Chapter 30: The Forest Guardian

A dilapidated wooden hut stood on the barren mountain, where disciples of Hengwu Sect who had committed offenses were exiled to serve as forest guardians.

Forest guardians were forbidden from descending the mountain for the rest of their lives—a form of invisible imprisonment for the sect’s disciples.

Inside the hut, the dim light revealed a dirty and broken space. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and several wooden beds lay scattered about, their blankets stained and sticky, emitting a faint stench.

As dawn approached, several men groggily climbed out of bed. Some went to relieve themselves in the corner, while others chatted loudly.

No matter how noisy they were, the silver-clad youth on the farthest bed remained still, his eyes closed, seemingly carved from cold jade.

Bian Lingyu now resided here. It had been five days since he arrived. The effects of the Soul-Cleansing Pill had worn off, leaving him barely able to walk, and his bone spurs were unusable.

The morning light bathed him in a soft glow, almost tender in its embrace. Even after five days, the other men couldn’t help but stare at him in awe, cursing inwardly: Damn, this guy is too good-looking.

The weather today wasn’t favorable; dark clouds loomed overhead, and rain was imminent. One by one, the men left the hut, heading out to gather mountain goods to trade with the villagers below.

These offenders were mostly not good people, nor did they possess any notable talent. Even in exile, they indulged in drinking and revelry. The passage of time had etched deep lines into their faces—some appeared to be in their thirties or forties, while others looked older, well past fifty.

Only one among them seemed young and strong—a man named Zhao Qiang.

As the group walked away, Zhao Qiang frequently glanced toward the village below. The others exchanged knowing smiles: “Zhao Qiang is thinking about that girl again.”

Caught red-handed, Zhao Qiang cursed back: “Shut up!”

“But let’s be honest,” another teased, “it’s all in vain. Have you noticed how Miss Ashu has taken a liking to the newcomer? She used to bring things here occasionally, but have you ever seen her come so often? Yesterday, I returned early and saw her bringing him food. She even offered to call a doctor or wash his blankets for him.”

Hearing this, Zhao Qiang’s face darkened, and he snorted: “Just wait—I’ll make sure that sickly brat gets what’s coming to him.”

The others secretly relished his frustration.

Bian Lingyu was an outsider among them. Since arriving five days ago, he hadn’t spoken to them or even bothered to share his name, showing no intention of ingratiating himself.

He appeared cold and indifferent, ignoring everyone around him.

One disciple nudged Zhao Qiang, whispering something lewd into his ear. Zhao Qiang narrowed his eyes and smirked: “Looks like I won’t need to lift a finger. With a face like that, he’s bound to catch someone’s attention. When the time comes, we’ll head back late and give them some privacy—not interrupting the fun.”

The group moved further away, and as daylight brightened, Bian Lingyu opened his eyes.

He sat in his wheelchair and wheeled himself to a stream in the forest to wash up.

Spring flowers had yet to bloom, making the already desolate mountain appear even more barren. Several bamboo puppets emerged from the ground, bowed to him, and scattered to gather fruit.

Bian Lingyu knew exactly what Bian Qingxuan was trying to do. Having failed with Shi Luoyi, she was now attempting to break him through isolation.

But life on this barren mountain wasn’t unbearable for him. As a child, he had been imprisoned in the Celestial Abyss for a hundred years, surrounded only by skeletons, without food or water. Compared to that, this was nothing.

He had long anticipated this situation. Bian Qingxuan wouldn’t rest until she had exhausted every method to subdue him.

Before the bamboo puppets returned, Ashu arrived on the mountain.

While cultivators were forbidden from descending, villagers could ascend to deliver goods or trade, though they weren’t allowed to venture deep into the mountains due to the presence of spirit beasts and demonic creatures, which posed a danger to mortals.

Ashu carried a basket, wearing a new green dress today, along with breakfast prepared by her mother.

Her father was the village doctor, and since coming of age, Ashu had occasionally accompanied villagers up the mountain to exchange medicinal herbs with the cultivators. She had no fear of being harmed—Hengwu Sect’s rules were strict, and harming mortals would result in immediate execution and obliteration of the soul for these already-fallen cultivators.

Seeing Bian Lingyu from afar, Ashu’s face flushed red. Unlike the shy village girls, she was usually bold and outspoken. But whenever she saw him, her heart raced uncontrollably.

She softened her movements as she approached him: “My mother made steamed buns today—fresh flour from this year. They’re fragrant and soft. Would you like to try one?”

She held out the bun, but Bian Lingyu said indifferently: “Take it away.”

Hiding her disappointment, Ashu placed the bun back in the basket: “I’ll go put my things down first.”

She brought the wine requested by the other disciples into the hut, wrinkling her nose at the filth. Looking at Bian Lingyu, she volunteered: “On a sunny day, I can come and wash your blankets for you, if you’d like.”

Bian Lingyu replied: “There’s no need.”

Ashu bit her lip. Despite being rejected repeatedly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anger. In her entire life, she had never encountered someone with such an extraordinary presence and appearance—he was even more striking than the noble sons described in her father’s books. She had always been confident in her own beauty, as she was considered the most attractive girl in the village, and her father was the only doctor.

But upon meeting Bian Lingyu, she finally understood what it meant to feel inferior and awestruck.

If Bian Lingyu were an inner disciple of Hengwu Sect, she wouldn’t dare entertain any thoughts of him! Yet here he was, exiled to this barren mountain alongside those with low cultivation levels, waiting out their days in decline. Every male disciple hoped for a village girl to take notice of them, giving them a reason to live.

Ashu was aware of Zhao Qiang’s feelings for her, but she had no interest in him. However, if it were Bian Lingyu, she would willingly bear his children and remain on this desolate mountain to live with him.

Unfortunately, Bian Lingyu had never shown her any kindness. At first, he didn’t even speak to her, and to this day, she still didn’t know his name.

This time, Ashu was smarter: “I’ll leave the basket on the rock. If you get hungry, you can eat. I’ll come back to check on you at noon.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and descended the mountain. After all, the sect wouldn’t take him back, and she had plenty of time to win him over.

The bamboo puppets gradually returned, carrying fruits they had gathered. Finding edible fruits in winter was difficult—four out of five tasted bitter. Bian Lingyu ate them without complaint, not sparing a glance at Ashu’s steamed buns.

After breakfast, he sent the puppets deeper into the mountains to search for materials he needed.

He had to refine more Soul-Cleansing Pills himself; otherwise, when Zhu Yan descended, his current frail body would struggle to defeat that beast.

But Bian Lingyu knew that another round of heavy use of the pills might completely deplete his already fragile body. Whether he would grow old or die, he couldn’t say.

Sitting in the courtyard, he calmly carved bamboo strips. This path ahead was predictable, but Bian Lingyu felt neither resentment nor bitterness. He would walk it quietly to the end.

Noon approached, and so did the time for Ashu’s return.

With senses now akin to those of an ordinary mortal, Bian Lingyu heard approaching footsteps. His hands continued their work, his gaze icy and detached.

He assumed it was Ashu again. But when the figure finally stopped before him, his fingers tightened, and the dagger in his hand slipped, cutting a line across his palm.

Shi Luoyi hurriedly crouched in front of him: “Did I startle you? Why are you being so careless?”

She formed a seal, attempting to stop the bleeding on Bian Lingyu’s hand, but for some reason, her healing technique had little effect. Frowning, Shi Luoyi tried several times, yet it barely helped.

Bian Lingyu withdrew his hand, letting it hang by his side: “It’s useless. My constitution is unique—it’ll heal on its own in a while. Why are you here?”

Shi Luoyi had already taken in the squalid state of the wooden hut. Her earlier anger melted into an indescribable ache as she gazed at the calm and composed Bian Lingyu before her.

In a low voice, she explained: “Lady Hua Zhen passed away a few days ago. When I was young, she showed me kindness. I went to the Wei household to pay my respects, then sought out the Everbright Pearl. I lost track of time and only returned today to find that several days had passed and you’ve separated from Bian Qingxuan. Is your previous injury healed?”

Bian Lingyu listened quietly until she finished, then replied: “I’m fine. Now that you’ve visited, leave. This isn’t a place for you.”

His tone carried no accusation, only an unexpected tranquility that caught her off guard. Gone was the simmering frustration he had shown her months ago—now, he seemed to have drawn a clear line between them, resigned to his fate with detached indifference. This made Shi Luoyi uneasy: “But we agreed—I promised to refine medicine for you.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Bian Lingyu said. Watching her skirt become soiled by the dirty ground, he shifted his gaze and pulled an old book on alchemy from his robes, handing it to her. “Take this manual with you. Refine the pills when you have time. On the day they’re ready, give them to Ding Bai. After that, don’t come back here again.”

Shi Luoyi stared at the worn alchemical manual he handed her. She naturally recognized it—it contained not only ordinary pill recipes but also a page detailing the formula for a heart-demon removal pill she had long sought. Though its authenticity was uncertain, the mention of “divine flesh and blood” sounded like something out of legend.

As the book, still warm from Bian Lingyu’s touch, rested in her hands, she instinctively looked up at him.

His ashen-gray eyes were cold and distant when he wasn’t smiling. Long ago, he had watched her from afar with those same aloof eyes, and Shi Luoyi had never understood their meaning.

Now, under the dim sky, he looked down at her, meeting her gaze without averting his eyes.

Shi Luoyi’s heart trembled inexplicably as she said: “Let me take you away. Even if Bian Qingxuan no longer cares for you, you can’t stay here. There are demonic beasts in these mountains—they might devour you. You haven’t committed any wrongdoing, nor are you a formal disciple of Hengwu Sect. Tell me if there’s somewhere you’d like to go—I’ll escort you down the mountain or send you back to your former home. The world is vast; you can go anywhere you wish.”

Bian Lingyu’s gaze locked onto her almond-shaped eyes, lingering as if committing this moment to memory. But in the end, he simply lowered his eyes, staring at his wrist where the bleeding had stopped, and said coldly: “Leave, Shi Luoyi. Stop concerning yourself with my affairs.” He was walking a path of solitary resolve—one she couldn’t interfere with.

He knew it was impossible, so he chose not to reach out anymore. It was better that she didn’t understand. At least now, he could look at her with calmness and equality.

This was the third time he had dismissed her. In the past, Shi Luoyi might have left without hesitation.

Strictly speaking, their acquaintance hadn’t been long.

For cultivators, whose lives stretched for centuries, Shi Luoyi and Bian Lingyu hadn’t interacted many times. Yet every encounter was deeply etched in her memory. In the past, he had always been accompanied by Bian Qingxuan, whose presence alone infuriated her. Her initial impression of him came solely through Bian Qingxuan.

But now, things were different. When she thought of Bian Lingyu, the first image that came to mind was no longer the silent, brooding youth who stood beside Bian Qingxuan, watching her with an expression that fueled her anger.

Instead, she remembered the man who, under the moonlight, quietly carved peachwood swords.

Sharp, serene, and proud—these impressions formed another version of Bian Lingyu.

A person who sometimes stirred within her an inexplicable tenderness. That was why she had once escorted him safely to Bian Qingxuan’s side in Qingshui Village, brought him a snow lotus from the icy valley, and refrained from suspecting him despite accusations.

Now, even if he told her to leave, Shi Luoyi had no intention of obeying.

In the past, she hadn’t interfered because Bian Qingxuan always took good care of him. But now, things were different. Bian Qingxuan had abandoned him here, showing no concern for his life or death. If she truly left, what would happen if a demonic beast carried him off?

In her heart, the moment Bian Lingyu stood up to testify for her marked him as the second friend she had acknowledged in this life, after Jiang Yan.

She refused to believe she was so unlucky that every friend she made harbored ill intentions toward her.

Seeing his stubbornness, Shi Luoyi felt an itch to act. Did he not realize what reckless actions blade cultivators like her, unskilled in reasoning, were capable of when pushed too far?

Bian Lingyu was clearly someone with his own principles and will. She wondered if she could simply knock him unconscious and drag him away. Once she placed him in a comfortable residence and sold some of her belongings to ensure he was well cared for, wouldn’t that be better than leaving him in the wilderness?

Deciding to give him fair warning, Shi Luoyi asked earnestly: “If I do something to you now, will you blame me?”

At her question, Bian Lingyu paused, his cool gaze returning to her. Gone was the earlier detachment, replaced by an expression that was hard to describe.

From somewhere in the bamboo grove, a rooster raised by one of the cultivators ran over, darting past them and pouncing on a hen. The large, robust rooster chased the frightened hen, flapping its wings wildly as it fled.

Shi Luoyi stared at the scene, suddenly enlightened, and blurted out: “That’s not what I meant! I’m not thinking about… anyway, I’m not going to do anything like that to you. Don’t misunderstand—what happened before was a one-time thing, never to happen again. I’ve already vowed in my heart never to touch you again!”

As she spoke, she noticed his grip on the wheelchair tightening. At this rate, it wasn’t a matter of whether she should knock him out—it was whether he would snap and strike her instead.

Caught in both embarrassment and urgency, Shi Luoyi raised her hands in surrender: “I’ll leave! I’ll go right now, so don’t get angry!”

True to her word, she turned and fled, disappearing into the distance. For some reason, recalling Bian Lingyu’s earlier expression made her want to laugh.

And she did laugh—a light, cheerful smile that graced her face for the first time in days, though her back was turned to him.

Shi Luoyi thought this was much better.

His irritation and the urge to strangle her were far more reassuring than the cold, resolute demeanor she had witnessed earlier.

Just moments ago, he had handed her the alchemical manual, seemingly intent on severing all ties with her forever. Yet a single misunderstanding shattered that resolve. Shi Luoyi realized that perhaps he wasn’t entirely indifferent after all.

Having once been a demonic cultivator, her sense of shame was far less acute than in her previous life. Imagining him secretly caring while outwardly remaining icy amused her greatly.

This was undeniably wicked.

But for Bian Lingyu, what had happened between them occurred mere months ago, while for Shi Luoyi, it felt like an entire lifetime had passed. She had nearly forgotten the sensations entirely—how could she dwell on it as vividly as he did, associating every interaction with past transgressions?

Though she appeared to have run far, she secretly doubled back halfway. Shi Luoyi was nothing if not tenacious. She wouldn’t abandon him just because he was angry. First, she needed to ensure his safety. Second, she was curious—why wouldn’t he leave with her?

She could let him have his way in other matters, but when it came to life-and-death decisions, she wouldn’t yield. Once he calmed down, she would forcibly take him away. After everything she had done to him, she doubted he would hold a grudge over being knocked unconscious—it was hardly worse than her past offenses.