Chapter 23

An Long had a sleepless night, tormented by visions of that bewitching face in his dreams—unable to strike or scold, it put his willpower to the ultimate test...

He jolted awake in fright, experiencing for the first time in his life the humiliation of cowering like a beaten dog in such matters.

Still fuming, An Long cursed a few more vulgar words before cheerfully running off to seek solace from his "little darling" to heal his wounded heart. Yet, upon arrival, he saw Yue Wuhuan giving his report to Song Qingshi in the research room. He tried to sneak away unnoticed, but Yue Wuhuan spotted him and flashed him a dazzling smile full of flirtation. An Long immediately wanted to scale the wall and make his escape, before he lost control and summoned a Gu insect to capture this demon.

Song Qingshi looked puzzled. "Why did An Long run away? Didn’t he want to be friends with you?"

Yue Wuhuan smiled faintly. "Who knows?"

An Long: "..."

He was furious. He decided to retaliate.

The formidable Xilin Gu King, feared throughout the martial world, notorious for his ferocity—how could he be toyed with by a mere Qi-Refining cultivator?

After carefully gauging Song Qingshi’s limits, he secretly produced an Illusion Gu. The Illusion Gu was harmless; it simply detected a person’s deepest desires and true nature, then crafted a vivid illusion to fulfill them—beautiful, intense, often a passionate, sensual fantasy. He often used it to deal with persistent admirers, and occasionally indulged in it himself to experience fantasies beyond his reach.

Considering Yue Wuhuan’s inherently wanton nature and vast experience, the effects of the Illusion Gu would undoubtedly be spectacular. Once this guy had his fill, he’d have no energy left to pester attractive men. Then, An Long could manipulate the illusion to expose its contents, humiliating Yue Wuhuan in front of Song Qingshi while achieving a few other goals. Even if discovered later, he could play dumb and brush it off as a joke.

An Long stealthily inserted the Gu insect into Yue Wuhuan’s body and eagerly awaited the results.

...

Yue Wuhuan sat alone in the study when suddenly, he felt dizzy...

When he awoke, he stood beneath a cascade of peach blossoms, his mind in turmoil, unsure of the present moment. Only when he saw the calluses on his hands from sword practice and the sword at his side did memories of his life slowly returned to him.

Born a mortal, he had gained entry to the immortal realm by chance, initially studying under a swindler named Xie Que. After discovering the man’s nefarious intentions, he escaped before disaster struck. He wandered alone for years until he encountered an Elder Sword Master, who recognized his potential, took him as a disciple, and taught him Sword Techniques.

Though his Spiritual Roots were weak, he was a sword prodigy—he mastered every technique at first sight.

After forming his Golden Core, he killed Xie Que, then wandered the realm, challenging masters far above his level. After slaying many wicked Nascent Soul Cultivators, he broke through his meridian constraints, ascended to Nascent Soul, and solidified his reputation as a Sword Master. Praise, envy, and adoration poured in. Everyone praised his phoenix-like elegance, his unrivaled beauty—he was the brightest star in the sky, the most dazzling phoenix.

He loved vibrant colors, wearing gold-and-crimson robes, flaunting his radiance, doing as he pleased. He collected gemstones and jewelry of every hue—pearls, agates, rubies, sapphires, jade... Each gem was flawless, perfect in color. He stored them all in boxes, awaiting the day he could gift them to someone he loved.

He searched for many years...

Along the way, he encountered many suitors—male and female cultivators, mighty Soul-Splitting experts, youths new to the immortal path... Some sought companionship, some sought pleasure, some loved him madly, some loved him in silence. Yet he liked none of them. So, he rejected every confession, every advance, every person, waiting patiently for the one to whom he’d willingly give all his treasures.

He traveled far and wide, and his collection of gem-filled boxes grew ever more numerous.

But that person never appeared.

At last, weary, he selected a remote immortal mountain to rest upon.

The mountain was covered in peach blossoms, and he practiced his sword beneath the trees every day.

Then, he noticed someone watching him from a neighboring peak every afternoon—no malice, just quiet observation, never exceeding two quarters of an hour, never intruding, never causing discomfort. Accustomed to attention, he ignored this harmless attention.

Unexpectedly, for ten years of sword practice, that person watched him for ten years.

The timing never changed, disciplined, never overstepping—as if he were merely scenery outside their window.

At last, curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see who this person was.

Silently concealing his spiritual presence, he slipped into that mountain under cover of night.

The peak was stark, mostly barren rock, with a medicinal garden on the far side growing exotic herbs. Beside the garden stood a simple tiled house, its lamp lit. Inside, a slender youth sat absorbed in a book, swathed in layers of pristine white robes, completely unadorned. His hair was fine and loose, like a small, fluffy animal’s. His skin was pale, his features delicate yet endearing—especially those eyes, clear as mountain springs.

For the first time, he realized pure white could eclipse all the world’s vibrant hues...

His heart pounded, but unsure how to proceed, he secretly placed a crystal in the courtyard and fled, hoping the youth would find it and seek him out. Yet the boy seemed oblivious—not noticing the crystal, nor his visit.

Most days, the youth was buried in research, with little time for anything else.

Having never pursued anyone before, he was too shy to confess outright.

So, each day, he had birds carry a gem to the youth’s side—sometimes by the stream, sometimes in the garden, sometimes beneath a tree... The youth’s baffled expressions upon finding them amused him endlessly. The boy would place the gems in his medicine box, studying them thoughtfully each day, as if puzzling over their meaning.

Well, as long as the betrothal gifts were delivered...

His enthusiasm grew. Every day, he schemed ways to make the youth fall for him.

He dressed more flamboyantly, perfected ever more dazzling Sword Techniques—sometimes slicing peach blossoms from the sky, sometimes dramatically cleaving waterfalls.

He transplanted rare herbs onto the youth’s mountain.

During the Lantern Festival, he released a thousand sky lanterns in every color, each carrying a pearl, until the heavens glittered more brightly than the stars. He guided them toward the youth’s home, then with a single sword stroke, extinguished them all—pearls raining down like a sudden storm, scattering at the youth’s feet, leaving him bewildered while he laughed unseen.

On the Qixi Festival, he summoned countless birds to perch around the youth’s house, chirping love songs all day until the boy stepped outside in confusion—only to hear the melody of "Phoenix Seeks His Mate" drifting from the forest.

...

He felt like a courting bird, proudly displaying his plumage, begging for attention.

Yet the one he pursued remained oblivious, seemingly unaware of what love even was.

Later, while treasure-hunting in a secret realm, he encountered trouble and returned gravely injured.

Confined to bed for days, he didn’t leave his house.

Then came a hesitant knock...

The youth finally visited his mountain, blushing as he apologized, "I’m sorry for spying on you... Living alone, I sometimes felt lonely. Seeing your bright colors every day made me happy..." The boy had long known of his gestures and clumsily reciprocated—leaving pills and herbs in plain jars as gifts, though he’d never noticed. Now, worried by his absence, the youth had come to check on him.

So the boy had held him in his heart all along.

In his joy, he reopened his wounds...

The youth, skilled in medicine, treated him with gentle care each day.

Innocent and introverted, the boy struggled with words but never made a misstep—his kindness meticulous, his gaze so earnest it made his heart ache.

So he dragged the youth everywhere—to vibrant forests, seas dyed crimson at sunset, gemstone mines ablaze with light, roaring rivers in fathomless gorges, the thrill of soaring through clouds... They roamed as vigilantes, healed the sick, explored secret realms, drank and watched operas...

Gradually, the boy grew comfortable around him, speaking more, until at last—his reflection filled those clear eyes, his name woven into that pure laughter.

Finally, he took the youth’s hand and asked softly, "May these hands stay joined for a lifetime?"

The boy smiled, eyes crinkling. "Yes."

The phoenix had found his parasol tree; the gems amassed over years finally had a home.

Under heaven’s witness, they became cultivation partners.

That night, he discovered even more of the youth’s sweetness.

Slightly agitated, his eyes would redden, and with just a bit more provocation, tears would fall.

The young man always tried his hardest to hold back, but from sobbing to weeping uncontrollably, he could hardly last long, and in the end, his voice would become hoarse as he kept saying: "Wuhan, I like you."

"Wuhan, I like you."

"Wuhan, I like you."

"..."

The young man repeated it over and over again, each time making him like it a little more, until he was driven to madness.

He gave him the finest gems in the world.

He gave him the most beautiful flowers on earth.

He wanted to gather herbs, collect medical books, and collect everything the young man liked to give to him.

They traversed the four seas and eight desolates, saw all the beautiful sights and experiences, drank all the fine wines and tasted all the delicious foods, and finally chose a place to settle down.

They were the most devoted companions, living the happiest life, never letting go of each other's hands.

One night, he suddenly woke up, and the young man was not beside him. A strange unease welled up in his heart, feeling that he had forgotten something.

A mirror appeared before the bed...

He suddenly remembered that in this lifetime, he had never looked in a mirror, never seen his own face, and had only a vague impression of his appearance.

It was extremely bizarre, extremely terrifying.

He slowly rose to his feet, as if driven by some unseen force, and walked toward the mirror. He took off his clothes and looked inside.

In the mirror was a young man, both familiar and strange, around twenty-five or six years old. He was tall with a well-proportioned build, his muscles perfectly toned without a trace of excess fat. His waist was slender, and his body exuded strength. His face, though delicate, carried a masculine charm, and his beautiful phoenix eyes held an untouchable nobility, utterly pure.

Yes, his face should look like this...

He let out a slight sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the scene in the mirror began to distort. A vivid red teardrop mole appeared below his left eye, exuding a decadent aura that mercilessly shattered all his nobility and purity. His body gradually transformed into that of a frail youth, all strength vanishing, his beauty tinged with allure. A scorching mark emerged on his back, dragging him into a filthy abyss of constant desecration...

Panic-stricken, he drew his sword and shattered the mirror.

The beautiful dream was over...

He awoke from the illusion, unable to calm down for a long time. He looked at his hands, uncalloused and weak, and examined his body again in the mirror. The ridiculous beauty and the teardrop mole beneath his eye seemed to mock his delusions.

No strength, no fame, no gemstones, no youth, no home...

He was still Yue Wuhuan, who had nothing but filth...

The mirror fell from his hand, shattering into pieces.

So dirty, everything is so dirty...

He could no longer control his breathing, unable to make a sound. He could no longer control his body, only curling into the darkness, trembling uncontrollably. His chest ached as if it were about to split open, and his fingers left bloody scratches on his skin. He was like a dying fish, struggling to breathe, unable to draw air into his lungs, gradually suffocating, unable to cry for help, watching himself step by step toward death.

The door to the study suddenly opened.

Song Qingshi, sensing something was wrong, rushed in and tightly embraced him.

He struggled to call out the youth’s name, to say something, but his throat could only emit a hoarse, mournful cry.

This sight was truly terrible...

He had thought he was in the Medicine King Valley, gradually falling in love with this person after receiving kindness and warmth.

Now he finally realized that from their first meeting by the river, it had been love at first sight.

That was why he had stubbornly dragged his injured body closer, why he had meddled to try and stop that beautiful misunderstanding, why he had wanted to touch that soft hair, why he had felt ashamed and angry when his filth was discovered, why he had wished for a better fate for him than his own...

That was why he clung tightly to this person, unwilling to let go of this tenderness.

His body began to convulse, the world turned dark, and he could no longer support himself, slowly collapsing.

He could no longer hear the youth’s anxious calls.

In his mind, only the most alluring words from the illusion remained:

"Wuhan, I like you."