The day of the inter-sect exchange dawned clear and bright, crimson banners fluttering atop Crimson Flame Mountain as disciples gathered in the grand plaza to welcome the delegation from the Pure Moon Sect.
Xiao Yang stood among the outer disciples, robes crisp and new—gifted anonymously by Su Qingxue the week before. His cultivation at early Core Formation was still hidden beneath layers of concealment arts, making him appear as nothing more than a talented late Foundation Establishment youth.
But inside, his blood sang with anticipation and dread.
Saintess Ling Xue'er.
The system had been relentless in its prompts for the past month, painting vivid pictures of her purity, her beauty, her unbreakable bond with Zhao Tian. Every description was designed to inflame his desire and his need for revenge.
He spotted Zhao Tian first—arrogant as ever, standing at the front of the welcoming line in luxurious golden robes, face split in a smug grin. The young master had broken through to middle Core Formation recently and wore his power like a crown.
Then the Pure Moon delegation descended from the sky on a fleet of silver moon-lotus flying treasures.
At their center floated a woman who seemed carved from moonlight itself.
Ling Xue'er was nineteen—young, radiant, untouched by the weight of centuries like Su Qingxue. Her hair was pure black, flowing like ink down to her knees, adorned only with a simple silver hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. Her robes were layered white and pale blue, modest yet clinging softly to a slender, graceful figure—small, pert breasts, narrow waist, long legs that hinted at elegant strength.
Her face was the kind that inspired poetry: large, luminous eyes the color of starlit lakes, delicate nose, lips naturally pink and full. She radiated an aura of absolute purity—her yin qi so pristine it made the air around her shimmer faintly.
And she was smiling warmly at Zhao Tian as their treasures landed.
The young master strode forward, taking her hands in his with possessive pride.
"Xue'er, you're finally here," he said loudly, for all to hear. "I've waited too long to show you my sect."
She blushed prettily, lowering her eyes.
"Senior Brother Zhao, I've missed you so much. Mother Superior only allowed this visit because of our betrothal."
Their childhood promise. Their pure, destined love.
Xiao Yang felt the system activate immediately.
He exhaled slowly.
Then, deliberately, he released a single controlled wisp of yang qi—warm, golden, inviting.
Ling Xue'er's head snapped up.
Her luminous eyes swept the crowd—and locked onto him.
For a heartbeat, her pure aura flickered. A faint flush rose on her porcelain cheeks. Her fingers tightened around Zhao Tian's without realizing.
Zhao Tian noticed.
"What is it, Xue'er?"
"N-nothing," she stammered, forcing her gaze away. "Just… the spiritual energy here feels very intense."
From the elevated platform overlooking the plaza, Su Qingxue watched everything.
She stood beside several elders, expression perfectly composed, ice-phoenix beauty as untouchable as ever.
But her hands were clenched tightly in her sleeves.
Her divine sense—now Nascent Soul strength—brushed gently against Xiao Yang's.
She's beautiful, the transmission carried quiet pain. Young. Pure. Everything I no longer am.
Xiao Yang replied instantly.
She is not you. No one is.
A pause.
Then, softly: Be careful. Zhao Tian watches her like a dragon guarding treasure. And I… I do not know if my heart can bear seeing you look at her the way you look at me.
He sent back warmth, reassurance.
I will always come back to you, Qingxue. Always.
The welcome ceremony dragged on—speeches, gift exchanges, tours of the main halls.
Finally, the delegation split into smaller groups.
As the system had predicted, Ling Xue'er expressed interest in the sect's famed herb gardens—"to compare notes on spiritual plants," she said innocently.
Zhao Tian, busy boasting to other geniuses, waved her off with a few inner disciples as escorts.
"Show my fiancée every courtesy," he ordered.
Xiao Yang had arranged—through subtle system manipulation of duty rosters—to be one of the gardeners on shift.
The moment Ling Xue'er stepped into Garden No. 7, surrounded by blooming Fire Spirit Grass and Seven-Star Flame Lotuses, her eyes found him again.
Immediately.
Unerringly.
"This disciple greets the Saintess," he said, bowing respectfully with the other gardeners.
She nodded gracefully to them all, but her gaze lingered on him.
"You… tend these gardens personally?" she asked, voice soft and melodic.
"Yes, Saintess. My name is Xiao Yang."
A faint tremor ran through her at his name—or perhaps at the warm yang qi he allowed to drift toward her like invisible incense.
Zhao Tian's escorts noticed nothing.
But Ling Xue'er's breathing had quickened.
She moved through the rows slowly, asking questions about each plant, but always circling closer to him.
Finally, she stopped beside a rare Ice Flame Lotus—a flower that required perfect balance of yin and yang to bloom.
"This one is magnificent," she murmured. "How do you maintain such harmony?"
Xiao Yang stepped closer—close enough that she could feel his warmth.
"The key," he said quietly, "is finding the right source of yang to nourish the yin. Too weak, and it withers. Too violent, and it burns. But when it's pure… perfect… the flower opens in ways no one expects."
Her cheeks flamed scarlet.
She stared at the lotus, lips parted.
"I… I see."
One of the escorts cleared his throat.
"Saintess, we should move on."
She startled, nodding quickly.
But as she turned to leave, her sleeve brushed his hand.
Deliberately.
A spark jumped between them—literal qi resonance.
She gasped softly.
Xiao Yang felt her pure yin essence reach toward him instinctively, like a vine seeking sunlight.
The system chimed.
As the group departed, Ling Xue'er glanced back once.
Her eyes were wide, confused, frightened—and burning with something she had never felt before.
From the distant peak, Su Qingxue's divine sense wrapped around him again.
She felt it. Your warmth.
Yes.
A long silence.
Then, quietly resigned: Go to her tonight. The system demands it. But promise me… promise you will return to my bed afterward. I need to feel you inside me again. To remember I am still yours.
His heart ached.
I promise, Qingxue. I will come to you at dawn.
Bring her scent on your skin if you must, she sent, voice breaking. Just come back.
That night, under a full moon, Xiao Yang slipped into the guest pavilion using his new Yang Aura Concealment.
The moon-viewing pool was private, surrounded by illusion formations.
Ling Xue'er sat at the edge, knees drawn to her chest, white robes pooled around her like fallen petals.
She sensed him immediately.
"You…" she whispered, standing. "The gardener. Xiao Yang."
He stepped into the moonlight.
"I felt your qi earlier," he said softly. "It was fluctuating. Unstable. I came to help."
Her hands trembled.
"I have never… my yin has always been pure and calm. But today, near you, it felt… hot. Restless. Like something inside me woke up."
She took a hesitant step closer.
"Senior Brother Zhao says such feelings are distractions from the dao. That I must suppress them until our wedding night."
Another step.
"But I cannot suppress it. It burns."
Xiao Yang extended his hand, palm up.
A gentle swirl of golden yang qi danced above it.
"Let me help you balance it, Saintess. Just qi circulation. Nothing more."
She stared at the golden light as though hypnotized.
Then, slowly, she placed her small hand in his.
The moment they touched, her pure yin essence surged toward him like a tidal wave.
Both gasped.
Her knees buckled.
He caught her, pulling her against his chest.
"So warm…" she breathed, face pressed to his neck. "So strong…"
Tears gathered in her eyes.
"I love Senior Brother Zhao," she whispered, echoing words he'd heard before. "We promised each other when we were children. He is my future."
"I know," Xiao Yang murmured, stroking her back.
"But right now…" Her arms wrapped around him tightly. "Right now I don't understand my own heart."
She looked up at him, luminous eyes filled with innocent confusion and dawning desire.
"What is this feeling?"
He leaned down slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn't.
Their lips met—soft, tentative, her first kiss.
She melted against him with a tiny whimper, pure yin qi flowing freely now, wrapping around his yang in perfect, instinctive harmony.
When they parted, she was crying.
"I'm sorry, Senior Brother Zhao…" she whispered.
But her hands clung to Xiao Yang's robes, unwilling to let go.
In his mind, the system spoke.
But as he held the trembling saintess under the moonlight—knowing dawn would take him back to Su Qingxue's waiting arms—Xiao Yang wondered how many hearts he could break…
Before his own shattered completely.