During the first week of their journey toward the Scorched Wastes, the group made steady progress across the northern plains. The road was not entirely peaceful; roving bands of mortal bandits and low-tier demonic beasts occasionally attempted ambushes, but they posed no real threat to a squad assembled by the Forging Peak's premier disciple. Between Zhang Hao’s blazing spear arts and the seasoned coordination of the other senior disciples, every minor obstacle was swiftly obliterated.
In the few skirmishes where Li An drew her weapon—the heavy, unedged black iron rod that Zhang Hao had forged as a flawed experiment years ago—she moved with fluid, deceptive grace. Beneath the plain facade of Li An's disguise, the peerless coordination of Wu Meng Ting's body guided the blunt rod with lethal precision. Every parry and strike drew upon the chilling currents of the Mystic Yin Sword Art, freezing the blood of beasts before shattering their bones. Yet outwardly, she kept her aura restrained to the mid Foundation Establishment realm, never revealing the bottomless depth of her primordial yin roots.
By the seventh evening, the squad arrived at Frost River City, a bustling commercial hub situated at the crossroads of several northern trade routes. Tall stone pavilions rose beneath glowing formation lanterns, and the broad streets were packed with both mortal merchants and low-level cultivators.
"We rest here for the night," Zhang Hao announced, his voice carrying the calm authority of a dependable senior brother. His features were broad and solid—not strikingly handsome, but honest and respectable, bearing the quiet confidence of someone who had spent decades tempering his body in forge fire. "A week of travel wears on the spirit. Everyone take an individual room at the Heavenly Cloud Inn. We reconvene at dusk for dinner in the common hall. Until then, handle your own matters."
The disciples cheered and dispersed.
Li An intended to head straight to her room to inspect her formation plates and meditate, but as she reached the corridor stairs, footsteps hurried after her.
"Junior Sister Li," Zhang Hao called out, stopping a few paces away. He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze. "If you aren't in a hurry to cultivate... would you care to walk the market streets with me? Frost River City has stalls from across the continent. If you see anything you like, consider it a small gift from your senior brother."
Li An paused, studying him with cool, dark eyes.
Zhang Hao's intentions were far too obvious. In her previous life as Li Feng, he would have scoffed at such transparent courtship. Even now, her initial instinct was to refuse and return to the quiet safety of her room.
Yet, as she calculated the dates in her mind, a realization checked her tongue. Her monthly cycle would arrive within the next two weeks—likely right as they reached the deeper territories of the Scorched Wastes. When the primordial yin flared and her body dissolved into helpless, overwhelming sensitivity, she would need time and privacy. If she had the squad leader's personal assistance to deflect attention or cover for her sudden absence, the risk of exposure would drop significantly.
"Senior Brother Zhang," Li An spoke softly, keeping her voice even and detached. "I can accompany you. However, should I require assistance with a personal matter later during our expedition, I hope Senior Brother will not refuse."
Zhang Hao’s eyes lit up with uncontainable surprise and delight. For fifteen years, Li An had remained an impenetrable fortress of quiet diligence, never seeking favors, never asking for help, and never relying on anyone. To have her agree to walk with him—and to ask for his future support—felt to him like a crack had finally formed in that icy exterior.
"Of course!" Zhang Hao agreed immediately, a broad, earnest smile spreading across his face. "Whatever Junior Sister needs, as long as it is within my ability, I will not hesitate."
The city streets at twilight were alive with noise and color. Red and gold lanterns hung from wooden eaves, illuminating rows of stalls selling Spirit herbs, beast pelts, talismans, and mortal trinkets.
They walked side by side in silence. Li An was naturally taciturn, and Zhang Hao, terrified of saying something clumsy that might cause her to withdraw, struggled to find an opening. He wanted to ask about her past as a loose cultivator, her preferences, or what she thought of the sect, but every topic felt too intrusive.
Beside him, Li An's thoughts were far from quiet.
Looking at the bustling crowds, she felt a strange, novel sensation bloom in her chest. In her previous life as a male prodigy, his entire existence had been defined by rigid duty—shutting himself inside cultivation chambers, frantically training, and then decades of desperate, bitter searching for a cure after his spiritual roots were shattered. Even after waking in this female body, her days had been spent fleeing across continents, hiding in mortal disguise, or training under the strict seclusion of the Mystic Peak.
She had never simply... strolled down a street. She had never looked at shop windows without an objective or allowed the vibrant noise of the world to wash over her without fear of an assassin's blade.
With every passing year, the feminine instincts of Wu Meng Ting's body and soul had woven themselves deeper into Li Feng's consciousness. She found her gaze drifting toward colorful silk ribbons, fragrant scented oils, and delicate jade ornaments—things her former male self would have dismissed without a second glance.
At a wooden stall near the central square, a glimmer of pale luster caught her eye.
Resting on a velvet cloth was a hairpin carved from translucent white jade. Its design was remarkably simple—slender, smooth, and unadorned except for a gentle curve at the tip resembling a crescent moon.
Li An stopped involuntarily.
Her outward disguise possessed ordinary features and plain black hair, but in her mind's eye, she saw her true form: Wu Meng Ting’s peerless, jade-like countenance, her breathtaking curves, and the cascading waterfall of pure, snow-white hair that remained hidden beneath Li An's skin. That translucent white jade would look breathtaking nestled within those silver-white strands.
Zhang Hao noticed her lingering stare immediately. Before she could step away, he stepped forward and addressed the mortal merchant. "How much for this white jade hairpin?"
"Ten low-grade spirit stones, noble cultivator!" the vendor replied eagerly.
Zhang Hao tossed a spirit stone onto the counter without bargaining, picked up the hairpin, and turned to Li An. Knowing that her aloof temperament would lead her to politely refuse if he offered it verbally, he boldly reached out, took her slender hand, and pressed the cool jade into her palm, closing his fingers over hers.
"It suits you," Zhang Hao said, his voice earnest. "Take it."
Li An looked down at her captured hand.
Zhang Hao’s palm was broad, calloused from years of gripping heavy spears and forging hammers, and radiating the steady, comforting heat of his high-grade fire spiritual roots.
To Li An, whose internal meridians constantly circulated frigid primordial yin, the warmth was startling. Over the past fifteen years, her true body's core temperature had dropped significantly lower than that of an ordinary mortal or cultivator. She had adapted to the perpetual, biting chill within her bones, treating it as normal, but direct skin-to-skin contact made the difference stark.
Zhang Hao’s expression suddenly shifted from affectionate confidence to utter alarm.
"Junior Sister... your hand!"
He gasped, tightening his grip for half a second before reaching up with his other hand and gently pressing his palm flat against her forehead.
Her skin was freezing. It did not feel like the cool skin of a woman standing in an evening breeze; it felt like carved ice, unnervingly still and cold as frost.
"How is your body this cold?" Zhang Hao’s brow furrowed with genuine panic, his eyes searching hers for signs of injury or collapse. "Are you ill? Did a lingering poison strike you during our travel? Why didn't you say anything? Heavens... have you been walking around carrying this kind of ailment while I dragged you into the market?"
Li An stared at him, momentarily bewildered by the storm of guilt and panic sweeping across his face. "Senior Brother Zhang, what is wrong?"
"What is wrong?" Zhang Hao echoed, his voice rising in concern. "Junior Sister Li, if you weren't standing in front of me breathing, touching your forehead would make me think I was touching a corpse! You're freezing down to the bone!"
Li An blinked, finally understanding.
To her, the cold was merely the baseline state of Wu Meng Ting's body and her supreme yin roots. She had endured it for so long that she forgot normal human flesh was meant to radiate warmth.
"There is no need for alarm," Li An explained calmly, gently pulling her hand back and stowing the jade hairpin into her storage ring. "I cultivate the Mystic Peak's supreme yin methods, and my innate constitution carries a cold attribute. A lower body temperature is natural for my cultivation path."
Zhang Hao exhaled a long, shaky breath, though his furrowed brow did not completely relax. "Even for a yin-attribute cultivator, this seems excessive... Are you certain there is no hidden damage to your meridians?"
"I am certain."
"I see..." Zhang Hao muttered, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment as he realized he had just held her hand and touched her forehead in the middle of a public street. A dark flush crept up his neck, and he cleared his throat, taking an awkward step back. "The sky has darkened. We should return to the inn. The others will be waiting for dinner."
"En," Li An agreed, following behind his broad back as they navigated the crowded lanes.
When they stepped into the private dining hall of the Heavenly Cloud Inn, they found the rest of the hunting team already gathered around a large round table piled high with spiritual meats, roasted delicacies, and flagons of wine. Although Foundation Establishment cultivators no longer required mortal sustenance, the rich flavors and spiritual energy of seasoned spirit beast meat remained one of the few earthly pleasures cultivators enjoyed.
"Look who finally decided to return!" Chen Wu, a senior disciple from the Sword Peak with a loud voice and a rugged grin, slammed his cup onto the table. "Senior Brother Zhang, we intentionally cleared out to give you time with Junior Sister Li, and you still almost made us start without you!"
"Nonsense," Zhang Hao chided, though his ears flushed red as he pulled out a chair for Li An and took the seat beside her. "We merely walked the commercial district for a short while. Do not speak carelessly."
"Carelessly? Senior Sister Zi Qing told us before we left the sect that our captain’s heart was already stolen away by the quiet flower of the Mystic Peak," another disciple chimed in, eliciting a chorus of good-natured laughter from the table.
Zhang Hao waved his hand to dismiss the teasing, but he did not deny it too fiercely.
Chen Wu chuckled, reaching into his spatial ring and pulling out a heavy, dark-clay flagon sealed with crimson wax. A rich, sweet fragrance instantly filled the dining hall, smelling of fermented spirit peaches and aged medicinal herbs.
"This is Thousand Frost Spirit Wine," Chen Wu declared proudly, unsealing the jar. "Brewed from three-hundred-year spirit fruits and infused with pure spiritual qi. It can penetrate the meridians of even peak Foundation Establishment experts! Tonight, no one leaves sober!"
He filled everyone’s jade cups, including Li An’s.
In her past life as Li Feng, alcohol was nothing. With a robust male Golden Core body and fiery yang roots, he could drink jars of mortal liquor without feeling the slightest buzz. Forgetting her current reality, Li An raised the cup and took a steady sip alongside the others, finishing the sweet, fragrant liquid in two smooth draughts.
That was a grave mistake.
Wu Meng Ting’s body was not the rugged, scarred vessel of Li Feng. It was a primordial yin constitution of staggering purity, with five senses refined to an unbearable peak of sensitivity. The spiritual alcohol did not simply enter her stomach; the moment it touched her tongue, the potent qi vaporized, rushing straight into her bloodstream and surging into her delicate meridians like liquid fire.
By the second cup, Li An’s world tilted dangerously.
A deep, rosy flush bloomed across the plain skin of her cheeks, spreading down her neck. Her ears buzzed with a pleasant, muffled ring, and the loud conversations of the disciples faded into distant echoes. Her vision blurred into soft, glowing halos of light.
This wine... Li An thought, her eyelids growing impossibly heavy. My body... cannot handle alcohol...
Yet she did not fall over. True to her decades of discipline, she simply sat completely still in her chair, her back straight, her glassy dark eyes staring blankly at the polished wooden grain of the table, entirely unresponsive to the surrounding world.
Because she remained so quiet, no one noticed her condition throughout the rest of the meal. It was only when the flagons were empty and the disciples began standing up to return to their quarters that Zhang Hao turned to her.
"Junior Sister Li? The meal is finished. Let us head up."
There was no response. Li An remained seated, staring ahead with a dazed, dreamy expression.
"Junior Sister?"
Concerned, Zhang Hao reached out and gently rested his hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly.
At his touch, Li An slowly turned her head.
Her unfocused eyes met his, and what happened next was a sight that would remain seared into Zhang Hao’s memory for the rest of his life.
The perpetually cold, distant, and unyielding Junior Sister Li suddenly parted her lips and curved them into the softest, sweetest smile Zhang Hao had ever seen. It was a look of pure, innocent vulnerability—a melting radiance that transformed her plain, average face into something devastatingly endearing.
"Senior Brother... Zhang..." she murmured, her voice carrying a lilting, melodic warmth that sent a violent jolt straight through his heart.
Before Zhang Hao could process what was happening, Li An lifted her slender arms and leaned forward, wrapping them firmly around his chest. She pressed her cheek against his heavy robes, burying her face into his collarbone, and let out a small, contented sigh.
"So warm..." she whispered, her delicate frame relaxing entirely against his body.
Zhang Hao stiffened as if struck by heavenly lightning. His breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. "J-Junior Sister Li?!"
He instinctively placed his hands on her shoulders to push her back, but the moment he applied pressure, Li An whimpered softly, her arms tightening around his waist like an iron vise. The intoxicating heat from his fire-attribute body was an irresistible haven against the perpetual chill in her bones, and in her drunken stupor, her body refused to let go.
Across the room, Chen Wu and the other disciples turned around, their jaws dropping in stunned silence before wide, roguish grins spread across their faces.
"Well, well..." Chen Wu chuckled under his breath. "Looks like we really should leave our captain to his business."
"Silence!" Zhang Hao hissed, his face burning furiously red. "She is intoxicated by your spirit wine! She has lost her senses!"
Knowing that leaving her in the common hall would invite endless rumors, Zhang Hao had no choice. He carefully slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, scooping her petite frame into his arms. Li An immediately nestled closer, her cold forehead pressing against his warm neck, her soft breaths tickling his collar.
With quick, urgent strides, Zhang Hao carried her up the wooden stairs and directly into his own quarters, kicking the door shut behind him.
Inside the quiet room, Zhang Hao carefully lowered Li An onto the soft mattress of the bed.
"Junior Sister, lie down and rest," he whispered, trying to pull away.
"Cold..." Li An mumbled in protest. Her hands caught the sleeve of his robe, tugging him downward until he was forced to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Her eyes remained half-closed, glazed with drunken fog, her cheeks stained crimson.
Looking down at her fragile, clinging form, Zhang Hao felt a complicated knot tighten in his chest. Chen Wu’s earlier jokes about using wine to pry secrets from people flashed through his mind, but looking at Li An's defenseless state, any improper thought vanished, replaced by gentle curiosity and an overwhelming sense of duty.
He would never take advantage of her. Yet... he had spent years wondering who she truly was beneath that emotionless mask.
"Junior Sister Li," Zhang Hao spoke softly, his voice low and soothing. "Can you hear me?"
Li An nodded slightly, her forehead resting against his forearm. "En..."
"What do you like to do when you are not training?" he asked gently. "Do you have any hobbies? Things you enjoy?"
Li An was silent for a moment, her clouded mind searching through memories spanning two lives. "Nothing..."
"Nothing?" Zhang Hao asked, surprised. "What about music? Gardening? Exploring scenic places?"
"Cultivate..." she whispered, her voice tinged with a quiet, ancient fatigue. "Swing the sword... in the dark. That is all."
Zhang Hao’s heart squeezed. "You don't do anything just for happiness?"
"No."
Suddenly, her body gave a sharp, involuntary shiver. The cold within her meridians surged against the fading alcohol, and her brow furrowed in discomfort. She pulled his arm closer, trembling. "It hurts..."
Zhang Hao froze. "What hurts? Where does it hurt?"
"The cold..." Li An muttered, her words slipping past her lips without the defense of her waking mind. "It always hurts... in the bones. In the chest. Every month... it burns and freezes..."
"Have you felt this pain for a long time?" Zhang Hao asked, his voice shaking slightly as a dreadful realization began to take shape in his mind.
"Since the beginning," she replied softly, her tone entirely devoid of self-pity, as if she were merely stating the color of the sky. "It is just... how it is."
Zhang Hao sat completely still, the air trapped in his lungs.
She was not lying, nor was she exaggerating to win sympathy. She genuinely believed that living in constant, bone-chilling pain was normal—that suffering in silence without seeking warmth or aid was simply what life demanded of her.
What kind of brutal, lonely life had this young woman lived before entering the Frost Cloud Pavilion? What horrors had she endured as a loose cultivator to make her treat agonizing chronic pain as an unremarkable daily routine?
A deep, suffocating ache bloomed in Zhang Hao’s chest. His heart bled for the quiet woman holding onto his sleeve—a woman who spent her life fighting alone, completely unaware that she deserved gentleness, warmth, and care.
Zhang Hao did not try to pull away anymore.
Slowly, carefully, he wrapped both arms around Li An’s small, slender frame, pulling her fully against his broad chest. He circulated his fiery spiritual energy within his meridians, allowing a steady, soothing tide of pure, gentle heat to radiate from his body, enveloping her like a protective furnace.
Li An’s shivering gradually slowed. The tension in her small shoulders melted away, and a soft, relaxed sigh escaped her lips as she drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber against his shoulder.
Zhang Hao looked down at her resting face, his jaw setting with fierce, unshakable resolve.
I don't know what you suffered in the past, Junior Sister, he swore silently, tightening his embrace just enough to keep the cold away. But as long as I draw breath, I will ensure no harm comes to you on this journey. I will make sure you know what warmth feels like.