In the vast expanse of snow, the sword cultivator wept softly, channeling her spiritual energy into him while continuing to feed him pills. Her cries grew louder, and her lips and chin were stained with Su Xuan’s blood.
When Tan Huai arrived, drawn by Qingwu Sword, he froze as soon as he landed.
When had he ever seen Sang Dai cry like this? Or Su Xuan on the brink of death?
The sword cultivator was nearly wailing, surrounded by shattered porcelain bottles—remnants of the spiritual pills she had fed him.
She poured spiritual energy into the man on her lap with reckless abandon, while his body, just moments ago whole, now revealed bone shards piercing through his flesh.
Tan Huai could tell at a glance what kind of force had crushed him.
Qingwu pushed him forward with great urgency.
Sang Dai looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes blurred as she pleaded, “Tan Huai, Tan Huai, help me… please help me…”
Tan Huai practically lunged forward.
He forced himself to steady his breath and maintain his composure. Now that Sang Dai had lost her calm, he was the only one who could think clearly.
He didn’t know what had injured Su Xuan so gravely. A Grand Ascension-stage demon cultivator, crushed until two-thirds of his bones were broken—Tan Huai’s hands began to tremble as well.
“Miss Sang, p-please don’t panic. A-A Heaven-grade spiritual root awakener won’t die so easily. H-he’s just gravely injured, but he won’t die.”
Tan Huai’s voice stuttered as he fumbled to take out a fruit from his Qiankun Pouch, handing it to Sang Dai in a hurry. “This… this is a Dragon Ginseng Fruit. My master gave it to me. Feed it to the Beast King.”
The Dragon Ginseng Fruit, born in the Zen Sect’s domain, grew by absorbing the spiritual energy of Buddhist scriptures. There were only two left in the world, both in Tan Huai’s possession. It was a powerful healing item.
Sang Dai quickly took it, bit into it, crushed it in her mouth, and pried open Su Xuan’s jaw to feed it to him.
Her tears fell onto Su Xuan’s face, washing away the bloodstains.
Golden light began to surround Su Xuan’s body, slowly creeping into his exposed bones and closing his wounds.
Tan Huai sat cross-legged and began chanting Buddhist scriptures. After a short while, the youth in Sang Dai’s arms transformed into a small silver fox, no larger than a newborn.
His silver fur was stained with blood, and his exposed bones hadn’t fully healed.
Tan Huai carefully wrapped the tiny fox in his monk’s robe, glancing at the silent, tear-streaked sword cultivator.
“Uh… Miss Sang, please don’t cry.”
Sang Dai covered her eyes, her voice hoarse. “I was just so scared… He’s all I have left… He’s all I have…”
Tan Huai didn’t know how to respond.
Sang Dai forced herself to suppress her tears, stood up, and cradled the small fox carefully in her arms, taking care to avoid his exposed bones.
The sutras embroidered on the monk’s robe glowed faintly, holding onto his fragile life.
She rasped a thank you: “Thank you, Master Tan Huai.”
Tan Huai stammered in response, “It’s nothing… You’ve saved me on the battlefield more than once…”
“I’ll take him out first. We can’t stay here any longer.”
“Yes, yes… we’ll leave together.”
Tan Huai walked behind Sang Dai, watching the slender figure ahead of him. He sighed silently.
The word “emotion” was truly difficult to understand.
Who would have thought that the two most notorious rivals in the cultivation world would end up like this?
Two of the strongest people, each becoming the other’s greatest weakness.
—
At Chunqiu Tower.
Qiu Chengxi paced back and forth at the doorway. Liu Lixue, carrying a tray of medicine, twitched at the corner of his eye.
“What are you doing, skulking around at our lord’s door?”
Before heading to the Snow Abyss, Su Xuan had sent word to Liu Lixue, instructing him to bring reinforcements to wait outside. They had thought this would be the chance to catch the mastermind behind it all. Instead of the anticipated call to action, they received a tiny fox with shattered bones.
Liu Lixue had nearly died of fright, trembling as he checked Su Xuan’s pulse, tended to his injuries, and set his broken bones.
The Beast Realm was too far away, and Su Xuan’s condition was too severe to risk a long journey. Thus, they had taken refuge in Chunqiu Tower.
Qiu Chengxi had cleared out all seventeen floors and set up a barrier, ensuring no one dared disturb them.
“I’m worried about my sister. She hasn’t slept for days,” Qiu Chengxi muttered.
Liu Lixue smiled faintly. “Brother, your concern is unnecessary. She’s a Heaven-grade spiritual root awakener. Not sleeping for a few days is nothing to her. When my lord carried her back from the battlefield, he went a whole month without closing his eyes, and he didn’t die either.”
Qiu Chengxi scratched his head and sighed. “That’s true.”
Liu Lixue rolled his eyes at this love rival of his lord, balancing the tray of medicine in one hand as he gently knocked on the door with the other.
“Miss Sang, I’ve brought the medicine.”
The door opened, and Qiu Chengxi finally caught a glimpse of Sang Dai after so long.
Her complexion looked fine—nothing like the lost and dazed state she had been in before.
Sang Dai accepted the medicine. “Thank you, Young Master Liu.”
She nodded at Qiu Chengxi. “Young Master Qiu, you’ve been worrying too much. You should rest early.”
Qiu Chengxi gave an awkward smile.
The door closed, and Sang Dai placed the tray of medicine on the table.
The freshly brewed medicine was still hot. As was her habit, she summoned her spiritual energy to cool the soup gradually.
The window was half-open. Outside, the sun was setting, the evening glow a brilliant red. Over the vast desert, the sunset hung perfectly round.
Sang Dai sighed softly. What a pity Su Xuan couldn’t see it.
It had been five days. Most of Su Xuan’s broken bones had healed. After all, he was a Heaven-grade spiritual root awakener. His Golden Core remained intact, allowing him to mobilize his own spiritual energy to aid in repairing his injuries. While his wounds were severe, they were primarily external. Thanks to Tan Huai’s Dragon Ginseng Fruit, his life was no longer in danger, though he still needed time to recuperate.
Yet Sang Dai couldn’t relax. Every day, she would check his breathing several times, terrified that he might stop breathing when she wasn’t paying attention.
Only when she felt his faint breaths did her heart settle a little.
The medicine had cooled. Sang Dai carried the bowl and turned to feed him, but as soon as she turned, she bumped into a firm chest.
She had been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed the need to stay alert. Startled, she let out a soft gasp, almost dropping the bowl. A slender hand caught it just in time.
The bowl tipped, spilling much of the medicine onto his hand. Though it wasn’t hot, the brown liquid dripping on his pale, cool skin looked somewhat messy.
Su Xuan teased, “Miss Sang, how cruel of you to not even let me drink my medicine.”
His words carried no hint of actual anger.
Placing the bowl on the table, Su Xuan used a bit of spiritual energy to clean his hand before finally looking at the sword cultivator in front of him.
Her face looked pale, and the dark circles under her eyes were obvious.
When he had passed out, he seemed to recall hearing a sob.
It must have been her crying.
Sang Dai’s eyes reddened again under his gaze.
Su Xuan’s heart ached at the sight. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the table so they were at eye level.
“What’s wrong? Afraid I’d die?”
Sang Dai nodded sullenly. “Yes.”
Her straightforwardness made Su Xuan chuckle.
The sword cultivator was truly adorable, unable to lie, always saying exactly what she thought.
He pinched her cheek. “Did you cry?”
“…Yes.”
“How many times?”
“…Twice.”
Once in the Snow Abyss, and once on the night they returned to Chunqiu Tower.
She had watched as Liu Lixue reset his shattered bones—over a hundred of them. Covering her eyes, she had cried for most of the night.
The smile on Su Xuan’s lips softened, and his eyes carried a complicated emotion.
He gently patted her head. “Silly, aren’t you?”
He could do anything for Sang Dai, but he didn’t want her to feel guilty or neglect herself because of him.
Sang Dai reached out to touch his shoulder. She remembered that his scapula had also been broken.
“Does it still hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not lying. It really doesn’t hurt.”
Su Xuan took her hand and pressed it against his cheek, coaxing her gently. “It truly doesn’t hurt. Back then, I didn’t even furrow my brows. That stupid bird’s soul was almost shattered by me.”
Sang Dai lowered her head and wiped the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I always make you suffer so much for me.”
Su Xuan couldn’t bear to see her upset. Anyone who made her feel wronged deserved a beating in his eyes—even if that person was himself.
“Dai Dai, listen to me. You never have to blame yourself. From beginning to end, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
He reached out and gently cupped her chin, lifting her small, downcast face so she would meet his gaze.
“No one in this world is more important than you,” he said.
It was as though he had said the same thing not long ago—
Sang Dai, no one is more important than you.
That included him.
Their eyes met.
His expression was calm and warm.
And then Sang Dai heard his inner thoughts again.
[Dai Dai, if you keep crying, I’ll start crying too. I can’t bear to see your tears.]
Sang Dai suddenly smiled, unable to imagine this fox breaking into tears alongside her.
The moment the sword cultivator smiled, the oppressive atmosphere around them dissipated.
The weight on Su Xuan’s heart lifted. He pinched her cheek again with a playful smirk.
“If you truly feel guilty, then show me some extra care. Think of me, worry about me. Right now, I think my injuries are starting to hurt again.”
But please don’t cry. He feared her tears most of all—they made him feel as though the whole world had wronged her.
Sang Dai, however, took him seriously. “Does it really hurt? Where does it hurt?”
Her urgency erased her tears. All her focus shifted to him.
Su Xuan, seizing the chance to tease her, clutched his shoulder and grimaced. “Everywhere hurts. Especially here—ah, it really stings.”
Sang Dai immediately pulled his collar aside to check his shoulder.
His broad, well-defined shoulder showed smooth, healed skin. The bone that had been exposed earlier was now back in place, and the wound had closed completely.
But Sang Dai assumed he might still have internal pain.
“Does it hurt a lot here?”
Her fingertips pressed gently against his shoulder blade.
The soft touch of her fingers on his firm muscles made Su Xuan’s Adam’s apple bob, and his gaze on her gradually changed.
“…Mm, it hurts.”
The sword cultivator looked up in a panic. “Then I’ll go get Young Master Liu.”
She moved to jump off the table, but suddenly her legs were spread apart. The tall young man stepped between them, his arms braced on either side of her waist, pinning her against his chest.
“He can’t treat this.”
Sang Dai panicked even more. “Young Master Liu’s medical skills are excellent. If he—”
“Only you can heal me.”
Su Xuan interrupted her.
Sang Dai froze. “…What?”
“Dai Dai, only you can heal me.”
His voice was hoarse as he looked into her eyes.
[Just kiss me, kiss me, and it won’t hurt anymore.]
Sang Dai’s hands, resting on the table, silently gripped its edge.
Su Xuan was torn. Should he follow his instincts and kiss her directly, or should he wait for her to come to him?
The sword cultivator was too timid, but he had endured for so long.
For over a hundred years, he had longed for her. Just having her close, breathing the same air, left him feeling insatiable.
But when he looked into her clear, misty eyes—so bright and black, filled with simple, pure emotions—he saw her unease.
She couldn’t hide anything from him, least of all her nervousness.
Su Xuan turned his head and closed his eyes. The veins on his forehead throbbed as he fell into a long silence, his thoughts churning endlessly.
In the end, he worried she might be frightened.
The inner struggle finally came to a conclusion.
Forget it.
He would wait.
He couldn’t scare her.
Just as he began to pull his hand back and straighten up, the person in his arms suddenly spoke.
“Su Xuan.”
“…Mm?”
He instinctively responded, turning his head toward her.
A soft hand reached out, gripping his arm. A flash of blue filled his vision, and a faint, clean fragrance surrounded him.
Then, his thin lips were sealed.
She tilted her head up and kissed him.