The Immortal Sword sliced through the sea of clouds, gliding steadily toward the heart of Central State.
Jiang Huai sat upright atop the now-enlarged Immortal Sword, courtesy of Wu Zhaohua.
The broad blade provided ample stability, yet he instinctively drew his legs in, hardly daring to peer down at the vast land rushing by beneath them.
Back when he’d flown on Qin Qingyue’s massive Dragon back, he’d never felt this sort of unease.
The cool touch of Dragon scales, the absolute steadiness of that broad back—all of it had given him an indescribable sense of peace.
But now, though his feet rested on a radiant, shimmering Immortal Sword, there was always a floating, unreal feeling—like drifting through the void.
Wu Zhaohua sat across from him, separated by a small, elegant jade table.
She said nothing, only watched him quietly.
Within those noble, phoenix eyes, beneath a layer of unspoken gentleness, there lurked an elusive scrutiny.
Her gaze seemed to pierce his clothes, lingering again and again at his lower abdomen.
Jiang Huai shifted slightly, tugging at the whip marks on his arms and legs, and a sharp, stinging pain pricked at him.
“Does it still hurt?” Wu Zhaohua immediately leaned forward, her voice openly filled with distress.
Her slender, pale fingers reached out, as if to touch his wounds again, but stopped halfway.
“It’s fine.” Jiang Huai shook his head, pulling down his sleeve in an attempt to cover the glaring marks.
Jiang Huai was unaccustomed to this look in Wu Zhaohua’s eyes, as if he were a porcelain doll.
What made him even more uneasy was her current, overly cautious attitude.
The Wu Zhaohua he remembered from their days in the shabby Little Courtyard would order him to move heavy things, complain about bitter medicine, and bicker with him—she was nothing like this.
“Those wounds…”
Wu Zhaohua saw him avoid her touch, and her heart ached. Her voice dropped, tinged with self-blame:
“It’s my fault.”
“If not for the trouble I brought you, you wouldn’t have suffered so much.”
“And now, you’re suffering again because of me.”
“I told you, this isn’t torture.” Jiang Huai couldn’t help but stress it again.
He wasn’t a pampered noble; Wu Zhaohua should know that best.
Back in the small town, whether it was chores or work at the tavern, he’d handled everything well and never feared hardship.
Those years, it was his not-so-strong shoulders that supported their little, storm-tossed home.
He lifted his head, meeting Wu Zhaohua’s eyes, which brimmed with sorrow: “Qin Qingyue wants to help me become stronger.”
“These wounds—I chose to bear them myself.”
“And also…”
He paused, his hand unconsciously moving to his lower abdomen.
Even through his clothes, he could feel the faint, strange warmth left by the winding Dragon pattern:
“She gave me a lot of good things, too.”
They truly were good things. Every time he bathed, those top-grade Immortal Materials were tossed in as if they were free.
This instinctive gesture, and the way he spoke up for Qin Qingyue, were like a spark to Wu Zhaohua’s tightly suppressed emotions.
“You… How can you speak for her!”
“Good things?” Wu Zhaohua’s voice suddenly rose, trembling with agitation.
Her fingertips nearly touched Jiang Huai’s skin. Her tone was harsh, almost scolding, yet filled with a pain akin to betrayal.
The precious, lost-and-found white moonlight had not only lost his vital energy, but now his body also bore the exclusive mark of that wicked Dragon.
She felt betrayed; Jiang Huai shouldn’t think well of Qin Qingyue. He should be united with her in hatred, resenting Qin Qingyue together.
Yet Wu Zhaohua knew this was just her wishful thinking, because she and Jiang Huai had never truly confirmed their relationship.
Damn you, Qin Qingyue! Damn it!
She wanted Qin Qingyue not to mistreat Jiang Huai, to be kinder to him, so he wouldn’t suffer.
But not so kind that Jiang Huai’s heart would lean toward that wicked Dragon!
Jealousy surged.
“Speaking of which, my physique is rather special too.” Jiang Huai said.
“What’s special about it?” Wu Zhaohua fixed her gaze on him, concern evident.
When focused, those phoenix eyes sparkled even more, the corners lifting slightly with a natural allure.
But it was those stunningly beautiful eyes that made Jiang Huai suddenly stop short.
He trusted Wu Zhaohua—a deep trust.
That trust had taken root in the old Little Courtyard, with the woman who lay sick in bed, ordinary but resilient, who had relied on him as he relied on her.
But the woman before him now was dazzling, almost unfamiliar.
With his Yin-Yang Body, able to alter his constitution, once revealed, he’d be coveted and possessed by many female cultivators.
He would become the “Lu Ding” so many female cultivators dreamed of.
Unless he truly trusted someone, unless it was absolutely necessary, he could not reveal his physique.
By all rights, Wu Zhaohua should be trustworthy.
Wu Zhaohua keenly caught the hesitation and fleeting distance in Jiang Huai’s eyes.
Her heart sank. She waved her slender hand, a trace of unspeakable disappointment in her low voice:
“Fine, you… you still don’t think I’m Wu Zhaohua.”
“Let’s go home. It’ll be better at home.”
Wu Zhaohua took Jiang Huai to the Central Continent Dragon Palace first, picked up her direct disciple Xiao Yue, and then returned together to Wenxuan Sect.
Along the way, Xiao Yue kept sizing up this young Grandmaster, secretly puzzled.
He’s so young, even younger than me—how can he be Grandmaster?
And he’s only at the Qi Refining stage; am I supposed to protect him?
All the way, she simply suppressed her discomfort, gave Jiang Huai a flawless junior’s salute as per sect rules, and then fell into a silent, icy reserve.
Back at Wenxuan Sect, Wu Zhaohua didn’t rest for a moment.
With a wave of her slender hand, flag after flag filled with surging spiritual power shot out, landing precisely at the sect’s key points.
This was a top-tier Grand Array, one only a cultivator at the Great Ascension stage could set up, meant to guard against the Black Dragon that could go berserk at any moment.
After hurriedly instructing the sect Elders, Wu Zhaohua took Jiang Huai, turned into a streak of flowing light, and sped straight to her solitary residence on Ling Mountain Main Peak.
The mountaintop was shrouded in clouds, spiritual energy so dense it almost turned to liquid.
A refined, elegant Main Residence stood there, exuding immortal charm.
Yet, right beside this Main Residence, a sight utterly out of place with the immortal paradise caught Jiang Huai’s eye.
A shabby Little Courtyard.
“You may feel distant from me, but you can’t possibly feel distant from here, can you?” Wu Zhaohua’s voice carried a subtle, almost imperceptible hope and anxiety.
The courtyard walls were mottled, the wooden gate old, and even the eaves were clearly damaged in spots.
It was like a jarring scar, carefully transplanted into this immortal sanctuary.
Jiang Huai’s eyes widened in shock, his heart slammed by something fierce.
This was the home he and Wu Zhaohua had shared in the mortal town, now moved intact to the summit of this towering spiritual mountain.
A warm, bittersweet tide surged through his chest, impossible to put into words.
“We’re home,” he murmured, stepping forward to push open the door.
Everything inside was as it had been, just like when he left.
The only change was a small vegetable patch, now filled with flowers of every color.
Blossoms clustered, competing to bloom, dazzling and beautiful.
A rich fragrance filled the Little Courtyard, making the place pulse with life and beauty.
“Jiang Huai, I once said I’d never let you suffer again, never let you be wronged.”
“Turn around and look at me, look at me.”
Wu Zhaohua’s voice rang out, and Jiang Huai turned.
She wore a half-old but clean cotton dress, her figure full, her face bearing traces of life’s hardships, her features plain, but her eyes were gentle and bright.
She no longer looked pale and sickly, but instead radiated a healthy flush, her lips curved in a warm, familiar smile.
In that smile, there was reliance, contentment, and a hint of pride.
This was the Wu Zhaohua from the Little Courtyard, deep in Jiang Huai’s memory.
“I promised…”
Wu Zhaohua looked at him, her voice gentle and firm:
“I’ll never let you suffer again, never let you be wronged.”
“I will always be Wu Zhaohua. I have never changed.”
The golden glow of sunset spilled over her, casting a soft halo over her ordinary face.
She stood there, as if bridging the gap between the mortal and immortal realms, connecting the years gone by with this reunion.
Jiang Huai stared at her, at everything both familiar and strange, at that dazzling field of flowers blooming in their shabby Little Courtyard.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
It really felt like home had returned.
Yet in the depths of his heart, the faint, warm mark left by the Black Dragon throbbed quietly and stubbornly.
He felt a strange heat at his lower abdomen.