Hearing Hua Xiangwan’s voice, Xie Changji opened his eyes. He paused for a moment, concealing the lust in his gaze, before pushing open the door and entering.
Hua Xiangwan came out, drying her hair, and turned to look at the washroom:
“Are you going to wash?”
“Yes,” Xie Changji replied.
Hua Xiangwan gestured towards the washroom with her chin:
“Then clean the washroom yourself, I’m going to sleep.”
“Okay.”
Xie Changji didn’t say much and went straight into the room.
Hua Xiangwan dried her hair and lay down on the bed. The bed was warm, the jade beneath it radiating heat. She stretched out her hand, staring at it for a while, feeling unexpectedly happy.
More than three hundred sticky points—in less than a month, her meridians would be fully open. Although painful, it was bearable. She hadn’t expected repair to be possible, but Xie Changji had arrived…
Her thoughts drifted to him, to his cold refusal of love in the past, to the helplessness she had once seen in his eyes. He was a god severed from desire, and she wondered how far he would go to compensate for his “obsession.”
…
Meanwhile, Xie Changji soaked in cold water, watching the tub stain red with his blood. He waited until the ten blood holes from the Twin Talisman healed, then dressed in white, cleaned the blood, and walked silently into the moonlight.
He stood by her bedside, gazing at her sleeping face. Her brow furrowed as if in a nightmare. He sat, raised his hand, and cast a glow to calm her. Leaning down, his cool lips brushed her forehead.
“Sweet dreams.”
That night, Hua Xiangwan slept soundly.
…
The next morning, she saw Xie Changji cross-legged before the incense table, smoke curling upward. He turned slightly.
“Good morning.”
For half a month, this rhythm continued. Every three days, he helped her open her meridians. At night, he meditated, keeping watch.
The spirit boat carried them swiftly across the Dingli Sea. Soon, black sands stretched beneath their feet, the Western Territory looming ahead.
“First time in the Western Territory, isn’t it?” Hua Xiangwan smiled, raising her cup as she watched him gaze out the window. “My first time in Yunlai was just like yours.”
He turned to her.
“Yunlai is quite different from the Western Territory. The scenery is beautiful, and the people are beautiful too.”
“Is that so?” Xie Changji said gently. “I thought the people of the Western Territory must all be quite good-looking.”
“How so?” she asked curiously.
“At least Wen Shaoqing should be quite good-looking.”
His words startled her. Guilt pricked her heart. She nodded awkwardly.
“He’s quite good, but actually, he’s not as handsome as Xue Zidan.”
“Xue Zidan?” Xie Changji looked up. “I’ve never heard you mention him.”
Before she could explain further, a mocking voice rang out outside the carriage.
“So it’s Young Master Hua returning with such a grand entrance.”
It was Xue Xueran, sharp in black dress and boots, weapons at her side. She sneered, then froze when her gaze fell on Xie Changji.
“You brought back a useless guy for beauty’s sake?” she laughed.
Hua Xiangwan pressed Xie Changji down, whispering:
“Alright, enough talk, let him through.”
…
But the true confrontation awaited at Hehuan Palace.
Five thousand cultivators of Qing Le Palace stood in formation, led by Wen Shaoqing himself. Purple-robed, crowned, a red mole at his eye, he strode forward, handsome and dangerous.
“Ah Wan,” he called, ignoring Ling Bei, “You’ve brought a new lover back again?”
Hua Xiangwan stepped out, frowning:
“What are you doing here? Weren’t we already annulled?!”
“Ah Wan,” Wen Shaoqing’s voice trembled, “This wasn’t my intention. I was imprisoned by my mother. I only just escaped. Qin Yunyi and I weren’t married…”
“That’s still annulled.”
She cut him off. “I’ve already married at the Heavenly Sword Sect. Step aside.”
Wen Shaoqing’s face twisted. “Married? Good. Very good.”
With a flick of his wrist, a guqin appeared. He plucked sharply, sending a sound wave like a blade toward the carriage.
“Then he’s dead, and you’ll be mine again.”
The wave tore through the curtain—only to meet a storm of peach blossoms. Petals sliced the sound apart, turning into swords that struck back.
Strings snapped, blood spilled. Wen Shaoqing staggered, coughing, until Xie Changji stood over him, peach branch at his throat.
Calm, crimson-robed, jade crown gleaming, Xie Changji glanced at him indifferently, then turned to Hua Xiangwan.
He asked casually:
“Can I kill him?”
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