Chapter 94: Soft-Eared Mama’s Boy 9

The White Sparrow perched with a serene demeanor, its jet-black eyes shimmering with a faint, pearl-like glow under the interplay of sky and rippling water.

It spread its wings, its slender black claws snagging strands of soft white hair that undulated gently in the clear lake water. The current surged against it, and the White Sparrow couldn’t keep its footing. It wobbled for a moment before fluttering away, carrying off a few wispy threads.

The abandoned locks of sodden, heavy hair drifted lightly down onto the water-dweller’s face—pale and gaunt as fresh snow. Tiny droplets splashed across his flawless features, trickling downward in fine trails, like the tears of legend-weaving merfolk condensing into pearls.

Jiang Rang felt his heart pounding wildly, his breath nearly halting. The young man might not even have realized it himself, but the colors woven into his dark eyes were stunning, cautious, and utterly transfixed.

The youth had never seen anyone so breathtaking.

Unlike Shizun’s warm and gentle beauty, this waterborne beauty was heartbreakingly slender—sickly so. Beneath his loose white robes rose the sharp ridges of butterfly bones. He was white all over, including the delicate cluster of snowflake lashes resting peacefully against his closed lids. That pallor seemed to have seeped into his very bones, making one wonder if he was the mythical Plaster Beauty of lore.

In the legends, the Plaster Beauty was sculpted entirely from snow-white plaster, forever serene and exquisite, seated by the lake’s edge awaiting his fated beloved.

Only that destined lover could grant him true life, awakening those beautiful, soulful eyes.

Jiang Rang shoved the fairy-tale drivel from his mind, steadying his nerves and forcing himself back to rationality.

When all was said and done, the scene before him was eerie. The man was deeply suspicious. There were no signs of battle anywhere around—no scorch marks, no upheaved earth. His clothes were pristine from head to toe. The only injury on him appeared to be that vicious gash on his left hand.

From what Jiang Rang could tell, it was self-inflicted, judging by the gem-encrusted dagger clutched tightly in the man’s right hand, its blade slick with blood.

His expression was profoundly peaceful, evoking the image of a beautiful corpse laid out in repose within its coffin.

Jiang Rang gritted his teeth. From childhood, his upbringing in the Primordial Sect had instilled in him a profound respect for life and the audacity to strive against the heavens themselves.

Cultivation meant pursuing boundless longevity and ascending the immortal path—a direct defiance of fate.

Moreover, in this era overrun by gods and ghosts, suicide was the most reviled act imaginable. Those who took their own lives were denied rebirth as humans upon entering the wheel of reincarnation; they were condemned to the beastly path, enduring endless torment and suffering.

His heart raced furiously. He knew he shouldn’t get involved—the man’s identity was a complete unknown. Yet whether it stemmed from reverence for life, a surge of youthful passion, or something else entirely, Jiang Rang simply couldn’t look away.

He approached the water’s edge step by careful step. The closer he got, the thicker and wetter the mud grew beneath his feet, as if invisible claws were reaching up from the silt, desperate to drag him down and hold him there forever.

The youth kept a vigilant eye on his surroundings. Despite the treacherous path, he safely reached the side of the man in the water.

Up close, Jiang Rang’s slightly downturned eyes were magnetically fixed on the man’s cheek, impossible to tear away.

Only now did he see it clearly: half-submerged in the crystal-clear water, a subtle blush tinged the man’s creamy white skin—not vivid, but seeping slowly from the snow-pale canvas. Sunlight filtering through his brows lent his features an ethereal, misty allure.

This was a gorgeous corpse.

Jiang Rang’s throat bobbed. He forced his gaze aside, hovering his long, trembling fingers near the man’s nose.

No breath.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Jiang Rang’s brows furrowed tightly. By the amount of blood lost, there should still be a chance for salvation.

An inexplicable anxiety gripped him. The usually rough-and-tumble boy handled him now with exquisite care, as if cradling some priceless treasure. With gentle motions, he lifted the man from the water, then—without a second thought—fumbled in his Storage Pouch for a pill and slipped it past those ice-cold lips.

In the span of a single breath, the man’s respiration steadied somewhat.

It was as if a stifling deathly qi had been lodged in his throat; now dispersed, the ashen-faced man couldn’t help but turn his head and cough violently.

His arms—pale as frost—struggled feebly to prop up his frail form, but finding no purchase, they surrendered to the youth’s sturdy embrace, quivering faintly.

Jiang Rang steadied the man’s arm, sensing that subtle, helpless reliance. A burning flush crept up to his earlobes.

His encircling hand stiffened momentarily before descending softly, patting along the damp fabric of the man’s robes in a soothing rhythm.

“Y-You… are you alright?”

The young man’s face flushed a deep red, a thin veil of pink draping over his handsome features. Jiang Rang had always been generous and outgoing, able to strike up a conversation with anyone. He was utterly clueless when it came to romance, his heart still unawakened to such matters—he was always the one leaving others blushing and flustered.

To see him like this today was truly a rare sight.

Even Jiang Rang himself felt a little dizzy, his heart pounding as if it no longer belonged to him, like he had fallen ill. Panic and heat coursed through his body.

The man in white said nothing. He frowned weakly, the flush from his coughing fit slowly fading as his emotions settled. His silver-white lashes trembled frequently, tears sliding down from the corners of his eyes.

Jiang Rang felt no displeasure at the lack of response. Instead, he lowered his voice slightly. Stiffly shifting his elbow, he spoke in a hoarse tone, “Your wound looks serious. Let me bandage it for you first…”

“No need.”

The man’s voice was faint. He was so pale that under the sunlight, his body seemed ready to dissolve into pale dust, scattering like mist.

With those words, he slowly averted his misty gaze from the young man’s face and rose calmly to leave.

The man appeared so cold and still, as if he possessed no human emotions at all—just a lifeless plaster statue.

He hadn’t even offered a word of thanks to his savior.

Or perhaps… he simply didn’t know that he should.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Jiang Rang’s face, but he was never one to stay down for long. He had a silver tongue; even the strictest elders couldn’t keep a stern face around him.

Thus, the young man hurried to his feet and fell into step beside the man.

Jiang Rang’s features were refined and superior, and the Primordial Sect Disciple Robes he wore lent him an even more ethereal air. Every so often, he glanced sideways at the steady, silent figure pacing noiselessly beside him, unable to resist peppering him with questions.

He asked many things, but the responses were few and far between.

Finally, in near defeat, he said, “At least you can tell me your name, right?”

The man’s footsteps paused for a moment. After a long silence, the pallid figure finally turned his eyes slightly. Those misty orbs settled quietly on the young man’s surprised face.

The white-haired man’s lips were nearly colorless, his pure black eyes wide open yet impenetrable to light. Jiang Rang almost doubted he had moved his lips at all when a light, ethereal voice reached his ears.

“Zhu Miaojie.”

Jiang Rang didn’t register it at first. His feet stuttered to a halt, his tone sluggish. “Ah?”

The man regarded him, the damp red ribbon at the edge of his long, silky white hair fluttering wildly in the forest breeze.

His voice was so soft it nearly blended into the wind.

“My name is Zhu Miaojie.”

Under that gaze, Jiang Rang felt his heart racing once more. He weighed every word in his mind before speaking.

After a long moment, the usually bold and open young man flushed red, his long black lashes fluttering like his disordered thoughts. He steadied his voice with effort and lowered his eyes. “I’m Jiang Rang.”

The man remained utterly silent. The prolonged quiet even made Jiang Rang lift his head.

But when he did, the man was nowhere to be seen.

The empty woods held only dappled sunlight filtering onto the soft earth—no other shadows lingered.

It was as if it had all been a gorgeous, absurd dream, and the snow-white, ethereal man like an immortal had never appeared at all.

Jiang Rang couldn’t help rubbing his eyes, subconsciously calling out the name.

“Zhu Miaojie?”

The forest offered only the whisper of cool wind and a faint echo.

Disappointment crashed over Jiang Rang’s face in an instant. His handsome brows drooped listlessly. There was no doubt about it—he was crestfallen. Though declaring love at first sight might seem frivolous, the truth was exactly that.

Before today, he had never felt his heart pound like this for anyone, never lost himself in such turmoil.

Unfortunately, this first youthful stirring of the heart received not even a single response.

Jiang Rang thought he would never see the man again.

Yet whether by fate or chance, not two days later, he encountered that beautiful figure in white once more.

At that moment, Jiang Rang had just escaped the pursuit of exotic beasts. His clothes were travel-worn and tattered, his appearance quite disheveled.

He had finally caught a moment to rest, not even having time to catch his breath, when he spotted a moonlit silhouette standing at the edge of a cliff on one side of the woods.

Clouds layered the cliffside, countless flowers blooming in vibrant competition. The man stood there in his fluttering white robes, his skin like snow, his hair long and flowing. His eyes half-lowered, he allowed the merciless cliff winds to whip at his slender, shadowy form, which slowly tilted forward into the abyss.

That scene held a beauty so exquisite it bordered on the pathological. The broken-winged white sparrow plunged toward death of its own volition, and even as it tumbled into the abyss, its posture remained graceful and serene, like a willing sacrifice.

For it, death seemed no different from any trivial worldly matter.

But Jiang Rang could not simply look away. The young man’s pupils contracted sharply. Without a second thought, driven by pure instinct, he swept out with a long sword, embedding it firmly into a crevice in the cliffside. With his other hand, he gripped the man’s slender waist tightly and hauled him back onto solid ground.

The moment they reached safety, Jiang Rang instinctively staggered away from the yawning chasm, his arm still locked around the man without loosening.

The young man’s voice trembled with suppressed emotion. His eyes reddened from sheer terror, as if he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

He stared at the man, his voice hoarse. “Zhu Miaojie… why did you do that?”

Zhu Miaojie remained silent. He merely lifted his gaze slightly to meet the young man’s eyes. His pallid lips accentuated his gaunt, ethereal frailty, as though he might dissolve into mist at any moment.

Jiang Rang did not look away. On the contrary, this time he mustered his courage, refusing to release his grip. He was determined to get an answer.

The young man’s gaze burned with intensity. His lips pressed into a thin line, revealing a hint of obsessive confusion.

After a long pause, Zhu Miaojie slowly raised his pale eyelids to look directly at the young man. His light-colored lips parted slightly, and his voice drifted into Jiang Rang’s ears like layered clouds. “Why do you keep saving me, time and again? Do you like me?”

The question was so bluntly direct that it could make anyone’s face flush with embarrassment.

Jiang Rang was utterly at a loss. A young man like him had never encountered such a situation. In the Cultivation World, subtlety was prized above all. He had received plenty of hints and love letters from fellow disciples and others.

But no one had ever asked him something so transparently frank, like a glass bead gleaming in the light.

As a result, the young man stammered awkwardly, his face turning beet red. After a long moment, he scratched his cheek uncomfortably and mumbled in a small, unclear voice, “N-no.”

But no sooner had he spoken than Zhu Miaojie lowered his eyes and said softly, “Then why do you care whether I live or die? We didn’t know each other before.”

As he spoke, the man’s gaze drifted toward the cliff edge once more. His expression remained utterly unchanged, but his question felt utterly out of left field, as if he were demanding a reason from the young man.

In his panic, Jiang Rang forgot all else. He grabbed Zhu Miaojie’s hand and blurted out, as if possessed, “Yes, I… I do like you.”

“From the first time we met, I’ve liked you.”

“I…” The young man’s eyelids fluttered, his earlobes flushed crimson as if bleeding. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing misty with urgency. In a clumsy tone, he said, “Can you give me a chance to get to know you?”

Zhu Miaojie’s expression barely shifted. He simply halted his steps. His long, curling white lashes lifted slightly, and his pale lips pressed together. A look of near-despairing coldness settled on his ashen face.

The man’s voice was almost weightless, barely touching the ground.

“Do you even know me?” he asked slowly and calmly. “I was born under a disaster star.”

Zhu Miaojie raised his eyes, shadows of deep and shallow darkness swirling in their depths.

His slender frame stood amid the mountains, resembling a chill mountain ghost.

He gazed calmly at the gash on Jiang Rang’s arm—the injury from the day he had been saved—and said word by word, “The day you rescued me, you were pursued and wounded by several rampaging exotic beasts.”

“And that was only the beginning. If you don’t stay away from me—”

Zhu Miaojie’s throat bobbed slightly. His tone was ice-cold, as if death hovered just a breath away.

“You’ll only be plagued by misfortune and meet a bad end.”

A suffocating silence fell between them.

After a long while, the white-clothed, white-haired man suddenly heard a voice so earnest it sent a shiver through him.

How fervent the young were. A pair of bright, spirited eyes stared straight at him, unflinching and unyielding. His pale robes billowed in the wind, like sparse bamboo shadows under the moonlight.

A young man’s affections were always the world’s most precious treasure. Jiang Rang spoke with deliberate emphasis, his eyes reddening. “I’m not afraid. If it’s you, I won’t be afraid.”