Chapter 66

Luo Han paused, caught off guard. “Why do you ask that all of a sudden?”
“It just crossed my mind,” he said, his tone mild as ever. From behind, all she could see was the straight line of his back and the sharp angles of his profile. “It’s a question we’ll have to face eventually. If the day comes...what will you choose?”
He was right. It was a question they would have to face someday. Luo Han just hadn’t expected him to bring it up so soon.
Instead of answering, she asked, “What about you? What would you do?”
There was a long pause. Then, quietly, he replied, “I would go back.”
Ling Qingxiao was born in the Tianqi era. He grew up there—his family, sect, every part of his world was rooted in that time. To this era, he was a stranger—an outsider.
He didn’t belong here.
And he could feel it, too. This era didn’t quite reject him, but it didn’t welcome him either. He had always known he would have to return.
But Luo Han...was different.
She had no home in Tianqi. No friends, no family. Even safety wasn’t guaranteed. As the only divine child born in countless millennia, if gods still existed, she would’ve been cherished beyond imagination. Her name would be known across the Six Realms. Cultivation resources, spiritual treasures—she wouldn’t even have to lift a hand to get them.
But instead, she had to fumble her way through, hiding her identity, even her face.
Here, in the Middle Era, there were elders who would protect her. All she had to do was reveal her identity, and she would be surrounded by warmth and care. Here, she could grow up peacefully, securely.
This was her home.
Ling Qingxiao had always understood that—knew it was better for her to stay.
And yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the thought of it made something in his chest twist unbearably. He had spent a long time thinking, and finally today, he asked.
But Luo Han didn’t even hesitate. “If you’re going back,” she said, “then I’m going back too.”
For her, this wasn’t even a real question. She had one goal: stick to Ling Qingxiao, especially to make sure he didn’t turn around and destroy the world.
What was she going to do here without him?
Ling Qingxiao went quiet, then asked, “Why?”
“Why?” Luo Han paused, then answered seriously, “Maybe because you haven’t finished what you promised me yet. Don’t think I forgot—you said you’d protect me for a thousand years. It’s only been one.”
Ling Qingxiao hadn’t expected her to remember that.
It had originally been a stopgap promise—made because Luo Han had no way to protect herself back then. But now, things were different. She had returned to the divine world, surrounded by allies and safe from harm. That thousand-year agreement between them no longer seemed necessary.
He said, “You don’t really need someone to protect you anymore.”
“I do,” Luo Han countered, setting down the towel and moving to stand directly in front of him. Her eyes were wide and solemn as she looked at him. “Don’t try to slack off. You said a thousand years, so that’s exactly what I expect. Even if I didn’t need it, you still have to finish the job.”
With her round eyes and the way she puffed up while trying to sound threatening, she looked more like a harmless herbivore than someone laying down a demand.
Ling Qingxiao couldn’t help but let the knot in his chest loosen. A rare smile softened his features, and a gentle light glimmered in his eyes. “Alright.”
One thousand years—and they had only just begun.
The rain kept falling into the night. The sky was pitch-black, and raindrops crackled softly as they hit the window ledge.
Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao sat across from each other on the mat. Luo Han held out her hand. “I’m ready.”
They had finally gathered all the ingredients needed for the medicine to heal internal injuries. However, this particular decoction was unusual—it required the user to circulate spiritual energy through their body during digestion to activate the full effect. Before leaving, the village chief had emphasized repeatedly that someone had to monitor the patient’s spiritual flow during the process to ensure nothing went wrong.
That responsibility now fell to Luo Han—something she was actually quite good at.
Ling Qingxiao couldn’t help but feel that the method was a little...too intimate. Spiritual energy coursing through the body was as personal as blood. Now his spiritual energy would pass through her, circle back, and return to his body. It felt...like something only parents or bonded partners would do, not ordinary friends.
Luo Han had been holding her arm out for quite a while with no response. She gave her fingers a little wiggle and gestured impatiently. “Hurry up. The sooner we start, the sooner I can go train.”
Ling Qingxiao slowly reached out and placed his hand in hers. His fingers were long, elegant, and always a little cool to the touch, like carved jade.
Luo Han closed her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead.”
She focused, but Ling Qingxiao found his own mind wandering. For some reason, he couldn’t concentrate. His spiritual energy left his dantian and traveled through the channels of his body—first the lesser, then the greater meridians—before flowing through his arm into Luo Han.
When it returned to him, he felt it—foreign, warm, gentle. And...distracting.
He tried to clear his mind and push the thoughts away.
Every time the medicinal energy flowed past an injured point, a small ache would flare up. But then Luo Han’s gentle spiritual energy would surge forward and smooth it over, guiding the medicine like a balm. Her sensitivity to spiritual energy was truly remarkable.
But this back-and-forth cycle only made the strange sensation stronger. It was like another person’s presence had embedded itself within him.
Luo Han, unaware, continued the circulation until she was satisfied that all of the medicinal properties had been absorbed. She withdrew her hand and opened her eyes—only to notice that Ling Qingxiao’s ears were bright red.
Concerned, she asked softly, “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“No,” he replied coolly, withdrawing his hand. “The medicine generates warmth. That’s normal.”
Luo Han hadn’t taken the medicine herself and didn’t know better, so she believed him. When she glanced outside and saw it was already late into the night, she tried to suppress a yawn but couldn’t stop herself.
“You’ve done enough for today,” Ling Qingxiao said. “Get some rest.”
“But you—” Luo Han hesitated.
“I’m fine,” he interrupted gently. He stood, keeping his gaze fixed ahead, and walked into the other room. He even set up a folding screen beside her bed. “I’ll cultivate outside. Don’t worry and sleep well.”
Well...she was tired. She didn’t argue for long before crawling into bed.
She glanced over her shoulder, and through the screen, she could just make out his silhouette—seated cross-legged, straight-backed, perfectly composed even in shadow.
From that angle, he looked elegant and calm—like a painting.
Luo Han slowly closed her eyes and called out before drifting off, “I’m only going to sleep for two hours. You’d better wake me up. No sneaking off to cultivate.”
Her voice was groggy and fading.
And just before sleep claimed her, she thought she heard his soft reply.
“…Okay.”
With that, she finally relaxed and slipped into slumber.
When she next opened her eyes, bright daylight filtered through the window screen.
Luo Han stared blankly at the light for a moment, completely unimpressed. So this is how he wakes people up?
They were supposed to train together. And what did Ling Qingxiao do? Get up early and sneak off to train by himself again.
She turned over grumpily, and as soon as she made a sound, someone knocked gently on the door. “You’re awake?”
“…Mm.”
She gave up on sleeping in and quickly got up. When she opened the door, Ling Qingxiao was already outside. From the mist rising from his hair, it was clear he’d been cultivating in the morning breeze for quite some time.
Luo Han grumbled as she scratched her head. “Didn’t you say you’d wake me?”
“I did. But you didn’t wake up,” he replied evenly.
Then he reached toward her. Luo Han instinctively took a step back, but he stopped her with a look. “Don’t move.”
A comb appeared in his hand, and he slowly began to run it through her hair. The messy strands quickly smoothed under his patient touch.
Even doing something as mundane as combing hair, Ling Qingxiao’s gaze was focused and serious, as if he were studying some profound formation. The intensity of it made Luo Han uncomfortable, and she turned away, reaching for the comb. “Let me do it.”
“Don’t move.”
Ling Qingxiao pressed a hand to her shoulder and gently smoothed her hair again. “It’s messy again.”
His gaze was as serious as ever. Only when not a single strand was out of place did he finally draw back, satisfied. “That’s better.”
This kind of behavior...there was really no fixing him. Luo Han gave up trying to reason with him. “I slept a little too heavily last night. Why didn’t you try harder to wake me up? You could’ve at least shaken me.”
“No need,” Ling Qingxiao replied. “Too much is as bad as too little. There’s no need to cultivate through the night.”
“But you do it all the time!” Luo Han protested.
“I’m different,” he said, tone even. “You shouldn’t use me as your benchmark. You’re still young. Children need sleep to grow tall.”
That hit a nerve.
“Are you saying I’m short?” Luo Han narrowed her eyes.
“No,” Ling Qingxiao said quickly, trying to keep the peace. “The air outside is nice right now. Want to go for a walk?”
Luo Han stopped mid-sentence, nearly choking on her words.
Wait—was that an invitation?
Was this...Ling Qingxiao?
Seeing her hesitate, he grew a little awkward. “If you’d rather not, then—”
“No, no,” Luo Han cut in quickly. “I want to. Let’s go.”
The two of them stepped out together. There wasn’t much in their little cottage, so they didn’t even need to lock the door. The rain from the night before still lingered in the air, the morning breeze carrying a fresh, earthy scent.
As they walked slowly around the village path, Luo Han remarked, “I didn’t expect to start living a retirement life so early. Morning walks, early bedtimes...this is downright healthy.”
Her words were spoken offhandedly, but they stirred something else in Ling Qingxiao’s heart.
Living out a retirement...with him?
Even when they were old...they’d still be together?
A faint gleam lit up his eyes, and a rare hint of humor touched his voice. “You’re too young to be talking about retirement. No more of that doomsday talk.”
They passed several villagers—some heading out to patrol, others going to tend their fields. Each group that spotted them would stop to wave or greet them.
“You’re out and about! Are you getting used to life in the village?”
“I heard your brother was injured. Is he doing better?”
Luo Han responded politely each time, “Everything’s good, thanks to the chief and everyone’s help. His injuries are much better now. Thank you for asking.”
She was still in the middle of thanking someone when she heard someone shouting “Miss Ling!” from behind. It took her a moment to realize they were talking to her.
She turned, surprised. “You’re calling me?”
“Yeah!” A few young men pushed one of their own forward. “Miss Ling, we still don’t know your name. May we ask for it?”
They’re asking for her name?
Ling Qingxiao’s brow furrowed as he looked the boys over.
They were clearly born and raised in the mountains—sun-kissed skin, stocky builds. The one being pushed forward was particularly muscular. Not delicate by any means, but bold eyebrows and bright eyes gave him a solid, heroic look.
To Ling Qingxiao, though, they all looked reckless and unreliable. Especially that one in front—clearly the most troublesome of the lot. It wasn’t hard to guess their intentions, coming over just to chat with Luo Han.
He turned silently toward her, curious how she would respond.
Luo Han, meanwhile, was still processing the “Miss Ling.” She’d only stepped out for a walk—when did she become Miss Ling?
Just then, the village chief came out with a stern expression and snapped, “Wu Lang! It’s your shift to patrol the mountain. Why are you still here?”
The boy called Wu Lang made a face and reluctantly backed off. As he left, he still turned back to shout at Luo Han, “Don’t leave! I’ll come ask you again when I’m done!”
“You’re still at it?” The chief looked furious and made as if to chase them, sending the group of boys scattering with loud, joking cries.
When the chief returned to Luo Han’s side, she sighed. “Don’t mind them. They’re like a bunch of monkeys—no discipline at all. Don’t take their nonsense seriously.”
Luo Han could only smile awkwardly. She wasn’t sure how to react either. She’d just taken off her veil yesterday, and already she’d drawn a crowd. She might not be experienced in these matters, but even she couldn’t miss those boys’ intentions.
The chief had seen the boys run off toward Luo Han from her own courtyard and came out quickly to intervene. She’d raised those brats herself—she only needed one look to know exactly what they were thinking. After giving them a thorough scolding, she stole a glance at the two standing together.
Luo Han looked a little embarrassed. Ling Qingxiao, on the other hand, wore a blank expression, but the spiritual energy around him was visibly tense—he was clearly displeased.
The chief understood immediately. She didn’t press the topic and instead said casually, “It’s good you’re here. I was just about to look for you. Not many people have met you yet. Today’s a quiet day—come, let me show you around and introduce you.”
It was a kind offer. Luo Han quickly thanked her.
The chief led them along the paths, pointing out the nearby homes and their owners. The villagers inside looked up from their work when they saw the chief and came out to greet them with warmth and curiosity.
“You two didn’t come out the past few days, so most folks have only heard that a pair of heavenly siblings arrived. Now they’ll finally get to see you for themselves.”
Luo Han laughed politely. “We’re flattered. We’ve received so much kindness here already—thank you for everything. We truly don’t deserve such praise.”
“You do,” the chief replied. “Don’t be modest. As for those boys earlier—don’t mind them. They grew up wild and free, no manners to speak of. If they ever bother you again, just tell me. I’ll straighten them out.”
Luo Han couldn’t really agree, so she responded tactfully, “The boys have kind hearts and patriotic spirits. They’re already protecting the village at such a young age—I admire that. There’s no need to make a fuss over a few words.”
The chief breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as you don’t mind. They didn’t mean any harm—they were just curious. The surname ‘Ling’ is rare around here. When they heard it, of course they wanted to ask more.”
Luo Han couldn’t help repeating slowly, “Ling?”
“Yes,” the chief replied, glancing back at the two of them. “Aren’t you siblings?”
…She’d almost forgotten about the sibling cover story again. Luo Han forced the words out with a straight face, “That’s right.”
Ling Qingxiao had been quietly following along, but upon hearing this, a strange and indescribable feeling welled up within him.
Ling?
If he remembered correctly, in some ancient clan customs during the tribe era, when a woman married, she would take on her husband’s surname. That custom had all but disappeared by the Tianqi era, but in more traditional areas, it still lingered.
And the chief continued, oblivious: “Ling Luo Han, Ling Qingxiao—your names are quite nice. Sounds like a proper family.”
That sense of deja vu struck again. Ling Qingxiao knew very well that when the chief said “family,” she meant siblings. But in truth, the two of them weren’t related at all—which made that word carry an entirely different connotation.
Luo Han was caught between laughter and exasperation. She’d claimed to be Ling Qingxiao’s sister and given her name as “Luo Han,” so of course the chief had assumed she was “Ling Luo Han.” And honestly? Ling Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao—the names did have a certain poetic ring to them.
Both names carried the water radical. Luo Han meant dawn, Qingxiao meant night—together, they spanned day and night. Very appropriate for a sibling pair.
But the misunderstanding left Luo Han thoroughly speechless. She turned to Ling Qingxiao, hoping to share a glance of mutual frustration—only to find that he seemed...lost in thought.
Curious, she tugged gently on his sleeve. “What are you thinking about?”
It wasn’t even a hard tug, but Ling Qingxiao was so startled that he seemed to flinch. He snapped out of it and glanced at her quickly, then turned his head away and coughed lightly. “Nothing.”
Luo Han didn’t believe him for a second. Ling Qingxiao had always been the type to grit his teeth and hide things. If he said “nothing,” it definitely meant something. Her face turned serious, and her tone followed: “Are you in pain? Did your injuries flare up?”
“No,” Ling Qingxiao said quickly. “I’m fine. I was just...distracted for a moment.”
“Don’t push yourself.” Luo Han scolded him. “You? The kind of person who gets distracted? What were you thinking about that made you lose awareness of your surroundings? You’re clearly uncomfortable somewhere. Don’t try to tough it out.”
For the first time in recent memory, Ling Qingxiao felt like there were no words that could save him.
He wasn’t injured. He really wasn’t. But how was he supposed to explain what he had been thinking about?
Their exchange quickly drew the chief’s attention. When she heard something about his injuries acting up, she immediately insisted on escorting them back and checking his pulse.
So now here he was, sitting helplessly on the edge of the bed while Luo Han and the chief bustled around him. The chief carefully felt his wrist while Luo Han looked on with concern. When the chief finally withdrew her hand, Luo Han immediately asked, “How is he?”
The chief was surprised. “His pulse is steady. He...seems fine?”
Ling Qingxiao sighed. “Told you. I’m fine. This whole reaction was unnecessary.”
Still suspicious, Luo Han looked him up and down again. “Are you sure he’s not just hiding something?”
Faced with her determination, even the chief began to second-guess herself. Just in case, she wrote out a few mild recovery prescriptions and instructed Luo Han to make him drink them once every five days. Then, with a frown and a few more warnings, she finally left.
As soon as she was gone, Ling Qingxiao turned to Luo Han and said, “Really. I’m fine. You’re just being too nervous—you’re starting to see shadows where there are none.”
He sounded completely certain. But given his history of pretending to be fine while hiding everything, Luo Han wasn’t buying it. Seeing that she was still skeptical, Ling Qingxiao reached out, took her hand, and placed it on his wrist.
Guiding her spiritual energy inward, he said simply, “See for yourself.”
Luo Han flinched. Her first instinct was to pull away, but Ling Qingxiao didn’t let go. Left with no choice, she followed his guidance and let her spiritual energy flow into his meridians.
And...he was right. No hidden wounds.
As she sat there, startled, a memory flashed across her mind—of that very first day she arrived, when she’d fallen into the Abyss of Absolute Spirits. She’d claimed to have no cultivation, but Ling Qingxiao didn’t believe her. Back then, it was he who had forced a thread of spiritual power into her body to check.
Back then, she’d had no idea that the pulse point was a vital spot. She’d exposed it to him without hesitation.
And now, a year later, the roles had reversed. It was Ling Qingxiao offering his pulse to her.
She pulled her hand back and gave him a stern look. “Your pulse is your lifeline. Letting someone grasp it could mean handing over your life. Back then I was ignorant—what’s your excuse?”
Ling Qingxiao paused. Her words reminded him of their first meeting. At that time, he had just gone through the trauma of his entire belief system collapsing. He was bitter, jaded—and when a mysterious girl had appeared out of nowhere, asking strange questions and showing unexpected concern, of course he’d been on edge.
“I was reckless then,” he admitted. “Now it’s your turn.”
Then he added, quietly, “It’s already been a year.”
One year. A mere blink in the span of a dragon’s life. But somehow, it felt longer—so long that those early memories, of betrayal and punishment, falling into the abyss, felt like they’d happened in another lifetime.
Everything seemed to change the moment he met Luo Han.
Time moved strangely. Sometimes a year passed in a flash. Sometimes...it felt endless, as if this quiet life might go on forever.
Ling Qingxiao looked at the girl in front of him, and somewhere deep in his heart, something stirred.
He had never allowed himself to consider certain thoughts. But now, with just a few words spoken aloud, something had cracked open—something fragile, persistent, and wildly growing.
A thousand years was long, yes.
But for a dragon?
Far, far too short.
And what if—just what if—he didn’t want to let go?