What’s wrong with Wu Zhaohua? Why is she crouching there like that?
Jiang Huai’s heart tightened. He gripped his robe tightly and strode briskly toward the solitary figure.
“Wu Zhaohua.”
As he drew closer, the night wind carried his voice, making it sound a little faint:
“What are you doing here?”
Wu Zhaohua closed her eyes, stubbornly turning her head away, letting out only a muffled hum through her nose.
A man who breaks the code of a husband.
“What’s wrong?” Jiang Huai crouched beside her, his fingertips warm with a tentative touch as he gently poked her spine.
“Don’t bother me.”
A sulky voice came from within his arms, laced with childish grievance.
She herself sensed something was off.
Before Jiang Huai appeared, her chest churned with all sorts of resentments: resenting Qin Qingyue’s overbearing kidnapping, resenting Jiang Huai’s dependence on that vicious Dragon, resenting this damn Yin Yang Constitution, even feeling a strange bitterness toward his past helpless experiences.
But when Jiang Huai approached with the chill of the night dew, and his crisp voice rang in her ear, it was as if an invisible hand had instantly smoothed away all the restless creases.
Those grudges strangely sank deep, leaving only gentle ripples on the surface of her heart’s lake.
“Go back and sleep. It’s cold.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Jiang Huai felt a bit embarrassed at his foolishness.
A grand Da Zongzhu-level cultivator, impervious to cold and heat—why fear the night wind on a mountaintop?
“You don’t need to care!” Wu Zhaohua buried her face even deeper, voice muffled like a buried jar.
“Just let me freeze to death here then!”
Jiang Huai stared at the figure before him, radiating a strong aura of grievance, feeling at a loss for a moment.
Logic told him it wouldn’t matter to leave her here—after all, she was Da Zongzhu-level, unfazed by cold or heat.
But deep down, that whiny, nasal voice was like a tiny hook, pulling at his unwilling feet, making it impossible to walk away.
Unable to see her face, Jiang Huai felt the person before him was the Wu Zhaohua of old.
Listening to the sulking, complaining tone made her seem even more like her.
“Go back and sleep.”
He sighed helplessly, reached out with a hint of affectionate reprimand, and tugged lightly on her slightly cold earlobe.
The instant his fingertips touched her earlobe, the corner of Wu Zhaohua’s mouth, buried deep in his arms, quietly curled into a very faint smile.
“I’m not going back. I’m in a bad mood. You go back.”
Jiang Huai looked at her stubborn back and was silent for a moment.
Then he took off his gray cloak, still warm from his body, and gently draped it over her curled-up form.
He then turned and went back to the small courtyard, returning shortly with a thicker cloak. Sitting beside her on the cold mountain rock, he settled down.
“What are you doing?”
Wu Zhaohua tugged at the cloak that was unnecessary for warmth, but her body unconsciously shifted a little closer to Jiang Huai.
“I don’t know.”
Jiang Huai wrapped himself tighter in his cloak, his voice unusually clear in the night wind:
“But I just feel it’s not right to leave you here.”
A faint warmth quietly spread.
Wu Zhaohua’s fingertips moved slightly, and an invisible Lingli Barrier silently formed, gently enclosing the two, shielding them from the biting cold outside.
The night seemed to grow especially tranquil in that moment.
They sat side by side without speaking, as if waiting for something, or perhaps simply savoring a moment of peace.
The warmth inside the barrier deepened, and drowsiness gradually crept in.
Jiang Huai’s head began to tilt little by little until it finally leaned uncontrollably on Wu Zhaohua’s cool yet soft shoulder.
The weight and warmth resting on her shoulder made Wu Zhaohua’s heart tremble.
Those troubles lodged deep in her heart, thorny and tangled—Qin Qingyue, the Yin Yang Constitution, the women Jiang Huai was destined to share a future with even without meeting—strangely softened in this moment, temporarily retreating.
Perhaps when Jiang Huai was not around, those poisonous thorns would flare up again.
But not now.
Wu Zhaohua savored this fleeting happiness, watching the sun slowly rise as its warm light fell on Jiang Huai’s sleeping face.
Her heart had never been this calm before.
A faint glimmer of Spiritual Light pierced the dawn like a meteor, shooting straight toward her.
Wu Zhaohua’s brow twitched slightly, fingers lifting gently as the glimmer landed steadily in her palm.
She scanned it with her divine sense, and a few brief numbers flashed instantly in her mind:
‘Senior Sister, a massive upheaval at the Blazing Sun Sect. Sect Master Zhuxin has been taken by Qin Qingyue.’
Wu Zhaohua was momentarily stunned, then burst with joy.
Heaven favors me as well—now there’s a righteous cause! A legitimate reason to set out!
Under Qin Qingyue’s orders, the Xianzhou did not conceal its movements. Instead, it soared boldly, the prow held high.
Wherever it passed, fierce black winds blew, Dragon Might surging powerfully.
On either side of the ship’s hull, massive Dragon Shadows made of pure Lingli flickered in and out, their majestic vertical pupils sweeping over the land, their overwhelming Dragon Might crushing all below.
Everywhere it went, cultivators and mortals in the cities and villages below were horrified.
Those with weaker cultivation were crushed to the ground by the blazing heavenly might, trembling with broken spirits.
“Mistress, aren’t we being a bit too flashy?”
Inside the Xianzhou’s depths, within the elegant pavilion.
Su Yingman, dressed in exquisite pink robes, moved gracefully, holding a pot in her delicate hands and slowly pouring clear, verdant Spiritual Tea into a smooth Yangzhi Jade Cup resting on the jade table.
The tea’s fragrance drifted softly, refreshing the senses—a strange contrast to the earth-shattering pressure outside.
Opposite her, Qin Qingyue leaned lazily against the soft Cloud Brocade Pillow, her crimson eyes half-closed, her demeanor utterly relaxed.
Her slender fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the jade table, producing crisp, even sounds.
It was as if the titanic waves she stirred below were no more than rain tapping against the window.
“Not flashy enough. It has to be like this.”
Qin Qingyue lifted the jade cup but didn’t drink, watching the emerald leaves float inside.
Then, as if remembering something, she flipped over her other empty palm, revealing a small, milky-white porcelain bottle.
Casually, she dripped several thick drops into the green tea.
The milky white quickly diffused through the liquid.
Qin Qingyue smiled in satisfaction, as if admiring a piece of art.
Then her crimson eyes shifted toward Su Yingman opposite her, tinged with a hint of hesitation:
“Do you want some…?”
Su Yingman’s elegant smile instantly froze, her fingers trembling faintly as she held the pot.
To be honest, she didn’t like this—it tasted bad.
But since it was something the Mistress treasured, refusing outright wouldn’t be right.
Might as well drink it.
Su Yingman hesitated only for a moment, about to speak when Qin Qingyue suddenly stopped.
“Never mind if you don’t want to.”
Relieved silently, Su Yingman forced a helpless smile and shook her head slightly.
In a corner of the pavilion, utterly at odds with this leisurely tea-drinking scene.
Zhuxin was imprisoned there.
Her proud Battle Armor had long since been removed, leaving her clad in a thin, plain white undergarment, making her current state all the more pitiful.
Her expression was blank, eyes hollowly staring into space as if her soul had already left this humiliating body.
What humiliated her most was the restraint binding her.
It was Su Yingman’s own handiwork—a “masterpiece.”
The Hehuan Sect’s secret rope art now used as the Blazing Sun Sect Sect Master’s cruelest humiliation.
The tough, specially made ropes were not crudely tied, but woven with an aggressively beautiful design, digging deeply into her skin.
The ropes cleverly wrapped, pressed, and outlined Zhuxin’s full, proud curves in a breathtaking way, the arcs stretched taut to the breaking point.
Several ropes snaked down her round, slender thighs, finally branching and tightening at the roots.
In an unmistakable way, the ropes clearly traced out the shape of her private parts.
Already thinly dressed, and now bound like this by Su Yingman.
Su Yingman had even planned to spread her thighs apart, suspending her midair.
Qin Qingyue couldn’t bear it and stopped her.
There was a purpose to how Zhuxin was treated—no need to go so far.
Su Yingman smiled serenely, unfazed, agreeing readily.
When she was tied, Zhuxin’s eyes still held defiance, her look disdainful of those humiliating her.
“You look down on me, so I’ll tie you up like this!”
“Yingman, you’ll leave soon,” Qin Qingyue said softly as she sipped her tea.
“I’m entrusting you with a task. Make sure you accomplish it.”