#40: The Decision

Shi Luoyi found herself in an awkward predicament. Meeting Bian Lingyu’s gaze, she said, “I lit too many charcoal braziers yesterday, so I need to bathe as well.”

Seeing Bian Lingyu silently watching her, she hastily added, trying to justify herself: “With Bu Ye Mountain now surrounded by the spiritual energy of various sects’ powerful cultivators, the hot springs can no longer be used. That’s why I’m bathing here in the room.”

Bian Lingyu assumed she was hinting for him to leave and softly replied, “Then I’ll step out.”

As he spoke, he sat up. After resting all afternoon, his complexion had improved significantly, but he still couldn’t walk and needed to use a wheelchair.

It was bedtime, and Shi Luoyi couldn’t very well call Ding Bai to help him. Her initial intention had been to test Bian Lingyu’s attitude, not to drive him away. She began to regret her choice of test—why had she chosen this particular scenario? Looking at his pale lips, she feared he might feel uncomfortable moving around again. For now, she abandoned her plan to probe further and quickly said, “No need. There’s a screen. Just rest and don’t move.”

She sighed inwardly. This clearly wasn’t the right situation to test a man of integrity. Before she could glean anything, Bian Lingyu had already offered to leave the room.

Shi Luoyi decided not to avoid Bian Lingyu any longer. After all, as she had said earlier, with the mountain enveloped by the spiritual energy of the powerful cultivators, she would have to live alongside him. It wouldn’t do to avoid him at every turn. With the screen providing some separation, it was better than subjecting his still-recovering body to unnecessary strain.

However, as Shi Luoyi stepped behind the screen and removed her outer robe, she suddenly remembered something.

The screen had also been arranged by the fox spirit. Preoccupied with the day’s affairs on Bu Ye Mountain, she hadn’t yet replaced it. Slowly turning her head, she saw that the screen depicted fish playing among lotus leaves, vivid and lifelike—it was made of nearly translucent silkworm gauze.

From her side, she could faintly make out Bian Lingyu’s silhouette.

“…”

It was her own decision to let him stay. Closing her eyes briefly, she steeled herself and loosened her sash. Her outer garments fell to the floor, leaving her clad in a pale pink undergarment that hugged her delicate figure. The room wasn’t cold, devoid of the usual chill of a spring night.

This was the first time Shi Luoyi had undressed in a room with a man present. She turned her back to the screen, now too nervous to look at Bian Lingyu again.

A rustling sound came from the bed, likely Bian Lingyu settling back down. Shi Luoyi exhaled in relief.

Remembering that Bian Lingyu had used the same tub earlier in the day, she felt a faint sense of discomfort. How strange—why was she so tense?

The room fell silent except for the gentle sound of water.

Bian Lingyu faced away from her, his expression still as calm and composed as cold jade. Yet, his palm was nearly bleeding from the pressure of his grip.

He tightly pressed his lips together, the room filled with a light mist of steam. Bathed in the warm yellow glow, he struggled to maintain his composure.

Since the moment Shi Luoyi began undressing, he had avoided looking at her.

Though he didn’t see, he could hear—beneath the soft sounds of water, he was still a normal man. And given their past intimate encounter, he couldn’t remain entirely unaffected.

For Shi Luoyi, that incident had occurred sixty years ago. But for Bian Lingyu, it had happened only recently.

That day, consumed by inner demons, she had lost all reason, driven solely by violence. She had carelessly torn open his clothes and undone his belt, yet her own garments remained intact. Bian Lingyu had never intended for anything to happen between them and thus hadn’t touched her clothing or body. He had tried to calm her down, even ordering the wooden figurines to form an array to suppress her inner demons.

Just before activating the formation, Bian Lingyu frowned deeply. Though he was a god and slaying demons came easily to him, all such techniques would likely harm her severely.

If she were unable to cultivate afterward, wouldn’t she be devastated?

Unwilling to hurt her, he stopped at the last moment. However, the heart-demon-controlled Shi Luoyi showed no mercy, heedless of whether either of them might get injured.

The young girl’s eyes gleamed with wickedness as she reached out to explore his reaction, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile.

Bian Lingyu’s ears burned red—half from shame, half from cold anger. Even though he hadn’t grown up in the divine realm, he had inherited the legacy of the gods. The divine race had never been subjected to such humiliation, especially not by a wayward little demoness.

But as long as he responded, the act could succeed.

That day, her words, born of hatred, had made Bian Lingyu want to strangle her. He restrained himself from moving, and Shi Luoyi slapped his face: “Bian Lingyu, are you dead? If not, move.”

After a long pause, the young girl tilted her head and smiled strangely: “So obedient…”

He loathed her in that moment, and he loathed himself just as much. A heavy sense of helplessness spread through his heart, manifesting as the stifling warmth now filling the room.

Shi Luoyi continued innocently committing these “transgressions,” but Bian Lingyu could no longer hate her recklessly—or even feel anger toward her.

After all, her motives back then had stemmed from disdain and humiliation. Now, however, it was trust. Bian Lingyu knew that ever since she had brought him back to the barren mountains, she had been earnestly caring for him.

He kept his eyes closed, refusing to look back.

The sharp pain in his palms reminded him of his clarity. Fortunately, as long as Shi Luoyi didn’t intentionally provoke him, the innate coolness and restraint of the divine race would prevent him from embarrassing himself as he had before.

Shi Luoyi finished bathing quickly.

She sat in front of the vanity, drying her damp hair. The spirits cleaned the bathtub, and her mood calmed somewhat. She resolved to replace the dreadful screen first thing tomorrow. Her cheeks bore a faint blush, unsure whether it was from the heat of the bath or the current situation between them. She walked to the cabinet, took out her quilt, and prepared to sleep beside Bian Lingyu’s bed as she had the night before.

She crouched down, about to arrange the bedding, when Bian Lingyu sat up and said, “You sleep on the bed.”

Shi Luoyi looked up: “And what about you?”

Bian Lingyu looked down at her. After her bath, she wore a thin white undergarment, her long hair loose, exuding an innocent beauty.

Her usual attire consisted mostly of peacock blue, azure green, pale pink, or even apricot hues—which was why Bian Qingxuan called her “little peacock.”

But now, under the lamplight, the young girl with her clear black-and-white eyes resembled a blooming white gardenia.

Bian Lingyu averted his gaze and said, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“That won’t do—you’re injured and still unwell.”

“I’m much better now.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Seeing his cold yet determined expression, Shi Luoyi hesitated before suggesting, “Why don’t we both sleep on the bed? It’s big enough—we can each take half.”

Bian Lingyu paused, then asked, “Are you sure?”

Shi Luoyi wasn’t entirely sure, but the floor was hard and cold. She couldn’t possibly let Bian Lingyu sleep there—what if his injuries worsened tomorrow? Besides, he didn’t seem willing to let her sleep on the floor indefinitely.

“I—I guess I’m sure,” she said softly, suppressing her unease. “It’s still far from summer. Since we’re Dao partners, it’s not right for either of us to keep sleeping on the floor. Don’t worry—I won’t move around in my sleep, nor will I grind my teeth or steal your blanket.”

The two locked eyes, and Bian Lingyu didn’t object further—after all, there was no better solution.

“Then should I sleep on the inside?” Shi Luoyi asked tentatively.

The outer half of the bed was already occupied by Bian Lingyu, leaving only the innermost section.

Bian Lingyu paused for a moment, then nodded.

Shi Luoyi placed her quilt on the inner side of the bed. Bian Lingyu watched as she carefully stepped over his legs. Her snow-white feet, delicate and shorter than the length of his palm, gingerly avoided touching him. Once past him, she deftly slipped under the covers.

Each of them had their own wedding quilt, and Bian Lingyu lay down as well.

Shi Luoyi realized the bed wasn’t as spacious as she had imagined. If it were just her sleeping alone, it would indeed feel large. But with Bian Lingyu lying on the other side, even though he had broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hadn’t taken up much space—in fact, he seemed to be deliberately making room for her—their quilts were pressed together. She could even hear his breathing.

Aside from her childhood days with her mother, Shi Luoyi had never shared a bed with anyone.

Her mind was a jumble tonight, never settling. Her throat felt slightly dry as she asked, “Shall I turn off the light?”

Bian Lingyu lay flat, his eyes closed, seemingly much calmer than her: “Mm.”

Beneath the quilt, Shi Luoyi’s hand moved slightly, casting a spell. The room plunged into darkness.

Her usual boldness seemed useless now. Closing her eyes, her acute cultivator senses picked up not only the sound of her own heartbeat but also Bian Lingyu’s.

She couldn’t tell whose heart was pounding louder or if this was even normal. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look at Bian Lingyu. In the stillness of the night, her thoughts inevitably returned to that lingering question: What exactly were Bian Lingyu’s feelings toward her?

Under the cover of darkness, her movements careful and quiet, she assumed he wouldn’t notice. She freely studied him.

The youth lay there with his eyes closed. Ignoring the faint pallor of his lips, he looked like a finely carved statue of jade—cold and exquisite.

His calmness made her doubt her earlier suspicions.

Gradually, as she continued to watch him, his breathing grew more rapid. Yet, despite this, Bian Lingyu still didn’t open his eyes, remaining as still as a stagnant pool of water.

If not for Shi Luoyi stirring the surface, this pool would have remained utterly silent.

By now, Shi Luoyi was certain that Bian Lingyu wasn’t asleep either. She hadn’t imagined things. His tension somehow made her feel less nervous in return.

She decided to call out to him: “Bian Lingyu?”

Bian Lingyu opened his eyes but didn’t turn to look at her, instead staring at the fluttering gauze curtains. Maintaining his composure and dignity had already drained him. The scent of her lingered in the air—not overpowering, yet filling every breath.

His voice sounded hoarse in the night: “What is it?”

“Are you also unable to sleep?”

“Mm.”

Shi Luoyi suggested, “Then let’s talk a little.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

I want to ask if you like me, Shi Luoyi swallowed those words and rephrased her question: “Did you hate me very much in the past?”

He took a long while to respond: “…No.”

This surprised her. She blinked, assuming that given their previous hostility and Bian Qingxuan’s influence, he would have despised her. To her astonishment, he denied it.

“Then, if in the future you stop being my Dao partner, have you ever thought about going down the mountain to find a woman you like and spending your life with her?”

As she asked this, she pretended to remain calm, though her heart raced.

This time, Bian Lingyu answered without hesitation: “No.”

“Hmm?”

Bian Lingyu explained: “If you no longer need me as your Dao partner, I won’t take another wife.”

When he said this, he didn’t expect Shi Luoyi to understand. After all, most people wouldn’t think someone in his broken state still had the ability to marry.

But Shi Luoyi had never looked down on him. She simply wanted clarity: “And if I always need you?”

At this, Bian Lingyu finally turned to look at her.

Meeting his gaze, Shi Luoyi felt her cheeks grow warm. Silently, she pulled the quilt up higher to hide her flushed face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Bian Lingyu had never dared to imagine that Shi Luoyi might like him. With half her face buried in the quilt, he couldn’t see her expression. Knowing he didn’t have much time left, and having no intention of lying about such matters, he replied: “I’ll stay at Bu Ye Mountain until the day I die.”

Out of his sight, Shi Luoyi’s ears began to burn. She quietly pulled the quilt higher, almost completely hiding herself beneath it, so that her muffled voice emerged: “Mm, I’m going to sleep now.”

She unilaterally ended the conversation, but Bian Lingyu didn’t object. He closed his grayish-black eyes, remaining perfectly still.

Though Shi Luoyi had claimed she was going to sleep, she was wide awake.

In her past lives, no one had stayed with her until the end. When she died, she had been alone in a dilapidated temple, accompanied only by a pond of blooming lotuses.

But this life, Bian Lingyu would stay with her.

After pondering under the quilt for a while, she concluded that Bian Lingyu must harbor some affection for her. If it were purely out of gratitude, no one would dedicate their remaining years to another person.

Shi Luoyi didn’t know how deep his feelings ran or when they had begun, but now that she knew, she didn’t want to pretend ignorance.

A mortal’s life wasn’t long. She had already promised to treat him well. If Bian Lingyu’s wish was to be her true Dao partner, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

It… should be fine, right? She enjoyed being with him. Sometimes, even when he was angry, she found it amusing. He never caused trouble. Being a real Dao partner likely wouldn’t differ much from their current arrangement.

Shi Luoyi had never been one to beat around the bush. After tossing and turning for a while, she poked her head out from beneath the quilt.

Bian Lingyu was far more composed, not moving an inch.

Shi Luoyi noticed the clay rabbit still sitting on the wheelchair, which suddenly reminded her of the day of her birthday when Bian Lingyu had wiped away her tears.

Reflecting on it now, many things she had overlooked before now seemed significant.

She decided to make one final test. If Bian Lingyu became enraged and tried to strangle her, she would act as if nothing had happened and avoid mentioning the Dao partnership again. But if he didn’t get angry or push her away, she would ask him if he wanted her to truly become his Dao partner.

Having made up her mind, she lifted her quilt and hesitantly pulled back Bian Lingyu’s quilt, covering herself with it.

The inside of the youth’s quilt was as cold as he appeared. Despite having lain there for so long, his calm exterior hid the fact that there was no warmth in his bed at all.

Whether from the chill or from nervousness, she trembled slightly.

Bian Lingyu had been aware of her movements since she drew closer, but he hadn’t opened his eyes, his palm already bruised from gripping it so tightly. All night, Shi Luoyi had been tormenting him—first by bathing in the room, then by sharing the same bed. She didn’t treat him like a man, so he could only pretend to be a lifeless object, emotionally detached.

But now, with a warm presence invading his quilt, he could no longer endure it. Turning his head, he lowered his gaze to look at her and said, “Shi Luoyi, do you even know what you’re doing?”

He was merely restraining himself, enduring silently—not truly dead to sensation.

The moon had emerged at some point, its light spilling through the window, dispelling the earlier pitch-black darkness.

Shi Luoyi tilted her porcelain-white face to look at him, her arm accidentally brushing against his tensed forearm. She was nervous too! But seeing that he hadn’t strangled her yet, she mustered her courage and spoke with resolve: “I just thought… if you were in the mortal world, you’d already be at the age to marry and have children. If you spend your whole life on Bu Ye Mountain, wouldn’t I be ruining your future? So I wanted to ask… if you’re willing…”

She paused for a moment, rephrasing it in the way Bian Lingyu might express it: “If you need it… would you like me to become your true Dao partner?”