If Ying Heng picked the wrong pill and poisoned himself, it wouldn’t be his fault. After all, he’d provided the medicine, so anything after that wasn’t his problem.
Feeling that his logic was perfectly sound, he didn’t spare Ying Heng another glance and turned decisively to leave.
The candy was all gone—he needed to go back to Linglong Town to restock.
Behind him, a vine slithered along the ground, silently trailing his steps.
—
The next morning, when Sang Dai woke up, the little fox was no longer by her side.
They had slept together the night before out of concern that the black-clad man might return.
She touched the other side of the bed, which was already cold. Su Xuan must have risen early.
It didn’t take much thought for Sang Dai to guess where the little fox had gone.
Next to the bed was a neatly arranged set of clothing. Su Xuan had thoughtfully prepared an entire outfit for her. The little fox had good taste; the clothes he chose suited the sword cultivator’s preferences perfectly.
Sang Dai got up, dressed, washed, and tidied herself before opening the door and heading directly to the adjacent room.
She knocked on the door, and Tan Huai’s voice called from inside, “Come in.”
Sang Dai pushed the door open and greeted the monk sitting at the table. “Master Tan Huai.”
Tan Huai returned the gesture. “Good morning, Miss Sang.”
Sang Dai’s gaze shifted, and sure enough, she saw a familiar figure leaning by the window.
The little fox stood by the window. It had rained the night before, leaving the air damp but fresh, dispelling the heavy scent of medicine lingering in the room.
Su Xuan walked over and took her hand. “Are you awake? Did you rest well last night?”
“Well enough. Since I’m awake, of course I slept enough.” Her eyes drifted to Liu Lixue, who was lying on the bed. “How are Young Master Liu’s injuries?”
“I just treated his wounds. They’re mostly superficial. He should wake up today.”
Sang Dai nodded, feeling slightly relieved. “That’s good. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just take care of yourself for now. We might have another tough battle ahead.”
“Understood.”
Sang Dai took the tea Su Xuan handed her and sipped it lightly.
The three of them sat around the round table in silence for a while.
Tan Huai drank several sips of tea, watching the other two, who seemed lost in their thoughts. Neither spoke, and he began to feel stifled.
“Um…”
Sang Dai and Su Xuan looked over at him.
Tan Huai gave an awkward smile and cautiously suggested, “How about we… go eat something?”
Su Xuan turned to Sang Dai. “Hungry?”
Sang Dai shook her head. “Not hungry, no appetite.”
The little fox looked at her with concern. “You should eat something. Let’s just go downstairs.”
Tan Huai nodded eagerly and stood up at once, heading for the door. As he walked, he added, “Yes, yes, let’s go eat something. We can talk about these matters after eating.”
Sang Dai couldn’t help but laugh at Tan Huai’s enthusiasm. She decisively agreed. “Alright.”
Just as they were about to leave, a weak voice called out from the direction of the bed.
“Um… if you’re going to eat, could you bring me a bowl of porridge?”
The three of them: “…”
All three turned their heads in unison.
The peacock struggled to sit up, wincing and grimacing, looking somewhat disheveled.
Facing the three pairs of eyes upon waking, Liu Lixue muttered, “I just want a bowl of porridge…”
Su Xuan suddenly walked over, grabbed his wrist, and checked his pulse.
It was steady, his breathing calm—he was very much alive and definitely awake.
The little fox sneered. “Quite the tenacious life you’ve got.”
Liu Lixue, true to his usual irreverent self, grinned despite having just woken up. “Of course! With the Lord and the Lady saving me, I knew you wouldn’t leave me for dead.”
Su Xuan rolled his eyes at him.