Chapter 35: The Spiritual Realm: Nan Jinping Thinks It’s All a Dream

Chapter 35: The Spiritual Realm

Nan Jinping thought it was all a dream.

After waiting eagerly all day, Bing Wengu finally saw the sun set. Lustfully frantic, he led his beloved husband to the heated bed-platform, his feverish desperation as if a single moment’s delay would cost him his life.

Nan Jinping was no naive child—his face flushed crimson, too shy to meet the gaze of the man above him.

At this moment, Nan Jinping realized that Bing Wengu’s usually frail frame now loomed over him like a mountain, pressing down so heavily he could barely breathe, let alone resist.

Bing Wengu gazed at their tangled strands of hair, now indistinguishable from one another, an indescribable erotic tension in the air. A thought stirred in him, and he snipped a few strands, tying them together. "Tied hair makes us spouses, in love without doubts."

He placed the entwined locks into the pouch Nan Jinping had embroidered for him—a pouch Bing Wengu carried with him every day.

Noticing how Nan Jinping’s face reddened further at the sight of their tangled hair, Bing Wengu guessed his husband must be imagining something tender. His gaze returned to the pouch, now charged with a different meaning, as if foretelling what was to come between them. The very air around them grew thick with sensual atmosphere.

Soon, they would be entwined, inseparable.

Bing Wengu’s breathing grew heavier, loud enough to startle Nan Jinping. His beloved husband’s beautiful almond-shaped phoenix eyes widened, clearly aware of what was about to happen—those bright, shimmering orbs filled with both shyness and a hint of fear.

His blood burned with desire. Bing Wengu felt as though a beast, starved for centuries, had broken free within him, primed to consume its chosen prey—and its prey was Nan Jinping, his beloved husband...

Their wedding night was a tempest of passion. If Bing Wengu was the vast ocean, then Nan Jinping was but a fragile skiff, drifting without control upon the waves, rising and falling with the tide.

Bing Wengu could feel Nan Jinping’s exhaustion, his weak struggles fading into limp surrender—yet it wasn’t enough. He even ventured into Nan Jinping’s mental landscape, soul-bonding before guiding his husband’s fragile spirit into his own Spiritual Realm, where they merged in ecstasy. In both dream and waking reality, he refused to let Nan Jinping go.

Nan Jinping had never undergone interstellar mental training—his psychic energy was that of an ordinary person. In truth, everyone possessed spiritual energy, though its strength varied.

Ordinary people could only use their spiritual power for daily thought. When someone said they felt mentally drained, it was simply the result of mental fatigue from overexertion of psychic energy.

But without specialized training, no one could wield their spiritual power as freely as Bing Wengu.

Seizing the chance during their soul-bonding, Bing Wengu gently guided Nan Jinping in using his spiritual energy—teaching him through direct mental infusion, crude yet effective. Soon, under Bing Wengu’s guidance, Nan Jinping could navigate his own spirit and even enter Bing Wengu’s Spiritual Realm.

That realm held the secrets of Bing Wengu’s past and present. He wasn’t afraid of Nan Jinping discovering them—he even longed for it.

The bond between a Sentinel and a Guide wasn’t just physical—it was spiritual.

They merged in the depths of their consciousness, opening their Spiritual Realms completely to one another, allowing free access to memories, leaving no secrets. They even let their partner leave their mark within their Spiritual Domain.

This unreserved exchange deepened their love and harmony, soothing the Sentinel’s combat rage—a balm far more potent than mere mental soothing.

When Bing Wengu first arrived in this world, possessing Bing Dalang’s body, his Spiritual Realm had been unstable after psychic implosion. Had Nan Jinping not merged with him in time, Bing Wengu might have self-destructed again.

Bing Wengu’s Spiritual Realm was boundless as the cosmos, his power immense. Had he wished, he could have shut its gates easily—Nan Jinping, with his untrained spirit, would never have entered, let alone glimpsed his secrets.

But Bing Wengu refused. He loved Nan Jinping. Even if his husband understood nothing, he would never deceive him.

He opened his Spiritual Realm freely, just as he could freely explore Nan Jinping’s memories, letting him see everything.

Years of war had darkened Bing Wengu’s Spiritual Realm, steeped in blood and violence.

Within it, Bing Wengu stood clad in the armor of a general, alone in a desolate wasteland devoid of life, not even a whisper of wind.

He stood motionless, gazing into the distance, lips cracked from thirst.

Then Bing Wengu saw Nan Jinping’s spirit drift elsewhere—to the memories of his interstellar battles, the carnage of severed limbs and pulped flesh. He didn’t fear Nan Jinping seeing this darkness—because this was who he was. He wanted Nan Jinping to know him fully.

Bing Wengu piloted his mech against the Swarm, a daily routine during his two centuries in the stars. The Swarm seemed endless—no matter how many he slaughtered, more would rise to take their place. The battlefield was littered with carnage, human and Swarm alike, piled together until they dissolved into the same anonymous rot.

The daily repetition of endless slaughter was utterly meaningless. It would be better to just kill the Swarm Mother and put an end to this dull, monotonous existence.

Bing Wengu disguised himself as a Swarm member, approached the Swarm Mother, and then detonated himself, taking her down with him. His soul traversed a thousand years to arrive in Dayong, possessing Bing Dalang’s body, where he was rescued by Nan Jinping and unexpectedly formed a soul connection with her.

Later, Zhou Nan Shi came to demand that Nan Jinping serve as a bridal attendant and her son-in-law's concubine. When Nan Jinping refused, Zhou Nan Shi went around badmouthing her, with Li Shi, Wang Shi, Zhang Li Shi, and Zhao Wang Shi joining in to slander and insult her.

When Liang Shi told Bing Wengu about all this, he was driven mad. Fortunately, by then, he had already formed a soul connection with Nan Jinping, which had stabilized his psyche. Otherwise, Bing Wengu might have simply killed them all. Given his mental state during his starfaring days, those people would likely already be dead.

Bing Wengu had realized his mental state was growing increasingly unstable, to the point where he could no longer control it, which was why he chose to perish alongside the Swarm Mother. Otherwise, no matter how tedious life became, he would have chosen to keep living.

Bing Wengu had always been dissatisfied with Bing Dalang’s physical constitution. After arriving here, aside from studying, he also trained in combat daily. Much of his former skill had returned—back in his starfaring days, Bing Wengu had been renowned as a sharpshooter, the most accurate when it came to killing Swarm members.

There were no guns here, but there were stones, which worked just as well for honing his aim.

Bing Wengu staked out outside Zhang Li Shi’s house and struck her knee with a stone just as she stepped over the threshold. Zhang Li Shi fell face-first onto the doorstep, knocking out a front tooth.

Later, Bing Wengu went to Zhao Wang Shi’s house. Coincidentally, Zhao Wang Shi was getting up at night, so Bing Wengu loosened a plank in her latrine pit. Sure enough, Zhao Wang Shi fell into the pit and sprained her ankle.

These two had mocked Nan Jinping relatively lightly, so Bing Wengu merely gave them a taste of their own medicine as a minor lesson.

Then came Li Shi and Wang Shi. Bing Wengu set traps in the mountains, and the two of them stepped right into them—one injuring her arm, the other her leg.

Bing Wengu knew their families’ nature well. They would never spend much money on their treatment, and in this era of poor medical conditions, such injuries would lead to chronic ailments if not properly cared for. So Bing Wengu made sure to break their bones.

Hadn’t they mocked Nan Jinping for being a Shuang Er? Well, now they could see what it was like to be crippled, to be laughed at and looked down upon. Would their families, who refused to spend money on their treatment, now turn around and resent them for becoming burdens?

This was human nature. Bing Wengu wanted this lesson to haunt them for the rest of their lives, a perpetual reminder.

Finally, there was Zhou Nan Shi, the one who had bullied his husband the most. Giving her the same punishment as Wang Shi and Li Shi would have been unfair to them, so Bing Wengu decided to bring financial ruin to her family as well.

Bing Wengu torched Zhou Nan Shi’s house, but he kept a close watch the entire time to ensure the flames wouldn’t spread to neighboring homes. Only when the fire threatened innocent bystanders did he rouse the neighbors, who then helped extinguish it.

At his core, Bing Wengu was this kind of person—uncompromising in love and vengeance. He wasn’t a good man, but he wouldn’t harm the innocent either. Revenge was fine, but it had to be certain not to involve a third party. If he couldn’t guarantee that, he’d rather abandon the plan and devise another.

This wasn’t because he was a good person—it was his code and principles.

As for the fire, Bing Wengu was one hundred percent confident. Back in his starfaring days, he had used fire attacks against the Swarm countless times. He knew the effects of wind direction, climate, humidity, and other external factors on a blaze like the back of his hand. That was why he had planned this fire so meticulously.

Bing Wengu had worn out Nan Jinping so thoroughly that she eventually fell asleep, unable to continue delving into his deepest memories.

Having gorged himself, Bing Wengu felt much more mentally stable. Satisfied, he held his little husband close and slept soundly.

The Bing family woke up in the morning and, noticing no movement from the newlyweds’ room, tactfully refrained from disturbing them.

Bing Wengu slept until the sun was high in the sky before waking. The moment he opened his eyes and found his warm, sweet-smelling bundle still in his arms, he couldn’t help but break into a dopey grin.

Bing Wengu thought to himself, *As expected of me—even in sleep, I know to keep the husband I worked so hard to marry tightly in my arms.*

Gazing at his husband’s rosy, sleeping face, he couldn’t help but recall last night’s heated coupling. Bing Wengu nearly lost control again, his animal urges urging him to pin the man beneath him for another round.

Fortunately, the sound of the Bing family moving about outside snapped him back to his senses.

With a regretful sigh, Bing Wengu looked down at his little husband and noticed his exhausted, pitiable state.

*After being worn out all night by a brute like me, of course he’d look pitiable.*

For once, Bing Wengu felt a twinge of guilt. Carefully, he eased out of bed.

These past few days, Bing Wengu had resumed his starfaring routine—after waking, he would first run through his combat drills in the courtyard.

This scene was witnessed by Bing Silang returning from the fields, who sneered to himself—only now remembering to do his morning drills when the sun was already high in the sky.

Yet deep down, he couldn’t help but feel envious. When would he ever get to marry a wife and sweep his little bride off her feet on their wedding night...

Sighing, Bing Silang’s spirits sank at the thought of Wang Erniang.

Last night, Wang Erniang had come looking for him, but Bing Silang hadn’t agreed. He knew she didn’t truly like him for who he was—she just wanted his family’s property.

Bing Silang understood that Wang Erniang’s initial choice not to pick him wasn’t wrong. What he couldn’t accept was that while she was stringing him along, she was also entangled with others.

If Wang Erniang had been his alone, Bing Silang would already be happily preparing for their wedding.

But alas, Wang Erniang had others besides him. And Bing Silang couldn’t stomach that.

Lost in thought, Bing Silang failed to watch his step and stumbled on a pebble, twisting his ankle. The sudden movement jolted his wounds, making him grimace in pain.

These injuries were the result of a fight with Bing Sanlang.

During the division of family property that day, Bing Silang had remained silent from start to finish because he didn’t know what to say. No one was really to blame.

Was Aunt Bing wrong?

No, she wasn’t. In fact, she was the most innocent—just a victim. What was wrong with seeking help from her parents’ home?

Was his eldest brother wrong?

Even less so. He had been fair to their eldest sister and to them. Those seven large tiled houses went way beyond what an elder brother owed.

As for Bing Sanlang, was he wrong?

It didn’t seem so. As he himself had said, what else could he do?

Qian Shi had wronged everyone, but never him. If he divorced her, it would be driving her to suicide!

But the Bing family still had Da Lang, Er Lang, and Si Lang without him. Liang Shi and Father Bing might mourn for a time, but their lives wouldn’t truly be in danger.

Bing Silang felt no one was to blame—so who was? Qian Shi was. But since Third Brother and Qian Shi were one, it had ended up like this.

After much deliberation, Bing Silang decided to fight Third Brother. No matter who won, they’d stay brothers in the end. As for Qian Shi, he simply wouldn’t interact with her anymore. From now on, he’d treat Third Brother as a lone wolf with no wife.

After finishing his martial arts routine, Bing Wengu heard movement in his room and hurried to the window, whispering, "Darling, you up?"

Hearing Bing Wengu’s voice and seeing the sun already descending, Nan Jinping felt both embarrassed and furious, grinding his teeth.

This brute! It was all his fault! If he hadn’t worn him out like there was no tomorrow, he wouldn’t have overslept today!

What groom sleeps till sundown on his wedding day?

How mortifying.

Nan Jinping suddenly recalled the strange dreams he’d had last night—of a savage, blood-crazed Bing Wengu, completely different from the man now, dressed in bizarre clothing. Later, he even dreamed of body-snatching or some nonsense, helping him take revenge on Zhou Nan Shi and others.

Nan Jinping didn’t know if he was just exhausted or craving someone to shield him and set things right that he’d conjured such absurd dreams. But he dismissed them, not giving them another thought.

"Sleep in a bit more. I’ll go make food now." Not hearing a reply, Bing Wengu buttered him up quickly.

Nan Jinping only caught the first part and muttered, "Like I’m not ashamed enough already?"

Though Bing Wengu had already hurried away, his keen scout’s ears picked up his husband’s angry words. Not daring to face his little husband’s wrath now, he pretended not to hear and ducked into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, there were leftovers from the wedding feast. Bing Wengu paid them no mind, instead pulling out an iron pot from the corner.

Villagers couldn’t justify using iron pots—during the Bing family’s lean years, every penny had to go toward buying food, so naturally, they didn’t have one.

This one was specially ordered by Bing Wengu a while ago, asking Liang to have it made at the blacksmith’s shop in town. It had a thin base, just to cook good food for Nan Jinping.

Currently, iron cost forty coins per pound. The iron pot Bing Wengu had made weighed 2.6 pounds, costing one hundred and four coins. The blacksmith’s labor fee was another hundred coins, so the total cost for this pot came to two hundred and four coins.

To villagers, this was serious money. With that kind of money, they’d rather buy meat or grain—what good was an iron pot? Cooking with it wasted oil, and their clay pot worked just fine for cooking.

But Bing Wengu knew the benefits of an iron pot—it could be used to make all kinds of tasty dishes.

Bing Wengu heated the pot and added oil, planning to make pork stir-fry.

The main ingredients for pork stir-fry were pork and chili peppers, but unfortunately, chili peppers weren’t available in Dayong then. Bing Wengu decided to use shredded ginger as a substitute.

Shredded ginger had many benefits, one of which was warming the stomach and warding off the chill. The villagers didn’t understand how to take care of themselves—washing clothes in cold water in winter, wading into rivers to catch fish in autumn—these were things they did often. Whether young or old, male or female, they all ran cold.

Bing Wengu wanted Nan Jinping to eat more ginger to ward off the chill.

Scallions, Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, and dried tangerine peel—these common seasonings were all available in Dayong. Bing Wengu used them to season the oil, then removed them, stir-frying the pork with just the shredded ginger. He added some scallions for extra flavor and stir-fried everything over high heat for a few moments until the pork was cooked.

The shiny, aromatic pork stir-fry was visually enticing, not to mention the mouthwatering smell that carried for blocks.

Bing Wengu took a bite and was very satisfied with his cooking.

Though it was his first time making this dish, the taste was excellent.

Bing Wengu had never cooked in the interstellar era—living alone, he couldn’t be bothered and just ate meal supplements.

He wasn’t the only one like this; most interstellar sentinels were the same. Only those with guides were willing to put in the effort to make elaborate meals for their partners.

After all, compared to sentinels, guides were much more particular about living.

Bing Wengu had often browsed cooking tutorials—not because he planned to cook for himself, but because he wanted to learn so he could make food for his future guide.

This was his first time cooking, yet it turned out so well. Bing Wengu preened at the thought that he had a natural talent for it.

After cleaning the pot, he moved on to the second famous dish from ancient Earth—Mock Crab.

He had learned this dish from a variety show called *Recreating Ancient Earth*, which focused on perfectly replicating ancient Earth’s environment and having guests live like people from that time.

The show was well-made, showcasing many interesting inventions from ancient Earth, and Bing Wengu had picked up quite a bit from it.

Mock Crab required separating egg whites from yolks. Bing Wengu didn’t mind the hassle, carefully dividing them one by one.

By the time Nan Jinping had dressed and stepped out, he was hit by an incredible smell.

He found it strange—the Bings kept strange hours. It wasn’t even noon yet, so why were they cooking?

Thinking this, he hurried, intending to help in the kitchen.

But the moment he entered, he froze at the sight of Bing Wengu carefully separating egg whites and yolks.

Nan Jinping hadn’t believed Bing Wengu’s promise to cook for him—after all, in the entire village, no men set foot in the kitchen to cook or do laundry.

Only the village bachelors did that, which was one of the reasons they were mocked.

Even men who married into families, whose food and lodging were taken care of by their wives or male partners, didn’t cook or wash clothes—they still expected to be served.

Nan Jinping stood frozen at the sight of Bing Wengu cooking, her gaze fixed in stunned silence.

With heightened senses, Bing Wengu had noticed Nan Jinping the moment she entered. But he remained quiet, showing off on purpose and working even harder.

First, he stir-fried the egg whites until they were finely crumbled, scooped them out, then stir-fried the yolks, similarly breaking them apart. He added a prepared seasoning blend, gave it a few quick stirs, and it was ready to serve.

The egg whites formed the base, with the yolks poured over them—his "mock crab" dish was complete. He thought proudly that this dish was flawless.

Eager to impress Nan Jinping, Bing Wengu cooked with extra care, certain he'd nailed this dish.

Just as he was feeling smug, Nan Jinping, finally coming to her senses, approached and said, "Let me take over."

Bing Wengu gently nudged her out of the kitchen. "I’ve got this. Your new clothes shouldn’t get cooking odors on them."

After shooing her out, he cheerfully returned to cooking.

For the final dish, he kept it simple—stir-fried greens with rendered pork fat and cabbage. Perfect.

With all three dishes ready and the rice steamed in a pot, Bing Wengu scooped two generous bowls and carried them inside.

He refused to let Nan Jinping help—she only had to sit down and eat.

"Come, try my cooking," Bing Wengu said, serving her some ginger-stirred pork.

The aroma of the meal was intoxicating. As Nan Jinping ate, tears suddenly sprang to her eyes.

Bing Wengu, expecting praise, panicked at the sight of her tears. "Did it make you cry? It's not that bad, is it? I tasted it—it was good!"

He took another bite of the ginger-stirred pork. Honestly, it was delicious—he thought it even outdid last night's wedding feast.

"Never mind, if you don’t like it, don’t eat it. Please don’t cry," he said, reaching to wipe her tears.

Nan Jinping let him, not pulling away. The way she sat so meekly made her more endearing.

"It’s not bad at all. In fact, it’s the best I’ve ever had—better than the chef’s yesterday," she murmured.

Bing Wengu was skeptical. "If it’s that good, why are you crying?"

Nan Jinping whispered, "I... I’m touched. Men in the village don’t cook. I never thought you’d cook for me, even bringing it to me while I do nothing but eat."

Bing Wengu hadn’t expected this reaction. Relieved, his heart ached with tenderness.

What was this? In the Interstellar Era, Guides expected grand gestures. Cooking for them was just the bare minimum, barely a starting point in courtship.

Yet this simple act, something Guides would barely acknowledge, moved Nan Jinping to tears. The realization made his chest ache.

"Sweetheart, this is just the beginning. You'd better get used to it—I’ll treat you far better than this. You can’t cry over every little thing," he said.

Nan Jinping glanced at him. She hadn’t taken his promises seriously before, but now she was starting to believe.

"I should cook from now on," she said. "Yours is delicious, but you don’t know how. Who separates eggs to fry them?"

Instead of arguing, Bing Wengu scooped a spoonful of the egg mixture and held it to her lips. "Try it."

She ate from his hand.

His eyes sparkled. "How is it? Does it remind you of anything?"

Nan Jinping noticed the difference immediately. "It’s surprisingly good for something done with your unconventional approach. The flavor... almost like crab." "My husband," Bing Wengu said softly, "you'll see there's much more where this came from."

If she hadn't seen Bing Wengu cook it with her own eyes, Nan Jinping would have even suspected this dish was made with crab.

There was a river in the village, and in the summer, Nan Jinping would catch crabs. Miao Shi would boil them for her to eat. Though just boiled plain, they were incredibly tasty. She’d never forgotten that taste.

Bing Wengu smiled with satisfaction, as if Nan Jinping had just praised him. "This dish is called 'Mock Crab.'"

"Mock Crab," Nan Jinping asked, "How do you know how to make so many stir-fried dishes?"

Villagers hardly used iron pans—stir-frying was practically unheard of. But judging from Bing Wengu's tone, this scrambled egg whites and yolks wasn’t just something he made up—it was actually a famous dish.

Bing Wengu cleared his throat, trying to cover his unease. "I read about it in a book."

Country people had deep respect for books, and Nan Jinping was no exception. Instantly, all her doubts vanished.