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Hearing Xie Changji’s furious scolding, Shen Xiuwen finally understood what was happening.
If it was truly Xie Wushuang standing there, he might still have dared to ask a few questions—but given her position in the Heavenly Sword Sect, he dared not utter a word.
He immediately retreated, slamming the gate shut behind him and leading the others away in a panicked rush.
Those left standing before the entrance of Hehuan Palace exchanged uneasy glances.
After a moment, Lingnan murmured in disbelief, “The person just now... was that Xie Daojun?”
“And,” Lingbei added with a faint smile, “our Young Master.”
Lingnan froze.
The Young Master was formidable, yet he had claimed Xie Wushuang was not. That could only mean—he had subdued her!
Realization dawned, and she quickly grabbed Lingbei’s arm, warning the others, “Return immediately! No one stays behind!”
Everyone obeyed without hesitation, scattering into the night.
Inside, Hua Xiangwan listened to the commotion fade, barely able to catch her breath.
If she died here, it would be those fools’ fault!
Yet her anger soon dissipated as she sensed a subtle shift in the air.
“Xie Wushuang” still stood before her, sword pressed to her throat, his sleeve barring her retreat.
The distance between them was suffocatingly close. Her robe was thin as mist, and his presence—warm, steady, and overbearing—seeped through it, stirring an inexplicable unease in her chest.
Hua Xiangwan stiffened. She couldn’t tell whether her trembling came from fear that he might kill her... or from something she dared not name.
After all, she was Xie Changji’s disciple—and once, she had also been his master’s wife.
That thought jolted her. She turned her face aside, trying to restore some semblance of composure in this dangerously intimate standoff.
But the man didn’t move. Not a flicker of killing intent emanated from him. Unable to discern his intentions, she stayed silent, waiting for his next move.
Xie Changji, breathing unevenly, seemed to wrestle with himself. Through the veil of white silk, his gaze lingered on her face.
At last, he hesitantly raised his hand—as if to touch her cheek.
Startled, Hua Xiangwan instinctively stepped back, pressing against the cold stone wall.
Seeing her recoil, Xie Changji’s breath caught. His grip tightened on the sword. Then, hoarsely, he asked, “Are you hiding from me?”
Hua Xiangwan blinked. “Huh?”
His next words came low and strange. “You gave him the Dream Seal?”
Her confusion deepened. “What?”
It took her a moment to realize he meant Shen Xiuwen. Her eyes widened in shock.
She hadn’t expected that in this state, “Xie Wushuang” would care nothing for his own condition, but for his junior brother being manipulated by her spell.
What kind of senior brother was this—so righteous even in possession?
Was he... here to demand justice?
Seeing that he showed no intent to attack, Hua Xiangwan quickly bowed her head and said, “It was my fault for using the Dream Seal. I never meant to harm Shen Daojun. Time was short—only six days—and I had no choice but to use that method…”
Before she could finish, Xie Changji suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed into her arms.
Hua Xiangwan caught him instinctively, her mind reeling.
He was clearly possessed, and her intrusion into his dream had likely thrown his consciousness into chaos. Rushing here without regaining stability, his mind must have reached its limit.
Now, he lay powerless in her grasp—no threat at all.
If she wanted to kill him, now was the time.
But… did the elders of the Heavenly Sword Sect even know about his possession?
If they didn’t, killing him would have been the wisest move. Yet if he still retained some fragment of sanity, and word spread that she’d slain him—especially with Shen Xiuwen’s testimony about the Dream Seal—it might be seen as murder.
And Xie Wushuang was Xie Changji’s disciple, a man of high standing. If he died, Xie Changji himself would come for revenge.
The thought alone chilled her to the bone.
No, she couldn’t risk it. Better to cast a life-and-death curse—to restrain and perhaps even save him.
At least that left a chance.
Resolute, Hua Xiangwan carefully laid him on the bed and pulled away the white silk covering his eyes.
The color of his pupils told her everything—the deeper the red, the stronger the possession.
His eyes were a dark crimson now, calm yet unnaturally so.
It was over. His condition had reached its final stage.
She lifted her hand, summoning several glowing immortal ropes that wrapped around his wrists and ankles. A golden formation flared beneath him.
Taking a deep breath, she sat cross-legged beside him and retrieved the Heart-Clearing Bell from her Qiankun bag. Turning to him, she said softly, “This is the Heart-Clearing Bell, an ancient sacred artifact. I’ll help you purge the inner demon. It may hurt—but you must endure…”
Before she could finish, “Xie Wushuang” snapped the immortal bindings with ease and sat upright.
Hua Xiangwan froze. “…”
He didn’t attack. Instead, he leaned forward, raised a hand, and cupped her head gently.
Then, lowering his face, he buried his nose in her hair—almost like a kiss.
Hua Xiangwan stiffened, her heart pounding.
A rough, low voice brushed her ear. “Where’s the fragrance?”
“Fragrance?” she repeated blankly.
What fragrance?
Hua Xiangwan was momentarily stunned before realizing he had asked about “fragrance” twice.
What scent of hers could possibly be worth Xie Wushuang’s curiosity—twice?
“You mean the charm fragrance?”
As understanding dawned, she straightened and forced a calm smile. Xie Changji leaned closer, his voice low and puzzled beside her ear. “Charm fragrance?”
“Yes,” Hua Xiangwan replied, maintaining her composure with the belief that if I’m not embarrassed, others will be. “Whenever disciples of Hehuan Palace activate the dual cultivation technique, the body naturally releases a charm fragrance. It helps guide the process and makes one more… persuasive.”
“Disciples of Hehuan Palace…”
Xie Changji repeated slowly, then looked straight at her. “So everyone has it?”
Hua Xiangwan nodded seriously. “Everyone has it. The scent just varies from person to person.”
Xie Changji said nothing for a while, his gaze steady. “Entering dreams, moonlight, lake water… Do all of you dream like that?”
“Not exactly,” Hua Xiangwan replied evenly, unashamed despite the topic. “That’s the standard method my senior sister taught—something to reference when you’re unsure how to shape a dream...”
Under his quiet stare, her voice faltered slightly. “Or… copy it.”
Silence hung between them. The faint redness in Xie Changji’s eyes slowly faded.
Sensing his displeasure, Hua Xiangwan cleared her throat and tried to smooth things over. “I truly didn’t know the dream mark was on you. If I’d known I was entering your dream tonight, I wouldn’t have been so careless—I’d have planned it properly…”
“Enough.”
His sudden voice cut through her words. His eyes locked on hers. “Where were you two hundred years ago?”
“Two hundred years ago…” She blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt question. “I was in Hehuan Palace?”
“You never went to Yunlai?”
The question sent a chill down her spine. She forced a smile. “I wanted to, but the distance is great, and the affairs of Hehuan Palace keep me occupied. As the palace’s young master, I rarely leave. If not for this marriage proposal, I might never have come at all.”
At her answer, Xie Changji closed his eyes and seemed to exhale a long, buried breath. When he opened them again, he took the white silk beside him, rose, and walked out as if nothing had happened.
Still half-hidden behind the bed curtains, Hua Xiangwan peeked out cautiously. “Xie Daojun… are you leaving just like that?” Something about the moment felt oddly unreal.
He paused at the doorway, silent.
Her heart tightened. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your possession. My Heart-Clearing Bell is truly effective for cultivators like you—those whose minds remain intact though their hearts are unsettled. Once you’ve found your balance, you can come to me. Of course, in return, you’ll help arrange the union between our two sects—”
“You came to Tianjian Sect to propose marriage?” Xie Changji interrupted suddenly.
Caught off guard, Hua Xiangwan blinked. “Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Uh…” She hadn’t expected that question. After a pause, she ventured carefully, “Is Shen Xiuwen… suitable?”
Xie Changji said nothing. The night air seemed to grow colder.
After a long silence, he murmured, “I understand,” and turned to leave.
Seeing her last chance, Hua Xiangwan called after him, “An unstable heart is fatal for cultivators! Hehuan Palace specializes in such matters—it doesn’t have to be Shen Xiuwen. Just help me find someone—”
Before she could finish, he had already vanished into the night. Her unfinished words lingered softly in the air. “—a win-win for all…”
With Xie Wushuang gone, the room fell silent.
Hua Xiangwan stared blankly at the doorway, stunned. She hadn’t expected him to be so indifferent to his own possession. His calmness utterly confused her.
Was this the pride of the possessed?
It took her a long while to recover. Finally, she waved her hand, sealing the doors and windows, then sank back onto the bed with a sigh.
The Dream Mark was on Xie Wushuang—Shen Xiuwen must have known.
After being exposed so many times, even a celestial being would find it hard to win his favor again.
What was wrong with Xie Wushuang? How could he even recognize the seals of a Divine Transformation cultivator? Even the Demon Lord could be fooled by them. Just who was Xie Wushuang?
This time, she feared she wouldn’t be bringing anyone back from the Tianjian Sect.
Still…
Hua Xiangwan closed her eyes, the faintest smile curving her lips.
It doesn’t matter.
Xie Changji walked along the corridor back to his quarters. The cool night wind cleared his thoughts.
He looked up at the dead branches in the courtyard and lifted a hand. Instantly, new buds sprouted, blooming into white pear blossoms. In moments, they withered and fell, leaving bare wood once again.
Reviving a dead tree was already high-level magic—reviving a person was defying heaven itself.
He stood by the window for a long while, then lowered his gaze and drew a sound-transmitting jade from his sleeve. With a stroke of his finger, it lit up.
“Changji?” came Kunxuzi’s voice from within. “What’s happened?”
“Uncle Master,” Xie Changji said quietly, “if someone’s appearance, voice, even spiritual aura have changed—but I don’t wish to perform a spiritual search—how can I know if they are someone I once knew?”
Kunxuzi hesitated, then asked, “Is it… Wanwan?”
Xie Changji said nothing, which was answer enough.
Kunxuzi sighed, unsurprised. Most of the questions Changji had asked through the years had been about her.
After a pause, he said, “If it’s Wanwan, there may be a way. When the Gu Ling was sealed, it was she who sacrificed her magic weapon to bind it together with the Sword of Questioning. That weapon carries her blood. If she truly lives, then as the Gu Ling awakens, both of you would sense it. Observe her closely.”
“I understand,” said Xie Changji.
“But before that,” Kunxuzi’s tone grew solemn, “remember this—nothing in this world remains unchanged. Wanwan is gone. Whoever you think she is now, she is not the same.”
“The birth of the Gu Ling is of great consequence, Changji. You must not falter.”
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