“Hey!
Are you listening to me?”
Ning Rongrong’s voice had risen to a rather impolite pitch.
She stood three steps behind Yang Xing, her chest heaving violently, her almond-shaped eyes wide open, and her delicate face flushed bright red.
From the moment the contract was signed until now, she had shouted “cancel the contract” at the back of Yang Xing’s head no less than ten times.
Not once had she received a response.
Not once.
This man stood there motionless, facing the direction of the southern city, like a wooden stake planted by the roadside, as if he were deaf.
Ning Rongrong had never been ignored like this before.
Never.
In the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, if she uttered a single word, thirty servants would rush to respond.
In Tiandou City, if she frowned, those around her would practically kneel down to ask her what was wrong.
But now?
A fortune-teller who set up a stall by the roadside, after tricking her into signing a contract, turned his back on her—treating her like air?
What about her dignity?
In front of so many people?
She, the esteemed young lady of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, had shouted over a dozen times at someone’s back without even a glance in return?
The gazes of the onlookers around her felt like needles pricking her back.
Ning Rongrong took a deep breath.
Enough.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Forget about ladylike demeanor for now—she was going to grab this swindler and—
She took a step forward.
Then she stopped.
Because she saw something.
Yang Xing’s shoulders were trembling.
Not the trembling of anger.
It was more like…
the kind of tremor that comes from holding something back.
Ning Rongrong tilted her head, suspiciously circling to the side to get a clearer look at his expression.
Then she froze completely.
Yang Xing was crying.
Not wailing loudly, but the kind of silent weeping where two clear trails of tears streamed down his cheeks.
His eyes gazed into the distance, unfocused as if looking at something far, far away.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his entire expression conveyed one thing—
Helpless sorrow.
The kind of extreme grief that comes from having a treasure stolen, a family heirloom lost, or a wife running off with someone else.
Ning Rongrong’s feet were rooted to the spot.
She opened her mouth, but the anger boiling inside her was completely stifled by the sight before her.
The feeling was complicated.
It was as if you were rolling up your sleeves, ready to beat someone up, only to turn around and find them shedding tears.
Your raised fist felt awkward, but lowering it felt just as wrong.
“…Hey.”
Ning Rongrong’s tone unconsciously softened a few degrees, though it still carried a mix of confusion and lingering annoyance.
She crossed her arms, chin slightly raised, her voice tinged with an indescribable awkwardness.
“I haven’t cried even though I was tricked by a swindler like you.
You, who took advantage of me…
why are you crying?”
Yang Xing finally reacted.
He slowly turned his head.
Two tear tracks glistened on his cheeks under the afternoon sun.
Paired with his face—not exceptionally handsome but somewhat refined—it evoked an inexplicable sense of…
pitiful sorrow.
“It’s nothing.”
His voice was hoarse, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat.
“I just remembered…
my wife is at home, pregnant and about to give birth.”
Ning Rongrong blinked.
“I can’t make it back to take care of her.” Yang Xing wiped his face, his voice muffled.
“So I’m sad.”
Three seconds of silence.
“Whoosh—”
Ning Rongrong leaped backward as if she had stepped on a cat’s tail, nearly tripping over her own skirt.
Her face was full of suspicion, her gaze sliding from Yang Xing’s face down to his feet and back up again, scrutinizing him over and over.
“Wait.”
She stretched out a hand, palm facing Yang Xing, her voice dripping with disbelief.
“Liar, you don’t look that old… You already have a wife and kids?”
Yang Xing lifted his eyelids to glance at her but said nothing.
Ning Rongrong’s mind raced.
No, no, no.
She began shaking her head, swaying like a rattle-drum, muttering to herself.
“No, no… If you already have a wife and kids, and I really become your disciple, wouldn’t I inexplicably gain a shiniang?
Maybe even a shidi?”
The more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.
The esteemed young lady of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, apprenticing to a roadside fortune-telling swindler, only to later have a pregnant shiniang waiting for her to address her properly?
And then a few months later, a little shidi popping out?
Would she, Ning Rongrong, still have any face left?
As this thought took hold, Ning Rongrong’s expression shifted.
She skipped forward gracefully to stand before Yang Xing, forced to tilt her head back due to their height difference—then she reached up and fiercely grabbed the collar of his robe.
“Give me the contract.”
Her tone was imperious, each word spat out with absolute certainty, leaving no room for argument.
“Cancel it.
Now.
Immediately.
At once.”
Yang Xing looked down at the small, pale hand clutching his collar.
Then something miraculous happened.
The tears on his face simply vanished.
One moment ago, he had looked as sorrowful as if his own father had died; the next moment, his expression—
Went flat.
Completely flat.
Not inscrutable, not feigning nonchalance, but a wooden, stump-like blankness that revealed no emotion whatsoever.
His half-open eyes looked down at Ning Rongrong, and his lips moved slightly.
“No.”
Two words.
As if they had popped out of a hollow tree.
Dry, devoid of warmth, and offering no room for negotiation.
Ning Rongrong was momentarily stunned by the speed of his change in demeanor, frozen for a fraction of a second.
“Rejected.” Yang Xing added another word.
His expression remained exactly as before—his features neatly arranged on his face, but together they conveyed a sense of “nothing you say matters, I’ve already shut down.”
The corners of his mouth neither rose nor fell.
His eyes were neither wide nor narrow.
Like a statue placed by the roadside, with features but no soul.
Ning Rongrong’s temple twitched.
“The contract between Miss Ning and me has already taken effect.” Yang Xing’s tone was as flat as if he were reading a menu.
“If Miss Ning wishes to know the method for transforming the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda into the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda, I can help you calculate it now.”
Ning Rongrong’s eyes flickered.
Seven Treasures becoming Nine Treasures.
These five words hooked something deep within her heart.
For a fleeting moment, she was tempted.
Truly, only for a moment.
But immediately, she gritted her teeth and swallowed that flicker of hesitation.
“No!” She shook her head, resolute and unwavering.
“I don’t want any Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda!
I want you to cancel the master-disciple contract with me!”
Yang Xing looked at her.
And shook his head.
Ning Rongrong’s eyes widened.
“You have to agree.” She lowered her voice, her tone laced with threat.
Yang Xing shook his head again.
The same expression, the same degree, the same blankness.
Like a machine programmed only to execute the command “shake head.”
Ning Rongrong felt as if a ball of fire were lodged in her chest, burning so fiercely it ached deep within her.
“Do you even know who I am?!”
Head shake.
“I can hit you right now, believe it or not?!”
Head shake.
“I’m going home right away!
I won’t even go to the academy!
I’ll get my Sword Grandpa and Bone Grandpa to come beat you up!”