Chapter 30: Seemingly Pouring One’s Heart Out… Nothing But Self-Indulgent Sentiment

Mist swirled in the chill night breeze, rising and falling.

Night had already fallen.

The nights at Azure Cloud Pass were always piercingly cold, with few souls about, only a few lonely lanterns casting dim, fragmented yellow light from the watchtowers.

Zhao Lixuan found himself caught in this sudden embrace, only then realizing with hindsight that he had long since frozen stiff, his limbs numb.

Now held so tightly, he gradually felt warmth returning to his body. For a fleeting moment, everything around him seemed hazy and ethereal.

Clearly, since their reunion, this wasn’t the first time he and Jiang Chen had drawn close.

Yet whether it was King Qin circling the pillar on Pearl Moon Bridge, or later leaning back-to-back in the Demon Abyss… none compared to this.

The embrace was too tight—tight enough to nearly crush his bones. Through layers of clothing, the other’s ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat made his eardrums tremble.

This went beyond mere skin-to-skin contact. Some obsession, brutally suppressed for twenty years, now seeped viciously and tyrannically into his veins, scorching him taut, every nerve screaming danger.

“Let go!” He struggled fiercely.

His hands pushed against that scorching chest, but it felt like arms forged from molten dark iron—immovable. A surge of intense emotion rushed straight to his heart.

“Let go, release me!! Jiang Chen, if you don’t, I won’t hold back!”

He could have endured it.

Endured the bitter fruit of his youthful folly and ignorant insistence. His one-sided affection had used the wrong method; if hated or resented, he had no words to say—he had accepted it.

But just now—

Just now, in this bone-chilling night, what had Jiang Chen said to him?

He said the events of that year were his fault???

Ridiculous.

That single sentence shattered the convictions he’d clung to for twenty years. Another thought, one he’d desperately suppressed and dared not dwell on, broke through the soil:

Back then, he’d merely liked someone.

Pitied his loneliness and stubbornness, feared he’d suffer the slightest grievance, so he’d tried to offer up everything in the world he thought was good. Perhaps the method was clumsy, perhaps too fervent and off-putting…

But even so, it was all sincere, without malice—the purest of offerings.

It should have been properly seen…

A sharp immortal aura sliced from behind. Yin Canshang’s figure flashed like a startled swan, his voice tearing through the night: “Jiang! Chen!”

He charged over, pulling Zhao Lixuan behind him, eyes blazing with fury: “How you humiliated Lixuan back then, and now you have the face to entangle him here?! Today, I’ll settle things with you once and for all—take this!”

However, his momentum had been too grand when he’d rushed out of Azure Cloud Pass earlier. Several trusted subordinates hurried after him.

They couldn’t really let their construction-specialist deputy general go life-or-death against the mortal realm’s top war god!

Thus, the scene Zhao Lixuan witnessed was somewhat absurd.

Yin Canshang had barely unleashed a few moves before his subordinates grabbed him from all sides, hoisting him by the waist. He could only roar from afar, like a chained fierce hound. Meanwhile, Jiang Chen stood like a chastened child—neither blocking nor dodging—as several sharp immortal auras grazed his cheeks and arms.

Yin Canshang: “Zhao Lixuan! Are you muddleheaded too? How can you still laugh?”

“Have you forgotten how you returned to the Unstained Immortal Realm back then? Covered in wounds, dazed and muddled, tears dried up and unable to even cry. And now? Scar healed, pain forgotten?”

Zhao Lixuan paused at his words, touching his face.

Absurd—he really was smiling.

…

Zhao Lixuan returned to Pear Flower Water Pavilion, where the familiar comfort only made him feel more bone-weary.

So he slept deeply on his own. When he finally woke, refreshed, the room was filled with the aroma of porridge and pancakes.

Yin Canshang and Yu Rumu were both there. The former, seeing him open his eyes, immediately grumbled: “That mongrel outside is copying me!”

Yu Rumu sighed: “Jiang Immortal Lord has been waiting outside since he returned. Afraid you’d wake up hungry, he specially packed some food from Cloudgazing Town.”

Yin Canshang cut in: “Who wants his fake concern? Would you eat what he bought? Hah, not a single thing let inside! Here, look—these treats I just bought for you, and Rumu made these fresh, still hot. Try them!”

Yu Rumu ladled a bowl of porridge and handed it over: “Lixuan, once your emotions settle… perhaps go hear what Jiang Immortal Lord has to say.”

Yin Canshang slammed his bowl down with a clang: “Easy for you to say! If it were Lady A’Tu who returned, would you listen to her explanation?”

“I would listen.”

Yin Canshang was momentarily speechless: “You—you’re too soft-hearted! …Right, I forgot—you’ve always been Fu Xi Palace’s little saint. But our Lixuan settles scores clearly. Don’t let your mild ways corrupt him!”

Yu Rumu lowered his gaze, silent.

How could he not see Lixuan’s embarrassment at being entangled by an old flame? Indeed, who wanted old wounds dragged up, unwilling scars ripped open and salted anew?

But if never touched, was that truly better?

Who knew if beneath seemingly healed flesh, rot hadn’t festered, gnawing day and night?

So many years later, at least Zhao Lixuan had gotten an explanation today.

As for him… he feared he’d never hear a word of defense for those past events, not even in his lifetime.

…

Jiang Chen had once been utterly impatient.

Irritated at the slightest frustration, he’d turn and leave if unhappy. Twenty years had worn down his edges, teaching him to wait.

Now, that long, quiet, hopeless waiting was commonplace for him.

Every night sleeping by the Azure Cloud Pass riverbank was no different from the thousands spent beneath the Three Realms Gate in Cloud Cliff City or in Loofah Courtyard in Luo State.

All just grasping at faint hope amid endless despair.

At least, he could still dream impractical dreams—perhaps the next time he opened his eyes, he’d see the one he longed for day and night.

Jiang Chen had never only lacked patience; his temper was stubbornly unyielding. Mocked by classmates for illiteracy, he’d studied sleeplessly for months, producing splendid essays. Laughed at as a wingless moth with no martial prospects, he’d trained relentlessly, ultimately becoming Xiao Xue Tower’s champion.

But that competitive streak sometimes backfired.

For instance, he’d actually loved the rabbit Zhao Lixuan gave him—snowball-soft in his palm, tremblingly warm at heart.

And those brocade carp, their golden scales shimmering in sunlight, equally captivating.

Yet because he liked them too much, inexplicable panic surged.

Especially with those expectant eyes sparkling nearby, hoping for his smile… In that instant, he’d thrown them away.

Looking back now, he couldn’t recall why he’d hidden that fondness then. Afterward, he’d even feigned cold indifference, ignoring the rabbit and fish for years—until he convinced himself he’d never liked them.

That was always his way.

So if Zhao Lixuan wanted him gone, his instinct to compete kicked in—he’d leave, then.

Staying wouldn’t yield anything anyway. Expect a return to the past? Expect that person to love him again? Possible?

He’d known long ago: impossible.

Zhao Lixuan loved fiercely, but cut off decisively when unloved. Twenty years without setting foot in the mortal realm—he understood completely.

So this reunion, originally…

He truly had no intention of entangling.

Truly just wanted one last glimpse. Perhaps with a touch of selfishness, to show off before him: the Sword-Wielding Immortal Lord now standing tall, sword commanding the eight directions.

To let him see Jiang Chen had changed—no longer stubborn or immature, now able to protect fully, worthy of trust and reliance.

Actually, he’d achieved that goal.

Mission accomplished—it was time to leave.

After Moon Hunt ended, part ways: their best outcome. How could he not know?

Zhao Lixuan would remember him at his best, and he could return to the mortal realm, quietly watching a few more falling blossoms before vanishing.

As for the rest…

Those vague concerns, briefly intertwined fingers, occasional leans, even the former marriage contract…

All delusions of the unreachable past.

He should wake up, exit with remaining dignity in timely fashion—to avoid looking too pathetic. Yet his body disobeyed, lips acting on their own, repeatedly stealing glances, deluding himself by collecting “evidence” of lingering care, rummaging ruins like a gambler for nonexistent hope.

How futile, how laughable.

He knew it full well.

But when his arms embraced before reason could stop them, when words buried deep finally broke free—

In that haze and despair, he realized…

It hadn’t been so hard after all.

If twenty years ago, he’d dropped pointless pride and admitted his wrong.

If, amid countless fervent overtures, he’d responded honestly once instead of stubbornly turning away; if at parting, he’d said “I don’t want to leave”…

A few simple words—truly not hard.

So why hadn’t he bowed back then? Why resist admitting it through long years, even twisting facts in resentment… until nothing could return.

Never return.

Pear blossoms swirled like snow before the courtyard.

Yin Canshang and Yu Rumu had left unnoticed; sometime later, a cup of warm ginger tea appeared on the table.

“Jiang Immortal Lord.” Zhao Lixuan’s voice pulled him from reverie. He sat opposite, solemn in white robes dotted with fallen pear petals.

“Let’s have one serious talk—at last. What exactly do you want?”

…

Zhao Lixuan had also harbored a bellyful of words to vent.

Right and wrong from back then—best not dwelled on. But pondering deeply only fueled more anger!

Yes, he had faults, or he wouldn’t regret to this day, nor have that absurd marriage contract. But if truly divvying blame, in colleagues’ eyes back then, clearly he Zhao Lixuan had been bewitched, while Jiang Chen got a windfall.

“He lost mere worthless pride, gained a pile of treasures.”

“Can’t fathom—holding myriad jewels, yet acting utterly wronged.”

“Demon immortals are fickle; truly, fluttering moths are hard to tame…”

Back then, Zhao Lixuan’s heart and eyes held only Jiang Chen, dismissing it all as jealous prattle, not believing a word.

But now, reflecting…

Was there no truth in it?

Only because he’d liked Jiang Chen so much had he shouldered all blame. Seeing him unhappy naturally made every fault his own—he just lacked the skill to coax little Jiang into smiling.

Thus sealed for twenty years.

Until now the coffin lid flipped—he realized, wait, I wasn’t that villainous?

Of course, right and wrong mattered little now.

He wasn’t here to argue that. Zhao Lixuan lowered his gaze, sipping ginger tea—the spicy bite scorching his throat, utterly vile.

Damn it—he’d thought, since ginger tea was brewed, might as well pour himself a cup, forgetting his lifelong aversion to ginger!

He set the cup down, even angrier at himself: “Jiang Immortal Lord now refuses to dissolve the contract, won’t leave, insists on haunting my courtyard like a restless ghost—what are you trying to do?”

“Dragging up twenty-year-old matters—is that amusing to you, Immortal Lord?”

“Or so confident that one ‘I was wrong’ entitles you to my joy and gratitude as before, then happily rekindle? Don’t you find this… utterly absurd, Immortal Lord?”

“Speak!”

Jiang Chen: “I…”

Zhao Lixuan waited quietly. After twenty years, there was no need to feel aggrieved again. He figured his questions were ultimately just out of curiosity—

A man who had decisively left all those years ago, cutting off all contact, and who still seemed to harbor resentment upon their reunion—what kind of emotional journey had he gone through in these mere two months to suddenly start reminiscing about the past?

Jiang Chen’s reaction didn’t exceed his expectations.

Though he looked as if struck a heavy blow, lips paling, he couldn’t muster a proper explanation. Only after a long pause did he close his eyes in pained agony: “It was my fault. Back then… I was hateful, ignorant.”

“At that time, the first time, I didn’t know… how to handle it…”

“The first time… falling for someone,” he said, lips pressing tight as if a thousand words choked in his throat. “I didn’t understand. I…”

The night wind abruptly stilled. Zhao Lixuan asked: “Didn’t understand?”

Only in this moment did he realize that all his prior anger hadn’t truly been anger. Now, he was truly furious to the point of laughing, his heart pounding wildly: “Did the Jiang Immortal Lord lack a manual for his first taste of love? Does that mean everyone else is born knowing how?”

In this instant, he was so angry his hands shook.

If not for the composure he’d cultivated over these years, that cup of ginger tea in his hand would’ve been flung in his face already! Truly, if he didn’t know Jiang Chen would never lie on purpose, he’d think this excuse was so absurd it was deliberately trampling his intelligence!

The first time? Didn’t know how?

What kind of reason was that?

He could no longer endure it. With a flick of his sleeve, he rose to leave—not out of fury at the table, but because he’d suddenly realized that talking more with this man was pointless.

Yet his wrist was suddenly gripped tight.

Zhao Lixuan laughed in fury once more.

Someone who’d bottled up for twenty years ended up with nothing but “I didn’t get it,” “I didn’t want to leave,” “It was my fault.” And this useless mute was now dragging him, refusing to let him go!

“Is the Jiang Immortal Lord holding me back like this because he still wants to explain something? Then speak! Keep talking!”

“I’ll give you the chance—explain it right here. How exactly did I wrong you back then? How did I force you? Did I tie you up, or imprison you on the bed without freedom? Hah, it’s just that I’m so obtuse, always thinking it was all my fault!”

“And in the end, you toss out a flimsy ‘I didn’t understand, I didn’t know how.'”

“Didn’t know how? Why not learn? Back then, weren’t you the fastest and best at studying literature and martial arts? How did you fail to learn this? Does that excuse sound ridiculous even to you? You’re just banking on how I spoiled you back then…”

Enough. He hadn’t wanted to be this sharp.

Even when he’d brought out that cup of ginger tea, he’d planned gentle words to talk it out properly—tell him it was fine, that in a few more years, all those obsessions would fade.

Someday, you’ll let it go too, just like I have now.

But at this moment? Hah! This man was nothing but an eyesore and a source of rage before him—did he still care if he let go or not?

“Truly, go back to your mortal realm, Jiang Chen.”

“I never want to see you again. This is the last time I’m saying it—get out of here today! Otherwise, tomorrow I’ll submit a petition to the Immortal Court’s civil office, and the day after, immortal envoys will come to escort you out of the border!”

The Jiang Immortal Lord’s eyes reddened.

As if those words pierced his final mental defenses, yet he stubbornly clung to that sleeve. Zhao Lixuan didn’t indulge him and pried his fingers off one by one with force.

His knuckles gave faint cracking sounds, but Jiang Chen seemed to feel no pain, refusing to let go.

He opened his mouth, as if to explain more, but he was tongue-tied.

Seeing him like this, for a fleeting moment, Zhao Lixuan felt a surge of malice—he used to ache for how slow he spoke, never willing to argue even in a spat because he knew little Jiang couldn’t win with words.

Twenty years later, he found bullying his muteness oddly satisfying. If that mouth won’t work, might as well seal it shut forever!

He hadn’t been this cruel before.

Back then, he’d cherished little Jiang above all, holding him on the tip of his heart. But now, Zhao Lixuan had become a villain.

Perhaps he’d always been one.

He’d just pretended too well in front of Jiang Chen back then.

What was he really like? Knowing his brother was on the battlefield, yet feeling at ease thinking nothing major was wrong, “Who in this world could hurt Zhao Lanze?” Even when the mortal realm’s war escalated and he was evacuated back to the Unstained Immortal Realm, he’d only thought, “Brother’s fine for sure, so I’ll stay home obediently and not cause him trouble by going down there.”

That was who he truly was.

Fake deep affection, truly callous—heartless, really.

And everything he’d done for little Jiang back then was probably just the thrill of falling in love for the first time, that seemingly heartfelt, self-indulgent performance.