Chapter 5: Yuheng (Part 3)

“That night, this disciple was cultivating late and returned rather tardily. Passing through the snow forest on the back mountain, I heard rustling in the grass and trees. I thought it was wild beasts from the mountains, but unexpectedly saw…” He Tingtong’s cheeks flushed red, as if finding it difficult to speak. Under the sect leader’s furious gaze, he lowered his head. “I saw junior martial brother and them… doing…”

He pressed his thumbs together, making a kissing gesture, describing vividly: “Junior martial brother was calling out ‘Brother Shen, no more,’ and that scoundrel even put his hand inside his clothes…”

“Enough!” The sect leader’s vision went dark. He swayed backward, nearly fainting.

He’d suffered hidden injuries in his early years. Now his cultivation could hardly improve further. Over many years, he’d shown signs of the five declines of heaven and man. Only one son remained by his side—Yun Zhi—who would inherit the sect in the future.

Yun Zhi was clever with extremely high talent. In the future he could enter Yunzhou Academy, temper his character, and achieve great things. At such a young age, he absolutely couldn’t be trapped in romantic entanglements, especially unclear relations with an outer sect disciple of mediocre talent!

His heart was already filled with rage, veins bulging on his forehead. He Tingtong added fuel to the fire from the side: “Master, please don’t be angry. Harming your health would be terrible. Besides… youthful infatuation is human nature. Junior martial brother is innocent and pure—he must have been seduced and temporarily led astray.”

“Summon him here.” The sect leader’s face was dark as water. His fingers hanging at his sides were clenched white at the knuckles, but on the surface he still had to maintain his dignity as an elder, saying coldly: “Summon that outer sect disciple as well!”

He Tingtong received the order and was about to rise when the sect leader thought of something and hurriedly called him back: “Wait, come back.”

He Tingtong stopped. The sect leader took out a spirit communication talisman from his robes and handed it to him, lowering his voice: “Don’t spread word of this matter. Just pretend you didn’t see anything. From now on, stay close to Yun’er. If you see any movements again, notify me directly.”

He Tingtong lowered his head to accept it, saying steadily: “This disciple will definitely watch over junior martial brother well!”

“You may go.”

So He Tingtong swiftly departed.

Returning to his room in high spirits, He Tingtong played with the spirit talisman in his palm, contemplating how to report those two’s every movement in meticulous detail to the sect leader, then have the furious sect leader dispose of them.

After all, his current cultivation was only at the second realm—the limitations were simply too great.

Yun Zhi’s cultivation was also at the second realm. As for his partner Shen Xiyuan, though he appeared to be just a first-realm novice cultivator who’d just entered, that body was possessed by a demon race member whose true form had ninth-realm cultivation. Even if the divided spirit was restricted by the body and couldn’t exert full power, it was extremely difficult to deal with.

Previously he’d been brainless. When first reborn, unable to grasp the situation, he’d considered their fellow disciple relationship and the grace of being raised. He’d helped conceal things, advised them, even intervened to stop them—but quickly ended up advised to death.

When love went to their heads, it seemed even heaven and earth collapsing couldn’t separate them. All setbacks and admonitions only became touchstones on their love’s path—forged through trials without letting go, instead becoming even more inseparable.

Yun Zhi was obstinate. The sect leader doted on his child. Plus Shen Xiyuan later displayed excellent talent, so he went with the flow and fulfilled them.

Thus the one who’d tried his utmost to prevent it became the villain—neither fish nor fowl, accused of falsely accusing fellow disciples with flawed character, cultivation废除, expelled from the sect.

Later when Yuheng Sect was slaughtered, Yun Zhi found He Tingtong and begged for help, saying he and that demon race were irreconcilable enemies, sworn to never rest.

But these two chased and fled, intimate and affectionate, finally rolling into bed together. What enmity or hatred—all cast aside. Even blood feuds could become little spices decorating their love.

He Tingtong truly couldn’t understand.

So for this kind of difficult matter, handing it to the sect leader was simplest and most efficient.

The eighth year of Linde, eleventh month, twentieth day. Forty-one days until New Year’s Eve, ninety days until the Azure Cloud Trials. His time was tight with other matters to handle—he couldn’t waste too much time here.

Must achieve a quick resolution.

And there was Fu Fengyan, constantly entangled around him.

This person’s cultivation was terrifying, origins unknown. Judging by his clothes and temperament, definitely not a mortal. But among the heaven’s favorites of the five great sects, he knew them all—not one named Fu Fengyan. Among the seven great clans, none surnamed Fu either, though there was one surnamed Fu.

Likely using a false name.

With a creak, he pushed open the door. Just thinking about how to send Fu Fengyan away without offending him, He Tingtong saw the person in question sitting properly at the desk by the window, reading by the light.

He Tingtong’s vision went dark. Taking three steps in two, he rushed forward and grabbed the wrist the other was hiding behind his back, pulling it out to forcibly confiscate the book.

“Don’t read this kind of trash!”

Fu Fengyan’s palm emptied. He froze first, then his expression showed some grievance: “Wait, I haven’t finished reading the ending.”

He Tingtong’s head ached. “It’s all messy nonsense for amusement. Reading more is useless.”

“Really… useless?”

His ear suddenly warmed. Fu Fengyan abruptly drew close, those dark purple eyes staring at him intently as if drawing out his soul: “Little Brother He, you have something in your hair.”

He Tingtong froze. Before he could react, pale slender fingers slid past his ear, extracting a snow-white flower bud from his hair.

“Look.” Spiritual power flowed, the bud on the branch blooming to reveal water-red stamens. Fu Fengyan spoke tenderly: “For you.”

He Tingtong: “…”

He’d seen this scene in story books—Fu Fengyan’s actions were a one-to-one recreation of the male lead flirting with young ladies in books.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a young lady.

Watching the clumsy, naive seduction before him, He Tingtong didn’t retreat blushing like the girls in story books. Instead he stepped forward, closing the distance between their breaths. Under Fu Fengyan’s surprised, shy gaze, following the young man’s hand, pale lips touched the bright red stamens, breath stirring trembling petals, soft lips nearly kissing Fu Fengyan’s slender fingertips.

He stared at the constricted pupils before him, the reddened ear tips, raising an eyebrow. Then he bit down in one mouthful, chewing and swallowing the flower, branch, blossom and all.

Fu Fengyan: “…”

“Thank you for the medicine, Immortal Lord. This flower nourishes qi and blood, regulates spiritual meridians. Elder Song cultivated them for years—only a few exist. Previously he was always stingy and wouldn’t give them to me. Today I finally had the fortune to taste one.” He Tingtong ate the grass, suddenly shivering, clicking his tongue: “Bitter.”

Still, he swallowed it down.

Fu Fengyan’s hand remained suspended in mid-air. His whole person seemed to have turned into a block of wood, taking a long time to recover.

He Tingtong remained composed, rolling up the book to hold it. Standing with arms crossed, he observed Fu Fengyan’s expression, finding it amusing inside. With just this level of skill becoming like this—clearly this little divine lord was inexperienced in romance, all empty posturing. Though he was also inexperienced, having mixed in the cultivation world for so many years, he at least had some knowledge.

Small tricks, hardly worth mentioning.

“Do you still think this book is useful?” He waved it before Fu Fengyan.

“Not useful anymore.” Fu Fengyan covered his completely red ears, spirits immediately deflating, muttering softly: “Can’t compare to you.”

“Divine Lord, aren’t you busy?” He Tingtong turned to sit on the bed, quite puzzled.

“Not busy.” Fu Fengyan seemed dazed from the flirtation. He nodded, answering honestly: “For the next sixty years, nothing major will happen. I’m not busy at all.”

He Tingtong: “…” So he was idle with nothing better to do than tease him?

“Don’t you need to go home? Won’t your family worry?”

“Home?” Fu Fengyan’s expression showed genuine confusion. He shook his head: “I don’t have a home.”

He Tingtong inhaled sharply, realizing something was wrong.

“You don’t have a sect?”

“No.”

“But your clothing and bearing…” No matter how you looked, he didn’t seem like a rogue cultivator.

“I only have one set of clothes. When they bring me out, I wear it once. When I return, it’s gone.” Fu Fengyan answered honestly. Standing by the window in the light, his expression was frank—didn’t seem like lying.

He Tingtong frowned: “Then where do you live?”

“A very high, very cold place without light. When the world is about to fall, I come out.” Fu Fengyan’s voice was very soft. “I don’t like it there.”

“I want to stay by your side.”

Fu Fengyan was tall with long limbs—quite a clothes hanger figure. Only He Tingtong’s disciple robe was already old. Worn on him, it fit even worse, much too short, exposing pale arms and ankles, making him look somewhat comical.

“If you don’t like me staying here, I can go down the mountain.” Fu Fengyan slowly said: “I’ll wait for you at the mountain’s base.”

“Wait? Why do you think I’ll descend the mountain?” He Tingtong raised an eyebrow. “This is my sect, my home. I might stay at Yuheng Sect my entire life, become a minor elder, live comfortably in luxury.”

“You won’t.” Fu Fengyan spoke with certainty. “You’ll definitely leave.”

He Tingtong: “Why?”

Because every previous time, you left. Heaven and earth vast and boundless, free and unrestrained—unlike him, imprisoned in one place, unable even to hear the wind.

Fu Fengyan opened his mouth, then swallowed all his words, only saying: “You don’t belong here.”

He Tingtong: “…” He pressed his forehead, somewhat pained, but truly couldn’t figure out Fu Fengyan’s origins.

The cultivation world was too vast with many hidden sects. Many things he didn’t know—also normal.

Only whenever he thought of this, he felt like standing on an endless road, exhausted to the extreme.

Fu Fengyan stood for a long time, also waited a long time, before finally hearing He Tingtong’s deflated voice: “Forget it. It’s getting late. Let’s sleep first.”

He Tingtong collapsed onto the bed, saying nothing more.

So Fu Fengyan silently went over, opened the cabinet, carefully laid out bedding on the floor, and quietly lay down.

Relative silence.

After an unknown time, in the stillness, Fu Fengyan heard movement from the bed. He Tingtong rose, stepping carefully over the bedding on the floor, putting on clothes, cautiously leaving through the door.

He stood up, watching He Tingtong acting like a thief, quite puzzled: “What are you going to do?”

Dark night, strong winds. The youth’s eyes shone, coldly laughing:

“Of course—to catch them in the act.”