Jiang Chen thought he had a dream.
In the dream, Zhao Lixuan’s embrace felt so warm and real that it eased the numbness in his pain-racked bones and soul.
He greedily savored that moment, propping up his near-death body to wrap his arms around that slender waist, burying his face in the other’s chest.
Warm. And happy.
Probably only in a dream would he dare be so bold. After all, the real Li Xuan had barely accepted the marriage contract—how could he possibly care for him or cherish him anymore?
He could only draw a bit of strength to keep going from this illusory dream.
Afterward, he dreamed that Zhao Lixuan scooped him up bridal-style and carried him far, far away.
Gradually, he could no longer hear or see clearly, but as long as that warm breath lingered around him, it was enough to feel content and at peace.
He didn’t know how much time passed before he seemed to be laid down on something soft, and that embrace began to withdraw.
No.
Don’t go.
He couldn’t make a sound, so he used his last bit of strength to hook onto the hem of the robe. He didn’t realize that with his half-lidded, dazed eyes, he looked utterly wretched and desperate.
“…”
Zhao Lixuan couldn’t bear to watch.
In the end, he leaned over onto the bed and pulled that trembling body back into his arms. He murmured a bunch of insincere words.
Things like “I won’t leave,” “You’re the best, just sleep,” “I’ll stay with you always.”
He said them until his own eyes stung.
Just a few days ago, he’d been plotting that once Jiang Chen returned, he’d argue against him forcibly moving his luggage over.
He’d even planned to tell him that even if he’d made up his mind to marry, he couldn’t accept some near-stranger suddenly moving into his home, seeing each other every day.
Even if the wedding night was unavoidable, at least hold off until after the ceremony.
Give him a few more days of peace.
That had been his plan.
But now?
Zhao Lixuan had never seen himself so clearly—he was really just this pathetic screw-up.
It wasn’t some rekindled old flame. He didn’t even feel much love for Jiang Chen. Yet he just couldn’t stand seeing him so wretched and hopeless.
He was afraid of his pain, his coldness, couldn’t let go.
He wanted to hold him properly…
And in pitying him, he’d ended up crawling under the covers with him.
Zhao Lixuan couldn’t figure himself out.
Even more baffling, he’d only meant to hold him a little until he fell asleep and then leave. But perhaps the exhaustion of searching for two straight days caught up, because he ended up holding the man in his arms and falling into a deep sleep.
So much so that when he opened his eyes at noon the next day, he stared straight into those deep black pupils—and his soul nearly fled in terror!
…
It was midday, and the room was bright.
Sunlight laid everything bare.
Jiang Chen’s black eyes still held a dazed haze, like a deep pool shrouded in mist.
Only when Zhao Lixuan jolted upright there, his expression shifting vividly in an instant—
From sleepy confusion to sudden clarity, from pale-faced shock to ears burning red, from self-doubt to facing a great enemy—did those eyes finally track his movement as he rose.
Then, Jiang Chen reached out.
His body still ached to the core, his arm heavy as if filled with lead.
Yet he stubbornly, arduously grasped that hem of cloth, knuckles whitening from the effort. It was an instinctual obsession.
He didn’t want to let him go.
Those black eyes, deep and shadowed, clung to him tightly.
His mind was a muddle, fragments flashing: a warm embrace, whispers in his ear, the sensation of being held tight… Was it a dream? He needed to know.
…
Because he gripped so tightly, his gaze carrying that dazed stubbornness, Zhao Lixuan didn’t struggle free right away.
Since he was caught, he simply leaned down to recheck Jiang Chen’s injuries.
This man’s recovery was as freakish as ever.
Yesterday he’d been on the brink of death; today he was down to “ordinary severe wounds.”
A normal immortal wounded this badly couldn’t possibly get up without ten days or half a month. As expected, Senior Yu hadn’t lied about his extraordinary bloodline.
“Does it still hurt badly?” Zhao Lixuan asked him.
His bloodline was one-of-a-kind, and so was the man himself.
After all, who else stared at people with such pitch-black, bottomless eyes, wide-eyed like the unavenged dead?
Unsettled by the stare, Zhao Lixuan said, “What? Never seen me before?”
Jiang Chen shook his head. The fabric’s texture felt real under his fingertips, the body heat seeping through equally real—but he was still afraid.
Afraid this was just another mad illusion woven from his obsessions.
“Why did you…”
Why save him? Why spend the whole night sharing a bed?
He craved the answer, yet feared it would shatter this fleeting warmth.
What happened after, what Zhao Lixuan replied—his memory cut out again.
Perhaps too greedy for it, his last recollection was dreaming once more of Zhao Lixuan leaning down, long hair spilling onto the pillow, gazing at him tenderly and intently, murmuring something gentle.
But what did he say?
He didn’t know. He fell back into endless dark cold, plummeting like a snapped thread.
He didn’t know how long passed before he opened his eyes again. Night had fallen; the unfamiliar room was dim, pale moonlight filtering through the lattice windows to illuminate the empty bed—only him.
It hit him like crashing into a bottomless abyss, shattering to pieces once more.
Of course.
It was all just a dream, after all.
Reveling in dreamlike bliss, only emptiness upon waking. Good thing he was used to it.
Twenty years, over seven thousand days and nights—nothing left after the dream faded. He’d long grown numb to chewing down this desolation and swallowing the hollow ache. No big deal.
It was just that the moments right after waking were always especially hard to endure.
Jiang Chen pressed his aching chest, drew a slow breath, and propped himself up to sit.
Yeah. If it wasn’t a dream, how could Li Xuan possibly embrace him? How could he say he’d take him home?
He hadn’t had a home in ages.
At least he’d gotten the Primordial Blade. It lay quietly by the pillow now, its dark gray blade shimmering faintly in the night. Jiang Chen picked it up, and the razor edge effortlessly sliced his fingertip, drawing a thin line of blood.
He pushed himself out of bed.
Every step tugged at searing pain, but he stood anyway.
It reminded him of back at Xiao Xue Tower—he hadn’t been the most talented then. He’d lasted to the end in the martial tournament mostly on sheer stubborn endurance.
And the so-called “War God of the Mortal Realm” later? He knew better than anyone how illusory that was.
In offense, he couldn’t match Lu Ziyuan’s ferocity. In defense, he fell short of Chu Fusheng’s reliability.
Then in the Unstained Immortal Realm, he’d seen Xia Yunjie and Shen Fengyu outstrip him in cultivation; Senior Yu stood at the absolute pinnacle, untouchable.
He couldn’t compare to them. The only thing remotely like a gift was this body of his— no matter how gravely wounded, it always barely clung to life.
From childhood, he’d heard “Anyone else would have died from wounds like these” countless times. Even Divine Physician Yu Rumu of the Unstained Immortal Realm would check his pulse and sigh, “Unclear.”
It was only on Clear Heart Island that he understood the origin of this special constitution.
And the root of all his misfortunes since youth.
He staggered out in a daze.
Oblivious that his tattered, bloodied clothes had been changed for plain white sleep robes faintly scented with pear blossoms. Nor did he notice the room’s furnishings—all transported by Zhao Lixuan from his storage ring, every table and chair just like in the old Pear Flower Water Pavilion.
He only knew it was too quiet here. He couldn’t stand being alone anymore.
Especially after such a beautiful dream—the loneliness cut deeper, more piercing.
He desperately needed a drink.
Get himself drunk, and the pain wouldn’t hurt so much.
…
That day, Zhao Lixuan not only slept with Jiang Chen until noon but lingered in bed for nearly an hour after waking.
He didn’t know why. Even after Jiang Chen fell asleep, he kept feeling like leaving him alone would make him lonely—not quite right.
Only when he couldn’t lie still anymore did he get up and grab a quick meal.
He exchanged recent battle intel with his fellow disciples, then dragged Yu Changxin to grill him more on Jiang Chen’s bloodline.
Unexpectedly, his usually friendly Shen Fengyu got jealous over it. Zhao Lixuan sat to Yu Changxin’s left; Shen Fengyu squeezed in even closer on the right, sitting there all vigilant.
“My master knows only so much, and the Divine Temple records are limited. Instead of hounding us here, why not go back and ask your ‘little Jiang’ directly?”
“Look at you, all besotted and unable to let go. Bet you’ve tossed those twenty-year-old grievances out the window. Not a shred of backbone left.”
“…”
“You’re just too soft-hearted. After how he treated you back then, even if you reconcile, you could string him along for a couple years first—make him pay properly…”
The words cut off abruptly.
Jiang Chen had appeared before them without a sound, his plain white figure bathed in moonlight like an orchid glistening with night dew.
It was Immortal Lord Li Xuan’s robe, but on him, it felt entirely different.
No immortal grace or ethereal poise—just the moonlight gilding him in pale, cold sheen, like a solitary ghost wandering under the moon, wrapped in endless loneliness.
He just stood there, quietly gazing in their direction.
His eyes foggy and vacant. Even when they suddenly met Zhao Lixuan’s gaze, he only instinctively pressed his pale lips tight and quietly looked away.
“…”
His feet moved faster than his thoughts.
Zhao Lixuan was in front of him in a few strides. “How’d you get up?”
He stood very close—close enough to feel each other’s warm breath, close enough that one raised hand could pull him straight into an embrace.
He really should have kept some distance.
But Zhao Lixuan couldn’t explain why—he simply couldn’t stay away.
If Shen Fengyu and Yu Changxin weren’t there, he might not have been able to resist wrapping his arms around this tottering figure.
Ask him properly what was wrong, why he looked so desolate and sad.
Zhao Lixuan, Zhao Lixuan.
Is this right? he asked himself.
No, it’s not.
Now when he saw him, it wasn’t the youthful thrill, the irrepressible joy. What he felt was just… pity.
But that pity…
It seemed so much more than back then, so hard to control. Enough that he couldn’t help wanting to stay by his side always.
At this close range, even in the night, he could clearly trace Jiang Chen’s features.
Look—Immortal Lord Jiang was awake now, out of bed, almost back to that flawless Jiang Chen.
Even wounded and a bit disheveled, he stood straight as bamboo, his bearing peerlessly elegant.
Of course. When had he ever been otherwise?
Hiding all bitterness and softness, holding on flawlessly with calm composure.
If not for that near-death collapse the other day, would he ever have seen Jiang Chen shed a tear in this lifetime? Heard a single “It hurts so much”?
Some people were strong to the bone, never showing a hint of vulnerability.
But seeing him now, all Zhao Lixuan could think of was how he’d curled up that day.
