After praying devoutly to the immortals and deities, Ye Ping’an felt that his devotion wouldn’t be complete without lighting some incense.
He made a firm decision: once he returned, he would burn incense for three days straight—just to beg that elusive god of fate, if such a being even existed, to bless him with one simple wish for this lifetime—
Never to cross paths with the protagonist.
With that solemn vow made, Ye Ping’an didn’t linger in the forest. He quickly made his way back to the spot where he had left the firewood.
The sky was already turning dark. If he didn’t return soon, Ning Yue and little Mengyao would surely start worrying if they noticed he was missing.
As he walked, Ye Ping’an couldn’t shake the anxious thoughts swirling in his head.
Fortunately, the firewood was still there—just some dry branches. No wild beast had thought to make off with it for fun.
He hoisted the bundle onto his thin shoulders and began making his way toward the cave.
Granted, starting a fire outside would’ve been more spacious and comfortable, but this was the forest.
If something dangerous appeared while they were out in the open, the consequences would far outweigh the convenience.
Not to mention, the smoke and scent of food could easily draw in monsters—or worse, people. Better to make do inside the cave, however cramped.
And so, Ye Ping’an returned with the firewood.
Maybe he was still too distracted by what had happened earlier with the protagonist, because he didn’t even notice Ning Yue had arrived.
She was already at the cave entrance by the time he sensed her presence.
What finally tipped him off was a soft, warm sensation—her hand brushing his arm.
When Ye Ping’an caught sight of her concerned face, his heart couldn’t help but soften a little.
She was only thirteen, still just a young girl. But that touch… it was unexpectedly comforting. The kind that made him want to stay just a little longer.
He soothed her gently with a few words, not expecting her next question to nearly send cold sweat running down his back.
“By the way, Young Master… why do you smell kind of… fragrant?”
Gone was the gentle concern in Ning Yue’s expression. In its place was the look of a wife interrogating her husband who’d just returned from carousing, reeking of some other woman’s perfume.
Of course, Ye Ping’an could just come clean and say he’d encountered a rather pretty… boy… out in the woods.
But who would believe that?
And more importantly, Ye Ping’an didn’t want to involve the protagonist in any way. The fewer people who knew, the better.
If word got out and the protagonist ever came looking for him—well, he didn’t even want to imagine the consequences. After what he’d accidentally done… let’s just say “offending” didn’t begin to cover it.
Worse yet—what if Ning Yue grew curious?
Or even interested?
After spending years together, Ye Ping’an had come to like Ning Yue quite a bit.
Unlike little Mengyao—who, no matter how much affection he felt for her, was destined to end up with the protagonist—Ning Yue wasn’t part of the story.
She was a nobody, like him. Ordinary looks. Ordinary life. Never once would she catch the eye of a protagonist.
She was also thoughtful, always looking out for him. In Ye Ping’an’s heart, he had already entertained a humble dream: that maybe, just maybe, they could become cultivation partners someday.
Spend the rest of their lives peacefully together—true to his name, “Ping’an.”
As for harems?
Beautiful girls falling at his feet?
He wouldn’t dare dream. That was the protagonist’s territory, not his. He was just a side character—maybe even cannon fodder.
If Ning Yue ever met the protagonist, though… with that magnetic charm of his, she’d probably fall for him instantly. Ye Ping’an didn’t even want to think about that outcome.
So, he swallowed nervously and answered with all the caution of a man walking a tightrope:
“Ah… probably just brushed against some flowers along the way. The trees around here are super dense, and it took quite a bit of effort to gather this firewood, you know.”
“Flowers?” Ning Yue narrowed her eyes slightly.
“But why does it smell more like… perfume? The kind you’d find on a girl?”
Her tone wasn’t accusing anymore—it was full-on interrogative.
Ye Ping’an realized the moment had come. Time to act.
He blinked in confusion, scratched his head, and did his best to look utterly clueless.
“Ning Yue,” he said, sounding half-exasperated, “does this place look like it has other people? Have you seen anyone around? Let alone a girl?”
“…Good point,” Ning Yue muttered, scratching her head too. She glanced at the surroundings. No signs of civilization at all. Could it really have been flowers?
But the more she thought about it, the more she felt the scent was too human—more like someone’s natural body fragrance than anything floral.
Suddenly, she thought of another possibility.
“Wait… could it be a shapeshifting fox demon?”
Ye Ping’an didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He gave her a look like she’d just said the stupidest thing on earth.
“Ning Yue,” he said slowly, “do I look like the kind of guy who could walk away alive from an encounter with a fox demon?”
She instantly recalled just how weak her Young Master’s cultivation currently was. Even the weakest demon in human form could crush him like an ant.
Even if the demon had… motives, he wouldn’t have made it out.
Her cheeks flushed red.
“S-sorry! Then I’ll go start dinner!”
With that, Ning Yue didn’t press the issue. She brought over the food and firewood, then crouched down to start the fire.
As she worked, she tried to brush off the lingering doubt.
Maybe I’m just overthinking things. Don’t worry, Ning Yue. Be more confident. Even if a couple of pretty fox spirits show up, love is something that takes time to build.
Watching her bustle about, Ye Ping’an finally exhaled in relief. That was close.
He quickly fixed his expression, not wanting her to notice anything off, then moved to help her with the preparations.
Cooking in the wild was nothing like doing it at home. Everything had to be scavenged locally—from ingredients to tools.
They’d only brought the most basic supplies with them, like some seasonings.
The food may have been humble, but the aroma that rose from the pot made Ye Ping’an’s stomach growl almost instantly.
Thanks to Ning Yue’s increasingly impressive culinary skills, both Ye Ping’an and little Mengyao rarely ate anyone else’s cooking anymore.
Even Ye Lingtian and Shen Mengting—both of whom had already reached the point of being able to live without food—still showed up at their son’s place from time to time to mooch a meal.
That was how good Ning Yue had become after years of practice.
“Oh, right—has Mengyao woken up yet?” Ye Ping’an asked, unable to hold back his hunger any longer.
Ning Yue shook her head.
“Still cultivating. Let’s eat first.”
She’d already checked on Mengyao earlier. In the world of cultivation, the worst thing you could do was interrupt someone mid-meditation.
That’s why practitioners always sought out quiet, secluded places for deep training.
The same went for little Mengyao. Waking her up prematurely could lead to dangerous backlash. For safety’s sake, the two of them didn’t disturb her and simply began their meal.