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The furnishings in the room—the bathing tub, the gauze curtains, the screen—were all steeped in sensuality. Even though Shi Luoyi didn’t fully understand, she could still sense that something was off. However, it wasn’t the fox spirit’s mischief that infuriated her—it was the moment the night breeze blew in, and she stared at the wall, drawing in a sharp breath.
There, partially hidden by a concealed compartment, hung an incredibly lifelike fire-ward embroidery.
The fox had crafted it into an intricate piece of art that went unnoticed during the day but became visible when the wind stirred the gauze curtains at night. The embroidery depicted a woman with her garments half-slipped off, her legs raised, and a man pressing against her.
This piece was meticulously embroidered with golden threads and jade accents.
The embroiderer had clearly put in immense effort—if it were anything else, it would have been considered priceless.
Seeing Shi Luoyi’s wide-eyed gaze fixed on something, Bian Lingyu followed her line of sight.
The last time Bian Lingyu had inspected the room was during the day, clear and windless, so he hadn’t noticed the hidden embroidery.
The fox spirit, being petty, hadn’t explained itself properly after Bian Lingyu asked for changes—it had only gone to complain to Shi Luoyi instead.
Tonight, the spring breeze carried the fragrant scent of ice lotuses into the courtyard, lifting the red gauze curtains and revealing the boundless intimacy behind them.
When Shi Luoyi saw Bian Lingyu’s dark gray eyes also fixed on the embroidery, she nearly fainted from shock, taking a deep breath before managing to speak: “If I say this arrangement wasn’t my idea, do you… do you believe me?”
He turned his head to look at her.
His eyes flickered with the light of the candles, his throat bobbing as he remained silent.
What truly unsettled Shi Luoyi was the lingering scent of incense in the air. Even if she hadn’t noticed it earlier, seeing the embroidery now made her realize this incense was no ordinary thing.
She couldn’t sit still any longer. Instructing him, she said, “Wait here for me.”
She practically bolted over, tearing down the embroidery, not daring to examine it closely, and hastily stuffed it into a cabinet after crumpling it a few times. Then she located the incense and extinguished it.
After finishing all this, Shi Luoyi broke out in a cold sweat, her hands smeared with ash, her heart turning icy. The fox spirit likely hadn’t meant harm, but the incense was a product of immortals—she had no idea what effect it might have on a mortal.
Anxiously, she returned to check on Bian Lingyu: “Bian Lingyu, are you alright? Do you feel unwell anywhere?”
Bian Lingyu lowered his eyes, and Shi Luoyi couldn’t see the color of his irises. Seeing his pale cheeks flush red, she almost wanted to hunt down the fox spirit and beat it to death. In her panic, she reached out to touch his forehead to check for fever—his skin felt warm. Uneasy, Shi Luoyi decided to fetch a knowledgeable healer spirit from the mountain.
But just as she loosened her grip, her wrist was seized.
Shi Luoyi looked confused: “Bian Lingyu?”
Bian Lingyu lifted his eyes, and Shi Luoyi finally saw them. His pupils were pitch-black, staring directly at her. With just one look, she already sensed trouble. Though things might have unfolded in confusion, Shi Luoyi was no longer ignorant of worldly matters.
They locked gazes for a moment, his grip growing tighter as he asked, “Is it okay?”
His words weren’t explicit, but Shi Luoyi somehow understood.
Her eyes widened, her scalp nearly exploding. He was drunk—letting him playfully lift her veil was one thing, but this was entirely out of the question! Bian Lingyu wasn’t in his right mind, and if this happened again under the influence of the drug, she feared he’d kill her once he sobered up—or worse, commit suicide out of shame.
She shook her head frantically like a drum.
“No, no, Bian Lingyu, calm down. Listen to me—you’re feeling unwell because of the incense. Let go of me, and I’ll find a healer for you. Just rest and sleep it off—it’ll pass soon.”
Rejected, he pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
Shi Luoyi thought he had come to his senses and tried to pull her hand back gently, careful not to hurt him. However, not only did Bian Lingyu not release her, but he also stood up.
The youth’s silhouette blocked the candlelight, exuding an oppressive presence that made her instinctively retreat two steps—only to bump into the edge of the table.
The bottle of Nv’er Hong wobbled, and she instinctively turned her head to check on her father’s wine, fearing it might spill.
Her chin was caught, preventing her from seeing the state of the wine. Worse still, her delicate wrists were pinned behind her back by one of Bian Lingyu’s hands, and his body pressed against hers.
Seeing the look in his eyes, she froze momentarily.
Bian Lingyu’s usually cold and clear irises were now tinged with desire, his gaze as forceful as his actions.
The young god, drunk and uninhibited, displayed the arrogance of youth—he saw no reason to hold back.
Before his lips could land, Shi Luoyi reacted quickly, turning her head aside. His kiss landed on her cheek instead.
He paused briefly, ignoring her evasion and moving his lips toward her hair.
Shi Luoyi trembled, still trying to bring him back to his senses: “Bian Lingyu, this isn’t right.”
In her heart, these actions crossed a line. Even when possessed by inner demons, she had never kissed him or truly touched him, as she bore no affection or desire for him.
But now, the increasing pressure of Bian Lingyu’s hands threatened to grind into her bones. The fragmented kisses, though landing on her hair, gave her the illusion they were brushing against her skin.
Her collar was slightly pushed aside, revealing the red undergarment wrapped around her delicate figure. She heard his breathing grow heavier.
Turning her head, she caught sight of the fox spirit’s sinful embroidery, the lingering scents of ice lotus and incense still thick in the air.
This couldn’t continue any further—otherwise, Bian Lingyu would surely hate her forever. They had come so far to reach this point of peaceful coexistence, and Bian Lingyu had forgiven her. She couldn’t bear to hurt him again.
Unable to break free, she controlled her apricot blossom hairpin, aiming it at one of Bian Lingyu’s pressure points.
It was a point that induced sleep. No matter what, it was better than facing the consequences of Bian Lingyu waking up later and seeking mutual destruction.
The hairpin pierced Bian Lingyu’s back pressure point, and his movements finally ceased.
Shi Luoyi braced herself to catch him, but Bian Lingyu didn’t fall unconscious. Instead, he slowly propped himself up.
At that moment, Shi Luoyi didn’t know that even a weakened god’s body was fundamentally different from a mortal’s. The spot she had targeted coincided exactly with the place where Bian Qingxuan’s divine artifact had pierced him before.
She watched as Bian Lingyu paused, his gaze meeting her always-clear and tranquil eyes. Silence fell.
The young god finally regained his clarity through this pain. This wasn’t truly his wedding night. The agony of his heart being pierced intertwined with the pain of the hairpin, stripping away his earlier recklessness, abandon, joy, and urgency. Slowly, he released Shi Luoyi.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly.
Shi Luoyi was utterly bewildered. Just as she straightened herself, she saw fresh blood trickling from the corner of Bian Lingyu’s lips.
He clutched his chest, coughing up a large mouthful of blood.
Shi Luoyi rushed forward, catching his collapsing body. Helplessly, she stammered, “How could this happen? I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
She wasn’t lying—her intention had never been to harm Bian Lingyu—but he had already fallen unconscious.
She quickly carried him to the bed, then dashed off to find a healer spirit from the mountain.
The red hem of Shi Luoyi’s gown fluttered in the night as she rushed about. The old healer, dragged out of his cave in the middle of the night, was unceremoniously brought to Bian Lingyu’s bedside.
“Quickly, check him—he’s hurt!”
Seeing the young mistress on the verge of tears, the old healer dared not delay. He immediately began examining Bian Lingyu, his expression growing increasingly grave with each passing moment.
The man’s meridians were in disarray, his blood and qi surging chaotically. Though there wasn’t a single visible wound on his body, he was already showing signs of being on the brink of death.
The healer spoke truthfully, hurriedly handing over several life-preserving pills to Shi Luoyi: “Miss Luo Yi, quickly give him a few of these. I’ll head to Ming You Mountain to fetch Elder Han Shu.”
Shi Luoyi accepted the bottle of pills, nodding repeatedly. The healer didn’t dare waste a moment, setting off from Bu Ye Mountain toward Ming You Mountain.
Carefully propping Bian Lingyu up, Shi Luoyi fed him the pills. Even when she had discovered her inner demons, she had never felt this panicked. Helplessly, she murmured, “Bian Lingyu, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this…”
Bian Lingyu’s body was ice-cold, devoid of any warmth.
This body had long been at its limit. The backlash from the Soul Purification Pill, coupled with the divine artifact piercing through his body, had left him in this state.
Seeing Bian Lingyu trembling uncontrollably, Shi Luoyi gathered every blanket she could find and wrapped them tightly around him.
“Are you feeling better now, Bian Lingyu?”
His dark lashes seemed frosted over. Shi Luoyi hastily lit more charcoal braziers, then embraced the shivering Bian Lingyu, channeling spiritual energy into his body while intermittently feeding him another pill.
After half an hour of this, Han Shu finally arrived.
She ushered Shi Luoyi out and began treating Bian Lingyu.
Outside, Shi Luoyi waited anxiously for what felt like an eternity before Han Shu finally emerged. Her face was pale.
“How is he?” Shi Luoyi asked urgently.
Han Shu shook her head. She had used every life-saving pill she had, but none of them seemed to have any effect on Bian Lingyu.
He was still alive—not because of external aid—but due to his own innate strength. What was stranger still was that he seemed to be slowly recovering on his own.
Frowning, Han Shu said, “His body is very peculiar—my pills don’t work on him. But fortunately, he’s showing signs of recovery. Go in and stay with him; he should wake up soon. This is the first time I’ve encountered something like this—I’ll need to look into ancient texts to figure it out.”
With nothing else she could do, Shi Luoyi entered the room to keep Bian Lingyu company.
As dawn approached, Bian Lingyu endured another cold, painful night.
It felt as though he had been transported back to his childhood in Heaven’s Blaze Ravine—the moment his mother severed his tail. She had stripped him of all his power, leaving him with nothing but a bleeding, wounded body.
The howling winds outside the ravine echoed endlessly. He couldn’t leave the house.
At the time, the woman would occasionally show him a rare flicker of pity, saying, “I’ll stay with you for half a day.”
But invariably, she would leave before the promised time was up, summoned away by her younger son’s cries. She had never truly kept her word.
In the beginning, Bian Lingyu hadn’t understood how mothers and children were supposed to interact, and he had been confused. Over time, however, he grew accustomed to it, and eventually, he stopped feeling anything for her at all.
In his hazy consciousness, he thought his tail had been severed again.
Bian Lingyu’s mind remained calm. As long as he endured the pain, it would pass, and he would recover soon enough.
But when he opened his eyes this time, he didn’t see the wailing ghosts of his nightmares. Instead, he found himself in a warm, candlelit room.
He awoke enveloped in warmth, realizing he wasn’t cold—his back was even damp with a light sweat. The room was filled with countless charcoal braziers, and his hand was being held, a steady flow of spiritual energy being transferred to him.
Turning his head, he saw Shi Luoyi, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.
Their eyes met. Her lips were pale as she asked worriedly, “You’re awake—are you feeling any better?”
Memories of the previous night flooded back like a tide.
Bian Lingyu hadn’t lied to Shi Luoyi—last night had been his first time drinking alcohol. Even a god without their soul could be injured or become drunk. Thinking of those moments of lost control, his heart ached with bitterness and shame. He hadn’t just sought her affection—he hadn’t wanted to let her go.
It had been like a dream. But now, his broken body and the reality of his decline pulled him back to the present.
When Shi Luoyi asked her question, Bian Lingyu nodded. Looking at her sweat-soaked hair, he said after a pause, “I’m fine. Put out the charcoal fires.”
She shook her head. “You’ll get cold.”
“I’m not cold,” he replied softly. For some reason, the despondent emotions that had weighed on him earlier had lessened. “I’m actually a bit warm.”
She smiled faintly. “Alright.”
Shi Luoyi extinguished most of the braziers, leaving only one lit. She then opened the window to let in the cool night breeze.
Bian Lingyu noticed it was still dark outside, the world cloaked in blackness. The wind dispersed the lingering scent of blood in the room. The young girl knelt beside him, carefully tucking the blankets around him. With great care, she said, “I’m sorry, Bian Lingyu. I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know why things turned out this way.”
“It’s not your fault,” he replied. “I was already injured before.”
Seeing the lingering guilt on her face, Bian Lingyu paused, then added, “From my conflict with Bian Qingxuan.”
Shi Luoyi was astonished, but recalling Bian Qingxuan’s earlier fury at allowing Bian Lingyu to be exiled to the wilderness, it made sense.
Noticing her sitting by his bedside, watching over him, he said, “I’m fine. Go rest for a while.”
Only then did he remember there was only one bed in the room, and the sky hadn’t yet brightened. Almost all of Bu Ye Mountain was under the watchful eyes of the powerful cultivators of the realm.
She had spent the entire night channeling spiritual energy into him and must have been utterly exhausted.
Bian Lingyu pressed his lips together, thinking to offer her the bed.
But Shi Luoyi preemptively pulled two quilts from the cabinet and prepared a makeshift bed beside his. “I’ll stay here with you. If you feel unwell, tell me right away. Rest well, and don’t move.”
True to her word, she lay down beside him.
Through the fluttering red gauze, Shi Luoyi turned her head to look at him. Seeing that Bian Lingyu was much improved, the tension that had gripped her heart all night finally eased.
Though weak, Bian Lingyu couldn’t sleep. Dawn had yet to break, and he didn’t want to drift off just yet.
He continued to gaze at her, but unexpectedly, she also lifted her head. Their eyes met. Bian Lingyu looked pale and serene. After a moment, he slightly averted his gaze but still faced her, not turning away.
Worried that the incense might weigh on his mind, Shi Luoyi quickly explained, “There was something wrong with the incense the fox lit last night. Don’t dwell on it—I only pricked you because I was afraid you’d be angry when you woke up.”
Bian Lingyu responded, “I know. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Seeing that he truly didn’t seem angry with her or brooding over himself, Shi Luoyi felt a little relief. Noticing his pale face and the faint bulge of veins on his forehead from enduring pain, she took out the Ruyi Lock from her sleeve.
“There’s something I originally wanted to give you last night, but you were drunk then, so I can only give it to you now. Bian Lingyu, hold out your hand.”
Bian Lingyu extended his hand, and a Ruyi Lock was placed in his palm.
It looked familiar, and he frowned as he glanced at Shi Luoyi.
Shi Luoyi rested her head on her arm and smiled at him. “It’s the Ruyi Lock you returned to me. You misunderstood my intentions back then—I gave it to you without any intention of humiliation. It was originally crafted by my mother for my future Dao partner.”
“I only wish for you to live a long and content life, full of joy,” she said softly. “I didn’t take anything with me when I left Bu Ye Mountain—I had nothing then, and this was all I could give you.”
“Perhaps for many years to come, until the day you wish to leave, you’ll have no choice but to remain my Dao partner. Because of you, I was able to return home. Now I have many things I could give you, but truthfully, this is my most precious possession. It was once blessed with the effort of an entire nation, and perhaps it can help protect you and aid your recovery. Will you accept it?”
Bian Lingyu tightened his grip on the lock. Before waking up, he had felt both pain and desolation.
After regaining consciousness, he recalled his impulsiveness and loss of control the previous night, feelings of dejection and embarrassment lingering in his heart. But now, all those emotions were smoothed away by the small lock resting in his palm.
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