Somewhere, in hidden halls and shadowed palaces, old monsters opened dusty dossiers and added new lines beneath a name that none of them could afford to ignore any longer.
Ling Feng.
Even Soaring Immortal Sect, sealed within its isolated minor world, could not pretend blindness.
Within its ancient altars, where Immortal Emperor Fei's shadow had once stood and where generations of disciples had prostrated with trembling knees, a secret meeting convened. Immortal light flowed like rivers, illuminating a vast floating diagram of the Mortal Emperor World.
Several radiant figures sat cross-legged above this tapestry of the world, their dao auras concealed to the extreme.
For a long time, no one spoke.
They all remembered the distorted projection that had pressed against their sealed world like a palm on frosted glass: a young man in grey robes, his expression lazy, his tone light, his fingers casually pinching two True Gods to paste across countless realms.
They remembered how their own world-veil had bent when his projection pressed against it, how the Immortal seals had trembled for a single breath as if some enormous existence had briefly looked in.
"This..." someone finally spoke up. "Do we suppress him now, while he is still in the Mortal Emperor World?"
Silence fell again.
Suppress.
For Soaring Immortal, it was a simple word. They had suppressed countless geniuses, crushed uncountable Heaven's Will candidates, shattered sects and kingdoms to build their immortal road. Normally, this would not even be a question—only a schedule.
In the end, one of the oldest ancestors slowly shook his head.
"He killed two Heavenly Guardians," he said. "Across distance. Without Heaven's Will. Without Immortal Emperor weapons in his hand."
His eyes grew deeper, like abysses swallowing light.
"This is not a matter to act on blindly."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, that decision had already been carved into Soaring Immortal's sealed dao.
"For now…"
He exhaled.
"…we wait. We watch. And unless we are ready to pay a price at the level of Immortal Emperors…"
His gaze fell upon the shimmering name Ling Feng on the diagram.
"…we do not provoke him without cause."
The Immortal light in the hall dimmed slightly, as if even the ancient arrays were shrinking away from that name.
...
In Heavenly Dao Academy, the aftershocks were no smaller.
The academy had always been a pillar of the human race. Heaven's Will competitors walked its halls like young dragons, their dao hearts firm, their ambitions sharp as blades. For them, the Mortal Emperor World had been a stage, Heaven's Will the rightful prize.
But after Tiger's Howl.
After one young man had reached across an Ancient Kingdom, crushed two Heavenly Guardians like insects, and casually toyed with an alliance that even Old Ancestors treated cautiously…
Those young dragons were forced to re-measure the height of the sky.
On a distant, lonely peak stained by the colors of sunset, Jikong Wudi stood with his hands clasped behind his back, robe fluttering in the mountain wind.
Space around his clenched fist warped faintly. The power of Heaven's Will within his body stirred—rising like tides, then calming again under his control.
"If I obtain Heaven's Will," he murmured, voice low and steady, "I can suppress this era. That is natural."
His words trailed off.
In his mind, the image replayed with painful clarity: Ling Feng's figure in that projection above Heavenly Dao Academy, standing amidst collapsing heavens, fingers closing with lazy indifference.
Two True Gods—existences that could guard Ancient Kingdoms—snuffed out as if someone had pinched out candle flames.
"…but will I be able to look down on that man?"
The thought slid through him like a splinter, leaving a faint bitterness in his mouth.
On another peak where clouds gathered like lotus petals, Mei Suyao stood quietly. Her Immortal Bone hummed in her chest, the pure immortal light within it unsteadily resonating.
These past few days, its rhythm had been strange.
As if it were yearning toward something and fearing it at the same time.
Her phoenix eyes lifted toward the Everlasting Tree's lofty crown in the center of the academy, where Ling Feng's figure had vanished after returning from Tiger's Howl. Even now, she could feel a faint, infuriatingly casual aura lingering there—someone who treated the world like an inn he was passing through, yet left footprints on the Mortal Emperor World.
"Immortal Bone…" she whispered inwardly. "What exactly are you responding to?"
In a secluded hall of Pure Lotus Dao, Ye Chuyun's figure sat cross-legged upon a lotus platform. Her Pure Lotus Dao radiance folded inward upon itself, petals of dao light closing over a heart that trembled against her will.
For the first time in a long, long while, the aloof saintess found it difficult to maintain perfect distance in her mind.
That casual squeeze. Two True Gods turning to mist. The way the heavens themselves seemed to hesitate before collapsing in front of him.
"…truly troublesome," she murmured softly, opening her eyes.
In clouds, in palaces, in training fields and secret cultivation grounds, names that had once filled the Mortal Emperor World with awe went silent.
Heavenly Emperor Lin, Zhan Shi, Wolong Xuan, South Emperor, Long Aotian…
All the Heaven's Will competitors who had once treated this world as their stage now treated the name Ling Feng like a bare blade.
One that could cut even through pride.
They held meetings.
So did their sects, kingdoms, and backing Emperor lineages.
War God Temple's ancient bell rang deep under a mountain, summoning elders who had slept through eras.
Eternal River School's mist-shrouded pagodas saw their oldest daoists step out of seclusion, reading reports with wrinkled hands.
Divine Sword Sacred Ground's sword peaks vibrated faintly, sword intent cascading like unseen waterfalls as elders watched the projection again and again.
Ice Feather Palace's concealed ice plains glowed with cold light as palace lords tightened their guard.
Nine Saint Demon Gate's deep demon halls dimmed, the Demon King's eyes reflecting a certain grey-robed youth.
Everyone with the slightest weight in this world—be they Great Power or Ancient Kingdom, hereditary lineage or rising sect—sent out feelers, recalled distant elders, summoned hidden cards.
Their first agenda item was the same.
How to treat Ling Feng.
The answer, in every power that still wanted a future, was simple.
With caution.
...
In all of this, the man at the center of the storm moved quietly.
Ling Feng did not attend the urgent meetings that anxious sect masters begged him to join.
He barely accepted any of the invitations that piled up—civil and obsequious letters from Ancient Kingdom envoys, fiery challenges from Heaven's Will candidates pretending they only wanted to "exchange pointers," earnest requests from old daoists wanting to "discuss the dao."
He left them in a jade box in his courtyard. Sometimes he used the more florid ones to level the leg of a wobbly table.
He spent his days in a way that made old daoists grind their teeth and juniors call him the most carefree demon in history.
He strolled through Heavenly Dao Academy with his women.
He walked training fields, bamboo groves, side valleys, and secret peaks with the easy gait of a man browsing a market, occasionally reaching out to adjust the trajectory of one of the girl's cultivation, or reading through a Merit Law and casually modifying a few lines with his Chaos-sharpened comprehension.
As he wandered idly, his Chaos Sense never slept.
Invisible to the world, a strange, foreign perception spread across the academy, across the Eastern Hundred Cities, catching the whirlwind of news as easily as another man caught raindrops in his palm.
The name Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect, once small and easy to overlook—a forgotten sect in a forgotten corner—suddenly weighed heavier than many Imperial Lineages.
Since a certain casual declaration—"my sect master, and future wife"—had been broadcast across the heavens, no one dared treat that mountain as an easy stepping stone.
Heavenly God Sect's branches near Heavenly Jewel Kingdom changed attitudes overnight. The grudges they'd previously harbored toward Ling Feng—small slights, perceived disrespect—were quietly buried. Elders who had once spoken with cold arrogance now ordered their disciples to "show proper respect" to anyone bearing Cleansing Incense's crest.
No one wanted to be the next "example" in some offhanded lesson.
Lion's Roar Country's prestige soared.
The Chi Clan, once forced to bow their heads under Tiger's Howl's pressure, now found doors opening everywhere. Envoys from the Hundred Cities arrived with suddenly sweet tongues; old debts that had dragged on for generations were repaid at lightning speed.
Chi Xiaodao discovered that merchants who had once argued with him over a single coin now fell over themselves to offer better terms.
The blunt, straightforward prince nearly punched one in the face out of annoyance.
Chi Xiaodie, handling court affairs from within Heavenly Dao Academy via soul-locked communication talismans Ling Feng had prepared for her, watched problems that had once made her lose sleep melt away like frost under the summer sun.
Local clans that used to press Lion's Roar now spoke of the Chi Clan with genuine respect. The Bao Yun Clan's elders, once squeezed from all sides, now discussed "equal cooperation" with ministers who had previously looked down on them.
Ice Feather Palace grew increasingly quiet.
Not because it had been cowed, but because all those who had once plotted to snatch the Heaven Cutting Tablet or Ice Feather Palace's budding talents suddenly felt the world was very interesting elsewhere.
The names of certain internal factions, whispered before with greedy intent, now vanished from conversations entirely. No one wanted to be the idiot who tried to use Ice Feather Palace as a stepping stone and accidentally stepped onto Ling Feng's toes instead.
Divine Sword Sacred Ground's sword peaks were calmer too.
Bai Jianzhen's master, who had once worried endlessly about his disciple's heart being stolen by an outsider, now spent his time re-reading old records on Immortal Emperor Ye Ti and other unparalleled sword cultivators, wondering whether history had ever recorded a thing like Ling Feng.
As for Furious Immortal Saint Country…
Ling Feng barely spared it a thought.
But the saint country did not know that.
His offhand warning—"if you breathe the wrong way…"—had sunk into the marrow of every elder within their holy land.
The Lower Tyrannical Immortal Physique Law, once a fierce source of pride, now made them uncomfortably aware of how fragile even tyrannical bloodlines were under that casual, lazy gaze.
They began treating Lion's Roar Country's name like an ancestral tablet. When Chi Clan's emissaries spoke, Furious Immortal's ministers bent a little lower. When Bao Yun Clan was mentioned, no one dared make a sound.
They did not dare to "breathe loudly," much less look down on those they had once considered lesser.
In short, the structure of the Mortal Emperor World tilted.
Some lineages rose; some trembled. Heavenly Dao Academy's prestige, already sky-high after the Realm God's wrath and Ling Feng's earlier feats, soared to an even more unapproachable height.
The only person who seemed truly unmoved by Ling Feng's new status…
…was Ling Feng himself.
...
He spent more time in the company of his women than in council halls.
With Xu Pei, he walked the thunder-wreathed training fields where she had once bled for every advancement.
Lightning-etched stone platforms stretched out under a constantly roiling sky. Thunder banners fluttered; ancient formations buried deep in the ground drew Heavenly Lightning down over certain areas, where disciples tempered their flesh and dao hearts with gritted teeth.
Today, most of those platforms were empty. The academy's juniors knew better than to intrude when Xu Pei and Ling Feng walked the field together.
Xu Pei followed half a step behind him, halberd on her back, cauldron at her waist. Violent energy surged faintly in her meridians, compressed by his earlier modifications into tight, rotational currents instead of wasteful explosions.
Ling Feng crouched by an old formation flag, fingers flicking the worn runes. With trivial ease, he redirected lines so that the Lightning Qi funneled more cleanly, condensing into thicker, purer bolts for future disciples.
His movements were unhurried, almost lazy, but each change rewrote the field's effectiveness.
"Feng," Xu Pei said at last, watching him seriously. "Do you… ever feel pressure?"
He glanced back at her, one brow lifting. "Pressure?"
She nodded once, fingers tightening lightly on the cauldron's rim.
"So many eyes are on you now. Ancient Kingdoms, Immortal Emperor lineages, every corner of the Grand Middle Territory. Your name alone makes people tremble. This kind of prestige… It would crush most people's dao hearts."
He tugged the last formation line straight, then stood, dusting off his hands.
"Pei-Pei, you give me too much credit," he said, smiling. "I'm just doing what I want."
He walked back to her, the thunderlight painting silver edges along his hair. Reaching out, he brushed a wind-tossed strand from her cheek.
"Besides," he added, voice lowering, "you think I can collapse when I've got you waiting to see how far I'll go?"
Her face reddened instantly.
"…Feng."
His hand trailed from her hair down along the line of her jaw, calloused thumb resting just below her ear. The violent King Noble who had once stood bloody and alone on these fields felt her knees soften.
"If the world wants to stare, let them," he murmured. "As long as you're smiling, I'm good."
Her breath caught.
In the next moment, his lips found hers—unhurried, warm, tasting faintly of tea and ozone. Lightning cracked somewhere above, but the harsh sound seemed distant, muffled compared to the pounding of her heart.
Outside, the sky above Heavenly Dao Academy churned with whispers and gossip. On that quiet training field, Xu Pei's world narrowed to the warmth of his hand at her waist and the way his presence wrapped around her like a shield.
...
With Chen Baojiao, the training was louder.
On one of the academy's great battle stages, the Tyrannical Valley Immortal Spring Physique was unleashed without restraint.
Violent, surging energy crashed and rebounded through her body, dropping into the Chaos-enhanced "springs" he had helped her refine, then returning twice as fierce. Each impact she took became cultivation fuel, each clash feeding her springs rather than exhausting them.
Her Imperial Violent Hammer danced in her hands—if a hammer that could smash mountains could be said to "dance." Every swing carved depressions in the reinforced battle stage; phantom waves of tyrannical power rippled outward like invisible tsunamis.
Stone puppets, conjured by the formation, rushed her in tides. She laughed, eyes bright, as she smashed them one by one—each blow accompanied by ringing thunder in the bones of everyone watching from a distant gallery.
Ling Feng leaned against the edge of the stage, whistling softly.
"You get more terrifying every time you swing that thing," he called out.
Chen Baojiao wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing like stars.
"Young Noble keeps giving me absurd methods," she shot back, chest heaving slightly. "If I don't keep up, I'll be left behind by the others."
"Then don't hold back," he replied, straightening.
In the next breath, he stepped casually into the arena.
To an onlooker, it looked like recklessness—walking into the storm of her hammer. But the violent currents parted around him, Chaos-honed perception slipping into the gaps between each swing.
He moved behind her as if he belonged there, arm snaking around her waist with the ease of long familiarity, pulling her back against his chest for a heartbeat between two hammer strikes.
Baojiao stiffened, then immediately crushed the next puppet with redoubled force, as if to prove she could still fight even when her heart was racing.
"I'll carry you forward even if you fall," he murmured by her ear, breath tickling her skin, entirely unconcerned about the collapsing battlefield around them. "That's my job."
She snorted, trying to hide how her ears were turning red.
"You say it so lightly," she muttered, attacking again. Each hammer blow sent shockwaves rippling up his arm where it rested against her stomach, but he didn't budge an inch.
"And you hit things so violently," he countered, tone amused.
Then he bent down and whispered something very low and very shameless directly into her ear—a line only she could hear.
The fierce princess's face exploded into crimson. Her next hammer strike accidentally shattered three puppets at once and cracked the barrier at the arena's edge.
Disciples watching in secret scattered like birds.
...
Li Shangyuan preferred quieter places.
He found her in a bamboo grove that seemed to exist half in the academy and half in some timeless realm. Wind chimes hung from the eaves of a nearby pavilion, tuned to respond to the resonance of Pure Jade dao.
Shimmering bamboo leaves whispered as the breeze passed through, each leaf reflecting a thin line of jade-colored dao runes.
Li Shangyuan walked with measured, precise steps, every breath following the rhythm of a heart that had been trained never to ripple. Her slender hand brushed a bamboo stalk, feeling the flow of energy within it.
"Young Noble," she greeted when he fell into step beside her.
"Shangyuan," he smiled. "How's the heart?"
She blinked, taken aback. "The… heart?"
"Mm." His gaze slid sideways, taking in the faint tightness around her eyes, the way her shoulders were just a bit too straight. "You seemed rather shaken when those so-called True Gods got pinched to death…"
A faint, self-mocking smile touched her lips.
"My dao heart is not so fragile," she said softly. "But it is true that… watching you that day… shook me. I thought I had already seen the limits of this generation's Heaven's Will candidates. And then you crushed that scale underfoot."
He did not tease her.
Instead, Ling Feng simply reached out and laced their fingers together.
Her steps faltered for the first time.
"Young Noble…"
"You're allowed to be shaken," he said calmly. "You're not just some cultivation tool, Shangyuan. You're a woman. My woman."
Her breath hitched. The Pure Jade Physique that had always been so controlled, so careful, trembled slightly.
He squeezed her hand, thumb tracing the back of her fingers in slow, reassuring strokes.
"I don't mind being your mountain for a bit while you adjust," he said. "After all, I was the one who made the earthquake."
Her eyes reddened in an instant.
"…you really say such things so casually," she whispered.
"Not casually." He tilted his head, studying the dappled jade-green light that played over her face. "Truthfully."
He leaned in, first pressing a light kiss to her forehead.
It was a small thing, but to Li Shangyuan, whose life had been all discipline and sword-like determination, it felt like someone opening a window in a sealed room.
She closed her eyes.
When she lifted her face of her own accord, he obliged with a second kiss—this one on her lips.
The wind in the bamboo grove shifted direction, whispering around them like a quiet blessing.
...
Chi Xiaodie was more complicated.
He found her sitting alone on a small viewing platform overlooking one of Heavenly Dao Academy's side valleys. The platform was simple—stone railings, a weathered bench—but someone had draped a Lion's Roar banner over one side.
The golden lion embroidered there stared sternly at the world, claws extended, mane flowing.
Chi Xiaodie's back was straight, posture disciplined, hands resting on her knees. Her gaze drifted toward the distant horizon, where the Hundred Cities lay like a blurred painting beneath the sky.
Ling Feng arrived without fanfare, leaning against the opposite railing. For a time, he said nothing.
The wind tugged at the banner. Somewhere below, disciples' laughter echoed faintly between the cliffs, but up here, the air felt still.
After a long silence, she spoke.
"…Young Noble was I… too useless?"
His brows rose. "What?"
She kept her eyes fixed ahead, refusing to look at him.
"While you were crushing Ancient Kingdom Heavenly Guardians," she said quietly, "I could only stand there and watch. Lion's Roar has always claimed to stand proud in the South, yet in the end, it could not resolve Tiger's Howl's oppression with its own fangs. It had to rely on you. On someone outside our bloodline."
The words were calm, but her fingers had curled into faint fists on her knees.
He was quiet for a moment, watching her profile.
Then he reached over and flicked the edge of the Lion's Roar banner lightly.
"Xiaodie," he said mildly. "Do you know what annoyed me the most that day?"
She blinked, thrown off. "…what?"
"The fact that I had to listen to some decrepit old tiger brag about trampling 'my wife's' country longer than a minute," he said. "If anything, I should've erased them the moment I met you."
Her cheeks flared red. "That is not the point…"
He pushed off the railing and stepped closer, until his shadow overlapped with hers where it fell across the stone.
"You want to be strong enough to protect Lion's Roar with your own hands?" he asked.
Her eyes sharpened, swirling with pride, shame, and determination. "Of course."
"Good." He smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. "That's why I'm here."
Before she could react, he reached out and gently tilted her chin up, turning her face fully toward him.
Her breath stuttered.
"Young Noble—"
"Listen," he said, voice softening but leaving no room for argument. "From now on, you don't have to carry everything alone. I'll support Lion's Roar's back. You focus on becoming a queen worthy of roaring at the world."
Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she almost felt dizzy.
"W-what 'queen'…" she muttered, desperately trying to cling to her composure. "Such nonsense…"
"I'm serious," he said.
His gaze did not waver.
"Lion's Roar's prestige is rising now. Furious Immortal Saint Country doesn't dare breathe loudly. Bao Yun Clan stands proudly at your side. I'll smooth the road as much as I can."
He leaned in a little more, his breath warm against her lips, voice dropping to a murmur only she could hear.
"But when the time comes," he said, "I want to see you at the front of your legions, announcing yourself—not as someone's ally—but as my wife, the Lion Queen who bites first and asks questions later."
Her mind went blank.
"You—you—"
He closed the remaining distance and kissed her.
It wasn't as leisurely and gentle as his kisses with Xu Pei or Li Shangyuan.
It was fierce. Demanding.
For a moment, Chi Xiaodie—the dutiful princess—froze, shock rooting her in place. Then the part of her that was Lion's Roar answered: her hands tightened in his robe, and she leaned in, returning the kiss with instinctual, unyielding fire.
When they finally separated, both were breathing a little heavier.
Chi Xiaodie's face was crimson all the way to the tips of her ears.
"I… I didn't say I agreed…" she muttered weakly.
"You didn't pull away," he pointed out, amused.
She glared at him, eyes shining with a mixture of anger and something warmer. "…be responsible."
His grin widened.
"Gladly," he said.
...
Bing Yuxia tried to dodge him.
She failed.
He caught her on a high, snow-dusted peak that Heavenly Dao Academy used as an ice-aligned cultivation ground. Here, the air was razor-sharp and clean; the world below looked very small, its noise muffled by layers of frost.
Bing Yuxia's cloak fluttered behind her as she stared out over the landscape. The Immortal Emperor Cold Mirror hovered at her side, frost light glinting on its surface. Beneath layers of Chaos seals he had helped her lay down, the Heaven Cutting Tablet slept, its devouring aura caged but never truly gone.
"Running away?" he asked casually, appearing beside her in a shimmer of distorted air.
She jumped, cloak snapping. "W-who's running? This princess is simply cultivating."
"Mm. Cultivating how to avoid me?" he suggested.
Her fan snapped open with a crisp sound. "Don't be shameless."
He chuckled, leaning against a nearby ice boulder as if it were the back of a tavern chair.
For a while, they stood in silence, watching clouds form and dissolve over the Eastern Hundred Cities. The snow-covered peaks glowed faintly under the light of a distant sun, an endless white sea.
"…when you crushed those Heavenly Guardians," she said finally, voice quieter than usual, "I thought… 'ah, so that's it. If he wants to erase my Ice Feather Palace one day, it would be just as easy.'"
He raised a brow, glancing at her.
She gripped the fan a little tighter. "I know you won't," she added quickly, ears turning pink. "But knowing is one thing. Feeling it in your bones is another."
He considered that, then extended a hand toward her, palm open.
Bing Yuxia looked at it like it was some kind of trap.
"…what are you doing?"
"Come here," he said simply.
She hesitated.
He didn't press, didn't tease. He just waited, hand steady, eyes calm.
Eventually, she muttered something very unprincess-like under her breath and placed her hand in his.
Her fingers were cold. Slightly trembling.
He tightened his grip gently, warm palm wrapping around her chill.
"Yuxia," he said, dropping the usual playfulness for once. "You have an Ice Emperor's pride. You're not wrong to think through worst-case scenarios. But you're forgetting something."
"What?" she asked, trying not to look directly at him.
"If one day, some ancestor from some ancient kingdom, or some old fiend from another world, points at Ice Feather Palace and decides it should be erased…" He turned to face her fully, his gaze steady, voice flat. "They'll simply be erased from history."
Her eyes widened.
"Don't get it twisted," he added, lips quirking. "You're my wife-to-be. If anyone wants to bully you, they're picking a fight with me first."
Her heart slammed so hard it felt like it knocked the breath from her lungs.
"…w-who is yours…" she mumbled weakly, ears burning.
He stepped closer, free hand lifting to brush a stray lock of icy-blue hair from her cheek. The tips of his fingers were warm against the cold of her skin.
"Yuxia," he said, voice low, "do you want me to spell it out?"
She swallowed. "No need—"
He kissed her.
The cold peak, the thin wind, the distant roaring of Dao currents from the academy below—all blurred into a white haze.
Her fan slipped from numb fingers, clattering onto the snow and half-burying itself.
When he finally drew back, her gaze was unfocused. Her lips parted slightly, breath misting between them.
"I like your reactions," he said lightly. "Very cute."
"Y-you…" Her legs wobbled. She wrenched her hand from his grip and turned away, covering her face with her sleeves. "Don't just say such things so casually…"
"Who's being casual?" he asked, laughing. "I'm being very serious, my lovely Yuxia."
Her ears turned an even deeper shade of red.
...
Even Bai Jianzhen, whose heart had always been married to the sword, could not remain entirely untouched.
He found her on a sword peak the academy had "borrowed" from the Divine Sword Sacred Ground's dao, a place where sword intent cascaded like invisible waterfalls. Each breath carried a faint edge; each gust of wind seemed to be the exhalation of a buried blade.
Bai Jianzhen stood at the cliff's edge, Immortal Emperor Sword Life Treasure on her back, eyes closed. Her aura was so still it had almost vanished into the sword sea around them—like a sword that had been sheathed for ten thousand years, its edge hidden but not dulled.
"Planning to marry the sword again without telling me?" Ling Feng asked, stepping up beside her.
She opened her eyes.
"Young Noble," she greeted simply, voice as cool as the steel she wielded.
He studied her profile. "Your sword heart's a bit noisy today."
She frowned faintly. "Noisy?"
He nodded. "It keeps saying, 'this man is a threat.'"
For the first time, her lips twitched.
"…perhaps it is saying, 'this man is a whetstone,'" she countered quietly.
"Not a husband?" he asked.
Her composure cracked for a fraction of a heartbeat. The sword sea behind her quivered.
"You…" She exhaled, then shook her head, letting out a breath that carried a trace of helplessness. "You are always like this. If you were born in my sacred ground, the elders would have locked you in a sword formation just to make you quiet."
He snorted. "If I were born in your sacred ground, half your elders would already be my in-laws."
She stared at him, at a rare loss for words.
"…sometimes," she said slowly, "I cannot tell whether my sword wants to cut you, or stand behind you."
"That's fine," he said lightly. "Swords can do both. Cut everyone else and stand behind me."
Silence fell.
Then, unexpectedly, she let out a very soft, almost inaudible laugh. A small crack in the ice.
He stepped closer, the distance between them closing until he could feel the faint hum of her Immortal Emperor Sword through the air.
"Jianzhen," he said, tone gentler. "You've always walked ahead of others with your sword, haven't you?"
She did not deny it.
"Well," he continued, "from now on, you don't have to walk alone."
Before she could assemble a reply, he took one step into her space and kissed her.
For a heartbeat, Bai Jianzhen's instinct flared. Her sword intent surged violently, reacting to the sudden intrusion. The sword sea roared; invisible blades trembled in their unseen scabbards.
A killing edge pressed against his skin.
Then something… eased.
Her hand did not reach for her sword.
Instead, it curled lightly into the front of his robe, holding him close—a small, unconscious gesture, but enough to tell the entire story.
When they parted, the sword peak was quieter than before. The roar of sword intent retreated into a deep, even hum.
Bai Jianzhen's usually cold eyes were faintly misted.
"…troublesome man," she murmured.
His grin was lazy and satisfied. "You can stab me later if I misbehave."
"Do not tempt me," she replied.
But her voice was gentle.