Chapter 43: Resentful Marriage (End)

Chapter 43: The Reluctant Bride (End)

"I'll kill you!" Jiang Huanyun whipped out his sword and lunged at him.

The blade had been pulled from Li Yu's waist, and it left the sheath so fast that even he himself hadn't had time to think about what would happen after this strike.

Xie Zining just sat there, neither dodging nor avoiding, not even bothering to look up.

"Huanyun, wait!" Li Yu, standing by the window, his expression shifting slightly, stepped over and grabbed his wrist.

Almost at the same instant, a flash of pale yellow rushed out from behind the screen in the corner.

"Young Master, don't!"

Xie Siyin stood in front of Xie Zining, the sword's tip barely a hair away from her throat—so close she could feel the blade's cold against her neck.

Li Yu's hand clamped firmly over Jiang Huanyun's, not letting the sword move another inch. Jiang Huanyun was shaking all over, the sword trembling violently in his grip.

He stared at Xie Siyin, her eyes shut, lashes quivering. She waited for a long time, but the pain never came, and only then did she slowly open her eyes. Those bright, dark eyes gradually regained focus past the gleam of the sword.

Xie Zining, meanwhile, had leaned back into his chair again, casually picking up his teacup and taking a sip, as if nothing had happened at all.

"You know everything, and you're still protecting him?" Jiang Huanyun's voice was shaking.

Xie Siyin lowered her head, then raised it again. She knew the sword was at her throat, yet she still stepped forward.

Jiang Huanyun stepped back a little, watching Xie Siyin's hands slowly spread open. Her legs were trembling with fear, but she didn't budge an inch.

"Because I love the Young Master," she said. "Actually, I figured it out a long time ago—I just pretended not to. I don't mind. As long as the Young Master is willing, my life is his."

Jiang Huanyun couldn't believe it.

How could anyone love someone enough to give up their own life?

How could anyone know they had been raised from childhood as a human medicine, and still smile and hand over their life willingly?

But when he turned to look at Li Yu, he began to understand. Xie Siyin wasn't oblivious—this devotion had been etched into her bones since childhood.

She came to the Xie estate at five, with no one to turn to. Xie Zining was her only warmth in the world. He held her hand as they strolled through the gardens, peeled pine nut candies for her, taught her to read and write.

To Xie Siyin, he was a brother, a savior, the only hand reaching out to her in the dark.

The Xie family had saved her life, and she had always known she owed them: if the day ever came to repay it, she would repay it to the Young Master.

Everyone around her, year after year, whispered to her that ever since she arrived at the Xie estate, the Young Master's health had been improving.

Steeped in this for so long, "I exist for Xie Zining" had long become her unquestioned destiny.

She had not been without suspicion—she simply didn't dare to face the truth. She was afraid that once the truth came out, the last bit of warmth she had would vanish.

All she wanted was to stay quietly by his side in these final days, like in childhood, watching him smile at her.

If her life could buy his survival, that wasn't a bad ending to her. It wasn't that she valued herself less—it was that she treasured Xie Zining too much.

She treasured him so much she was willing to offer her own life as a sacrifice.

Jiang Huanyun suddenly felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his chest.

The sword tip lowered, and Li Yu slowly released his wrist.

Xie Siyin still stood there, hands spread, like a small yellow bird caught in the wind. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying.

"Don't blame him, Master Jiang," Xie Siyin said softly. "He's had too hard a life. I don't want anything else, I just want him to live."

"What about you?" Jiang Huanyun asked hoarsely. "Don't you deserve to live?"

Xie Siyin blinked, as if she didn't understand why he would ask such a thing.

She tilted her head and said, "Even just being husband and wife with the Young Master once is more than enough for me."

Xie Zining sat behind her, finally setting down his teacup. His expression was calm, but the fingers on his knee tightened slightly, then slowly relaxed.

He kept his eyes down, not looking at anyone. The tea still steamed faintly, the wisps dissolving in the morning light.

Li Yu stood at Jiang Huanyun's side, his gaze falling on Xie Siyin's spread hands, then shifting to Xie Zining.

"She says she's willing," Li Yu said slowly. "Hearing that, don't you feel you deserve to die?"

Xie Zining did not answer. He slowly stood, walked to Xie Siyin's side, and gently placed his hand on her head.

He spoke: "Ayin."

Xie Siyin finally looked up, gazing at him expectantly. Xie Zining lowered his head and tucked the loose braid at her temple behind her ear.

His fingertip brushed her earlobe, so light it was like touching a petal that might break at any moment.

"Ayin, thank you," he said. "If you're still here after the ritual is complete, I will treat you well for the rest of my life."

Xie Siyin's tears fell one after another, soaking her yellow robes.

Li Yu didn't look at him again, just turned away.

Jiang Huanyun still held the sword in his hand, his knuckles white. He stood there, staring at Xie Zining.

Xie Zining raised his eyes to meet his gaze, his expression calm, like a frozen pool.

A chill crept into Jiang Huanyun's heart. He couldn't help wondering—had Xie Zining never been afraid of the truth coming out? Had he already known Xie Siyin would throw herself in front of him without a second thought?

He'd even planned for this.

After a long moment, Jiang Huanyun slowly loosened his fingers. The sword fell, hitting the blue bricks with a sharp, clear ring.

He turned and left the study with Li Yu.

They'd walked a good distance before Jiang Huanyun stopped under the covered walkway. His shoulders were shaking, like he was crying.

Li Yu came up behind him, silent, just placing a hand on the back of his neck and pressing gently.

From afar, a pale yellow butterfly flew over.

The morning mist hadn't fully cleared. It fluttered over the Xie estate's high wall, its wings damp with mist. Caught by the wind, it trembled in the light, like a winter jasmine petal just fallen from its branch.

Jiang Huanyun instinctively reached out his left hand. His fingers were nearly translucent in the morning light. The butterfly seemed to know him—it circled once and landed softly in his palm.

Its wings were thin and see-through, golden veins faint in the sunlight, but the edges were already frayed, as if it had flown from far away, its wings torn by the wind.

It stopped, its tiny legs curling a little, as if finding the safest spot in his palm.

Then it went still.

Jiang Huanyun lowered his eyes. His lashes were extremely long, casting a small trembling shadow beneath his eyes. After a moment, he gently touched the butterfly's wing with his fingertip.

There was no reaction. It simply died like that, there in his palm, so light it felt weightless—like a flower the wind plucked at its peak, settling into the lines of his palm.

Jiang Huanyun remembered Xie Siyin walking through the corridor, her pale yellow skirt swaying with each step, the colorful knotted cords at the end of her braid like a tattered-winged butterfly that still flew.

That butterfly now lay in his palm. He looked down at it, and his eyes reddened in an instant, then his vision blurred.

He blinked, and a tear fell—landing precisely on the butterfly's wing. The golden veins on the wing, touched by the tear, seemed traced anew, brightening for an instant before dimming again.

Li Yu watched from the side, his pale face, in the morning light, was like a jade sculpture, his lashes slightly lowered.

He said nothing, only reached out and gently wrapped his palm around Jiang Huanyun's hand, along with the dead butterfly.

Li Yu's hand was larger than Jiang Huanyun's, with defined knuckles and cold fingers, yet a trace of warmth in his palm.

He closed his eyes, and a slow, steady stream of internal energy flowed from his palm—like early spring snowmelt seeping from frozen soil, slow and gentle, spreading across Jiang Huanyun's fingertips and enveloping the still butterfly.

Jiang Huanyun tried to pull his hand back, but Li Yu held on firmly. That internal energy flowed through his palm, gentle, like warm stream water passing between his fingers.

The tear tracks on his face were still wet, growing cool in the morning breeze.

After a long while, Li Yu slowly released his grip. Jiang Huanyun looked down. The butterfly's wings twitched once, then again.

It trembled, slowly rose from his fingertip, its wings opening and closing as if learning to breathe again.

Then it flew.

It flew low and slow, circling his fingers twice. The golden veins on its wings flickered in the light like a small lantern rekindled.

Finally, it crossed over the high walls of the Xie estate, flying toward the brightest part of the morning light, growing smaller and smaller until it was like a speck of dust in the sky, or a tear scattered by the wind.

Jiang Huanyun stood frozen for a long time, his tear tracks not yet dry, his cheeks flushed by the wind, before a faint smile slowly curved his lips.

Watching where the butterfly had vanished, a daze rose in his heart.

The power Li Yu had just channeled was mysterious and unfathomable—by no means ordinary martial arts internal energy. But Jiang Huanyun's mind was too tangled at the moment to probe the reason, and he set it aside for the moment.

In the shadows, at the mouth of an alley, Shen Qingshuang stood behind a half-open old door.

One of her pale gray eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light in the morning mist, like moonlight falling into a crack in the ice.

Shen Qingshuang had watched the entire scene. Her face showed no expression, but her fingers hidden in her sleeves slowly tightened.

The first time she had seen Li Yu, he was severely wounded and without a sword, yet he could still overpower her and her sister.

Dead wood reviving in spring, turning death into life.

This kind of ability—she had seen it in the ancient texts within her clan's forbidden grounds. But to restore life to a dead thing, even if only a butterfly, far surpassed mortal martial arts.

The ancient text had only three lines, written tersely, like a piece of jianghu lore hastily recorded by some predecessor:

The world's greatest martial artist, the Wanderer—name unknown, origin unknown.

It was said that this person had once stood atop a green mountain peak, sword in hand, turning a land of death into a spring forest.

The world called this technique: Sword from Heaven.

Shen Qingshuang quietly stepped back half a pace, as if afraid of being noticed. But her gaze never left Li Yu, not for a single moment.

The Purple-robed Lord was gone, but it seemed she had found someone who could save her and her sister.