Shen Mo had been confined in Heavenly Sword Peak for the past two days.
He felt completely drained.
His dantian was hollow, his Sea of Consciousness stinging.
During the day, he treated the Cloud-Soaring Crane in the Spirit Beast Garden.
The spirit crane’s injuries kept recurring for some unknown reason.
It was clearly most of the way healed, but after a single night, it would wilt again.
Qin Shuying said it might be too severely hurt, its foundation damaged, requiring daily warmth from spiritual power.
Shen Mo didn’t think much of it.
Each day he went, using his spiritual power to comb through the spirit crane’s meridians for two to three hours.
His spiritual power was already scarce, and every time he came out, he was dizzy and lightheaded, his legs so weak it felt like stepping on cotton.
But what he didn’t know was—
After he left, a figure would always slip into the Spirit Beast Garden.
The figure would stand beside the spirit crane for a moment, then reach out and inject a trace of Sword Qi, so faint it had no killing power and only a single use— to fake the injuries.
Qin Shuying stood before the spirit crane, teaching it how to act sick and feeble.
Watching it perform, she showed a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.
“Act well and you’ll get treats.”
Day after day.
Shen Mo was completely unaware.
He only knew that every time he left the Spirit Beast Garden, he was so tired he wanted to collapse on the ground.
But he had no chance to lie down.
Because nighttime belonged to Qin Shuying.
She still remembered the enmity from those ten days.
She was always provoked by the positions Chao’er had used, her movements even rougher.
……
Shen Mo lay stiffly on Qin Shuying’s wide, cold, jade bed covered in snow-white silk.
Under the quilt, his body was completely naked, yet he felt no warmth at all—only bone-piercing cold.
From the jade beneath him, from the body beside him radiating an aura of ice and snow, it seeped into his marrow, freezing his blood and his attempts to struggle.
It was over.
No matter if it was forced or half-persuaded, the fact could not be changed.
After her satisfaction, Qin Shuying would sit cross-legged beside him, completely defenseless.
His cultivation was low; he still had the need for mortal sleep.
But he couldn’t sleep.
Logically, he was exhausted.
His body was already thoroughly drained, a shell only trembling with slight physiological shudders.
His meridians ached dully from the daytime output of spiritual power, and his skin was covered with overlapping marks, both old and new, burning with shame in the darkness.
But none of these physical discomforts compared to the endless mental torment gnawing at his heart day and night—
Betrayal.
This word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing his soul with a hiss and sending out plumes of smoke.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw another face.
Su Wan’er.
He had once thought that seven years of being strangers had worn away their meager affection.
He had thought he only felt wifely and husbandly responsibility toward her.
But every time he recalled her face, his guilt overwhelmed him.
Her expression was not the anger or disappointment she might have after seclusion.
It was the gentle, slightly apologetic look she had before entering seclusion.
She held his hand, her palm calloused from years of sword practice, her tone clumsy but sincere: “Mo’er, once I come out of seclusion this time and improve my cultivation, I’ll be able to protect you better. I’m sorry for burdening you with peak affairs. I… I’ll be back soon.”
Soon.
But what awaited her return?
Yun He’s assault.
Chao’er’s twisted obsession and demonization.
Qin Shuying’s cold and tyrannical possession.
And he, who had vowed to manage everything for her and safeguard Jiaoyue Peak as a virtuous husband, was lying in another woman’s bed while she was in seclusion, breaking through for their future.
When the night was deep and still, and his body was forced to bear other women besides his wife, the identity of “Su Wan’er’s husband” became like a starving wolf, madly tearing at his conscience.
Every time he was about to reach the point of no return, Shen Mo forcibly peeled his soul out of his shell.
He floated in midair, coldly watching the skin named “Shen Mo” below.
Watching it whimper as it was freely manipulated.
Before his eyes, uncontrollably, the scene of his wedding day appeared.
Everywhere the color red, blinding “double happiness” characters, the clamor of voices.
He wore elaborate wedding clothes, a heavy phoenix crown (the attire of a man marrying in a female-dominated world), and walked step by step toward the beautiful woman in luxurious bridal robes, her face cold and peerless, supported by the matchmaker.
Su Wan’er’s eyes were calm, perhaps with a hint of appraisal for her new Dao companion.
But at least, they were solemn.
She took his hand in public, her fingertips cool, her voice clear for everyone to hear: “From today, Shen Mo is the Lord of Jiaoyue Peak and my Dao companion. I ask all fellow disciples to take care of him.”
The words “Dao companion” were his only, final identity anchor and ethical barrier in this cold cultivation world.
Even if she later entered seclusion and their marriage grew thin, this title, this ethical chain, always bound him, reminding him that he was a married man.
He must uphold husbandly virtue, chastity, and manage the household.
But now?
The nominal chain had been forcibly broken, and the chain in his own heart was loosening.
If this continued, wouldn’t he truly become a wanton husband?
Could he face Su Wan’er?
He had trampled on that marriage contract and defiled the word “Dao companion” in the most unbearable way under another woman.
He couldn’t even completely absolve himself with the word “forced,” because sometimes his body’s reactions were beyond control.
In the gaps between humiliation, in the numbness of a soul crushed and forcibly reassembled, there would occasionally flicker a physiological tremor he himself detested.
“Wan’er… I’m sorry…”
Shen Mo screamed silently from the deepest part of his heart.
’I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I can’t help it… I really can’t help it…’
A delicate jade hand touched his back.
Qin Shuying always seemed able to keenly catch his most painful moments.
She pinched his chin and forced him to look at her.
“Thinking about her again?”
Shen Mo couldn’t answer. He could only close his eyes.
“Thinking about how you’ve wronged her? Thinking about how you’re an unfaithful husband?”
Qin Shuying’s tone was almost cruelly calm, with a hint of bitterness.
“Too bad. Too late.” Her lips were against his ear, her breath hot. “Your body has long remembered me. Earlier than her, and more deeply.”
“Here, here, and here…”
Her fingertips traced lightly or heavily.
“My name is carved everywhere. You can’t escape, Shen Mo.”
“Su Wan’er is just a title, an expired contract.”
“Now and forever, the one who owns you and uses you… is me, Qin Shuying.”
“I want to go back to Jiaoyue Peak,” he said.
Qin Shuying didn’t speak.
Shen Mo pressed on, swallowing his pride: “There’s a lot of work at the peak. The treasury accounts aren’t reconciled yet, and the Spirit Beast Garden…”
“It’s arranged.”
Shen Mo blinked.
“What?”
“Jiaoyue Peak’s affairs.” Qin Shuying’s tone was as flat as if she were commenting on the weather.
“I sent someone to handle it. The treasury accounts are being checked. The Spirit Beast Garden is being managed. You don’t need to worry.”
Shen Mo opened his mouth.
“But…”
Qin Shuying cut him off, her gaze fixed on his face. “If Su Wan’er comes out of seclusion and can’t find you, it’ll be trouble.”
Shen Mo nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of…”
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