In the end, Rong Xuanhe was the first to concede.
He bit his lower lip, his nasal voice soft and clinging: “Why did you come?”
The man did not answer. Those pale brown eyes first swept around the room before unhurriedly closing the window.
He was not wearing his crown; his long hair fell loose around his shoulders, and his outer robe was draped over him as though he had stepped out on a whim.
After securing the window, he removed his outer robe, hung it aside, and walked toward the bed.
Rong Xuanhe did not know how to react, feeling nervous enough to stutter: “Are you sleeping here tonight?”
The other replied flatly, “This is Cangyi Mountain. I sleep wherever I want.”
With nothing to say, Rong Xuanhe uttered an “oh” and quietly made room for him.
The bed in this room was much narrower than the one in the main palace. Lying down together, the two of them were practically pressed tightly against one another. The youth lay on the inner side, extremely restrained and afraid to move at all. The half of his body pressed against Su Wenchuan felt as though someone had set a fire, burning frantically.
Clearly, Su Wenchuan had come to see him, yet the string in his heart felt tighter than before.
In the dark, Rong Xuanhe hesitated for a long time before finally summoning the courage to ask in a small voice: “Are you still angry?”
There was no response from beside him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Not daring to look at Su Wenchuan’s expression, he turned his face toward the other side, his voice dropping even lower with a pitiful, trembling undertone: “If you are still mad, or else I can go sleep outside.”
Beneath the covers, a hand suddenly reached out and wrapped around his waist without a word.
Rong Xuanhe stiffened, his eyes darting sideways in stealth.
Su Wenchuan turned toward him, tightening his arm to instantly shrink the meager distance between them down to the absolute minimum.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dropped so low it sounded like a sigh: “Is my breath that long? I have been angry for days, and I am still not done?”
His tone was excessively gentle, like thawing spring breeze that instantly blew away the chill inside the room.
In disbelief, Rong Xuanhe sniffled: “Really?”
Then why had he been given the cold shoulder? Why had he constantly been ignored?
A wave of grievance surged up. He wiped his eyes, afraid of losing face in front of Su Wenchuan.
Yet Su Wenchuan simply stared at him like that. His gaze was not fierce, but it made Rong Xuanhe feel immensely embarrassed. Lowering his head to avoid eye contact, he suddenly heard the other ask: “Do you cry like this every night?”
Rong Xuanhe immediately tightened his voice: “No!”
Unwilling to let Su Wenchuan think he was just stubbornly putting up a front, he added, “I just had a bit of insomnia tonight. Stop asking so many questions.”
Su Wenchuan said nothing more, watching him in silence.
With his cheeks burning, Rong Xuanhe wanted to roll over to block his face, but being held in place prevented any movement, leaving him with no choice but to bury his head into the quilt.
Fearing he might suffocate, a hand gently fished his face out from the blanket. He looked up in a daze. That large palm paused in front of his forehead, blocking half his vision so that he could only see the sharply defined jawline of the person before him.
Su Wenchuan’s fingers ran through his hair, pressing against his warm scalp with moderate pressure, like massaging a specific acupoint. The roughness of the calluses on his fingertips brushed past his scalp, sending a tingling sensation. It was hard to tell whether it felt good or something else entirely.
Rong Xuanhe had wanted to say something more, but the words on the tip of his tongue all melted into a soft murmur, and his eyelids grew heavy.
Oddly enough, before Su Wenchuan arrived, he had tossed and turned unable to sleep, his mind cluttered with chaotic thoughts. Yet after just a few moments of massage, waves of drowsiness rolled over him.
He could not remember when he fell asleep, only recalling that amidst his grogginess, he seemed to hear an extremely faint sigh.
Rong Xuanhe moved into Zaiyun Palace.
This was the main palace where Su Wenchuan lived and also the most magnificent bedchamber on Cangyi Mountain.
He no longer needed to observe the rule of going over to spend the night. All his luggage, along with the storybooks he had only flipped through a few pages of, were packed up and stuffed over here. Although that small courtyard could still be returned to at any time, there was likely little need for it anymore.
Because Rong Xuanhe had no choice.
When he woke up, he was already lying on another luxurious large bed, having no idea when he had been moved over.
Chunsheng smiled as he told him: “The young master can just settle in comfortably. If there is anything you lack, anything you want to eat, or anything you want to play with, just tell me. Consider it just like being back in that other courtyard.”
Rong Xuanhe answered honestly: “I do not need anything.”
It was just changing locations to idle away days waiting for food anyway.
Su Wenchuan was nowhere to be seen, and there was no one else in the hall. Just as Chunsheng was about to withdraw, Rong Xuanhe remembered something and called him back: “Wait.”
It seemed he actually did need something from the other person.
Chunsheng turned back to see the youth asking somewhat hesitantly: “Does your mountain have any kind of introductory cultivation textbook that is relatively concise, easy to understand, and has no threshold? The kind that anyone can learn.”
He wondered if the cultivation world’s spells could be learned casually, or if they were only taught to internal sect disciples and kept from outsiders.
If he only learned the basics, there should not be such strict requirements, right?
Rong Xuanhe did not dare hope for too much. Even if he only learned simple spells like starting a fire, lightening his body, or cleaning, if he ever got kicked out one day, he would at least have some self-preservation ability.
Chunsheng looked him up and down: “Does the young master wish to study the Dao?”
Rong Xuanhe nodded: “Can I?”
“You can, but…” Chunsheng thought for a moment and said, “Cultivators generally start with youth training, opening up meridians and tempering their physique, which takes a dozen or so years of foundation. It is probably a bit late for the young master to start learning now.”
“I see.”
Rong Xuanhe felt a bit disappointed, before hearing him continue: “However, if it is just the introductory basics, I can find a few books for the young master and reserve a spot for you at Mingsi Hall at the foot of the mountain. If the young master goes to listen every day, you will definitely achieve Qi condensation within half a year.”
Such a good thing existed!
The gloom on the youth’s face vanished entirely, and just as he was about to agree, he heard a cold voice come from the doorway: “The lectures at Mingsi Hall are too complex and not suited for you.”
Chunsheng hurried to bow: “Venerable Lord.”
The man stepped inside slowly, holding an ink-green invitation. Walking up to Rong Xuanhe, he looked down at him: “You want to cultivate?”
Rong Xuanhe looked at him cautiously: “Is that not allowed?”
He was not studying anything profound, just the basics. Su Wenchuan could not be that petty, right?
“Allowed,” Su Wenchuan said flatly. “I will teach.”
Rong Xuanhe’s eyes widened sharply, and even Chunsheng’s mouth opened in hesitation: “Venerable Lord…”
Did something as simple as introductory basics require personal instruction?
Without continuing, Su Wenchuan handed what was in his hand to Rong Xuanhe.
The cover of the invitation was painted with elegant peony patterns in gold powder, luxurious and exquisite. What made Rong Xuanhe freeze, however, was the address on it.
“Personally opened by Young Master Rong.”
Flipping it back and forth, he asked in astonishment: “For me? Who sent this?”
He had just arrived and was unfamiliar with the place. Why would someone specifically send him an invitation? Could it be an old acquaintance of the original host?
“This is an invitation to the Myriad Paths Dharma Assembly,” Chunsheng explained. “The Dharma Assembly is held once every hundred and fifty years, and every time, various sects and clans receive invitations. This time, the demon race is hosting.”
Rong Xuanhe was even more baffled: “I am not a cultivator. Why send an invitation to me?”
If he guessed correctly, this was mostly the cultivation world’s equivalent of a martial arts tournament, with various sects sending their own outstanding disciples to fight, race horses, and flash a bunch of flashy trump cards before crowd-pleasingly deciding a champion and claiming the title of martial arts supreme.
He asked doubtfully: “Do I have to fight too?”
“No one is asking you to fight,” Su Wenchuan said calmly. “If you want to go, just stay by my side.”
Rong Xuanhe glanced at him, confirming the man was not joking, then carefully put away the invitation and nodded slightly: “Then I want to go!”
Free spectacles should not be missed.
Su Wenchuan instructed him: “Hand.”
Rong Xuanhe obediently extended his hand. Su Wenchuan sat on the edge of the couch, pinched his fingers, and a wave of warm spiritual power flowed inward from his fingertips.
“Feel the flow of spiritual power.” Su Wenchuan’s voice was low and steady, starting from the most fundamental spiritual practice: “Spiritual power is born in the dantian, travels through the meridians, and returns to the dantian. It is formed by the condensation of the body’s entire breath. Hold your breath, steady your mind, and experience it carefully.”
Wait, why was there not even a proper stance warm-up!
The youth had been slightly dazed by the opening words, not expecting Su Wenchuan to start teaching on the spot, and hurriedly concentrated his attention to listen.
Chunsheng silently retreated out of the inner hall. A cross-breeze swept in, leaving the hall quiet save for their overlapping breaths.
Imitating Su Wenchuan, Rong Xuanhe sat cross-legged with a straight back and his hands resting on his knees, looking quite proper at first glance.
“Settle your breath in the dantian, keep your mind focused on Guanyuan. Slowly guide the breath downward to return to the field. When the dantian breath is full.”
“Um.” Rong Xuanhe coughed lightly and cautiously interrupted. “Excuse me, may I ask where is Guanyuan located?”
Su Wenchuan fell silent for a fleeting second.
Fearing that the man was angry, Rong Xuanhe’s heart tightened. Who would have expected that in the next instant, the man’s palm would press directly against his lower abdomen.
The palm was warm, sinking slightly into the soft fabric of his clothes, covering him seamlessly.
Rong Xuanhe’s face turned scarlet in a flash. Instinctively trying to shrink back, he was yanked right back by Su Wenchuan. That hand remained motionless against him, even pressing down a fraction further.
The man said in a flat voice: “Guanyuan is right here. Anything else you want to ask?”
So this really was teaching.
Awkwardly putting away his stray thoughts, Rong Xuanhe forced his attention away from that spot and asked, “Then what does guiding downward to return to the field mean?”
The man’s palm shifted slightly, sliding upward by an inch along his palm to stop just below the navel. Spiritual power surged over with it, making the inside feel hot: “The breath within the body moves from top to bottom, ultimately remaining within the dantian.”
So hot.
The other’s voice was exceptionally calm, making Rong Xuanhe feel somewhat ashamed. With trembling eyelashes, he took a deep breath to distract himself.
Seeming completely unaware of his anomaly, Su Wenchuan unhurriedly chanted: “Crossing the spine to connect the Du meridian, directing the viscera to pacify the chaos. The breath runs through a full cycle, nine turns complete the pure merit.”
His hand wandered accordingly, sweeping across the youth’s lower abdomen, brushing past the edge of his belt, hooking and releasing it, before wrapping around to his back and tracing upward along his spine, vertebra by vertebra. When passing the tailbone, it intentionally or unintentionally lingered there for a brief moment.
His lower back, shoulder blades, the back of his neck, Su Wenchuan seemed to be measuring his body inch by inch, his palm moving very slowly, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.
Rong Xuanhe’s breathing gradually grew disordered, his earlobes heating up. That hand paused on the back of his neck for a moment before retracting, suddenly pulling him into an embrace.
With his breathing tight and his cultivation posture broken, the youth’s cheek was forced against the other’s chest. Body heat transferred across several layers of thin garments, roasting him until he felt like a shrimp over a fire.
That hand did not stop.
Su Wenchuan’s fingers slid into his hair, gently combing through it and stroking him into a drowsy state just like the night before. Then, moving toward the front, he traced along his brow bridge, nose bridge, and lips, outlining them bit by bit, every step brushing past boundaries that shouldn’t have been touched.
When his fingertips brushed across his lips, he deliberately slowed his pace.
“Essence settled and spirit pacified, the five viscera moistened and warmed. External evils do not invade, internal demons do not exist.”
The man’s voice was low and steady, lingering by his ear.
Rong Xuanhe’s lips parted slightly on their own accord. The hot breath he exhaled puffed against the fingertips, and the hot current of spiritual power returned to his lower abdomen, scorching him until he curled up.
His five senses were overly acute, leaving him unable to think about anything else. He was practically melting in Su Wenchuan’s embrace, the corners of his eyes flushed red as suppressed gasps slipped from between his teeth, helplessly gripping the man’s lapels.
“Slow down.”
With tear-misty eyes, the youth looked up and pleaded softly. “Too much. I cannot remember.”