The Horror of "Once Levied, Forever Levied"

Half an hour later, Ye Xuan came out.

Cold Moon Fairy followed him to the door, reluctant to let him go, her eyes still reddened, but she forced herself to maintain a facade of calm detachment.

She pressed an ancient-looking storage pouch into his hands, her voice a little hoarse: "These are several top-grade spirit veins the sect has accumulated over generations, along with a few spiritual treasures. Take them for now. If it’s not enough, let me know, and I’ll dig more for you."

Ye Xuan took it, swept his spiritual sense through it, and his brows twitched slightly. He then pulled out only what he needed and pushed the rest back.

"This is enough. I don’t need more."

Cold Moon Fairy grew anxious: "You’re starting your cultivation anew now. How can this little be enough? Before, you used to—"

"Let’s talk about the past another day," Ye Xuan interrupted, his tone calm. "This is enough for my use. Sister, it’s better for you to keep what’s left."

Cold Moon Fairy held the pouch—still mostly full—and stared blankly for a moment. Her nose stung with emotion. Suddenly she turned her face away and said softly, "Brother Ye… when will you come again?"

"Whenever I feel like it."

Cold Moon Fairy was neither angry nor hurt.

She turned back to look at him. In her eyes, clear and cold as snowmelt, there was a tender, tranquil light, as if something had finally settled into place: "Alright. I’ll wait for you."

Ye Xuan didn’t answer. He simply turned and stepped into the wind and snow.

After three steps, he paused. Without looking back, his voice fell calmly: "Sister… take care."

Cold Moon Fairy stood at the mountain gate, the wind tangling her hair. She watched his back until the silhouette vanished completely into the snowstorm, and did not move for a long time.

She stood there for what felt like forever, until that back was utterly swallowed by the blizzard. Only then did she murmur softly, as if talking to herself: "…You’re still so good-looking."

Wu Lingfeng was the last to follow out the mountain gate. As she stepped out, for some inexplicable reason, she looked back.

In that one glance, she met Cold Moon Fairy’s dazed, tear-glazed gaze.

For a second, both women froze.

Then Cold Moon Fairy averted her eyes and coldly turned her head away, as if nothing had happened.

Wu Lingfeng also looked away and walked on.

But that image lingered stubbornly in her mind, refusing to fade. She recognized something in those eyes.

It was something she herself had once known.

On the road, Ying’er munched on one of the spirit fruits Cold Moon Fairy had forced upon them, savoring the scene she had just witnessed. Unable to hold back, she looked up at Ye Xuan and asked quietly, "Husband… that Cold Moon Fairy… what was your relationship with her back then?"

Ye Xuan glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Fellow disciples."

"Just… that’s all?"

"Just that."

Ying’er chewed on the fruit, her eyes darting as she pondered. Then she said pensively, "But… she seemed to really like you."

Ye Xuan didn’t answer immediately.

He looked up at the winding mountain road ahead, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. "Maybe."

He paused, then added, "I suppose she really did like me."

Ying’er tilted her head, wanting to press further, but Ye Xuan wasn’t inclined to continue the topic. He reached up and ruffled her head, gently brushing the matter aside.

Ying’er clutched at her now-messy bun, mumbled a complaint, and said nothing more.

They continued on their way.

The wind rustled through dead grass, making a faint, whispering sound.

Ye Xuan slowed his pace slightly. Something in his expression crept quietly upward.

He didn’t speak, but in his mind, he replayed the events of the day.

He and Lin Susu had been true senior and junior disciples, bound by decades of sect camaraderie.

But Cold Moon Fairy was different. He could barely recall the specifics of how they’d first met—perhaps a fleeting encounter in some market during a journey, or a few exchanged words at some debate assembly. They might not even have remembered each other’s names before parting ways.

Just one or two meetings.

He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

But that woman, after just those few encounters, had stayed atop this snow-clad peak for thousands of years.

Her face hadn’t aged, but her obsession had never faded.

Not because he had ever shown her any special kindness. Not because they had shared any deep, indelible bond.

Simply because, in those one or two meetings, she had felt a faint stir in her heart.

Just that tiny bit.

And it had pinned her in place.

A complex emotion welled up in Ye Xuan’s eyes—hard to say whether it was melancholy or something heavier, something profound.

One glance, eternal obsession.

He never spoke those four words to anyone else.

He never dwelled on them, either.

Because every time he did, he would see those faces—the women he had crossed paths with, in ways deep or shallow, brief or lasting. Because of this gift of his, a single faint spark of feeling, over the long years, would slowly soak through them, slowly drown them, until it became an obsession that crushed their entire lives.

In the past decade or so, Ye Xuan had been very happy.

He ate and slept every day like any ordinary person. Without a trace of trouble.

But Wu Lingxiao, Ye Qingcheng, Xia Lengyue, Zi Yao—these bad women couldn’t sleep a single good night.

Longing for Ye Xuan and guilt had driven them nearly mad.

This was the power of one glance, eternal obsession.

It made heartless, faithless women taste the bitterness of lovesickness.

It made cold-natured, indifferent women feel the pain of remorse.

Ying’er darted off to catch a colorful butterfly by the roadside, her laughter crisp and clear.

Ye Xuan watched her for a moment. The complexity in his expression gradually faded.

Wu Lingfeng followed three steps behind, hearing nothing, sensing nothing.

She only saw Ye Xuan’s steps slow briefly before resuming their steady pace, as calm as ever.

As if nothing had happened.

Half a day had passed since they left the Snow Maiden Sect’s mountain gate.

The mountain path wound onward, growing more remote and desolate. Fewer travelers passed by, and even the calls of wild birds grew scarce.

After walking a stretch, Ye Xuan stopped. He took something out of his storage pouch.

It was a token.

Made of jade, pure white like condensed first snow. The edges were carved with intricate ice-crystal patterns that shimmered with pale blue light in the sunlight. On the reverse side, tiny seal-script letters read:

"Return Journey."

Cold Moon Fairy had slipped it into the storage pouch. Ye Xuan had put it aside when leaving, but she had tucked it back in secretly.

Ye Xuan twirled the token between his fingers, a flicker of something passing through his eyes before settling into calm.

He tossed the token lightly into the air.

Jade light burst forth.

The token spun rapidly in midair, expanding abruptly. Within three breaths, it transformed into a streamlined flying boat. The hull was frost-white, smooth as jade. At the prow was carved a half-blooming ice lotus, its layered petals each glowing with faint blue light.

The boat’s sides were etched with fine ice-crystal patterns. As the vessel took shape, a thin, chilly glow began to flow within those patterns, dispersing mist into the air that drifted away gently.

The entire flying boat was only about two spans long, but it carried an ineffable air of cold grace, as if it had condensed the very essence of the Snow Maiden Sect into this compact form.

Ying’er’s eyes lit up. She bounded over, grabbed the gunwale, and scrambled aboard with nimble limbs: "Wow! Such a beautiful flying boat!"

After she sat down, she pressed her palm against the deck and said with delight, “It’s still cool! Husband, where did this come from? Did Cold Moon Fairy give it to you?”

Ye Xuan stepped onto the flying boat unhurriedly, crossed his legs at the bow, took out a small stove, and pulled a few leaves of spirit tea from his sleeve, tossing them in without answering.

After a moment, the aroma of tea rose, mingling with a faint, elusive chill that spread lightly across the boat.

Ying’er sniffed the air, pouted, and muttered under her breath, “That Cold Moon Fairy is really generous to Husband…”

Her tone carried a hint of something between envy and jealousy, which finally dissolved into a sigh as she hugged her knees and curled up at the stern, saying nothing more.

Wu Lingfeng was the last to board.

The moment she set foot on the deck, her step faltered slightly.

Her gaze was not drawn to the flying boat itself, but to the intricately carved icy lotus at the bow, to the frosty crystal patterns flowing with cold energy, and finally to a nearly invisible corner on the inside of the bow.

There, a faint, shallow scratch mark.

Not a decoration, not a pattern—but two words carved by hand:

“Wait for you.”

The characters were tiny, yet every stroke was etched deeply.

As if someone, in some long and endless night, had left behind this last trace with all their restraint and reluctance.

Wu Lingfeng stared at those two words for a long time.

So long that the water on the tea stove boiled once, Ye Xuan added fresh tea leaves, Ying’er grew bored at the bow counting the clouds beneath their feet, yet those two words still burned and chilled in her eyes, a sensation she could not name.

Finally, she withdrew her gaze, slowly sat down at the farthest end of the boat from Ye Xuan, and remained silent.