Endless Trials

Ye Xuan returned to the Cold Moon Peak once again.

This time, his status had changed from a lowly handyman to a sword attendant.

Ye Xuan's living quarters were reassigned.

He moved out of the remote and cluttered outer sect courtyard and into an exquisite pavilion adjacent to the main hall of Xia Lengyue's cave dwelling.

The entire pavilion was constructed from thousand-year-old Spirit-Gathering Purple Sandalwood, with every inch of the wood exuding a faint fragrance that calmed the mind and settled the spirit.

The spiritual energy here was so dense that it almost materialized into a white mist; with every breath, his lungs felt a refreshing coolness.

How could this cultivation environment be merely ten times better than his previous residence?

However, there were no locks on the doors here, yet it was covered in formless restrictions.

This was no paradise; it was a gilded cage decorated with the utmost luxury.

And just like any carefully raised plaything, what awaited him was a staggering, torrential flood of resources.

Xia Lengyue was not stingy.

An ink-black storage bag was casually thrown in front of him. Inside, neatly stacked, were a thousand crystal-clear low-grade spirit stones, their radiance almost blinding Ye Xuan's eyes.

Beside it were countless jade bottles containing Marrow Cleansing Pills and Yuan Condensing Powder, items that even inner sect disciples would fight to the death over.

On the desk lay over a dozen isolated ancient tomes that had long gone extinct in the outside world, containing detailed annotations on the ultimate intents of the sword path and the micro-manipulation of formations.

Even the water he used for his daily wash had been replaced with One-Yuan Heavy Water, a liquid as heavy as a mountain that could forcefully temper the physical body and expel impurities.

Xia Lengyue was using the most direct, brutal, and arrogant method to show her sincerity, as well as the unfathomable and despair-inducing wealth behind her.

She was using these resources to weave, stitch by stitch, an even more magnificent yet sturdier net.

Ye Xuan stood before the pile of radiant treasures, silent for a long time.

He slowly raised his head, faced the direction of the main hall, and bowed deeply until his forehead touched the freezing ground.

Ye Xuan thanks Senior Sister for her profound favor. For such a great grace, this disciple is willing to be ground to dust and have his bones crushed to repay even a fraction of it.

His voice trembled, filled with overwhelmed gratitude, looking just like a poor, ignorant country boy who had suddenly been struck dizzy by a massive windfall falling from the sky.

But beneath his lowered eyelids, his eyes were filled with a deathly, icy stillness.

For the following period, Ye Xuan completely turned himself into an emotionless cultivation machine.

During the day, under Xia Lengyue's surveillance, he submissively swept the courtyard, pruned the flowers, and poured tea, acting as humble as a speck of dust.

At night, when the faint light of the restrictions lit up, he would return to his den like a wounded lone wolf.

He would almost madly grab handful after handful of spirit stones, activating the Five Elements Chaos Sutra without any regard for the cost.

Spiritual energy washed through his meridians like a raging beast. The intense pain made his entire body tremble, but he gritted his teeth tightly, not uttering a single sound.

Not enough! Still not enough! With this little bit of strength, he could never escape!

Under this cost-blind piling of resources and self-mutilating cultivation, his cultivation base once again entered the fast lane of rapid growth.

Xia Lengyue was not in a hurry. She was like a patient hunter, using every possible method to probe the depths of this prey.

She wanted to pry open his mental defenses, strip away his disguise, and find the shadow of the man named Ye Xuan from his past life.

In the early morning, the cold dew had yet to dry. Ye Xuan was practicing his sword in the courtyard. His sword stances were plain and unremarkable, yet he executed them with extreme earnestness.

Xia Lengyue leaned against the railing of the corridor, toying with an exquisite jade slip in her hand, and said casually:

Senior Brother Murong sent someone over today with another thousand-year snow lotus, saying it is to nourish my body. Heh, how annoying. The spirit herbs in my cave dwelling are piling up so much there is barely any room left.

After saying this, her eyes, sharp as a falcon's, instantly locked onto Ye Xuan's face.

She was waiting.

Waiting for a dodge in his gaze, a messiness in his sword technique, waiting for his emotion of jealousy.

Ye Xuan's sword drew an extremely steady arc in the air, then was firmly sheathed.

He turned around, his face bearing just the right amount of respect and envy, without the slightest pause:

Senior Brother Murong is an outstanding talent of the sect, and his deep affection for Senior Sister is known to everyone from top to bottom. Senior Sister possesses peerless immortal beauty and supreme talent; it is only natural for people to admire you. I am very happy for Senior Sister.

His tone was sincere, his clear eyes carrying a trace of reverence for the strong, perfectly portraying the upward gaze of a lowly handyman toward a proud daughter of heaven.

Xia Lengyue stared at him for a long time. Just as Ye Xuan felt the cold sweat on his back was about to soak through his clothes, she gave a cold snort and turned to leave.

Boring.

In the afternoon, the sunlight was lazy. Ye Xuan was organizing her bookshelves.

Xia Lengyue was reclining on a soft couch, seemingly resting with her eyes closed, but she suddenly began to softly hum a tune.

It was an extremely obscure Jiangnan folk tune from the mortal realm.

The melody was melodious yet sorrowful, carrying the unique misty rain atmosphere of Linan City.

Ye Xuan's hand, which was wiping the spine of a book, violently stiffened for a moment.

That was the song of their betrothal from his past life, the one he had played for her by the moat of Linan City amid the fluttering willow catkins.

It was a memory that belonged exclusively to the two of them.

His heartbeat skipped half a beat at this moment, and a massive sense of panic instantly washed over him.

Ye Xuan forcefully controlled his fingers that wanted to tremble. He slowly turned around, his face revealing a pure, slightly foolish curiosity:

Senior Sister, this tune sounds really nice, and the melody is quite special. This disciple never heard it back in my village. Does it have a name?

His eyes were clear and foolish, looking exactly like a true rustic villager who knew nothing of elegant or sorrowful emotions.

Xia Lengyue opened her eyes, her gaze resting on his face for a moment, a trace of imperceptible disappointment flashing in the depths of her eyes.

It is nothing, she said indifferently. A dog I used to raise really liked listening to this tune.

Ye Xuan smiled honestly and continued to lower his head to wipe the books.

It was just that the moment he lowered his head, a fury and humiliation capable of burning the heavens surged in the depths of his eyes.

At dusk, Xia Lengyue actually did the unprecedented and cooked personally.

She brought out a plate of steaming hot osmanthus cakes and placed it on the stone table in front of Ye Xuan.

You have worked hard cultivating. This is your reward.

Ye Xuan looked at the plate of pastries, his pupils slightly contracting.

The osmanthus cakes were cut into irregular diamond shapes, their surfaces slightly browned, even bearing slightly burnt black edges. Amidst the sweet and cloying osmanthus fragrance, there was a faint, almost imperceptible hint of a burnt, bitter smell.

This smell was exactly the same as the burnt pastries Xia Lengyue had clumsily made for him the first time she cooked after their wedding in his past life.

She was doing this on purpose.

She had not only replicated the taste but had even replicated the clumsy appearance.

At this moment, Ye Xuan's heart churned like overturning seas and rivers, feeling so disgusted that he almost wanted to vomit.

That was the warmest memory of his past life, yet at this moment, it had become the most vicious death warrant.

He could not vomit. He could not hesitate.

Not only did he have to eat it, but he also had to act as if he were tasting this worldly delicacy for the very first time!

Ye Xuan immediately showed an expression of being overwhelmed by an unexpected favor, even a bit of trepidation. He wiped his hands vigorously on his clothes before carefully picking up a piece, as if holding a rare treasure.

He took a bite.

A burnt, bitter taste spread across the tip of his tongue—it was the taste of betrayal and blood.

"Delicious! So delicious!"

While chewing in large mouthfuls, Ye Xuan spoke loudly in an almost exaggerated tone full of admiration:

"Senior Sister, this is the best pastry this disciple has ever eaten in his entire life! Really! Even the ones my mother made during the New Year in the past couldn't compare to a ten-thousandth of this! Your craftsmanship is truly amazing!"

He wolfed it down, even rolling his eyes from choking because he ate too fast. He grabbed the tea next to him, took a huge gulp, and then continued stuffing his mouth.

Xia Lengyue sat opposite him, resting her chin on her hand, quietly watching him eat.

"Eat slowly, no one is fighting you for it."

Her voice was gentle, yet it made one shudder: "Since you like it, I'll make it for you often in the future, alright?"

Ye Xuan's mouth was stuffed with pastry, and he nodded desperately, mumbling indistinctly: "Thank you, Senior Sister! Thank you, Senior Sister!"

He ate the entire plate of pastries—the very ones he wished he could smash to pieces with his own hands—cleanly, even picking up the crumbs that fell on the plate with his fingers and putting them into his mouth.

In the dead of night.

When Ye Xuan returned to the attic and closed the door, he leaned against the door panel as if completely exhausted, panting heavily.

Cold sweat had long soaked through his inner shirt.

Every conversation was a confrontation.

Every performance exhausted all his mental strength.

He felt like an acrobat walking barefoot on a tightrope over a bottomless cliff.

Below him was an unfathomable abyss, where the slightest misstep meant being smashed to pieces.

And opposite him, the woman who controlled his fate was holding the sharpest pair of scissors with a playful smile, ready to cut the tightrope under his feet at any moment.

He couldn't make a mistake.

Not a single step.

This high degree of mental tension, combined with the day-after-day suppression, was slowly eroding his soul. In private, his eyes became increasingly gloomy and silent.

He looked out the window at the pitch-black night sky, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug deeply into the flesh of his palms.

Power.

I need power.

Only absolute power can tear apart this damn cage!