Chapter 65: Concealment

He gently brushed across her eyebrows and eyes.

His gaze was full of heartache.

After killing that person, she had dragged this body of hers over two hours of mountain paths to return to Jiaoyue Peak.

How much did that poison hurt when it flared up?

The feeling of blood flowing backward and meridians surging in reverse was extremely unpleasant.

How strong must a person’s willpower be to endure that torture for so long?

What kind of obsession did she hold to not have completely fallen in the wilderness, not have taken just anyone, or let the Charm Poison burn away her consciousness and cause her blood vessels to reverse and die?

Instead, she held onto her fidelity and came home to give it to him.

After who knows how long, the arm around his waist moved slightly.

Su Wan’er slowly opened her eyes.

In the first instant, her eyes were blank. Then, fragments of the mad, bloody, desire-filled day flooded into her mind like shards, causing her body to stiffen abruptly.

The arm around Shen Mo’s waist tightened instinctively, squeezing a light grunt from him.

The two of them were now almost naked, clinging together in a disheveled state, with soreness from deep in her body and a strange sense of fullness.

“Mo’er…” Her voice was terribly hoarse, carrying the daze of just waking up and a faint, barely noticeable fear.

She buried her face deeper into the hollow of his neck, where his ink-black hair scattered, and took a deep breath.

The scent—clean, with a hint of medicinal fragrance, completely his—strangely relaxed her tense nerves a little.

“Matriarch,” Shen Mo responded softly, trying to keep his voice steady and gentle. “You… do you feel a little better?”

Su Wan’er did not answer immediately. Instead, she held him tighter for a while, drawing on some sense of reality.

Then, she slowly loosened her grip but did not let go. She propped herself up slightly and looked down at him.

Her gaze was deep, very still, like two bottomless cold pools. Now, it clearly reflected his image.

Inside, complex emotions churned—lingering fear, guilt, scrutiny.

“I…” she began, her voice still low and rough. “…scared you.”

It was not just scared.

Shen Mo remembered her charging in like a Shura, holding a head, and his heart still contracted.

But he shook his head, raised his hand, and with his fingertips brushed extremely lightly over her slightly furrowed brow.

His movements carried a careful tenderness that he himself had not noticed.

“No. Matriarch suffered. That scoundrel was despicable.” He paused, his voice even softer. “That you could return… is good.”

Su Wan’er caught his hand as he was about to pull it back and held it in her palm.

Her palm was warm, with thin calluses, a mark from years of holding a sword.

She did not say anything, just held it, her gaze roaming over his face as if she wanted to carve every expression of his into her heart.

Silence flowed in the morning light, carrying the peace of a narrow escape and a new, hard-to-describe intimacy.

“These years,” Su Wan’er suddenly spoke, breaking the silence, her gaze falling on his face but seeming to look past him into the distance. “While I was away, Jiaoyue Peak… you have worked hard.”

Shen Mo’s heart trembled.

He had waited seven years, finally hearing those words. His nose tingled.

He lowered his lashes to hide the sudden moisture in his eyes and said softly, “It is a husband’s duty. Not hard. Only… I may not have managed everything perfectly and failed Matriarch’s trust.”

“No, you did very well.” Su Wan’er’s voice was firm.

She released his hand and instead touched his cheek.

Her fingertips were cool, but the movement carried a cherishing quality.

“After I came out of seclusion, I swept my Divine Sense. Everything in the peak was orderly—diligent disciples, flourishing Spirit Fields, clear ledgers… far better than when I was here. I… have owed you too much.”

Her fingertip stopped at the faint dark circles under his eyes, traces of years of staying up late and mental exhaustion.

Shen Mo’s lashes trembled violently, almost unable to bear the sudden surge of immense bitterness and… grievance.

After seven years, someone finally saw it—saw the fatigue behind the perfect mask.

Even if that someone was only truly seeing him today.

He sniffled, forcibly pulling up a smile, with a hint of embarrassment. “It’s all in the past. Now that Matriarch is out of seclusion, everything will get better.”

“Mm.” Su Wan’er hummed softly, her fingertip gently rubbing the delicate skin of his cheek, her gaze deep.

“Tell me about it. What happened all these years? Everything, down to the smallest detail. I want to know.”

Shen Mo’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Tell?

Tell what?

Tell her about Yun He’s assault, Chao’er’s Demonic Fall, Qin Shuying’s imprisonment, Lin Jingzhe’s life-and-death bond in the Cold Pool?

Tell her about Yun He’s well-meaning arrangements and heart-piercing words?

No. He couldn’t say.

Any one of those things, if brought up, would be enough to shatter the fragile, false peace he was carefully maintaining in this moment.

And enough to tear apart the intimacy he and Su Wan’er had just built.

He steadied himself, raised his eyes to meet Su Wan’er’s bottomless gaze, and put a gentle expression on his face.

“Nothing particularly major, just daily trifles.”

His voice was soft as he began to recount.

The annual harvests from the Spirit Fields, the New Year’s gift exchanges with each peak, the petty matters of instructing new disciples, occasionally going down the mountain to the marketplace to buy supplies…

He condensed seven years into a lengthy but clean report.

His tone was calm, his reasoning clear—completely fitting the image of a virtuous Lord.

He talked about his clumsiness in learning to manage peak affairs he had never handled before, his nervousness when he first independently hosted a sacrifice.

He carefully controlled his wording, seeking a delicate balance between complaining and showing merit.

Neither too eager for credit, which would invite suspicion, nor too self-deprecating, which would seem fake. And he naturally revealed his longing for his wife.

Su Wan’er listened very attentively, occasionally asking about a detail, her gaze always on his face, filled with deep concern.

When Shen Mo mentioned the loneliness late at night, her arm around him would tighten slightly.

When he talked about a disciple’s breakthrough, the corner of her mouth would curve faintly, showing a hint of approval.

As Shen Mo spoke, he even felt a kind of daze.

They really were just an ordinary couple reunited after a long separation.

As if those dark, shameful, scheming, and betraying past events had never happened.

He had quietly waited for his wife for seven years, and now the clouds had parted and the moon was bright.

The despicable, stolen happiness in the depths of his heart grew quietly like poppies.

The truth, like poisonous needles hidden under brocade, pricked him from time to time.

Chao’er’s life and death were uncertain, her Inner Demon deeply planted—that matter could not be hidden.

And the days he had spent at Heavenly Sword Peak—many people had seen him.

Shen Mo lowered his eyelids, avoiding her too-clear gaze.

“That child Chao’er… had an accident in the Secret Realm. It seems she was contaminated by something unclean. Her heart nature changed drastically, her cultivation level surged unnaturally, and she… even tried to forcibly take me away.”

“Peak Master Qin sensed something was wrong, arrived in time, fought with Chao’er, and that is how she brought me back to Heavenly Sword Peak to take refuge temporarily.”

“Yesterday, I heard you had come out of seclusion, so Peak Master Qin was at ease and let me return…”

“Junior Sister Qin… did she make things difficult for you?” Su Wan’er suddenly asked.