The private banquet was warm and lively, filled with the clinking of porcelain cups and easy laughter.

Old Pavilion Master Yun He was glowing, his face flushed with spirit wine. The more he looked at Zhang Xian, his prospective son-in-law, the more satisfied he became. Zhang Xian, a veteran of social drinking, matched the old man cup for cup, navigating the toasts with practiced ease.

Yun Wanqing, wearing just a touch of makeup, looked devastatingly beautiful under the soft lantern light. A few cups of wine had dusted her cheeks with rose, softening her usual poised demeanor into something more open and charming. In stark contrast, Zhiyin sat silently to the side, her cup untouched, her emotionless eyes occasionally scanning the room like a security camera.

As the night deepened, no one bothered to use spiritual energy to burn off the alcohol. Yun He, now thoroughly drunk and bleary-eyed, draped a heavy arm around Zhang Xian’s shoulders.

“B-Brother! I always knew you weren’t a fish meant for a small pond!” The old man slurred, his tongue heavy. “Giving Qingqing and little Zhen’er to you… I… I’m at ease! Even if… hic… even if I fail this Tribulation, I can close my eyes in peace!”

“Father!” Yun Wanqing laughed, half-exasperated. “You’re drunk. You’re mixing up the generations.”

Zhang Xian chuckled. Yun Qi quickly stood up, hoisted his grandfather onto his back like a sack of grain, and carried the muttering old man upstairs to rest.

As the banquet dispersed, Yun Wanqing led Zhang Xian to her private study, the sanctum where she managed the vast empire of the Cloud Raiment Pavilion. The air was scented with faint sandalwood, and outside the lattice windows, the city glittered like a sea of fallen stars.

She poured a bowl of sobering soup and handed it to him, her movements graceful and slow. Then she walked to the window, her silhouette against the city lights appearing fragile and lonely.

“Zhang Xian,” she said softly, her voice carrying a dreamy, ethereal quality. “Do you know? For over two hundred years, I have spent most of my life in this room.”

Zhang Xian held the warm bowl, watching her.

[Ding! Current Favorability: 76.]

“Balancing accounts, reviewing manifests, plotting trade routes, fighting off wolves who wanted to swallow our family… and worrying. Always worrying about Zhen’er.” She turned, her eyes swimming with a mixture of drunkenness and sorrow. “I’ve lost count of the nights I sat here alone, watching these lights, secretly crying. Two hundred years… is a very long time.”

She stepped closer, her gaze burning into him. “Lately, I wonder… what would my fate have been if I hadn’t met you?”

“Would I have been forced into a political marriage in the Central Continent, driven to suicide to prove my chastity? or would I have rotted here, guarding a sick child and a mountain of gold, dying of loneliness?”

Her voice began to tremble. “Sometimes… sometimes I hate that Soul Lamp. I hate that it stayed lit. I hate that it gave me hope. If Xuan Zhou isn’t dead, why hasn’t he come in two hundred years? Why leave us to live in this purgatory of waiting?”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. “If he really has been corrupted by that entity… then he isn’t Xuan Zhou anymore, is he? Just a demon wearing his skin. The real Xuan Zhou, my husband… he died the day he disappeared. Isn’t that right?”

Zhang Xian’s heart jolted. He looked into her tear-filled, lucid eyes and realized that this woman—one of the sharpest minds in the Southern Region—had already pieced the truth together.

He remained silent. He didn’t deny it.

Yun Wanqing gave a heartbreaking smile. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a tiny, ancient bronze lamp. A weak flame flickered on the wick, struggling to stay alive.

“This is the last tether he left in this world,” she whispered. “I waited for two hundred years. I dreamed for two hundred years. But now… it has no reason to exist.”

Her hand brushed over the flame.

Snuff.

The fire died instantly. With a soft crack, the bronze lamp crumbled into dust, drifting away like gray snow.

At that exact moment, every lamp in the study extinguished. The room plunged into darkness.

In the shadows, only Yun Wanqing’s eyes shone—bright, fierce, and resolute. She looked at Zhang Xian, her voice cutting through the dark like a blade severing a lifeline.

“Zhang Xian. From this night forward, this body and this heart belong only to you.”

[Ding! Current Favorability: 81.]

A subtle fragrance wafted through the dark.

Zhang Xian looked at those luminous eyes, and every trace of hesitation vanished. “Wanqing.”

He stepped forward, his voice low and thick with emotion, and pulled her into his arms.

Yun Wanqing let out a soft gasp. At Zhang Xian’s feet, spiritual light bloomed. Branches of pure wood-element qi unfurled from the floorboards, petals erupting in a tidal wave that spiraled around them. The floral rain wove together into a thick, fragrant cocoon, sealing them in a private world of scent and shadow.

Inside the floral dome, the shadows swayed. The petals rippled—sometimes crashing like stormy waves, sometimes trembling like a breeze on a lake—silently testifying to the tenderness and intensity of the storm within.

The next day, the sun was already high in the sky.

Zhang Xian walked down the stairs, looking refreshed and annoyingly energetic. His steps were light, practically bouncing. As he entered the second-floor parlor, he found Yun Qi and Zhiyin sitting opposite each other at the tea table, reviewing documents.

At the sound of his footsteps, they both looked up in unison.

Zhang Xian faltered for a split second, then slapped on a casual, business-like smile. “Yo, morning! Everyone’s up early? Pavilion Master Yun and I were… deeply discussing the future of our strategic partnership last night. In the study. We expanded the scope significantly. Very productive meeting. Lots of details finalized.”

Yun Qi’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. He looked at Zhang Xian, then glanced at the sun blazing directly overhead—indicating it was well past noon. His left eye twitched.

“Brother Zhang,” Yun Qi said slowly, staring at him with a strange expression. “There is something you might not know. Six months ago, my Aunt transferred full executive authority of the Cloud Raiment Pavilion to me. She hasn’t touched a business contract since.”

Zhang Xian: “…”

Zhiyin, completely deadpan, looked back down at her papers. “Hmm. Business meetings are exhausting. If you’re tired, go rest. Don’t stand there blocking the light; we are discussing actual serious matters.”

Zhang Xian’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. He let out a dry, awkward chuckle and fled down the stairs.

Behind him, Yun Qi watched his retreating back, then looked at the clock again. A stampede of thoughts raced through his mind, coalescing into a single, silent scream:

Damn it! He’s an animal! It’s past noon the next day! That old lecher… does he have absolutely no idea how to cherish delicate flowers?