Chapter 104

Mo Yuan, Wu Huan, and Feng Jun shared a single soul. No matter their form, they were always the beloved.

Song Qingshi had initially been a little worried, wanting to ask Wu Huan about his views on past and present lives. Yet, what he wrote was interpreted by the other as "I do." He realized this was another inescapable plot point from Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign's memories, with no option to refuse. After a brief thought, he decided to follow his heart.

He was willing.

In any world, any place, any form, he was willing to become cultivation partners with Wu Huan.

They returned to Peach Valley. Song Qingshi refined seven Xuantian Taiming Pills, taking one daily to slowly purge the udumbara toxin. However, it was uncertain at what stage his vision would suddenly return. Fearing he might not withstand the intense light, Song Qingshi first covered his eyes with several layers of thin gauze, instructing him not to rush when he began to see, but to wait until his eyes adjusted before slowly removing the gauze.

One evening at dusk, Wu Huan was practicing his sword when his vision suddenly blurred for a moment. He felt countless vibrant, delicate specks scattering from the sky. He reached out, caught a soft, fine petal, gently touched and sniffed it, finally confirming it was the peach blossom petals that accompanied him every day.

Qing Shi had said the peach blossoms in Peach Valley were special—all red.

So, this beautiful color was red?

Wu Huan stood motionless for a long time, waiting for his eyes to adjust before slowly removing the layers of gauze one by one. He saw the sky ablaze with peach blossoms, the lush green grass, dewdrops on the leaves, and birds singing in the forest... He matched the brilliant hues to the words he had read in books, gradually distinguishing red, green, black, blue...

This was no dream...

For a blind man's dreams held no images.

Wu Huan rubbed his eyes, gazing at the peach blossom petal in his hand as uncontainable elation spread through his heart. He yearned to share this unprecedented joy, to describe the exquisite beauty of the peach blossoms, how the sparrow's feathers weren't merely gray but a blend of many browns and blacks, how the trees covering the mountains displayed layers of diverse hues—so beautiful—though he wasn't entirely sure if they could all be called green.

Most importantly, where was Song Qingshi? He should be making medicine, right?

Wu Huan checked the hour, secured his sword, and hurried toward the alchemy chamber. But the furnace was cold, and no one was inside. He quickly released his divine sense, searching everywhere until he finally found the young man by the medicinal garden near the river. Barefoot and draped in a well-worn white robe, the youth sat on the grass, meticulously processing Thunderheart Vines, extracting the long, thin cores, coiling them into bundles, and placing them in a basket.

Over the years, with smooth cultivation and careful nourishment, Song Qingshi’s body had nearly returned to its original state. Taking advantage of the absence of outsiders in Peach Valley and Wu Huan's blindness, he had abandoned all pretense of proper appearance—forsaking decorum, dressing haphazardly, and letting his soft, fine hair spill unbound down his back, occasionally tied with a string. He lived as he pleased.

Wu Huan stood behind him, watching quietly for a long time.

Song Qingshi finished coiling the last bundle of vine cores before finally sensing the searing gaze on his back. He turned around and met those luminous phoenix eyes—like a master painter adding the final stroke to a perfect canvas, bringing the beautiful phoenix to life with true charm and grace, illuminating the world.

His heartbeat quickened. Realizing Wu Huan had regained his sight ahead of schedule, he was overjoyed and wanted to congratulate him. But then he noticed Wu Huan staring at him with a strange expression. Thinking his unkempt state and odd behavior were to blame, he hastily picked up the basket, intending to slip away and change.

But as he passed Wu Huan, a hand lashed out, grabbing his arm and dragging him into an embrace...

Wu Huan stared in disbelief at the limpid, shining eyes in his arms. Wasn't his young man supposed to be plain? How could he be so beautiful? Every feature resonated deeply within him, stirring a delightful ache. How could such a wonderful thing exist? Was this an illusion from the medicine?

Wary, he bent closer, carefully touching the fair, delicate skin to confirm the sensation. Then he leaned in, inhaling the faint herbal fragrance at the neck to verify the scent. He lifted Song Qingshi with practiced ease, weighing him in his arms to confirm the familiar feel, and then meticulously inspected him from head to toe, over and over, leaving no inch unchecked.

Song Qingshi’s outer robe slipped off during the struggle, revealing only a thin, gossamer sleeping garment underneath, loosely tied with a belt. The fabric was so sheer it felt like wearing nothing at all—how could it withstand being touched like this by someone he loved? He quickly reacted, unable to break free or stop the other’s hands. He could only rise on his toes, gripping Wu Huan’s neck, and whimper softly in his ear, begging for it to end.

“I’m sorry,” Wu Huan finally realized his foolishness and quickly let go, explaining, “I didn’t expect you to look like this. I just wanted to confirm...” He was used to perceiving things through touch, and even in sleep, he often handled and explored Song Qingshi. But this time, he might have gone too far.

Song Qingshi shook his head, indicating it was fine. His robe, already loosely worn, clung to his body, faintly outlining every curve. The belt was coming loose—positively scandalous... As Wu Huan set him down, he tried to untie and retighten it.

After so many years together, he had never hidden such things from Wu Huan. It was routine.

But this time, the moment Song Qingshi loosened the belt, Wu Huan detected the implication. He glanced at what lay beneath the parted robe, first considering what a man’s reaction to touch signified, then what undressing before a future cultivation partner implied...

Wu Huan instantly understood. Gripping Song Qingshi’s wrist excitedly, he asked, “Qing Shi, do you... want me?”

Song Qingshi: “???”

“I’m so happy.” Wu Huan joyfully kissed Song Qingshi’s lips. After a long while, sensing the other’s compliance, the primal hunger awoke in him, desire burning unbearably. Confirming Song Qingshi wasn’t strongly resisting—likely consenting—he lifted him by the waist, placed him on a nearby low tree, and began using every technique he knew to pleasure him thoroughly.

No matter the time or place, if a cultivation partner desired it, a good man could never say no.

He would strive to please him completely.

Song Qingshi was stunned into submission for a long time before snapping back to reality. The misunderstanding had already taken root, and things had progressed. He didn’t know how to explain, and it felt quite pleasant anyway, so he let it continue...

During the process, he realized being mute was quite troublesome. No matter what Wu Huan wanted to try, how long he wanted to go, or where he wanted to do it—whether Song Qingshi could handle it or not—he was left dizzy and overwhelmed. Unable to speak, refuse, or voice opinions, he could only mewl or gasp weakly, obediently complying with whatever was asked of him... Because he was too docile, too submissive, the tragedy of mealtime repeated itself.

There was a kind of dissatisfaction called Wu Huan fearing he wasn’t satisfied enough.

Song Qingshi was pushed to his limits.

...

Afterward, the two became cultivation partners.

The Dao Companion Mark was a five-petaled peach blossom spiritual sigil, branded on the back of their hands—the hand that wielded the sword, the hand that refined pills—plain for the world to see.

Legend said that if cultivation partners with such marks reunited in another life and became partners again, the imprint would reappear, revealing the bond of past and present lives. The deeper the bond, the brighter the color.

Successful cases were rare, with only one or two recorded in books.

“I want to bind your soul to me,” Wu Huan whispered on the night they branded the mark, kissing the peach blossom on Song Qingshi’s hand over and over, voicing his deepest desire. “Qing Shi, don’t like anyone else, don’t be kind to anyone else. Only me, life after life...”

Song Qingshi was already teetering on the edge, lost in ecstasy, barely able to comprehend the words. He could only nod.

“I love you,” Wu Huan pleaded in his ear, “Promise me you won’t seek out that man surnamed Qu in the future, okay?”

Song Qingshi snapped to attention, shaking his head firmly and glaring accusingly: *You promised to help me.*

Wu Huan smiled. “Mm, I’ll help you find him.”

Song Qingshi knew he was bothered, but there was no other way. Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign’s trial required saving Qu Yurong. Though he was certain he would always prioritize Wu Huan, the exam paper was missing—he couldn’t just ignore it. So, in every new place, he had Wu Huan help inquire about Qu Yurong’s whereabouts, hoping to stumble upon the paper.

But the cultivation world was vast, with no means of mass communication. Finding someone was like hunting for a star in the cosmos.

After years of vain inquiries, Song Qingshi was nearly despairing...

Wu Huan had always been baffled, unable to comprehend why he was so fixated on this man named Qu Yurong. He had once met Qu Yurong at Tianxiang Tower—a sheltered scion with a supposedly pretty face but utterly foolish, the type who would help count the money after being sold. Weak-willed, he had docilely yielded after just two lashes from the madam.

The more Song Qingshi valued Qu Yurong, the more displeased Wu Huan became. But he never let it show, sweetly agreeing while secretly hoping Qu Yurong would never appear before Song Qingshi. Looking back, he had already developed feelings for Song Qingshi long ago and would brook no interference coming between them.

Now that they were cultivation partners, his claim burned fiercely. He couldn’t bear it anymore.

Wu Huan knew Qu Yurong occupied unique territory in Song Qingshi’s heart—special enough to unsettle him.

Song Qingshi had even said something strange: that he wasn’t from this world, and Qu Yurong was his mission target. He had to save Qu Yurong to complete his task.

Wu Huan was cut to the core. Though blind, he wasn’t stupid. Such an absurd joke was too much. And if Qu Yurong was the mission, then what was he? A mistaken answer? Where would he go once the mission was complete?

He languished in quiet torment for days...

Realizing his sorrow, Song Qingshi reflected and never made such jokes again. But he insisted on searching for Qu Yurong, calling him a companion in need who needed rescuing. Yet when asked for details, his answers were halting, riddled with inconsistencies. He only emphasized that Qu Yurong was important—someone who needed saving from villains, care, and treatment for some strange psychological condition to live happily.

“A good friend?” Wu Huan mused before relenting with a smile. “I’ll help you take care of him.”

*Whoever Qu Yurong is, I hope he never appears...*

This matter was far too vexing to entertain.