Wu Zhaohua’s departing figure was resolute and upright, like a lone, cold sword drawn straight.
In the blink of an eye, she was gone.
“Wait!” Jiang Huai stepped forward, his voice tinged with urgency.
“The favor I owe you, Nine Heavens Palace…” His words were abruptly cut off.
Wu Zhaohua did not even look back.
She simply raised her hand, a sharp sword intent slicing through his sentence, as if severing all remaining ties.
Her voice, cold and distant, traveled across the gap between them, falling clearly upon every ear:
“No need. What use have I for those things?”
She paused, her body still, turning her head ever so slightly, her gaze brushing over Jiang Huai but never truly seeing him again.
She left only one final sentence: “Jiang Huai, from now on, there is no need for you and me to keep in contact.”
Before the words had fully faded, sword light flashed—her figure transformed into a streak of radiance, vanishing among the clouds.
Clean and decisive, with not a trace of nostalgia.
Just like last time, she drew the line between them without hesitation.
Jiang Huai stood dazed in place, staring at the spot where she disappeared.
A strange feeling welled up in his heart.
This familiar scene made him feel as if he had returned to those years in the mortal world.
Back then, he was still an ordinary man, caring for Wu Zhaohua—who was bedridden year-round and whose temper had always been as cold and unyielding as it was now.
She had always been like this, hurling harsh words at the slightest provocation.
“I told you I don’t need to drink that medicine! You don’t have to bring it again!”
But whenever he hesitated at the door, she would deliberately make noise to draw him in, and in the end, she would frown and finish the medicine anyway.
“My broken body will only drag you down. Just go—leave me here to fend for myself!”
Yet whenever he was outside chopping wood for too long, muffled coughing would inevitably sound from within, as if she feared he really would leave and never come back.
Her words were always ruthless, but aside from that, what action of hers was ever truly cruel?
Last time they parted, Wu Zhaohua had still left him the Yu Sword.
Last time he was in danger, she still followed Qin Qingyue to save him.
Now, she seemed no different—saying the harshest words, then leaving alone, hiding that rare softness no one else knew about.
The relationship between the two was rather strange. If Wu Zhaohua were ever in danger, he would rescue her without hesitation, just as Wu Zhaohua had done for him.
Even if there was no reward—clearly, Wu Zhaohua didn’t care about such things this time either.
But their relationship also felt particularly awkward, like an unbridgeable gulf standing between them.
They cared deeply, yet acted like strangers.
“It’s alright now.” Qin Qingyue’s voice pulled Jiang Huai from his memories.
For the first time, she seemed a little uneasy at his side, taking his hand with a tone both relieved and moved.
“Now that she’s gone, that’s fine too. She didn’t state any specific conditions before, so we’ll always have a chance to repay her in the future.”
Jiang Huai withdrew his gaze, glancing at her, his tone unreadable:
“You really are generous, Palace Master Qin. About to give me away for a whole month.”
Qin Qingyue’s expression froze, and she retorted, “Do you know what would happen if you really fell into Wu Zhaohua’s hands?”
“A Foundation Establishment Period male cultivator falling into the hands of a Great Ascension Stage female cultivator—there would be endless ways to deal with you, more than you could count.”
A mischievous thought flashed across his mind.
He suddenly leaned in close to Qin Qingyue’s ear, lowering his voice, a hint of ambiguity in his tone:
“Given my history with her, I’m afraid I’d have no ability to resist. Besides…”
His voice dipped even lower:
“I still have her Spirit Sword Pattern right there.”
This mark was like a contract of sorts—if it weren’t for the intervention of Qin Qingyue’s Dragon Qi, it could be triggered under certain circumstances, affecting his mood or even his body.
At his words, Qin Qingyue’s cheeks flushed a brilliant red.
Slightly annoyed, her dragon tail reflexively coiled tightly around Jiang Huai’s waist, pulling him into her arms as she scolded:
“Nonsense! As if I would really send you away! I… I only agreed because I thought you still had lingering feelings for her!”
“And besides, I’m going too. I want to see exactly what she has in mind!” There was a faint trace of guilt in her words—clearly, deep down, she still felt that Jiang Huai held some old affection for Wu Zhaohua.
Jiang Huai shook his head and simply said, “Don’t listen to her. We of the Nine Heavens Palace are not a sect that forgets kindness. What must be given, must still be given.”
At that moment, a crisp and clear dragon’s roar approached from afar. The clouds in the sky rolled, the temperature suddenly dropped, and specks of crystalline snowflakes floated down like shattered jade.
A white dragon, its scales gleaming as if carved from ice, its entire body pure and translucent, broke through the clouds, its bearing elegant and noble.
Behind it followed a magnificent palanquin drawn by several strong and vigorous white dragons—a grand procession indeed.
Qin Qingyue was visibly surprised at the scene.
The White Dragon Clan’s usual manner was to turn up their noses even at Ao Shuang—yet today they were using dragons to pull a palanquin?
None of the Five Great Dragon Clans would easily accept such treatment.
This was an unspoken rule among the Five Great Clans: if the Black Dragon Clan declined and someone tried to use them to pull a palanquin, the other Four Great Dragon Clans would step in to stop it.
This concerned the dignity of the dragon race.
But right now, White Dew seemed to have chosen to let her own clan members pull the palanquin.
The white dragon landed, transforming into White Dew’s cold and ethereal figure—her slender, elegant silhouette.
Her gaze swept across the scene, finally settling on Qin Qingyue and Jiang Huai, her cold voice ringing out:
“Congratulations to Palace Master Qin on founding your sect. I came specially to offer my best wishes. Just now, I thought I saw the figure of Palace Master Wu?”
She had thought that this time, perhaps she would not be able to take Jiang Huai with her—but surprisingly, Wu Zhaohua had not taken him away.
Qin Qingyue’s face stiffened instantly. Seeing this display, her heart skipped a beat.
One powerful opponent had just left—now another one was here to claim someone.
She instinctively looked at Jiang Huai, only to find him giving her a sidelong glance, his gaze meaningful, as if to say:
“See, here’s another one. Palace Master, what do you plan to do now?”
The atmosphere, which had just started to ease, grew subtle again.
A bright smile blossomed on Qin Qingyue’s face—she seemed not at all like the person who had just been at swords’ points with Wu Zhaohua.
Enthusiastically, she went to greet White Dew:
“Clan Leader White herself has come—what an honor!”
Before the words had fully left her lips, she deftly pulled Jiang Huai to her side, turning her back to White Dew.
In an instant, her voice lowered, becoming both coaxing and scheming:
“This one you have to go.”
Jiang Huai raised an eyebrow, his eyes clearly saying, “Here we go again?”
Qin Qingyue hurried to explain, her speech picking up speed:
“Come on, the White Dragon Clan is different.”
“They possess the Extreme Cold Origin, the counterpart to the Extreme Flame of the Red Dragon Clan. Your Yin-Yang Body is stuck at the bottleneck before breaking through to Golden Core, isn’t it?”
Seeing his expression soften, she added seriously:
“Besides, the White Dragon Clan has a long and mysterious heritage. Their understanding of special physiques far surpasses that of other forces.”
“Especially for Yin-Yang Bodies—you can tell they know quite a lot.”
Jiang Huai was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons.
Compared to the complicated emotions tangled up with Wu Zhaohua, the matters with White Dew were clearly more about cultivation and business.
At last, he nodded slowly. “Alright.”
Seeing his agreement, Qin Qingyue immediately turned back around. Facing White Dew, she was once again that forthright, direct person:
“Clan Leader White, may I ask how long you will need Jiang Huai for?”
With the spectacle of six dragons drawing the palanquin, there was no need to ask why she had come.
White Dew’s expression remained cold and concise:
“It depends.”
These three words were ambiguous, but Qin Qingyue did not seem surprised:
“That works, but I have a condition—I must accompany him.”
She was certainly not about to “lend” Jiang Huai out alone, especially to someone of unfathomable strength.
And she could also learn the location of the White Dragon Clan.
White Dew’s ice-blue eyes flickered slightly, as if weighing the proposal.
But after a brief pause, she nodded gently. “Fine.”
With the agreement reached, White Dew stepped aside, her white skirts swirling, making an elegant gesture of invitation towards the magnificent palanquin drawn by the white dragons:
“Young Master Jiang, please.”
Jiang Huai glanced at Qin Qingyue, saw her nod at him, and no longer hesitated—he strode towards the palanquin.
Qin Qingyue, of course, followed closely behind, boarding the palanquin together with him.