AUOF - 39

In his panic, Ji Xun withdrew his hand, afraid to meet her gaze. “I… wanted to change your clothes for you.”

Sang Li hadn’t fully regained consciousness yet.

Her clothes were soaked with blood, and the metallic stench was overwhelming—it truly was uncomfortable.

Before Ji Xun could act, she had already stripped off her outer garments, leaving only a white undergarment.

Though nothing improper was exposed, Ji Xun’s ears reddened as he shifted his posture, turning his back to her.

She crawled back under the covers.

Staring at his silhouette for a long while, her pupils suddenly dilated as realization struck—this wasn’t just anyone sitting before her, it was Ji Hengyu!

And this place…

She glanced around. Sure enough, this was Shuo Guang Hall.

Sang Li pushed aside the blanket and sat up. “My lord, I…”

Ji Xun: “Our situation is unique. It’s inconvenient to entrust you to others, so we brought you back here.”

Though Sang Li found something odd about his explanation, she didn’t press further.

After all, he was right—their situation was not something outsiders should know about.

With that thought, Sang Li realized that though she felt a bit tired, there was hardly any pain left. She tested moving her wrists; the wounds had healed, and everything had returned to normal.

Sang Li couldn’t help but glance at Ji Xun.

Her rapid recovery must have been due to Ji Hengyu bearing the injuries for her once again.

Sang Li wasn’t heartless. Even though Ji Hengyu had harbored murderous intent toward her in the past, he had unquestionably saved her this time.

“I remember my hand injuries were quite severe. Let me see yours.”

As she spoke, she reached out to grab his hand.

Ji Xun instinctively avoided her grasp, leaving her clutching at air. Coming to her senses, she realized her overstepping. “Sorry, my lord.”

Ji Xun’s hands, resting on his knees, clenched slightly. His lowered lashes trembled, casting shadows over his profile, making it even more obscure.

Suddenly, fresh wounds began to seep through his palms, bloody and grotesque.

“It might scare you,” Ji Xun said. “But if you wish to see, go ahead.”

He extended his hand.

Sang Li stared blankly at his palm. They were all new wounds, with scarcely an inch of unblemished skin.

She knew how painful it must have been.

Every peck from the bat creatures tore away chunks of flesh. Eventually, the pain numbed her completely.

For Ji Hengyu, this was entirely unwarranted suffering.

—He didn’t have to endure this in her stead.

Sang Li slowly propped herself up, carefully cradling his hand in hers.

Her hands were small; even both of them together were smaller than one of his palms.

Ji Xun let her hold him.

She examined the wounds; he gazed at her.

“I’ll find a way to remove the parasite curse. And in the future… I’ll try to take better care of myself, so you won’t have to bear these burdens for me anymore.”

There was a tinge of guilt in her promise.

Ji Xun’s lashes fluttered slightly. He didn’t want to see her like this, nor did he want to hear those words.

Ji Xun was merely a puppet.

If given the choice, he would gladly die for her.

—This was the meaning bestowed upon him by the heart within his chest.

He reached out to touch the strands of hair by her temple, his fingertips gentle, almost afraid to graze her skin.

Sang Li froze, lifting her gaze to meet a pair of tender eyes.

This version of Ji Hengyu felt unfamiliar to her, as if his soul had been replaced. The man before her was now a calm pool of water, his sharp edges dulled. In those eyes, Sang Li saw no trace of wariness or the coldness he once carried.

“My… lord?”

Moved by the moment, Sang Li instinctively leaned back.

Ji Xun lowered his hands. As the candlelight flickered, he bowed his head and said, “Do whatever you wish in the future without holding back because of me.” His voice softened. “…I hope you can live more freely.”

Sang Li was momentarily stunned.

Since coming here, this was the first time anyone—and especially Ji Hengyu—had spoken such words to her.

She understood that Ji Hengyu’s actions weren’t entirely driven by his true feelings; much of it stemmed from the constraints of the parasite curse. But regardless, his words offered her some solace in this world.

“I hope… my lord can also live more freely.”

The last time his karmic afflictions flared up, Sang Li had seen clearly the heavy burdens weighing on him. No wonder he was always suspicious and distrustful, eventually walking the path of destruction against the Heavenly Dao.

In the original story, Ji Hengyu’s ending wasn’t a happy one, and he never ascended to the divine throne.

He sacrificed himself for the path he sought, overturning the six realms in the process. In the end, he used the destruction of his divine soul to create a new order—a sixfold path of his own design.

Sang Li could see that Ji Hengyu’s current actions still aimed to bring peace and stability to the world. If possible, she didn’t want him to follow the original plot and continue down the path of ruin.

Ji Xun’s emotions churned restlessly.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind her.

He stood behind the curtain, observing the two of them. The dark fabric concealed his figure but couldn’t hide the icy, blade-like gaze piercing through.

Ji Xun’s breath hitched, and in his panic, he quickly pulled his hand away.

Like a thief caught red-handed, his covert intentions were laid bare, leaving him nowhere to hide.

But he couldn’t help but wonder—what place did Sang Li hold in Ji Hengyu’s heart?

If only…

If only what?

He dared not delve deeper into the thought, yet the restless urge to test the possibility of his suspicions grew stronger.

Slowly, Ji Xun leaned forward, pretending not to notice Ji Hengyu. With careful precision, he rested his head on her shoulder.

Sang Li froze instantly. “My lord?”

Ji Xun’s voice was low. “My chest hurts a little. It’ll pass soon.”

He had only shown her the wounds on his hands, but the injuries on his body were likely hidden beneath his skin.

Something about this felt off to Sang Li.

But she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she stayed still, letting Ji Xun lean on her.

Ji Xun cautiously raised his eyes.

Ji Hengyu had already turned and walked back inside. Ji Xun’s jawline tightened as he slowly rose to follow him in.

Before leaving, he didn’t forget to cast a Clear Dream Spell on Sang Li.

“Master.”

Ji Xun bowed deeply to Ji Hengyu, who was seated on the bed.

Ji Hengyu’s gaze lingered on Ji Xun’s heavily wounded left hand, and his lips curled into a faint smile—one that carried an ambiguous meaning.

Flustered, Ji Xun quickly moved his hand behind his back, still refusing to raise his head.

“Compared to Ji Wu, I’ve invested far more effort into you.”

Ji Wu: [Master, I’m still listening…]

Ji Hengyu slowly stood up and circled around Ji Xun.

Finally, he grabbed Ji Xun’s hand with force.

His sharp eyes locked onto the fresh wounds on his fingertips. “When I created your body, I plucked one of my own reverse scales to serve as your toughest flesh.” His tone was slow and deliberate as his fingers gradually pressed into the wounds.

As the pressure intensified, blood and flesh began to tear apart messily.

Ji Xun remained respectfully bowed, his head lowered.

“I tolerate some of your thoughts, but don’t dare to scheme against me,” Ji Hengyu said gently. “Ji Xun, you are a part of me that I extracted—I know exactly what you desire.”

With a final twist of his wrist, he tore off Ji Xun’s entire left arm.

Ji Xun was a puppet.

Even though he had a body, sensations, and emotions, he was still nothing more than a marionette crafted by Ji Hengyu.

The detached arm did not bleed.

The clean break at his shoulder revealed a tangled mass of red threads—”Soul Strings.” Like the threads used to sew dolls, they connected and controlled his limbs.

The severed arm in Ji Hengyu’s palm gradually disintegrated into ash.

This was his way of reminding Ji Xun—he was merely a puppet. Even with his heart, he could never become Ji Hengyu.

Ji Xun’s face paled, his expression fragile, as if it might shatter at any moment.

Between evil souls and demonic spirits, there could never be genuine camaraderie or mutual understanding.

Ji Wu, with his eccentric behavior, had already had his body destroyed multiple times. Upon seeing this scene, he immediately began to incite trouble: [He’s being dishonest, Master. Quickly destroy him. Without a body, his memories will disappear too, and then he’ll behave.]

At the mention of destroying his body, Ji Xun visibly tensed up.

But Ji Hengyu had no intention of destroying him.

He had once said that creating a body was no simple task—it required extracting emotional threads and plucking scales from his own body, especially the reverse scale, which took five hundred years to regrow after removal.

Ji Hengyu flicked his finger, and a new arm grew back onto Ji Xun’s body.

“Will there be a next time?”

Ji Xun knelt on the ground, bowing his head deeply.

Ji Hengyu waved his hand, dismissing him.

With no spectacle left to watch, Ji Wu sulked: [That brat is dishonest. I can also help Master preserve the heart. Why not choose me?]

Ji Hengyu: “His temperament is closer to mine.”

If it were Ji Wu, it would be too easy to expose their secret.

Ji Wu, thoroughly convinced, fell silent.

Ji Hengyu sat quietly on the bed.

After a period of healing, the minor injuries on his body had mostly recovered.

His senses were acute—even with Sang Li sleeping in the outer room, her breathing sounded as clear as if she were right beside him.

In the past, Shuo Guang Hall had only been occupied by him alone.

When he first brought Qi back after rescuing him, Qi was just a hundred-year-old Qi Ghost . Juvenile Qi Ghosts were notorious for being ugly and cowardly. Terrified of the sea demons in Gui Xu, Qi cried and made a fuss outside the doors of Shuo Guang Hall every day, begging Ji Hengyu to let him in. But Ji Hengyu showed no mercy, instead throwing Qi directly into Yuan Prison.

Over time, Qi grew accustomed to it and stopped fearing.

For the first time in nearly six thousand years, an outsider was staying here.

Ji Hengyu lay back on the bed, closing his eyes, but the sounds around him became even more pronounced.

He tossed and turned, unable to calm his mind for cultivation. Finally, unable to restrain himself, he got up and walked out.

The Clear Dream Spell would keep her asleep until dawn.

In truth, even without the spell, Sang Li would have slept comfortably.

She was someone who adapted easily to her surroundings.

He stood by her bedside, watching her.

He recalled how Ji Xun had embraced her, and how she obediently leaned into him.

Ji Hengyu found it perplexing.

She clearly feared him and had even expressed her dislike, yet she genuinely cared for him.

[“I hope my lord can live more freely.”]

Freedom.

It was a luxury he had longed for his entire life but could never attain.

Suddenly, Sang Li rolled over in her sleep.

Her collar opened wide, revealing blindingly white skin and the glaring mark of the parasite curse etched upon it.

Its color burned brightly, almost painfully conspicuous.

Ji Hengyu’s eyes flickered as he reached out to adjust her clothing, covering the offending mark.

Just as he was about to withdraw his hand, Sang Li suddenly grasped his fingertips and nestled his palm beneath her cheek.

Her face was soft and smooth, like the finest lamb’s wool.

Ji Hengyu tilted his head, observing her for a long while before slowly pulling his hand away.

Ji Xun had been hiding in the shadows, watching everything unfold.

The heart in his chest throbbed, and a bittersweet emotion surged through him like a dark tide.

These feelings weren’t his—they all belonged to Ji Hengyu.

Without this heart, he couldn’t perceive or feel its stirrings.

Perhaps…

Ji Hengyu wasn’t entirely devoid of emotions. He simply chose not to acknowledge them—or perhaps, he was afraid to.

Ji Xun leaned against the wooden pillar, pressing his palm against his chest.

If one day he wanted to—and dared to—what then? What would become of him, a mere puppet?