“I think she’s quite nice.”
Jiang Huai’s voice was calm and resolute, without a trace of hesitation or reluctance.
He reached out, gently drawing Chi Lian—who had been hiding behind him, a bit at a loss—to his side.
This action was natural yet protective, making it clear that Chi Lian was not his fallback option, but someone he had actively chosen.
Chi Lian stumbled forward, her once anxious heart gradually settling down.
Gathering her courage, she sneaked a glance at the formidable main wife across from her, Qin Qingyue.
She truly wasn’t very old, having only recently taken human form.
Her temperament was more innocent, like a newly blossomed flower bud, utterly unlike Chihuang’s explosively stunning, aggressive beauty.
“Why does it feel like she’s just a little dragon who hasn’t grown up yet?” Qin Qingyue sized up Chi Lian, mumbling softly, her tone scrutinizing but not especially hostile.
For her, the main goal of this trip was to help Jiang Huai break through to the Golden Core Stage, and that had already been accomplished.
Winning over the Holy Maiden of the Crimson Dragon or the clan leader would be icing on the cake, but even if she couldn’t, her core objective was complete, so she didn’t really mind anymore.
Anyway, Jiang Huai had already reached the Golden Core Stage.
“Fine then.” Qin Qingyue waved her hand, signaling her acceptance of the outcome.
As if recalling something, she nudged Jiang Huai with her elbow and pointed her chin toward another direction.
“Do you want to go talk to her?”
She was referring to Wu Zhaohua, who was standing alone off to the side.
At this moment, three groups had vaguely formed within the scene:
Chi Hong, Chihuang, and the Little Ancestor of the Red Dragon huddled together, exchanging quick, hushed information about the Secret Realm, their Ancestor, and the present state of the Dragon Race.
Qin Qingyue, Jiang Huai, Chi Lian, Su Yingman, and Tang Zhaoxue naturally stood together, representing the faction of the Nine Heavens Palace.
Wu Zhaohua, meanwhile, stood like an aloof ice sculpture, quietly occupying a patch of open ground.
Around her, an invisible barrier of sword intent seemed to shut out all clamor and warmth.
Her white robe outshone the snow, her black hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her exquisite face betrayed no emotion.
Only those clear, cold eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, silently falling upon Jiang Huai.
Why had she come?
Jiang Huai looked at that solitary figure, emotions churning within him.
Memories of past grievances and entanglements, of the careful care in that humble mortal courtyard, of the way she had looked to him in reliance when gravely wounded—all those scenes surged through his mind.
Gradually, the cold, aloof, awe-inspiring Sword Immortal Sect Master before him and the sickly, pale, but faintly frowning ordinary girl from his memories began to overlap.
A complex feeling surged in his chest—a blend of guilt and an indescribable lingering attachment.
“Did you ask her to come?” Jiang Huai tilted his head slightly and asked Qin Qingyue.
Qin Qingyue immediately huffed, like a dragon whose tail had been stepped on, ready to explain herself.
But the always silent and snow-like Wu Zhaohua suddenly spoke.
Her voice remained as cool and clear as jade striking stone, audible to every person present—yet this time, it was
Utterly different from usual, blunt and unreserved:
“I came because I was worried about you.”
Her words carried no preamble, cutting straight through all noise and barriers.
Next, under everyone’s gaze—especially Qin Qingyue’s astonished stare—she continued,
“I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I was afraid I’d never see you again, so I came.”
With those two sentences, she then nonchalantly turned her gaze away, as if nothing had happened.
The entire atmosphere fell into an odd silence.
Chihuang stopped her conversation, staring in astonishment at Wu Zhaohua.
What? It was one thing if this shameless man was entangled with Qin Qingyue, but now he had a connection with the Wenxuan Sect Master too?
Chihuang felt her worldview had been thoroughly shaken.
As a sword cultivator herself, she knew all too well the weight the name Wu Zhaohua carried among sword cultivators in the Central State.
Though Chihuang considered her own talent outstanding, she doubted she’d ever reach Wu Zhaohua’s level.
Yet now, Wu Zhaohua cared about Jiang Huai just as much as Qin Qingyue?
Why? For what reason?
Su Yingman and Tang Zhaoxue exchanged a glance.
Even the Little Ancestor of the Red Dragon curiously raised her dragon head.
‘Does the Yin-Yang Body plan to take a concubine? When will they produce little Yin-Yang children?’
As for Qin Qingyue, she was completely stunned.
She jerked her head around, her beautiful eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at Wu Zhaohua. Her face practically screamed: “Who are you? Where did you hide the real cold and stiff Wu Zhaohua?”
Based on what she knew, even if Wu Zhaohua was worried to death, she’d only ever say something like “a matter of coincidence” or “for the sake of ties between our two sects.”
Jiang Huai was also rooted to the spot, gazing at Wu Zhaohua’s forcibly composed but faintly fragile profile.
He took a deep breath, meeting her deliberately calm yet expectant gaze, and sincerely said,
“Sect Master Wu, thank you for your concern.”
His tone was full of genuine gratitude, but also intentionally maintained the ceremonious distance befitting the occasion.
“Once matters here are settled, and after arrangements are made at the Nine Heavens Palace, I’ll be sure to personally visit the Wenxuan Sect to express my thanks. As for the new book you mentioned before, I should have time soon to…”
But Wu Zhaohua didn’t give him the chance to finish, nor let him steer the conversation to lighter matters.
She spoke again, her voice still icy-clear:
“Why wait for another day?”
She stepped half a pace forward, the invisible sword intent barrier moving with her.
“Why can’t you come with me to see Wenxuan Sect today?”
Before Jiang Huai could answer, as if afraid he would refuse again—or perhaps because pent-up feelings had found an outlet—her next words flowed out like a cold, clear brook. Each struck Jiang Huai’s heart, and echoed in Qin Qingyue’s ears:
“I don’t mean anything else.”
Despite her words, her eyes never left Jiang Huai.
“I just missed you.” “Jiang Huai, I missed you very much.”
Then her tone shifted:
“Also, Wenxuan Sect and Nine Heavens Palace are both major sects of Central State. Doesn’t Palace Master Qin also wish for Nine Heavens Palace to join the Alliance of the Middle Continent?”
Her gaze swept over Qin Qingyue, whose expression had already darkened, her tone smooth as water:
“Even just for the friendship between our sects, and for Nine Heavens Palace’s better foothold and future development in Central State.” Turning back to Jiang Huai, she delivered a formal and irresistible invitation:
“I, as Sect Master of Wenxuan Sect, invite you, Saint Son of Nine Heavens Palace, Jiang Huai, to visit Wenxuan Sect as a guest and observer. What do you think?”
On the last sentence, she tilted her head slightly, and on her usually icy face, the corner of her mouth lifted ever so faintly, revealing a smile light as first snow—yet enough to dazzle the world.
Wu Zhaohua seemed to recall something precious, brushing her hand softly past her temple as if tucking away a stray lock that wasn’t there.
Her voice softened noticeably, tinted by nostalgia:
“And also, those flowers I said I wanted to plant in the courtyard before… I want to take you back to see them. The flowers have bloomed, Jiang Huai.”