A month slipped by like flowing water.
Day after day, Chen Yang toiled in the medicine garden — tending the delicate spirit herbs and immortal plants by day, and cultivating in silence each night with the aid of the Spirit Water from that mysterious clay bowl.
On this particular morning, the dew had not yet fully lifted when Chen Yang had already harvested a fresh batch of ripe Moonlight Herb and Bloodclot Vine.
Steward Wang had instructed him to deliver these herbs to the inner disciple pill hall, saying that several pill refiners urgently needed the batch to refine an important set of Pills.
Chen Yang carefully sorted and bundled the herbs, then placed them into the herb basket.
Ever since the day he and Liu Yiyi had sworn themselves as brother and sister, his heart had grown considerably calmer.
Though the thought of Zhao Yanran still sent a sharp pang through his chest, at least he was no longer lying awake through the night.
He knew the road to the inner disciple pill hall well by now.
To avoid the busier paths, he deliberately chose a longer but quieter trail.
This route wound through a bamboo grove that few people ever traveled.
The bamboo leaves rustled softly, and the morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the canopy, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow below.
Chen Yang walked at an unhurried pace, herb basket in hand. He turned his attention inward, sensing the flow of spiritual energy within him. He was only a thin barrier away from breaking through to the second level of the Qi Refinement Realm — yet that barrier was stubbornly unyielding. No matter how much Spirit Water he drank, he could not push past it.
Lost in thought, he was startled when a familiar water-blue figure suddenly emerged from the bamboo ahead.
Chen Yang's steps faltered. His instinct was to turn and slip away, but it was already too late.
Zhao Yanran had clearly seen him.
She was alone, carrying an elegant medicine case in her hand — she appeared to have just collected medicine from the pill hall.
A month had passed since they last met. She had grown a little thinner, with faint shadows beneath her eyes, yet she was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Their gazes met in the air between them.
A flicker of surprised delight crossed Zhao Yanran's eyes, followed swiftly by guilt and unease.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, yet she did not know where to begin.
Chen Yang kept his face expressionless and looked away, quickening his steps to pass her by.
"Chen Yang..." Zhao Yanran finally spoke, her voice so soft it was barely audible.
Chen Yang gave no sign of having heard her and kept walking.
"Wait!" Zhao Yanran hurried after him and stepped into his path. "Why do you keep avoiding me?"
Chen Yang had no choice but to stop, though he still refused to look at her. He said coldly, "What guidance does Immortal Zhao have for me? If there is nothing, I still need to deliver these herbs to the pill hall."
That title — "Immortal Zhao" — drained the color from Zhao Yanran's face.
She bit her lip, her eyes glistening with moisture. "Must you really speak to me this way? Has it truly come to this — nothing but cold formality between us?"
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Chen Yang finally raised his eyes to look at her. The corner of his mouth curved into a sardonic arc. "Then how should I speak to you? Does Immortal Zhao wish me to treat you as I once did? I'm afraid the woman before me is no longer the Zhao Yanran of the past — and I, for my part, am far too lowly to presume."
Those words cut like a blade, driving straight into Zhao Yanran's heart.
Her body trembled slightly, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "What happened that night... I know it sits ill with you. But I had no choice. If the Passion Gu poison were not purged, my life would have been forfeit. Senior Brother Yang and the others... they did it to save my life..."
"Saving your life required doing that in my bed?" Chen Yang let out a cold laugh. "Required you to make those sounds of pleasure? Zhao Yanran, do you take me for a child of three, so easily deceived?"
His blunt words left Zhao Yanran's face burning scarlet — mortified and furious at once. "You — how dare you speak like that!"
"Then how should I speak?" Chen Yang stepped closer, and for the first time the long-suppressed fury in his eyes broke through. "Should I thank your three Senior Brothers for what they did in my bed? Thank them for making me see clearly what the woman I once loved with all my heart truly is — a woman who lets every man—"
Crack. A sharp slap from Zhao Yanran cut off Chen Yang's unfinished words.
The bamboo grove fell into dead silence.
Chen Yang slowly turned his head. The clear imprint of five fingers bloomed red across his cheek.
He stared at Zhao Yanran, and every last trace of warmth vanished from his eyes.
Zhao Yanran looked at her own reddened palm, then at the mark on Chen Yang's face, and panic seized her. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to... I just... how could you say something so cruel..."
Chen Yang gave a cold laugh and raised his hand to wipe the thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Oh? Immortal Zhao may strike me, but I may not speak? Of course — you are an inner disciple elite now, with three Senior Brothers to back you. Naturally you may hit and scold as you please."
"That's not it..." Tears welled in Zhao Yanran's eyes. She reached out, wanting to touch the wound on his face. "Let me see... does it hurt?"
Chen Yang wrenched her hand away. "No need for Immortal Zhao's concern. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."
Seeing him turn to go, Zhao Yanran acted in desperation — she formed a hand seal and cast a spell. A streak of blue light flashed, and Chen Yang felt his entire body seize up. He had been caught in the Body-Binding Art.
"Release me!" Chen Yang cried out in shock and fury, straining to circulate his spiritual energy to break through the restriction. But the gap in their cultivation was too vast; he could not break free.
Zhao Yanran stepped in front of him, her tear-blurred eyes fixed on his face. "Do you hate me that much? You won't even spare me a few words?"
Chen Yang said nothing, only staring back at her with cold, unyielding eyes.
That indifferent gaze stung Zhao Yanran deeply. She suddenly raised her hand again — but this time the slap did not fall. Her hand trembled and hung suspended in the air.
She looked at the stubborn set of Chen Yang's profile, and grief welled up inside her without warning.
"Was it not you who agreed to come to the sect with me?" Her voice broke. "And now you act like this — are you trying to humiliate me? Do you have any idea how much pain I've been in this past month, thinking every day about what happened that night? I... I've missed you so much..."
Then, as her emotions surged beyond control, she struck him twice more across the face in quick succession.
The power of the sixth level of the Qi Refinement Realm was far beyond anything Chen Yang could withstand. The blows split the corner of his mouth open; blood ran down his jaw and dripped onto his white robe, blooming into dark crimson stains.
When it was done, Zhao Yanran looked at the blood at the corner of Chen Yang's mouth and the swelling across his face — and remorse flooded through her at once.
She reached out, wanting to gently touch his wounds, her voice softening. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I was just in so much pain... You know my heart is still with you..."
But Chen Yang wrenched his head away and spat out a mouthful of blood — it landed squarely on Zhao Yanran's water-blue skirt.
Zhao Yanran froze where she stood, staring at the blood spots on her robe. A storm of emotions — shame, fury, grief, guilt — flashed through her eyes.
Her chest heaved violently, as though she were on the verge of lashing out, yet she forced herself to hold back.
After a long silence, she drew a deep breath and reached into her robe, producing a small jade vial, which she pressed into Chen Yang's immobilized hand.
"This is a Pure Origin Pill," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "It will benefit your cultivation — it may even help you break through to the second level of the Qi Refinement Realm. Consider it... consider it compensation for that night."
She released the restriction and held Chen Yang's gaze for a long moment. That look carried far more than words could say.
In the end she said nothing at all. She turned and walked away quickly, her water-blue figure disappearing swiftly into the depths of the bamboo grove.
Chen Yang stood where he was, the jade vial still warm in his grip.
The ache at the corner of his mouth was a constant reminder of everything that had just passed — and yet that water-blue silhouette lodged itself like a thorn, deep in his heart.
He gazed in the direction Zhao Yanran had gone. After a long while, he finally tucked the jade vial into his robe. He did not throw it away.