Chapter 23

He watched his own hand knock hers away, then choked the taste of iron back down. His face turned paper white as he slid down the wall to sit, legs folding into a lotus position. The pain of spiritual power rampaging backward through his meridians was enough to tear him apart. Cold sweat soaked his hair, gluing it messily to his temples and cheeks.
He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, swallowing every broken groan. Lights flashed behind his eyes, scenes flickering and fading like a spinning lantern. With one hand clamped over his head, he curled into the corner, back pressed to stone.
“Go. I told you to go. Do you hear me, Jiang Yu?”
You see me like this and still won’t leave!
Go!”
“I’m not leaving.” Jiang Yu’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried perfectly in the cramped silence. Every word dropped heavy as stone into the still waters of his heart.
His fingers clenched, veins bulging starkly under his skin, knuckles turning bone white. Shen Anzhi stared into her steady eyes, and for a heartbeat, his mind went blank.
The strength in his grip suddenly bled away. His hand loosened, just a fraction.
The mocking retort dimmed and died soundlessly in his throat.
Seeing him curled up in the corner, drenched in cold sweat, something fierce and stubborn lit up in Jiang Yu’s eyes, an emotion she’d never quite felt before.
“I’m not leaving. Don’t even think about driving me away…”
Her mind raced. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his hunched form, tugging the cloak from her own shoulders and draping it over his head and back, hiding him from sight. Lowering her gaze to his dark phoenix eyes, she leaned in close, voice low and steady beside his ear, each word deliberate:
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I promise, no one else will ever see you like this.”
The faint fragrance of her breath brushed past his ear. Shen Anzhi froze, his spine going taut. Even the pain from the backlash ebbed, retreating like a spent wave.
This wretched, backlash-ravaged state was something he’d never meant for her to witness.
Why…
Why…
As cracks spiderwebbed open in the air, a new set of footsteps rushed toward them.
By the time Ning Hechi arrived, all he saw was Jiang Yu standing alone among the shelves, looking slightly flustered.
“Miss Jiang, are you all right? That spider demon’s formations were treacherous, I nearly walked straight into its trap.” His gaze caught on the raw marks circling her neck, and worry sharpened his tone. “Your throat, what happened?”
The moment she saw him, Jiang Yu hurried over, deliberately stopping just one step away to block his line of sight. “I’m fine, Young Master Ning. I just remembered seeing a damaged formation earlier. I think it might be… a teleportation array.”
Ning Hechi’s eyes brightened. “Do you still recall where it was?”
She pointed to the right. “Over there, on that section of the wall.”
“Good. Miss Jiang, please wait here.” Ning Hechi started in that direction, then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement where the cloak lay. Suspicion pricked. “Miss Jiang, what was that?”
“Nothing. My cloak got soaked earlier, so I hung it there to dry,” Jiang Yu explained smoothly.
“So that’s all it was.”
Her smile didn’t crack once; she nodded quickly and earnestly.
Only when his footsteps faded into the distance did Jiang Yu finally let out a slow breath.
She circled around the shelves and immediately spotted Shen Anzhi, still cloaked in the black mantle, sitting cross-legged facing the wall, quietly regulating his breathing. Safe and sound.
The knot in her chest loosened.
Jiang Yu sank down beside him, knees folding beneath her. She hadn’t closed her eyes all night. Her throat stung where the bruises throbbed, exhaustion weighing down her eyelids.
She’d promised Shen Anzhi no one else would see him like this, so she forced herself to stay awake, back to the rock wall, keeping watch until he came around.
Who knew whether Ning Hechi would manage to restore the teleportation array? If he came back, she’d need a foolproof excuse ready.
She didn’t know how much time passed. Drowsiness tugged at her thoughts, but somewhere between waking and sleep, she finally caught the soft, almost imperceptible rustle of fabric.
Shivering from the cold, eyes rimmed red from fatigue, Jiang Yu lifted her head toward the sound, and met a pair of inky-black phoenix eyes.
“Junior Brother, you’re awake.”
Shen Anzhi pulled the cloak off and clenched it tight in one hand. Looking at the scarlet figure who’d kept vigil at his side, that strange surge of emotion nearly broke its way free again.
His throat bobbed. When he spoke, there was a faint tension buried deep in his voice. “Didn’t I tell you not to take it off?”
Jiang Yu rubbed at her tired eyes and gently pushed the cloak back into his arms. Her voice was soft, but stubborn as stone. “But you… need it more than I do.”
Shen Anzhi let out a slow breath, then swung the cloak back around her shoulders, wrapping it firmly in place.
She was so tired her vision blurred. Yawning one after another, she could only let him do as he wished.
By the time Ning Hechi returned, what he saw from his angle was Jiang Yu’s back leaning sleepily against Shen Anzhi’s chest, the two of them close as shadows.
Jiang Yu stepped aside a little and poked her head out. “Young Master Ning, did you manage to repair the teleportation array?”
“Yes. Let’s go.” Ning Hechi smiled gently. He did not miss the unreadable curve at Shen Anzhi’s lips, but his own expression never wavered as he turned to lead the way.
Shen Anzhi’s gaze dropped to the girl’s face. Her eyes were still hazy with sleep; she yawned as she followed Ning Hechi out.
He lengthened his stride to fall into step beside her, his eyes flicking, almost lazily, over Ning Hechi’s back. A hint of darkness slid through his gaze.
When the last of the teleportation light faded, all three of them were standing in a twisted, miasma-laden forest. Gray-green fog slithered through the trees like living things, carrying a rotten stench that made every breath feel thick.
The moment Ning Hechi’s boots touched the slick ground, the transmission jade at his waist lit up.
He focused, letting his consciousness sink into the charm. When he opened his eyes again, his fingers twitched and the jade dissolved into motes of light.
“Lu Bin has sent word. The injured disciples from Penglai Pavilion have been safely returned to the inn.” His gaze swept the choking fog, voice low but steady. “This place is too dangerous to linger. Miss Jiang, Young Master Shen, let’s return to the inn to recover. We can come back another day.”
“Very well.”
Sword-light split the pale dawn clouds as they flew back. Jiang Yu naturally stepped onto the Copper Coin Sword behind Shen Anzhi, the two of them sharing the blade.
Mountain winds howled past, snapping at sleeves and hems.
Drowsiness crashed over her like a tide. Jiang Yu swayed, her head bobbing like a sleepy chick until it bumped, once, twice, gently against Shen Anzhi’s straight back.
The sword remained steady. Shen Anzhi said nothing, so she simply gave up, letting her eyes fall shut and resting her whole face against his back. Strands of dark hair slid forward, brushing against the fabric between his shoulder blades, and like that, she actually fell asleep.
By the time they landed, she was so groggy she stumbled, nearly pitching forward onto the ground.
Shen Anzhi caught her in time. Looking at the way she blinked at him, like a little red sparrow startled awake, he lifted a brow. “Senior Sister, were you planning to sleep right here?”
“Who said I’d sleep on the floor…” Jiang Yu rubbed at the corners of her sore eyes, her voice trailing smaller and smaller. “I’m just… really tired.”
“Then go sleep in your room.”
“’Alright.” She straightened, dragged herself back to her room, washed out the black cloak, then collapsed spread-eagle across the bed and fell asleep.
She slept a full day before feeling human again. Near midnight she woke, ate a bowl of millet porridge, then carefully folded the now-dry cloak and headed to Shen Anzhi’s door.
The door was slightly ajar. On impulse, Jiang Yu pushed it open a crack.
Shen Anzhi sat at the table. The hands that wielded a sword without mercy were now deftly guiding needle and thread. With practiced ease, he drove the needle through cloth, and she caught a glimpse of a snow-white crane taking shape under his hand, neck arched, exactly like the emblem on the robes of Crane Sect disciples.
So he even knew how to mend clothes? In that moment, he looked less like a “grim reaper in human skin” and more like a black lotus, quiet and aloof, blooming alone in the dark.
She’d never really noticed before that his clothes were different from everyone else’s. Thinking back, he did always wear the same black robes.
Crane Sect’s rules were strict: aside from color, every disciple’s uniform was identical in cut and embroidery. She glanced down at her own skirt hem, six cranes, neatly stitched.
But the hem of Shen Anzhi’s robe was not the same.
Her legs had gone numb from squatting, and she let out a tiny involuntary sound. Wincing, she was just about to bolt when Shen Anzhi lifted his head. Their eyes met through the crack.
“Hi,” Jiang Yu said weakly, pushing the door fully open. Trying her best to look natural, she held the clean cloak out in both hands and tapped lightly at the frame. “Junior Brother, I wasn’t trying to spy.”
“So Senior Sister meant to spy?” Shen Anzhi flicked his hand, sweeping everything off the table into his storage pouch in one smooth motion. The tabletop was bare in an instant.
Jiang Yu set the black cloak down. “I came to return this, and ask how your injuries are.”
He raised a brow, took a sip of tea. “Much better. Did Senior Sister need anything else?”
A lightbulb went on in her mind. “Of course I did. Junior Brother, one of my dresses is torn. Could you mend it for me?”
Shen Anzhi leaned back, arms folding over his chest. “Doesn’t Senior Sister refuse to wear anything damaged?”
“Is that not allowed?” Jiang Yu plopped into the seat opposite him and propped her chin on her hand, looking up with feigned pitiful eyes.
He coughed, lips quirking. “Putting on a show,” he said, rolling a copper coin between his fingers and tapping it lightly against the tabletop. “Bring it here.”
Jiang Yu barely managed to keep her grin from bursting outright. Her eyes sparkled.
She wasn’t after a simple patch job.
There was no torn dress, only a perfect excuse. Once he’d helped her “just this once,” she’d have every reason to present him with a new robe as thanks.
“Wait right here, Junior Brother.”
She jogged back to her room, grabbed a spare scarlet dress, and used the short knife she kept in her sleeve to slice a neat, hand-width tear along the hem.
Then she hurried back and laid the dress on the table, smiling brightly as she rested her chin on her hands again.
Shen Anzhi hooked the hem with his little finger and lifted it, inspecting the cut.
Jiang Yu already had her story prepared. She sighed dramatically. “Must’ve been on some dark, windy night when I was out saving someone. A branch caught it and tore it.”
Shen Anzhi’s brows rose lazily. “Senior Sister always claimed she wouldn’t wear damaged clothes. Looking at this hem ripped open like this… perhaps you should just throw it away.”