Getting Up

The next day.

Morning light slipped through the gaps in the windows of the Meditation Tower, like strands of golden thread, teasing apart the brocade woven by the night inch by inch.

Day had broken.

Gu Chengyin opened his eyes and sat up in bed.

He made no sound. He didn’t want to wake the people beside him.

After being at it all night, they had only just settled down and were now sleeping deeply. Each of their faces wore the quiet satisfaction of having finally found rest.

They needed sleep. They needed to recover, to replenish bit by bit in their dreams the strength they had completely exhausted.

Gu Chengyin’s gaze first fell to the left.

Shangguan Yunying lay on her side, her body slightly curled up.

Her hair had spread across the pillow in a great black mass, like the darkest stroke in an ink-wash painting.

Her face was buried in the pillow, revealing only half of her profile. The morning light fell across her cheek, making her skin look almost translucent.

The corners of her lips curved faintly, as though she were having a wonderful dream—or savoring some deeply satisfying memory.

Then Gu Chengyin’s gaze shifted to the right.

Luo Zhao and Lin Qingyan were embracing each other.

They held one another tightly, as if afraid the other might run away.

Luo Zhao’s face was buried against Lin Qingyan’s neck, while Lin Qingyan’s chin rested on top of Luo Zhao’s head.

Their arms were wrapped around each other’s waists.

The morning light fell over them, making their similar features especially distinct.

Their brows and eyes, the bridges of their noses, their lips—every angle was like a mirror reflecting the other’s face.

The scene, the entire tableau, looked unmistakably like they had thrown an orgy that had lasted all night.

And not just any orgy. It had started at nightfall and continued until dawn, gone from sobriety to unconsciousness, from reserved elegance to complete abandon.

Three women, one bed, clothes scattered across the floor, suggestive intimacy filling the room, and springtime scenery everywhere the eye could see.

If anyone witnessed this sight, they would probably assume Gu Chengyin had used some kind of unorthodox trick and ravaged these three peerless beauties into their present state.

Gu Chengyin couldn’t help rubbing his forehead.

It wasn’t physical exhaustion—not entirely, anyway. Though he was indeed somewhat tired, what troubled him more was the confusion in his thoughts.

He needed to sort things out. He needed to pull himself away from the absurdity of the previous night.

He needed to rise to a higher vantage point and reexamine himself, reexamine them, and reexamine the relationships between them.

Gu Chengyin recalled the beginning, when he had first transmigrated to this world.

Back then, he hadn’t wanted to form any deep connection with anyone here.

Not because he was cold or heartless, but because he understood his situation too well.

He was a transmigrator, an outsider, someone who did not belong to this world.

More importantly, he had no idea when he would leave—or whether he would be able to remain. He was merely a passing traveler.

Gu Chengyin believed he shouldn’t form too many ties with this world.

He especially shouldn’t allow the people here to become dependent on him. That way, when he eventually left, he wouldn’t leave behind any regrets.

That was why he had always built his interactions on the foundation of mutual benefit.

With Lin Qingyan, it was a transaction.

With Luo Zhao, it was control.

With Shangguan Yunying, it was exploitation.

He helped them resolve their problems, and they helped him resolve his.

Clean and clear. Each got what they needed, and neither owed the other anything.

That way, he could ensure he wouldn’t become too deeply entangled. He wouldn’t discover, upon leaving, that he was reluctant to go. Nor would he allow concern for them to make him hesitate and hold back.

That was Gu Chengyin’s rationality and experience.

It was the philosophy of life he had believed in without question from childhood to adulthood, from before his transmigration to afterward, from his previous life to this one:

Keep your distance. Keep a clear head. Preserve the freedom to leave at any time.

Yet he had never imagined that things would ultimately turn out this way.

Not only had he developed deep relationships with these three women, but the bonds between them had also grown ever stronger.

Strong enough that Gu Chengyin had begun seriously considering the future and making the necessary preparations.

But Gu Chengyin was not the sort to indulge in melodrama.

He wouldn’t stare out the window and sigh, wondering how he had ended up in such a situation.

He wouldn’t look at his reflection and say, “You’ve changed.”

Nor would he use excuses to run away from facts that had already come to pass.

These were all his choices, decisions he had made only after careful consideration.

Since he had chosen this path, he would not regret it or agonize over it.

He would simply face everything that came next.

When the carriage reaches the mountain, a road will appear; when the boat reaches the bridge, it will naturally pass beneath it.

For now, the most important matter was still the Taihe Battle.

Once the Taihe Battle was over, he would be able to break through to the Core Formation Realm.

Once he reached the Core Formation Realm, many problems would naturally resolve themselves.

Not all of them, perhaps, but at least most.

Without sufficient strength, no matter how much he thought about things, it would all amount to a castle in the air—pleasant to look at, but crumbling at the slightest touch.

Gu Chengyin drew a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

After clearing the tangled thoughts from his mind one by one, he looked to either side.

Shangguan Yunying was on his left, while Lin Qingyan and Luo Zhao were on his right.

All three were still asleep, breathing evenly and lying perfectly still.

But he needed to get up. There were matters he had to attend to.

So the process had to be quiet, slow, and patient.

Gu Chengyin couldn’t wake them. Once they were awake, there was no telling when he would finally be able to leave.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle them. It was simply that time waited for no one.

Gu Chengyin was considering how he could get out of bed without disturbing them.

Should he put his left foot down first, or his right?

Should he pull back the covers first, or remove their hands from his body?

Should he stand up first, or sit up first?

These questions sounded ridiculous, but at a time like this, every detail mattered. Every movement could mean the difference between remaining asleep and waking up.

Just then, Shangguan Yunying, on his left, suddenly rolled over.

The movement was so quick it was like a gust of wind—so quick that Gu Chengyin didn’t even have time to react.

Her hand, her legs, her entire body wrapped around him like an octopus, her arm encircling his waist, one leg draped over his, and her face pressed against his chest. She fastened herself firmly to him.

Yet Shangguan Yunying’s eyes remained closed. Her eyelashes didn’t move, and her breathing stayed as even and steady as before.

It was as if the roll had been an unconscious movement in her sleep, as if she had no idea what she was doing.

Before Gu Chengyin could remove Shangguan Yunying’s hand from his body, Lin Qingyan, on the right, refused to be outdone.

She simply pushed Luo Zhao out of her embrace.

Luo Zhao’s brows furrowed for a moment, then relaxed.

Her entire body rolled slightly to the side, where she found another comfortable position and continued sleeping.

Then Lin Qingyan rolled over as well, moving even faster than Shangguan Yunying.

Her arm looped around Gu Chengyin’s neck, her face buried against the side of his neck, and her entire body coiled around his other side like a snake.

Her eyes were closed too. Her eyelashes remained perfectly still, and her breathing was just as steady and even.

It was as if she were asleep as well, as if she too had instinctively moved toward the most familiar presence.

Gu Chengyin: “……”