Before long, the ceremonial elder brought two sets of wedding attire upstairs, placing them beside the bright red wedding robes already on the table.
“Sect Master, Sword Sovereign, he…”
“I know.”
Fang Jixue’s appearance remained unchanged from years past, dressed in a sky-blue brocade robe with a light silk gauze outer garment that floated with each step.
Earlier, every word spoken by the people below had reached his ears without missing a single syllable.
Now, the auspicious hour was approaching, yet the groom had not changed into his wedding attire, nor did he show any hint of joy. He showed no reaction whatsoever to the two sets of gaudy pink and green clothes sent by Wen Shubai, which were utterly vulgar.
The ceremonial elder dared not press further.
Only a few close associates knew of the sect master’s predicament.
This wedding, which violated the Grand Master-Disciple Ethics, was something anyone would spit upon in contempt.
Yet now, the Supreme Chong Holy Sect’s divine authority was at its peak, and no nation or sect could stand against it.
The Holy Maiden herself had directly pressured from the Holy See, personally witnessing Princess Nanchan’s departure from the Thousand Machines Sect. In this matter, facilitating a marriage was merely a pretext; the true test was of the sect master’s loyalty.
Unable to defy the will of the Holy See, the sect master bore alone the infamy of violating the Grand Master-Disciple Ethics. Even the red invitations sent out were penned by others on his behalf, containing only a few sparse words.
All the prominent figures of the seven kingdoms and the Twelve Sects understood implicitly, uniformly claiming illness or other matters as excuses. They each sent a few similarly ranked disciples with congratulatory gifts to go through the motions, offering silent support in this way.
Only an entity like the Brahma Heaven Palace, detached from worldly affairs and ignorant of human suffering, merely seeking to bring children along for the spectacle, would have a figure of ancestral stature personally attend.
The ceremonial elder could only offer a bitter admonition:
“Sect Master, the bond of master and disciple between you and the princess has come to an end. From today onward, it will be the affection of husband and wife. You…”
He thought of “accept condolences and adapt to change,” but the words reached his lips only to be swallowed back.
Master and disciple…
Fang Jixue turned his gaze toward the Demon Suppression Tower, shrouded in Purple Thunderbolts.
The one who had laid down this Myriad Phenomena Formation had also once shared the bond of master and disciple with him.
And what happened afterward? A soul scattered for a thousand years, impossible to recover…
The ceremonial elder had joined the sect later and had only heard of the events from a thousand years ago, never witnessing them firsthand. Knowing he had touched upon a taboo, he dared not speak further. After cautiously offering a few more words of advice, he hastily withdrew.
Fang Jixue’s eyes returned to the two sets of clothes sent by Wen Shubai.
Whether in material or craftsmanship, they were clearly bought hastily from a shop on the street.
This ancestor had no sincerity whatsoever; he merely wanted to disgust him, to watch his spectacle, to see how he would resolve this predicament.
Nine hundred years had passed. Wen Shubai either did not appear at all, or when he did, he targeted him at every turn, as if holding a grudge.
Back when the seal collapsed, Wen Shubai removed his silk gauze, cleaved the Demon Realm Gate with his sword, saving everyone—except him. Instead, he planted his sword before him, leaning lazily on the hilt, watching him struggle desperately, crawling out of the sea of blood time and again in a wretched state.
It was as if he were waiting to see how he would die.
Or as if asking: Why aren’t you dead yet?
Fang Jixue smiled faintly; he was already accustomed to it…
But how should he solve this current dilemma?
Lost in thought, he suddenly remembered that earlier, from a distance, he had seen the puppet following behind Wen Shubai—the one resembling A Liang in stature—with a small, translucent green butterfly perched on its shoulder.
When Chu Weiliang was young, while the Evil Root still remained, she was innocent and unruly, often summoning little demon spirits to fly up to the tower, spying on what he was doing for her.
She thought he didn’t know.
But he knew everything.
Fang Jixue’s gaze wavered, a bitter smile of melancholy on his face.
The person had long been dead, gone.
It was his own doing.
However… he now knew how to solve Wen Shubai’s difficult problem.
…
Meanwhile, in the Garland Palace, An Nan Chan had finished dressing. Outside, four white rhinos draped in red silks and decorations stood ready, bearing the golden-red adorned palanquin that had been waiting for some time, awaiting the princess’s departure.
A palace maid hurried in and whispered a report about the wedding dress matter into her ear.
An Nan Chan slammed the hairpin she had been toying with onto the dressing table, her rosy makeup suddenly shifting to anger.
“That blind man surnamed Wen is truly too much! My master is kind-hearted, pure and detached, never competing with him, yet he takes advantage at every turn!”
“Shh…!”
The maid hastily knelt, begging for mercy. “Your Highness, please lower your voice. The Sword Sovereign holds the grace of saving our Northern Xuan. You must not let outsiders hear such words, lest it bring unnecessary trouble and ruin the joyous atmosphere of the grand wedding.”
An Nan Chan was displeased. “So what? Our wedding was personally designated by the Holy Maiden! Everything today is what I deserve. Who would dare obstruct it?”
As she spoke, she touched her face in the mirror.
In this world, when one cultivated to a certain level, they would refine a Life Essence to withstand a fatal crisis when necessary.
A thousand years ago, An Nan Chan’s cultivation was still shallow, her Life Essence extremely fragile, yet she dared to use it to block Chu Weiliang’s Celestial Demon Disintegration.
She had used her own insignificant life to save Fang Jixue’s most valuable one. It was from that moment she caught the attention of the religious order, who deemed her a useful person.
In truth, no one knew that her willingness to gamble was because she had secretly discovered beforehand that Fang Jixue’s Life Essence was already gone.
Had it not been for her back then, he would likely have been buried alongside his dear disciple Chu Weiliang on the Sin Cleansing Platform.
Therefore, he would forever owe her a life.
Though she had won the gamble, the cost had been immense.
The face reflected in An Nan Chan’s mirror appeared smooth, radiant, and eternally youthful, yet the pain she had endured remained vividly etched in her memory.
The mere thought of the name “Chu Weiliang” made her face ache!
“Keep a close watch on that Wen Shubai. Today is my wedding—no one shall ruin it!” she declared bitterly.
Another maid quickly knelt to advise her, “Your Highness, on this joyous day, you should relax your heart. It’s not worth getting angry over irrelevant people. You and the Sect Master are fated to be together. From now on, you will surely fly together as a pair, united in heart forever.”
An Nan Chan finally composed herself and picked up the hairpin again to play with.
“You’re right.”
After a moment’s thought, a sweet feeling warmed her heart.
Starting tonight, he would no longer be her lofty master but her Jixue Gege.
The two maids exchanged a glance below, then cautiously and hesitantly reminded her:
“By the way, Your Highness, Senior Sister Zhuang’s sealed meridians have not been released yet. She is in great pain, crying and making a fuss. What should we do?”
An Nan Chan was impatient. “Didn’t I already help suppress it for her? What is she still crying about? If she hadn’t been blind, how could she have offended Wen Shubai? How could there be so much trouble? Tell her to shut up!”
The seal on Zhuang Yanxin’s arm appeared simple, yet even with An Nan Chan’s current abilities, she could not remove it.
Unless Fang Jixue were to intervene personally.
However, she didn’t want to disturb him or distract him with someone else’s matters on such an important day.
Today, he should belong entirely to her.
So she simply found a secluded spot to confine Zhuang Yanxin, deciding to deal with it tomorrow.
Soon, the four white rhinoceroses adorned with red silks and colorful decorations slowly began moving, carrying the bridal carriage as drums and music played for the princess’s wedding procession.
Meanwhile, in the Moonlit Hall, before Fang Jixue’s figure had even drawn near, a large swarm of pink and green butterflies had already fluttered in like a blooming bouquet.
They drifted unhurriedly, bathed in the crowd’s astonished admiration, heading toward Wen Mian and dancing playfully around her, making the little girl giggle with delight.
Fang Jixue entered the hall, now changed into a bright red wedding robe like a crimson cloud, shedding his usual aloof immortal demeanor. He followed gracefully behind the butterflies, gliding in as if floating.
Everyone in the hall rose to congratulate the Thousand Machines Sect Master on his joyous occasion.
Only Wen Shubai remained seated, watching the spectacle.
Their eyes met, and they exchanged polite nods on the surface, yet there was an unspoken understanding of two rivals sizing each other up.
Surrounded by the pink and green butterflies, Wen Mian was overjoyed. She immediately hopped down from Wen Shubai’s lap to chase after them.
The butterflies led her outside to the garden, accompanied by the little girl’s continuous, gleeful laughter.
Fang Jixue had cleverly repurposed the two sets of pink and green wedding attire into butterflies to amuse Wen Mian.
First, it preserved his own dignity.
Second, it avoided undermining Wen Shubai’s face.
He knew that as long as Wen Mian was happy, this venerable figure wouldn’t make too much of a fuss.
In this first round of confrontation, Fang Jixue yielded slightly to handle the situation, and Wen Shubai, for his daughter’s sake, didn’t push too far.
They ended in a draw.
Chu Weiliang stood half a step behind Wen Shubai, still dressed as an ordinary maid. She hadn’t lifted her head since Fang Jixue entered.
Yet every step he took seemed to tread directly on her nerves.
Her eyes darkened, and the corner of her lips curled slightly.
Seeing that you’re living so well, Master, puts my mind at ease.
You must remain unstained, sitting high upon your divine altar—and be careful not to fall…