Shen Nanyin’s voice was truly pleasant to hear.
Falling into someone’s heart, it was like a brush pen writing characters at the very tip of one’s heart, making it itch, stirring up a faint scent of ink all around.
On nights past, he’d always used that same lovely voice to speak to her with gentle concern.
But once day broke, it was as if he became an entirely different person, using that same lovely voice to ask her who she was.
Good question.
Who was she?
That question completely extinguished any thought Cheng Xueyi had of turning around and leaving.
She walked forward a few steps, the wind stirring the silver bell at her waist—her attire was plain, the only ornament on her being that silver bell.
Its ring was crisp and pleasant, drawing Shen Nanyin’s attention. But just as his gaze shifted toward it, before he could get a clear look at the bell, he heard the intruder on the True Martial Dao Grounds finally speak.
“Eldest Senior Brother doesn’t recognize me?”
She took a few more steps forward, as if seeking confirmation. “Take a good look, Eldest Senior Brother. Do you truly not know who I am?”
Cheng Xueyi kept her eyes fixed on Shen Nanyin’s face, silently counting the seconds in her heart.
Her gaze was far too direct, carrying a trace of accusation and a trace of coldness, forcing Shen Nanyin to study her carefully, seriously considering whether his memory had truly failed him, whether he’d genuinely forgotten this junior sister.
Cheng Xueyi was the classic big-eyed beauty.
Her eyes were exceptionally large, bright and lively, brimming with vitality.
Her long hair was half gathered into a flat bun, the other half left hanging down, braided together with a pale blue ribbon into two long braids, fastened at the ends with shell clasps.
Even dressed in the drab gray robes of an odd-jobs disciple, she remained clear and lovely, her radiance impossible to hide—anyone who looked at her would feel a warmth stir in their chest.
But he didn’t recognize her.
He truly didn’t remember ever meeting her.
Shen Nanyin suddenly turned his head. “I still have matters to attend to. Sacred Daughter, please head back first.”
Fu Jinghua nodded slightly, glanced briefly at Cheng Xueyi, then said in a low voice, “I’ll come find Senior Brother again tonight.”
Come find him again tonight?
What did that mean?
Did it mean what she thought it meant?
Cheng Xueyi looked toward Shen Nanyin, and under her watchful gaze, he answered with perfect calm: “I’ll be waiting.”
Fu Jinghua smiled gently. Even though Cheng Xueyi’s clothing clearly marked her as an outer-sect disciple, unworthy of notice, Fu Jinghua still nodded politely in greeting as she passed by her.
The Sacred Daughter’s manners and bearing were beyond reproach, so Cheng Xueyi decided to find fault with Shen Nanyin instead.
“What are you doing with her tonight? Why didn’t you come last night? Why didn’t you send even a single word? What exactly do you mean by all this?”
She fired off question after question, her tone so utterly entitled that Shen Nanyin looked, for a moment, as though he wanted to say something but held back.
After a long pause, he spoke in a tone so calm and even that it seemed capable of calming anyone who heard it: “I’ll escort Junior Sister back to Taixuan Palace.”
Cheng Xueyi frowned, about to say something, but her legs had already reacted on their own, involuntarily following as the cool spiritual energy beside her shifted their position. In the blink of an eye, they were back inside the teleportation array.
She stood there stunned for a moment—this was the first time in the month she’d known him that Shen Nanyin had used such irresistible spiritual energy on her.
Before this, he’d only ever used the faintest trace of spiritual energy each night when they parted and he transformed into light to leave, not enough to spark so much as a flicker.
Cheng Xueyi’s whole body went numb, that burning, overwhelming urge to compete with a powerful cultivator nearly scorching away her reason.
She forced herself to suppress her true nature, and by the time she came back to her senses, she’d already returned to Taixuan Palace alongside him.
The busy morning rush had died down; there weren’t too many people in Taixuan Palace at this hour.
But what kind of person was Shen Nanyin? Wherever he appeared, he stirred up a flood of attention—which was exactly why, in all the time they’d known each other, they’d never once met in daylight.
He didn’t like being watched, and Cheng Xueyi could understand that.
Disciples gathered anxiously around, bowing in greeting to Shen Nanyin. A Qing, standing off to the right, caught sight of Cheng Xueyi walking alongside him.
Her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a sharp breath, utterly shocked to see the two of them walking together.
Seeing her expression, Shen Nanyin understood at once that it had something to do with Cheng Xueyi, and asked gently, “Do you know this junior sister?”
A Qing could never have dreamed she’d get the chance to speak with the eldest senior brother—she didn’t know where to put her hands or feet.
“I—Is Eldest Senior Brother talking to me?” She glanced left and right, hardly daring to believe it, but with Xueyi standing right beside Shen Nanyin, if the eldest senior brother was asking someone whether they knew Xueyi, it could only be directed at her.
She rushed forward in a fluster, stammering, “Y-yes, I know her. Xueyi, weren’t you supposed to go back and catch up on sleep? Why—”
Before she could finish, her breathing grew too erratic to continue.
Cheng Xueyi said nothing. It was Shen Nanyin who spoke, gentle and mild: “Good, that you know her. Leave the palace duties here to someone else for now—please take this junior sister back to rest. She may be too exhausted.”
He’d already been remarkably restrained, saying just enough to make his point without saying more—nothing in his words or expression seemed the least bit off, and anyone would have heard the concern in his voice.
But Cheng Xueyi was naturally sensitive to people’s emotions, and she caught it at once.
The whole way here, though he’d been gentle and courteous, there had been a firmness in him that brooked no refusal.
He’d forcibly hauled her back here, and while he hadn’t outright refuted any of her questions, he hadn’t answered a single one of them either.
And now, having A Qing set aside her duties to take her back, saying she might be too exhausted—what else could that possibly mean?
He thought there was something wrong with Cheng Xueyi’s head.
In other words, he thought she’d gone mad—that was the only reason she’d show up at the True Martial Dao Grounds asking him those questions.
Cheng Xueyi was so furious she laughed instead. A Qing ran over and hooked an arm through hers, eyes full of curiosity, but not daring to ask anything further in front of so many people, let alone in front of Shen Nanyin himself, and only urged her in a low voice to go back and rest.
She didn’t resist, letting A Qing pull her away, her eyes fixed on Shen Nanyin the entire time.
She knew her gaze probably wasn’t very friendly—which, given the difference in their standing, could be considered offensive.
But Shen Nanyin showed no displeasure, and offered no reproach. He watched her for a moment, and only when she was finally forced to look away because of her position did he slowly nod once, as if in farewell. Then his figure vanished, leaving first.
Cheng Xueyi burst out laughing right then and there.
She understood now.
Pretending not to know her, was he?
Did he think it would be too embarrassing to admit—especially in front of Fu Jinghua—that he was with a lowly errand-girl like her, embarrassing enough to jeopardize his marriage prospects?
Was he planning to simply never see her again after this?
It must be that she’d played her role as an errand disciple too well, which was why Shen Nanyin dared to abandon her so shamelessly.
“Xueyi, how do you know Eldest Senior Brother? And why did you come back with him?”
The moment they were out of the crowd, A Qing couldn’t hold back the question any longer.
It wasn’t just her who was curious—every disciple back in Taixuan Palace just now was probably wondering the same thing.
But before she got an answer, A Qing heard Cheng Xueyi start laughing.
“Xueyi, what are you laughing at?” A chill crept over her.
Cheng Xueyi said calmly, “It’s nothing. I was just so exhausted today that I nearly fell off a cliff on my way back to my quarters. Luckily Eldest Senior Brother stepped in just in time and saved me.”
The moment A Qing heard this, she forgot about everything else and threw her arms around her in worry. “Fell off a cliff! Are you all right! Are you hurt anywhere!”
Xueyi let herself be spun around and thoroughly checked over.
She sighed and said softly, “I’m fine, nothing serious—like I said, I was saved.”
A Qing said angrily, “You’re not allowed to stay up all night again! I knew something was off with you today, it had to be because you didn’t sleep well! It’s not like I don’t have hands and feet, I could’ve handled the cleaning myself—was it really worth you staying up all night just to help me with my work?”
“……” What a lovely misunderstanding.
If she really had lost sleep just to help share A Qing’s palace duties, she wouldn’t feel this bitter about it.
Cheng Xueyi felt A Qing rub her hair, heard her say earnestly, “Listen to me—I’m a few years older than you, think of me as your big sister. Don’t ever do this again, understand?”
Xueyi stood there dazed for a long moment, staring blankly at A Qing, before finally nodding gently. “I understand. I won’t do it again.”
“What happened today—it won’t happen again.”
She would never again allow something like this to happen—being toyed with, played for a fool like this.
Pushed onto her bed by A Qing, tucked under the blankets and ordered to properly rest, Cheng Xueyi behaved obediently the whole time, agreeing without complaint.
Once A Qing left to return to her shift, she didn’t immediately get up to defy her either.
She lay obediently in bed, staring at the square, orderly Qiantian Sect emblem above the bed curtains, quietly calculating just how long she’d been here.
Before she knew it, it had already been five years.
To enter the Qiantian Sect, she’d sealed away most of her power, the only way to ensure the sect’s powerful figures wouldn’t grow suspicious of her.
The downside of doing so was obvious—she could only barely cultivate using the Qiantian Sect’s own techniques, surviving these five years on that meager trickle of righteous-path spiritual energy, living the life expected of an ordinary outer-sect disciple.
There had been exhaustion, certainly, but she wasn’t afraid of the hardship itself. What weighed on her was simply the endless stretch of days ahead, with nothing much to look forward to. At this rate, who knew how many more years—how many more Years of the Tiger, how many more Years of the Horse—it would take before she could even get close to the Qiantian Sect’s core figures, let alone lay eyes on the sect’s greatest treasure, the Baize Chart.
If she couldn’t even see it, there was no point even dreaming of getting her hands on it.
Without the Baize Chart, she’d never be able to leave this place, never make it back to where she came from, never get what she wanted.
Before today, she’d finally thought she’d seen a glimmer of hope. For that, she’d poured in everything she had, suppressed her instincts, cast aside her pride, and for the first time in her life, worked hard to please someone—only to end up with this.
Cheng Xueyi threw off the blankets and got up from the bed, walking to the window and pushing it open to look out at the sky.
The sun was setting in the west; night would fall soon.
To her, darkness actually felt more familiar. She’d spent the first half of her life living in darkness—darkness and the howling cold wind were what she knew best, while the Qiantian Sect’s full, radiant moon and warm nights were things she still hadn’t grown used to, even after five years.
The first time she’d seen all this, she’d thought to herself that she wished her mother and Fuguang could experience it too—the brightness, the warmth, the freedom.
Even if it was difficult, it was worth trying for.
She was the only hope they had left.
Shen Nanyin had ruined a success that had been within her grasp.
Unforgivable.
Five years of careful, cautious effort, and this was what she got in return—it seemed enduring humiliation in silence hadn’t accomplished much after all.
She’d been so terrified of exposing any flaw, carrying such a heavy burden, that in five years she’d made only this much progress—clear proof that sometimes, playing it too safe wasn’t the answer either.
Perhaps seeking a proper breakthrough, letting herself go wild just once, might actually bring about a turning point instead.
When it came down to it, this was nothing more than pure resentment—she simply couldn’t swallow the anger sitting in her chest, and so she was looking for reasons to convince herself it was fine to do something about it.
Red flooded Cheng Xueyi’s eyes, her irises filling with demonic energy.
Since Shen Nanyin had decided to treat her like a lunatic, then she ought to do something a lunatic would do—properly repay him for it.
He wanted to meet someone else at night?
Did he think he could just walk away from her like that, clean and simple?
She wasn’t about to let him have his way.
