Chapter 10#

Husband, You’re Not Going to Take Off Your Clothes, Are You?#

“Alright, I’m not going to do anything.”

Ying Qingye raised his hand, looking at him. “Stretch out your hand.”

Yan Jianxiao shrank back, not daring to extend it, only looking at him timidly.

Under the dim candlelight, Yan Jianxiao quickly saw the man across from him furrow his brows, seeming extremely displeased.

“Are you that afraid of me?” Ying Qingye suddenly reached out and lifted the blanket that was draped over his head, saying helplessly, “It’s not like I’m going to eat you.”

Yan Jianxiao sniffled. Thinking about the whole matter of him cross-dressing as a woman, his little head was filled with all sorts of wild, fanciful thoughts, and he couldn’t help but retort inwardly to the Dragon Tyrant—

That’s not necessarily true.

If he ever found out he was actually a man, Ying Qingye would probably have the heart to chop him into a thousand pieces. How could he possibly not “eat” him?

But Ying Qingye had already caught hold of Yan Jianxiao’s wrist, and then, as if by magic, produced a small clay pot, dabbing something onto Yan Jianxiao’s hand with a soft rustling sound.

“This is from Ruoxi,” Ying Qingye said coolly. “She apologized for what happened today and gave you a box of her secret ointment.”

What secret ointment? Yan Jianxiao’s eyes went blank for a moment, then he felt a warm sensation spreading from his fingertips—it seemed to be medicine to promote wound healing.

Ying Qingye applied it a couple of times, then suddenly became aware of the propriety between men and women, and hastily withdrew his hand, coughing. “Do you know how to apply it?”

As if he were treating Yan Jianxiao like a child who couldn’t do anything at all.

Yan Jianxiao took it and nodded.

“Once in the morning and once at night,” Ying Qingye said. “I’ll be checking.”

Yan Jianxiao: “?”

How exactly does one check that? Yan Jianxiao’s head was full of little question marks, and he couldn’t help but write to ask him: Why do you need to check?

Ying Qingye paused, then seemed a bit puzzled instead. “You’re not very much like a girl.”

It was no exaggeration to say that Yan Jianxiao felt his heart rate spike to a hundred and eighty at that instant, his heart seeming to leap into his throat. His breathing turned rapid, and his whole body trembled slightly—

…Has Ying Qingye figured out that he isn’t a girl?

“My mother… my niang,” Ying Qingye said, lowering his gaze. “Every day, she only needed to keep herself happy. My father never let her do any work—the servants did it all. So she was happy every single day and never afraid.”

Yan Jianxiao thought about Ying Qingye’s parents in the plot, and was instantly filled with confusion.

He vaguely remembered that Ying Qingye’s father was a womanizer, his mother died early, and the couple’s relationship was quite mediocre.

The Ying family’s way of raising children was to nurture the best—the higher they lifted you up, the harder you fell when others brought you down.

So after being divorced, Ying Qingye found the Seven Sacred Treasures, destroyed the Qiao family, and ascended to the position of the Eternal Immortal Venerable. When the Ying family tried to reclaim him after his rise, they couldn’t even catch a glimpse of Ying Qingye’s robes.

So was what Ying Qingye was saying now about his parents’ early days? Yan Jianxiao didn’t understand why he was bringing this up, so he just watched him quietly, pretending he understood, and nodded with a dazed look in his eyes.

Ying Qingye knew he hadn’t understood, but he was still amused by the silly, dazed look of the person sitting there frozen, and the corner of his lips curled up slightly.

His gaze darkened a little, tinged with confusion. “But when you face me, you’re always afraid… why is that?”

Yan Jianxiao shuddered, then, thinking on his feet, picked up his brush: “I thought you were going to take off your clothes and make a baby with me! How could I not be afraid?!”

The moon was dark and the wind high, warm fragrance drifting through the air. The young man’s strikingly tall figure nearly blocked out the entire small space.

It turned out Ying Qingye had somehow already closed the distance between them to mere inches. That hand was holding his, and Yan Jianxiao couldn’t dodge even if he wanted to—his wrist had been effortlessly caught by Ying Qingye, impossible to struggle free.

Ying Qingye: “…”

Ying Qingye suddenly withdrew his hand, instantly realizing he had overstepped. The tips of his ears burned as he stood up. “Sorry. You sleep.”

With that, he got up and left.

Finally seeing this god off, Yan Jianxiao let out a sigh of relief. He had just lain down when a little rabbit made of spiritual energy suddenly appeared before his eyes—and a rather abnormal one at that.

At least Yan Jianxiao had never seen a rabbit like this.

Because its ears were drooping.

Curious, Yan Jianxiao reached out and touched it, and the little rabbit immediately scattered, transforming into a line of golden, glowing words: “Tomorrow, set out with me to find the Seven Sacred Treasures. Pack everything you need to bring.”

“P.S. The ties on your clothes come loose too easily. Best to change into a different set tomorrow.”

“—Ye.”

What ties come loose easily? Yan Jianxiao looked puzzled and reached up to touch his neck—only to instantly widen his eyes as he realized what it was that Ying Qingye had reached out to fix earlier.

“!!!”

How had these clothes come loose again?!

…

After leaving the letter, Ying Qingye returned to the back mountain of Cangqiong Peak to continue his solitary meditation.

The wind howled across the back mountain, yet it couldn’t blow away the faint fragrance lingering on his fingertips—the scent from the garment ties.

Ying Qingye’s ears were still burning hot when he finished writing the letter, and it took him a moment to calm down before he entered the back mountain—but someone was already there waiting for him.

There stood Tan Cang, robed in white, standing beneath the night sky, radiating an air of immortal transcendence.

Ying Qingye called out in a low voice, “Master.”

Tan Cang was feudal and rigid; news of him rashly running off to see Yan Jianxiao must have already reached his ears.

So seeing Tan Cang’s figure at the back mountain didn’t surprise Ying Qingye.

He remembered the original plot. It was just that Tan Cang hadn’t done anything bad to him yet, and Ying Qingye didn’t want to make a move against him prematurely and become a man without virtue or integrity.

But he wasn’t the type to be blindly loyal and filial either. All of this needed to come to an end.

“I cast a divination for you,” Tan Cang turned around, sword in hand, cutting straight to the point. “Once you leave, a fatal tribulation will befall you.”

Ying Qingye didn’t actually believe in divination; he believed more that fate was in one’s own hands. He made no comment, only fixing his pitch-black eyes intently on Tan Cang. The golden seal on his forehead glimmered in the night, and his face radiated a spirit that defied heaven and earth, defied destiny itself.

He said, “I don’t believe in fate, Master.”

Tan Cang let out a derisive laugh, glancing at him sidelong. “I knew you’d say that… So I take it I can’t stop you, then?”

Ying Qingye lowered his gaze in silence, which was as good as confirmation.

“Then let your master test your cultivation.” Tan Cang drew his long sword, and its light instantly shot toward Ying Qingye—

Boom.

Thunderclouds flashed across the sky, wind surged and clouds roiled, the starry river was shrouded in darkness. In the depths of the night, a streak of golden light swept past, and a pitch-black long sword threaded with gold appeared in Ying Qingye’s hand.

Master and disciple immediately clashed in combat. Ying Qingye’s figure moved as fast as the wind, and in every motion, his cultivation was clearly far beyond the strength of a mere Golden Core seventh-rank cultivator.

Tan Cang deliberately suppressed his own cultivation to match Ying Qingye’s level, but in truth, his mastery of technique was not something a young lad could hope to catch up to. By his reasoning, Ying Qingye was still many years his junior—at equal levels, he was bound to lose.

Yet the two ended up fighting to a draw.

Shock rippled through Tan Cang’s heart, though his face remained calm and composed as he frowned. “That wound I gave you with my sword yesterday—it’s healed that quickly?”

“…Mm.” Ying Qingye narrowed his eyes, but said, “I used a bit more medicine.”

The Ying family was, after all, a centuries-old clan with deep foundations—it was only natural they’d have some secret medicines. Tan Cang didn’t press further, waving his hand to let him go.

Watching his retreating figure, Tan Cang let out a sigh and opened his palm, revealing two tortoiseshell pieces used for divination.

Both were ill omens.

It was just that what he had told Ying Qingye was only half the truth—

Ying Qingye did indeed have a tribulation in his fate, but that tribulation was aimed at Canglin Sect.

Once his disciple left, when he returned, it would no longer be with such a benevolent attitude.

“A golden scale was never meant to stay in a pond!” Tan Cang sighed.

…

At the same time, Ying Qingye had already flashed to the edge of the lake and pulled off his clothes.

The lake’s surface reflected the skin of his back—completely intact, without a single wound left.

Ying Qingye stared in shock.

His wounds… were actually completely healed?

But he had never used any medicine.