Chapter 7: Might As Well Just Take His Old Life Right Here…

It was just forging a contract—who did it didn’t matter.

Chu Fusheng had no objections to that. But someone reeking of booze was stumbling along and still trying to play the hero?

Zhao Lixuan never imagined the one stepping forward would be Jiang Chen.

After all, shouldn’t something like contract-sealing be handled by the “Sword-Holding Immortal Venerable”?

“…” If I’d known he’d come, I wouldn’t have!

But it was too late to back out now. He could only steel himself for the awkward clash.

Fine.

Whatever. It’s just Jiang Chen. What, was he going to devour him whole in front of everyone?

With that thought, Zhao Lixuan suppressed the chaotic mess swirling in his mind. The two drew closer.

Only then did he finally see it clearly: Jiang Chen’s robe, black at its base and woven with intricate dark red patterns. From afar, it looked somber and elegant; up close, it was unimaginably lavish.

And that wasn’t all. A gold-inlaid blood amber belt with dragon bone accents cinched his waist, the dangling mermaid gauze perfectly outlining his lean, powerful lines. It only accentuated his breathtaking height, jade-like poise, and otherworldly handsomeness.

…Incredible.

Because this was nothing like Jiang Linyuan’s style.

Zhao Lixuan clearly remembered twenty years ago, when he was young and reckless, always itching to dress up his beloved in vibrant, flashy colors and ornate accessories.

He’d once bought piles of gold-embroidered silks, dazzling jade ornaments, and forced Jiang Chen to wear them.

But Jiang Chen hadn’t been willing. So he’d gotten clever—while Jiang Chen was out, he’d swapped out the entire wardrobe, replacing all the plain black or simple garments with shimmering, ornate cloud satin brocades.

It had backfired spectacularly, enraging Jiang Chen.

He could still picture him that day, face dark as he spat word by word: he despised ostentation and flashiness his whole life and would never touch it.

Later, when they parted, Jiang Chen headed to the Demon Bright.

Unwilling to let go but not daring to see him off in person lest he become a nuisance, Zhao Lixuan had sent gifts via others—including stacks of fine colored brocades and pricey trinkets.

Naturally, every single one came back untouched.

Not quite untouched—the top few bolts of bright satin were torn to shreds.

…So why, twenty years later, was that same man voluntarily wearing the gaudy finery he’d once scorned, complete with waist ornaments?

Anyone else, fine.

But Jiang Chen was one of those rare types who meant what he said. If he hated it, he hated it. If he swore never to touch it, he wouldn’t—ever.

Unless…

Unless he’d truly forgotten everything from back then. Even those fierce likes and dislikes, all cast aside.

Yeah, that made sense.

Otherwise, with his pride, how could he slap his own face?

Lost in these tumbling thoughts, Zhao Lixuan reached Jiang Chen.

Oddly, moments ago in the crowd, when their eyes had met, Immortal Lord Jiang had been utterly indifferent.

Now, though, he was looking right at him.

Just… not in a friendly way.

Zhao Lixuan couldn’t quite describe that gaze—it felt like a knife, laced with undisguised scrutiny.

Yet also like thick clouds after rain, or ice floes on a midnight sea. Beneath the surface, dark currents churned with shadows and accusations he couldn’t read.

…

Who knows what he’s pissed about now.

Zhao Lixuan grumbled inwardly. He remembered twenty years ago, when he’d kept Jiang Chen in his secluded estate—twisted temper and all, he’d at least shown some restraint as a guest under his roof.

Now? Sword-Wielding Immortal Lord status meant no more pretending. Disdain written plain on his face.

Whatever.

Who was afraid of whom? Immortal Lord Li Xuan flashed his signature impeccable, mild, and gracious fake smile.

He’d planned a deadpan funeral face.

But since the other had played the “cold disdain” card first, he countered with Fu Xi Palace poise and elegance.

Let the surrounding immortals see the stark contrast!

…

Zhao Lixuan really shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in the rivalry. His rehearsed small talk flew right out of his head.

No big deal if his train of thought derailed—but the polite words on the tip of his tongue? Gone.

Uh.

Under everyone’s eyes, as powerhouses from both sides, they had to say something. Staring contest otherwise? Mortifying.

Think fast! What to say?

In his frantic pondering, a faint wine scent wafted over.

Zhao Lixuan instinctively frowned. Twenty years and one hundred thirteen days later, he nearly reflexively blurted—

“How many times have I told you! Little Jiang, your spirit meridians are damaged, constitution ice-cold—no alcohol! How many times before you listen?”

“…………”

Help.

Thank goodness reason held. He slammed on the brakes. Praise the heavens!

Zhao Lixuan shuddered in aftershock, fur standing on end. What the hell were these terrifying twenty-year-old habits? So ingrained, it’s horrifying!

In his panic, inspiration struck. He slid into a smooth smile: “…Smells nice. Pear Blossom White?”

Jiang Chen’s face darkened instantly.

Zhao Lixuan: “…?”

No, he thought that opener wasn’t brilliant, but hardly rude.

So why did Immortal Lord Jiang’s reaction feel even more oppressively grim than before? Like actual gloom thickening the air.

For a split second, those pitch-black eyes seemed to roil with dark fire, as if ready to burn a hole straight through him.

“…” Good thing, Zhao Lixuan had seen that look before.

Twenty years ago, on that bed where they’d tangled night after night, it was all too common.

And he’d managed to gaslight himself back then, insisting it wasn’t disgust—maybe even that legendary “love born of hate”?

Ugh, regrets.

Zhao Lixuan was full of them.

The past was too cringeworthy. No wonder everything he did now struck Jiang Chen as wrong.

In a blink, the surroundings warped.

The Soul Contract Array flared silently, sealing off all external noise and gazes.

Within the contract domain stretched endless void.

In the darkness floated a jade stone staircase glowing faintly, steps winding upward to the solitary Contract Altar suspended high above. Ancient and weathered, runes flowed across it, enduring for millions of years.

The stairs weren’t long, but their mutual silence made it suffocating.

Zhao Lixuan trailed half a step behind, eyes drawn again to that waist cinched tight by the belt.

Blood amber and mermaid gauze swayed faintly in the quiet, tinkling softly.

…From this angle, he’d stared at Jiang Chen’s back too many times.

But back then, young and heedless, he’d flung himself at the flame like a moth. Never noticing Jiang Chen never waited, never looked back. A one-man show from start to finish.

They ascended to the altar.

Runes swirled, azure Oath Fire leaping steadily. The oath ritual itself was simple.

The problem? They had to swear before this basin of Oath Fire. Hands overlapping, palms pressed together, symbolizing aligned hearts and flawless bonds.

“…”

Ha, might as well just take his old life right here!

Tension froze solid. Neither would reach first—who’d be crazy enough?

But… they couldn’t stall forever?

Silence.

Long silence.

Endless silence.

Zhao Lixuan wanted to scream inside. Help! Any longer and he’d curl his toes until he dug a palace beneath the altar. Fine—damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

He took the high road, forcing a friendly-yet-distant smile: “Immortal Lord Jiang, time’s getting on. Shall we… get on with it?”

He’d tried, really.

Bending over backward like this…

Azure firelight flickered, casting shadows on Jiang Chen’s face.

Those dull, lifeless eyes didn’t budge—instead, a glint of blood-red chill seeped through, like he was barely containing himself.

Zhao Lixuan: “…”

Yeah, yeah, I know—you’re at your limit.

He inhaled deeply, magnanimously waving his hand: “Immortal Lord Jiang, time to seal the contract.”

Jiang Chen didn’t twitch.

Pushing Zhao Lixuan to the brink of losing his composure—Enough! You think you’re the only one suffering? We’re ALL enduring here!!!

Help, what a shitshow.

Big bro, this is standard oath protocol! As Sword-Holding Immortal Venerable of Liao Yuan Court, you’ve done hundreds of these, right? You know this!

I’m not trying to cop a feel on your precious hand!!!

As the ancients said, one must look upon a man with new eyes after a mere three days apart. Please don’t be so paranoid, Immortal Lord Jiang? I’m no timeless romantic—where would I get twenty years of lingering affection?

But he couldn’t yell that.

What if it wasn’t even about this? Explaining would just make it look like protesting too much, digging himself deeper.

Life’s too hard.

Can we just end this???

…

Years later, Jiang Chen’s fingertips were still that cold.

He had a chill syndrome, rough childhood, poor constitution—hands and feet perpetually icy. Back then, Zhao Lixuan’s heart had ached for him; in winter, he’d always warm those distinctively jointed hands against his chest until they thawed.

Looking back, he’d been so naive, utterly green.

Spotting one damp, freezing ordinary demon immortal and treating him like treasure.

Luckily, the last twenty-plus years had shown him more people, broader horizons.

He’d learned the immortal seas were vast, geniuses everywhere—no one was truly one-of-a-kind.

Spiritual power flowed from their pressed palms into the altar.

But… way too cold.

Colder than memory. Holding Jiang Chen’s hand felt like gripping millennium ice.

Hadn’t he cured that chill syndrome back then, scouring for spirit herbs? Da Xia’s top healers said it was fixed?

Plus, the dossier called Immortal Lord Jiang a fire butterfly type.

How could he be this cold?