“What did she say? Playing with her? Me? What does that mean?”
Lu Yan stood there in a daze after hearing Jiang Ci's words. It took him a long while to snap out of it, letting out a dumbfounded, “Huh?”
Jiang Ci's expression didn't change as she slowly spat out the words, “Kill me. Please kill me, and consider it... payment for your pleasure.” When she reached those last words, it felt as though something was lodged in her throat, and she had to squeeze them out with all her might.
After speaking, she closed her eyes and waited for his response. Regardless of whether he agreed or not, she was going to die anyway. It was just a matter of whether it would be a more humiliating and difficult death.
Only then did Lu Yan realize what she had been imagining this entire time. It actually amused him. “Wait, you think I slept with you?” Did he really look that starved?
Jiang Ci kept her head lowered and did not reply. Silence was the best answer.
Lu Yan bit his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto her hand. “You're a cultivator, right? If you are, you should be able to tell that my primal yang is still intact in this blood and hasn't been dispersed.”
Jiang Ci froze.
She looked down at the drop of blood on the back of her hand. It was a round, crimson bead, slowly spreading across her skin. Instinctively, she swept it with her divine sense—his primal yang was indeed intact, his yang energy pure and without a trace of turbidity. This was a virgin's blood. It couldn't be faked.
Her mind went completely blank with a loud buzz.
He was a virgin? So he hadn't done anything? He had only changed her medicine?
She recalled the crookedly wrapped cloth bandages on her body—some parts tight, others loose, with the knots tied clumsily to one side. It wasn't the work of a practiced hand, but someone who had fumbled and groped around blindly to wrap them. She remembered the cultivator's robe draped over her—made of coarse cotton, washed until faded, its edges frayed. He hadn't left it there intentionally; it was his own robe. She remembered how he had looked just now while applying the medicine, grimacing as he rubbed the unknown ointment onto his hand, sucking in sharp breaths of pain. That hand had been cut by a blade. Her blade.
He had done nothing. He had simply saved her. He applied medicine, bandaged her wounds, and covered her with his own robe. And then, the moment she woke up, she had pointed a sword at him, and he had grabbed the blade with his bare hand. His hand was still throbbing with pain even now.
So what on earth had she just said?
She felt all the blood in her body rush to her head, her pale, haggard cheeks flushing so red they looked ready to drip blood. If the cultivators of the Azure Cloud Sword Sect saw her now, they would probably think their eyes were playing tricks on them—Is that our sect's Sword Heir? What are you thinking, how could our Sword Heir ever blush? It must just be someone with the same hair color. Her ears turned red, her neck turned red, and even the skin beneath the bandages on her chest felt scalding hot.
She didn't dare lift her head. She didn't dare look at him. She didn't even dare to breathe.
Lu Yan couldn't see either. He only felt that after proving his innocence, the temperature in the room had become a bit warm. Even though the hearth fire had long gone out, even though it was still raining outside, and even though the wind was whistling coldly through the cracks in the door, he just felt hot. He also understood why she had thought that way. A woman, unconscious, waking up to find her clothes gone, covered in a strange man's robe, with someone bathing in the next room—anyone would have jumped to the wrong conclusion. It wasn't like he had intentionally shredded her undergarments. He didn't know how to untie a woman's bodice, so he could only cut it off. As for the outer robe, hadn't he compensated her with one of his own? Though it was old, it was washed clean.
He wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, but closed it again.
Jiang Ci opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but no sound came out. Her throat felt blocked by something, unable to squeeze out a single word. But staying silent felt wrong too. She owed him her life, yet she had falsely accused him. He had done nothing, yet she had accused him of... “payment for your pleasure.” The phrase echoed in her mind, burning her up inside.
Finally, a barely audible “I'm sorry” slipped from her lips. The voice was incredibly soft, like the buzz of a mosquito or wind brushing against window paper. If Lu Yan's hearing hadn't been so sharp, he wouldn't have heard it at all.
“Oh, right, it's fine, don't worry about it, haha.” Lu Yan didn't know what to say either. It was too awkward. Having never dated anyone in either of his two lifetimes, he was suddenly accused by a young girl of sleeping with her. If she had demanded he take responsibility, that would be one thing, but she had straight-up asked for death, leaving him completely bewildered. He had saved her, she had tried to commit suicide with her sword, he had grabbed the blade, and then she had said—Kill me, and consider it payment for your pleasure. His brain still hadn't fully processed it. To put it simply, his linguistic system had completely crashed.
He didn't know where to stand. Standing felt awkward, and sitting felt just as bad. He wanted to find a place to hide, but the room was only so big; he couldn't very well crawl under the stove. He put his hands behind his back, then let them drop. He pinched the corner of his robe, then let it go.
The atmosphere became even more suffocating. The rain continued to fall, neither too heavy nor too light, pattering against the thatched roof as if mocking them. Water dripped rhythmically from the eaves. The hearth fire had long gone out, and the pot of porridge on the stove had gone cold. The burnt smell had already dissipated, leaving only a faint, bitter char that hung heavily in the air, unable to clear.
Lu Yan's mind raced frantically: Think, you stupid brain, think of something to change the subject! Her wounds? No, we just talked about that. Her sword? No, I just threw it away. My blood? No, I just dripped it. The porridge—right, the porridge.
Finally, he braced himself and forced a change of topic. “Are you hungry? I made some porridge. Would you like some?” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He couldn't even stomach that porridge himself. The sourness of the stale rice, the astringency of the Meridian-Connecting Orchid, the bitterness of the elixir, and the burnt taste were all mixed together, making it taste absolutely dreadful. But the words were out, and there was no taking them back.
Jiang Ci originally wanted to decline. He had saved her, treated her wounds, bandaged her, clothed her in his own robe, and on top of that, she had falsely accused him. No matter how thick-skinned she was, she couldn't bring herself to eat his food now. Yet, she didn't want to dwell on the previous topic either. It was too embarrassing. She had humiliated herself all the way to the Northern Border. If there were a crack in the floor, she would have squeezed right into it, tunneling all the way to the center of the earth, never to come out again.
So the refusal at the tip of her tongue turned into, “Thank you.”
Her voice was still very quiet, but slightly louder than her previous “I'm sorry.” Lu Yan heard it and blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to agree. He couldn't even swallow that porridge himself, yet she actually said thank you. He turned and walked toward the stove. After two steps, he paused and turned his head back—even though he couldn't see—adding, “...It's a bit burnt, so it might not taste very good.”
“Okay,” she replied softly.
He scooped a bowl. The bowl was old, with a small chip on its rim. The porridge was no longer piping hot, just lukewarm. The burnt smell wasn't as strong anymore, but the sourness of the stale rice remained. Carrying the bowl back, he stood by the bed, unsure where to place it. Her hands were covered in wounds, so she couldn't hold it herself. After a brief hesitation, he set the bowl down on the small nightstand by the bed. “...Let it cool for a bit.”
She didn't speak. Neither did he. The rain continued to fall. But the room didn't seem quite as cold anymore.
Rate on N.U.
