Chapter 59: How Truly Tragic Is It?

A majestic sword aura slashed out a sky full of bloody rain. Before the ferocious flood dragon could manifest its incomplete Dragon King avatar, it was cleanly cleaved in half from head to tail by the incoming white-robed swordsman. The swordsman abruptly reined in his power, narrowly dodging that strike as the sword aura pierced through the entire Jingbei Great River.

The fish swimming in the river darted about in all directions, yet those struck by the sword aura remained completely unharmed. The exquisite refinement of the living-man sword technique was evident for all to see.

However, Chen Yi felt as though he had almost been cleaved to death by that single sword strike.

When the rank-four swordsman attacked, all thoughts vanished in an instant. Everything before his eyes slowed down, and he suddenly found himself trapped in a whirlwind of flashbacks.

At that moment, everything grew still, and all sound vanished. Whether it was the fake temple guardian, the shrimp soldiers and crab generals, the white-robed swordsman, or the ferocious flood dragon, all lost their voices and their outlines. Between heaven and earth, it seemed there was only himself and this torrential rain.

What a torrential rain, falling in silent persistence, pausing not for a single moment. How many people had died in the rain, how much blood had flowed, yet it remained forever silent. Looking back suddenly, he had lost himself in a trance. Why had he never noticed such a silent rain before?

Chen Yi let out a heavy breath, snapping back to reality to see that the wooden boat had been split in two. He was standing on one half of it, while the short temple guardian had been pounced upon into the water by the shrimp soldiers at some unknown moment and drowned.

Looking at this scene, Chen Yi felt as if a part of himself had been hacked away and suddenly vanished. Having walked through the gates of hell, certain things no longer mattered, though for a moment he could not quite think of what they were.

Slowly pulling himself ashore from the river water, Chen Yi was soaked to the skin. He pressed his temples and looked down at his tattered garments, yet for a moment, he felt no urge to change out of them. Suddenly, upon deeper reflection, he realized that he seemed to have lost all desire for fame, fortune, and worldly splendor.

"What... is going on here?"

Chen Yi massaged the space between his eyebrows.

Although he had never cared much for fame and fortune in the first place, considering himself someone who would grab a baby's bib during the *zhuazhou* ritual, fame and fortune were merely means to an end.

"After walking along the edge of the ghost gate, did I... inadvertently sever my upper corpse spirit?"

He had often heard that those on the brink of death would experience sudden enlightenment, but Chen Yi had never imagined such a thing would happen to him.

He turned his face sideways and glanced casually at his attribute panel, whereupon he was seized with shock.

The panel now clearly showed an extra fifty years of True Qi, evidently converted from the deaths of Huang Liuqing and the tall temple guardian.

However, the Yin-Yang Grievance Art only triggered True Qi conversion upon activation. Exactly when had he... triggered the Yin-Yang Art?

Chen Yi pondered for a moment without finding an answer.

"Though I can't quite figure it out, I now have two hundred years of True Qi. Not only is it enough to upgrade the Yin-Yang Art, but I also have an extra fifty years left over."

After some consideration, Chen Yi decided how to allocate this surplus of fifty years of True Qi.

Twenty years to the White Willow Saber, twenty years to Yin Weiying’s *Purple Medicine Dan Canon*, and the remaining thirty years kept in reserve.

The river gradually grew calm, and Chen Yi saw the massive remains of the flood dragon being washed ashore by the waves. A brilliant, golden dragon pearl slowly rose into the air, and the ethereal, one-armed woman stepping through the void in the distance reached out and caught it in her palm.

A thought occurred to Chen Yi. He pulled out the lantern from his bosom, hurriedly unfolded and lit it, and walked toward the spot where the one-armed woman had landed, guided by his memory.

Before long, the one-armed woman descended slowly onto the riverbank. Chen Yi stepped out at the appropriate moment, cupped his fists, and bowed.

"Thank you... True Immortal Zhou, for your assistance."

By the dim light of the lantern, Chen Yi once again caught sight of those eyes. They were exceptionally clear, evoking the biting chill of early spring, leaving Chen Yi momentarily dazed and lost in thought. Looking at her, he was reminded once more of that rainy night and the mountains full of peonies.

The one-armed woman paid him no mind. Clutching the dragon pearl, she walked slowly past him.

Chen Yi turned his head and repeated:

"Thank you, True Immortal Zhou, for your assistance."

Faced with this second inquiry, Zhou Yitang finally spoke, her voice calm:

"It was merely a matter of convenience."

"Your grace in saving my life, I shall never forget."

Chen Yi immediately took the initiative to say.

She remained as cold and distant as ever, sounding precisely like the crisp sound of ice cracking beneath the frozen earth on a winter night. In his past life, he had broken her sword and forced her to become his wife, prompting her to swear an oath that she would make him die a wretched death. Now that he finally saw her again, a sudden weight seemed to lift from his shoulders—simply because the past was all put to rest, and she was still her.

For now, it was best to pretend he did not know her and act as though this were their first meeting.

Chen Yi’s thoughts rose and fell, and then he called out to stop her:

"True Immortal Zhou... please stay your steps."

Zhou Yitang turned her gaze to him.

"As the saying goes, a drop of water received in need should be repaid with a gushing spring. Now that the Immortal has saved my life, allow me to leave my name. Should the Immortal ever need anything..."

Before Chen Yi could finish his sentence, Zhou Yitang interrupted him:

"Speak plainly."

Chen Yi smiled awkwardly and said:

"Chen Yi, a Thousand-Household of the Western Depot, courtesy name Zunming."

Zhou Yitang turned and walked away without a word of response.

Just as Chen Yi was about to watch her vanish from his field of vision, she inexplicably tossed back a parting remark:

"That name doesn't sound nice."

Chen Yi was stunned for a moment, somewhat baffled, yet he did not take it to heart.

After all, this was their first meeting; she did not recognize him.

The night grew dark, and before he knew it, the one-armed woman was already far away.

Zhou Yitang stopped, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"He truly has grown thinner."

Just now, she had failed to restrain herself and inadvertently spoken an extra word.

Still, there was likely no harm done; after all, it was their first meeting.

"No matter, he will not recognize me."

Murmuring to herself, Zhou Yitang looked down at the dragon pearl in her hand.

She had no use for it anyway; she would leave it for him in the future.

……………………

With the lethal crisis of Prince Jing's estate resolved and all three rank-five experts dead, Prince Jing's estate had suffered a grievous blow and would likely quiet down for a spell.

Returning home, Chen Yi stripped off his tattered, blood-stained garments and washed up. After scrubbing himself two or three times, he draped a light robe over his shoulders and entered the main hall, only to find that Yin Tingxue had already brewed tea ahead of time, sitting with her hands resting on her knees, patiently waiting for him.

Chen Yi took in this sight.

On that night, he had given her no answer—an ambiguity that was both suggestive and noncommittal.

By the time he went to the Western Depot to handle official business the next day and returned home afterward, he discovered that Yin Tingxue had grown considerably more attentive than before. Not only had she brewed his tea early, but she had even taken the initiative to offer to wash his feet.

This behavior made Chen Yi wonder if there was poison in the tea.

Yet there was no poison in the tea.

And ever since that night, she had brewed tea for him almost every single day.

At that moment, Yin Tingxue hurried forward and asked in a soft voice:

"D-do you want me to wash your feet?"

Chen Yi raised an eyebrow, replied that it was unnecessary, and then sat down to take a sip of the tea she had brewed. Over the past few days, the travel pass, the maid indenture, the silver dagger, and other items he had deliberately left out were completely untouched by her.

Yin Tingxue felt extremely nervous, keeping her eyes fixed on him the entire time he drank his tea.

"You've been very obedient these past few days."

When he remarked that she was obedient, her face flushed red and she offered a soft murmur of acknowledgment.

Chen Yi reached out and pulled her into his arms. Her figure was petite; when he stood up, the top of her head roughly reached his chest.

"The travel pass is right there on the table, and there's some loose silver inside as well. Why didn't you run away?"

Chen Yi asked with a smile,

"What is this? Weren't you quite good at running away before?"

Yin Tingxue shook her head, her lips parting as she whispered:

"I won't run."

"Then what if I want to sleep with you? Will you run?"

Chen Yi asked directly, releasing her and adopting an attitude as if to say she was free to flee if she wished.

Yin Tingxue dared not refuse to answer, nor did she dare lie, fearing she would give Chen Yi an excuse. Her lips opened and closed repeatedly until she could only shake her head and say she did not know.

"I’ve already made it clear. Prepare yourself early—whether you want to run away or kill me, whatever you choose. In any case, you are going to be taken as a concubine."

She felt like crying without tears and retreated a few steps. Just when Chen Yi thought she was about to walk away, she hesitated for a moment before drawing closer again, obediently pressing herself against his chest.

Chen Yi held her for a while before finally speaking:

"Only now are you being so attentive? I feel like you haven't been doing a very good job as a concubine in the past."

"I'll do a good job from now on, alright? I'll serve you tea and water every day, wash your clothes, and even read books to you..." Yin Tingxue said in a tiny voice.

"Just that?"

"That's all I know how to do... I'll learn other things later."

Chen Yi cupped her head, his voice turning cold:

"Too late."

Yin Tingxue shivered. She instinctively wanted to step back, but after two or three paces, she summoned her courage and pressed back against him.

"You're a Saintess of the Demonic Cult, and I'm a man of the imperial court. Warming your bed is, by any account, an act of chivalry and justice."

"I-I'm no longer the Saintess of the Demonic Cult. Didn't you say the Saintess is already dead?"

Hearing this, Chen Yi changed his reasoning:

"The Prince of Xiang's estate colluded with the demonic cult, and you were chosen as the Saintess. If not for me, you would have been taken away by the cult, and in time, you surely would have grown cruel-hearted and committed all sorts of atrocities."

Listening to this preposterous and shameless nonsense, Yin Tingxue’s lovely face drained of color, while Chen Yi slid his hand toward the hem of her garment, causing her to tremble even more violently.

She stammered in a trembling voice:

"My mother... Her Highness said that those who touch vermilion turn red and those who touch ink turn black. P-people are changed by their environment. If I were in the demonic cult, I might become a ruthless killer, but I am not in the cult, nor am I cruel-hearted. I will be a good woman."

Chen Yi halted his hand, looked at her with a smile, and teased, "Oh?"

Yin Tingxue bargained with a pitiful expression:

"Let me go. I-I'll serve you well. Treat me like an ordinary maidservant. In two years... after two years, when I've come to terms with it, even if you want to drive me away, I will willingly crawl into your bed... alright?"

"Aren't we already sharing the same bed right now?" Chen Yi retorted playfully.

"That's not what I meant..."

The daughter of the Prince of Xiang blushed deeply. Hearing that Chen Yi’s tone had softened somewhat, she continued to negotiate:

"If you sleep with me now, I won't be willing, and you won't enjoy it either, right?"

"But didn't I buy that hairpin for nothing?"

"Save it... let me wear it in the future..."

Another excuse slipped past her lips. Chen Yi felt a momentary helplessness before hardening his tone: "You are my concubine."

"..." Yin Tingxue instantly did not know how to respond, tears welling up in her apricot-like eyes.

She turned her head slightly, bit her lip, and pressed even closer. Chen Yi could feel a soft warmth and the nervous, frantic pounding of her heart.

The daughter of the Prince of Xiang rested her chin on his shoulder and said, as if in utter despair:

"......If you sleep with me, how tragic would that be."

Chen Yi found her more and more pitiful. Without preamble, he asked, "What, is the Yintai Temple tragic as well?"

Then, he asked again, "Just how tragic is it?"

"It's very tragic."

Yin Tingxue thought for a moment and whispered:

"Like petals scattering in an instant."

Chen Yi affectionately kissed her forehead.

Yin Tingxue thought he had agreed, thinking they had reached some sort of pact, and leaned in to kiss him.

Yet after the kiss, Chen Yi said cruelly:

"In a few days, your instantaneous petals are bound to scatter anyway."

Yin Tingxue was frightened ashen, pale as the blade of a knife.

Chen Yi toyed with the ends of his concubine's hair.

What? Did her tragedy have to belong to him as well?