Chapter Nine: Whose Woman, Whose Reason

With that single question from Situ, Lu Chenyuan felt a jolt run through him, yet he dared not move an inch. His face flushed with heat, his heart thundered in his chest, and in his embarrassment, he found himself unable to utter a single word. In truth, he did not understand why he had spoken as he did; he had meant to protect his master… Yet, how had the words changed so utterly at the moment they left his lips? Was it possible that, deep within, his feelings for his master were more complicated than simple reverence and affection? How could he harbor such thoughts toward her?

Situ gazed at his innocent expression, her earlier playfulness giving way to a keener interest. She leaned in, drawing even closer. Lu Chenyuan felt her fragrant breath brush against his face; her peach-blossom eyes shimmered beneath the moon, half amused, half serious. “What’s wrong? You had such spirit on the street earlier—now you’re like a gourd with its mouth sawn shut?”

Seeing that he still hung his head in silence, she pressed her advantage, extending a slender finger to gently prod his chest, her tone languid and teasing: “So tell me—am I your master in your heart, or… your woman?”

Her voice was alluring, and Lu Chenyuan felt his mind swirl, unable to bear it any longer. He stammered, “You’re… my master…” As he spoke, it was as if he sought to draw a boundary.

“Hmm?” The mirth in her gaze faded, replaced by something indefinable. Witnessing the shift in her expression, Lu Chenyuan’s heart contracted sharply; the boundary he had just drawn collapsed in an instant. A nameless panic seized him. He feared she would be disappointed by his answer, that she would leave him.

“And also… the person I wish to protect for a lifetime…” Calming himself, he dared not use the word “woman,” for it was both too frivolous and too weighty. But “to protect for a lifetime”—that was the clumsy, sincere vow a youth could make.

The light returned to Situ’s eyes. “That’s a fine sentiment, but a true man must stand by his word. You’ve already called me your woman; you cannot go back on it.”

“This…” Lu Chenyuan grew more anxious, uncertain whether she was serious or merely teasing him as she often did. He could not bear to spoil her amusement, so at last, with a voice soft as a mosquito’s whisper, he admitted, “Yes… Master is my woman…”

The smile at Situ’s lips deepened. She withdrew her finger, but did not release Lu Chenyuan; instead, she gently swirled the wine gourd in her hand and continued, “Since I am your woman, how will you treat me? And moreover—should this wine in the gourd be mine alone to drink? Or… should you feed it to me?”

Each question was bolder than the last, each more provocative. Lu Chenyuan’s mind buzzed blank, feeling that if she kept pressing him, his heart would leap right out of his chest. He instinctively wished to flee, but when he raised his eyes to meet her half-smiling gaze beneath the moon, a sudden thought struck him like lightning.

If he fled, who would protect her?

Tonight, in a moment of impulse, he had declared, “She is my woman.” But what right did he have?

Was it merely because of his hot-bloodedness? Because of the strange power within him, uncontrollable and always threatening to turn him into something monstrous? It was not enough—not nearly enough.

He remembered the stark white strand at her temple, remembered her unconscious murmurs when drunk, remembered the fleeting exhaustion and loneliness hidden deep within her seemingly languid eyes. She was not truly omnipotent; she merely bore everything herself out of habit.

And he—if he remained forever the “Yuanyuan” who needed her shelter, how could he ever deserve to say, “She is my woman”?

The word “responsibility” weighed heavier than a thousand burdens. It pressed down all of Lu Chenyuan’s embarrassment, all his hesitation, leaving only an unprecedented longing.

Lu Chenyuan drew a deep breath, as if gathering all his strength, and looked directly into the eyes that enchanted him. He spoke, word by word, “Master… I wish to ask you—please teach me cultivation.”

He finally voiced what he had always wanted to say, yet had never dared.

The rooftop fell silent.

The jest and laziness on Situ’s face vanished completely. She slowly straightened, no longer looking at him, but instead fixing her gaze on the cold silver moon outside, saying nothing for a long while.

A figure entered, backlit by the hazy moonlight filtering through the door. He wore moon-white silk robes, his frame slender, a white jade folding fan gently swaying in his hand.

As he drew nearer, the soft lantern light in the cabin revealed his face to Zhao Chengde. It was strikingly handsome—had this been any other day, Zhao would surely have made some teasing remark, but now he felt only genuine fear.

Shangguan Chuci approached a grand chair in the center of the cabin and took a seat. She tapped her white jade fan against the table, producing a crisp “tock” that echoed in the deathly quiet cabin like a heavy hammer, pounding Zhao Chengde’s heart.

“Zhao Chengde,” Shangguan Chuci’s voice was calm and even, betraying no emotion. “Do you know where your fault lies tonight?”

Zhao Chengde struggled, forcing a defense: “Since you’re from the Prince of Lanling’s household, you should know that my quarrel with that boy was mere words—not enough for such punishment…”

“‘Mere words’?” Shangguan Chuci chuckled lightly. “Your mistake wasn’t that you shouldn’t have provoked him.”

She extended a slender finger, pointing toward Zhao Chengde, her gaze suddenly sharp. “Your mistake was letting me see you provoke him.”

Zhao Chengde was speechless, feeling that her words were unbearably domineering, yet utterly irrefutable.

“My brother Lu may be a bit shabby, and stubborn, but he saved my life. I have always kept clear accounts of favors and grudges.”

She paused to lift her teacup, gently blowing on it, and continued slowly, “I owe him a debt, so I must repay it in kind. You made him lose face; I’ll break your bones. It’s only fair.”

Zhao Chengde listened, his heart pounding, voice trembling: “What… what do you intend?”

“Nothing much.” Shangguan Chuci set down her teacup, her tone indifferent. “Just want to chat about my brother Lu and his master.”

“Did you see or hear anything on the street earlier? Tell me everything, without omission.”

Zhao Chengde dared not hide a single detail. He immediately recounted everything he had seen and heard, including his own sordid suspicions, spilling it all as if pouring beans from a bamboo tube.

When he finished, Shangguan Chuci’s expression did not change; she merely nodded. “Is that all?”

Zhao Chengde nodded repeatedly, “Yes, all of it! I did not recognize greatness when I saw it, offended your friend—please, be merciful…”

“Oh? That’s all?” Shangguan Chuci’s lips curled into a playful smile.

“I’ve repaid my debt, but as for my own displeasure—who should repay that?”

With that, she ignored Zhao Chengde’s face, which had gone deathly pale, and turned to the shadowed corner of the cabin, speaking coolly: “Xuan Qi, teach him a lesson. Don’t kill him, and don’t cripple him—I still need him.”

“Yes, my lady…” The figure called Xuan Qi stepped from the shadows, about to respond, but under Shangguan Chuci’s cold gaze, he corrected himself: “Yes, master.”

The next half hour was pure hell for Zhao Chengde. His cultivation was sealed, rendering him no different from an ordinary mortal. Under the expert hands of Xuan Qi, a master of the Boundary of Watching the Waves, he could neither live nor die. Every punch, every kick brought agony, but never threatened his life.

In his delirium, he seemed to see again the boy’s stubborn gaze, remembered his own humiliating, flippant mockery from earlier…

Those sharp words he once prided himself on now turned to tangible pain, filling him with deep regret.

By the time Xuan Qi stopped, Zhao Chengde was nothing more than a heap of mud, sprawled on the floor, barely able to groan.

At that moment, the cabin door swung open again, and four guards from the Marquis’s household—similarly subdued—were hauled in and dumped beside Zhao Chengde.

Shangguan Chuci finally rose, stepped before them, and looked down from above: “Zhao Chengde, I do not wish for tonight’s events to be known to anyone else.”

She drew a piece of talisman paper from her sleeve, shimmering with faint golden light, and tossed it; it floated above the five men’s heads like a living thing.

“This is the Heart-Imprint Heavenly Contract, binding the fortune of the Marquis of Pingyang for a hundred years. Swear this oath, and we are even.”

Xuan Qi frowned, unable to resist whispering: “Princess, to use such a contract—one entangled with great karma—for the sake of an ordinary boy, isn’t it…”

Shangguan Chuci shook her head calmly. “It’s just a speck of dust. We act with clear conscience—what karma is worth mentioning? Besides, you don’t understand. This matter is far-reaching; I have my reasons.”

Zhao Chengde stared at the contract, his eyes full of despair. He had no choice but to recite, trembling, the cruel oath:

“I… I, Zhao Chengde, swear upon the future hundred years of fortune of the Marquis of Pingyang… If I or my four guards utter a single word about what transpired here tonight…”

“Then I, Zhao Chengde, shall see my cultivation collapse, my soul destroyed, and the Marquis of Pingyang’s fortune broken for a hundred years, its incense dwindling to nothing!”

When the vow was spoken, the talisman split into five golden rays, each sinking into the brow of one of the five men and vanishing.

Only then did Shangguan Chuci nod with satisfaction and wave her hand. “Xuan Qi, see our guests out.”