The door clicked shut behind him, sealing Zhao Yanran and Yang Tianming away on the other side.
Chen Yang stood alone in the room. A night breeze drifted through the window, carrying a faint chill — yet it did nothing to dispel the faint, lingering scent of musk that hung in the air.
He stood there for a long while before finally turning and walking toward the bed that was no longer his alone.
He lowered his gaze, and the sight before him sent a fresh wave of pain through his chest.
Scattered across the floor were several torn scraps of fabric — unmistakably the hem of Zhao Yanran's pale blue dress.
The wooden bed he had slept on for months had completely collapsed, its planks split apart to reveal rough, jagged splinters.
Most jarring of all were the deep creases pressed into the bedsheet, and the smell — growing heavier now — a mingling of Zhao Yanran's familiar scent and the unmistakable odor of a strange man.
Chen Yang closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and began to clean up the wreckage.
He gathered the torn scraps of cloth first, balling them up to throw away in the morning.
Then he turned to the collapsed bed frame, sorting through the planks — salvaging what could still be used, stacking the broken pieces aside for firewood.
When that was done, he fetched a rag, dampened it, and knelt on the floor to scrub away the stains, inch by inch.
The water turned murky quickly. He changed basin after basin until the floor was clean and spotless, every trace of filth erased.
Yet no matter how hard he scrubbed, the peculiar musk in the air refused to leave. It mingled with Zhao Yanran's own scent — that faint osmanthus fragrance she only released when she had worked up a sweat — and it clung to everything, a constant, wordless reminder of what had happened here.
Deep into the night, Chen Yang finally finished.
With no bed left, he spread his bedding on the floor.
The blanket, it seemed, had also been used by the two of them — it too carried the musk.
Chen Yang hesitated a short while, then crawled inside anyway.
The night was cold and damp, and his cultivation at the first level of the Qi Refinement Realm was not yet enough to fully ward off the chill.
Thin as the blanket was, it still offered some warmth.
But the scent that clung to it crept relentlessly into his nostrils, forcing his mind to conjure images he desperately wanted to avoid — of what Zhao Yanran had been doing beneath this very blanket with another man, just hours ago.
Especially that osmanthus fragrance — Zhao Yanran's own scent.
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In the past, he had only ever caught that smell in their most intimate moments. It was proof of her desire — proof that it was meant for him.
But tonight…
That fragrance had filled the entire room, as if silently narrating the depths of passion she had surrendered to.
Chen Yang buried his face in the blanket. The scent grew stronger.
He remembered how, in the days gone by, whenever Zhao Yanran was moved with feeling, that fragrance would bloom around her — and he would always press his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in what he had believed was his alone.
But tonight, that fragrance had bloomed for another man.
Images he dared not dwell on rose unbidden in his mind, one after another, impossible to shake — as though they had taken root somewhere deep inside him.
Chen Yang jolted upright, gasping, his chest heaving violently.
He could not let himself keep thinking. Every moment he did, the pain in his chest sharpened, as if his heart were splitting apart.
He spent the rest of the night almost entirely awake.
Each time he drifted toward sleep, that faint, persistent fragrance would pull him back, reminding him of what Zhao Yanran had done in his bed with someone else.
It was only when the sky began to pale with the first gray light of dawn that Chen Yang finally managed to close his eyes.
But it was not long before a sharp, urgent knocking jolted him awake.
He struggled to his feet, head heavy and dull, and pulled open the door.
In the morning light, Liu Yiyi stood outside, holding the medicine basket he had left behind at Butterfly Valley the day before.
"Senior Brother Chen, you forgot your basket at my place…" Liu Yiyi's voice trailed off mid-sentence.
Her gaze drifted past Chen Yang into the room, taking in the disorder within.
The half-cleared wreckage of the broken bed. The splintered planks piled haphazardly against the wall. The bedding spread plainly on the floor.
And more telling still — as she spoke, a morning breeze swept out from inside the room, carrying with it the remnants of that heavy, mingled musk.
Liu Yiyi's expression shifted at once into something unreadable.
She pressed her lips together, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.
She had spent much of her life in places where such things were commonplace. She knew that smell all too well.
It was the unmistakable scent left behind after a man and woman had shared a bed.
Her eyes moved between Chen Yang's exhausted face and the disarray inside the room, and then — she let out a soft, amused laugh, a teasing glint in her eyes:
"Senior Brother Chen, no wonder you left in such a hurry yesterday — so it was because…" She drew out her words deliberately, lowering her voice. "Did you sneak one of the female cultivators in for the night? Things got so wild the bed actually collapsed?"
The color drained from Chen Yang's face in an instant.
He opened his mouth to explain, but found his throat sealed shut as though something were lodged there. He could not get a single word out.
Seeing his reaction, Liu Yiyi took it as confirmation and laughed all the more freely. "Which peak is she from? Or was it one of the girls from the laborer quarters? Senior Brother Chen, you're quite something — you haven't even been here long and already you've…"
Her words cut off abruptly, because she had noticed that Chen Yang's expression was not the flustered embarrassment of someone being teased. It was something far deeper — a raw, profound pain and humiliation.
His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white from the force of it. His eyes were threaded with red.
Liu Yiyi realized at once that this was not the simple situation she had imagined.
She let the teasing fall away and asked carefully, "Senior Brother Chen… are you all right?"
Chen Yang did not answer. He simply reached out and took the medicine basket from her, his voice rough and hoarse. "Thank you for returning the basket, Miss Liu. If there's nothing else, I'd like to rest a short while longer."
The words were a clear dismissal.
Liu Yiyi was full of questions, but she could hardly press further. She gave a small nod. "Then… then I'll be on my way. Rest well, Senior Brother Chen."
She turned and left, glancing back every few steps. Chen Yang still stood in the doorway, his silhouette in the morning light looking utterly solitary and forlorn.
Only after Liu Yiyi's figure disappeared at the far end of the path did Chen Yang slowly close the door.
He leaned back against it and slid down to the floor, burying his face between his knees.
In the air around him, that suffocating fragrance lingered still, refusing to fade.