Chapter 609 - 380: Don’t Blame Me

Qian Yunxi leaned back against the cool, ancient stone of the fractured pillar, feeling relaxed.

The icy, suffocating dread that had chilled her bones ever since she fell through the void tear had evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility.

Knowing that Haoran had breached the dimensional barrier and was actively closing in on her coordinates was like an anchor dropped into a tempestuous sea.

The dull ache in her fractured ribs, the exhaustion parching her spiritual meridians, and the looming threat of the seventh guardian patrolling the labyrinthine corridors seemed distant now.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting her head rest against the carved masonry, savoring the first true breath of relief she had taken in days.

Just then...

"Sister Yunxi, do you love Shen Haoran?" Asked Qing Yan.

His voice was hoarse, raspy, and carried a strange, trembling edge that scraped against the quiet alcove.

Qian Yunxi frowned at him. Her brows knit together, her blue eyes opening to fix upon the battered youth sitting in the shadows.

His face was obscured by matted hair and dried blood, but the intensity burning in his pupils was unnerving.

She was about to answer, but then, as if thinking of something, she suddenly closed her mouth and went silent as the instinctive dismissal died on her tongue.

The question, both blunt and invasive, forced her thoughts to turn inward, examining the intricate knot of emotions she held toward the Young Master of the Shen Clan.

Does she love Haoran?

She thought about it deeply, and after awhile, finally realized that...

No. She does not love him.

Not really.

Love, in the romantic, poetic sense of mortal ballads—the fluttering of the heart, the sweet pining, the foolish desire to intertwine two souls in domestic harmony—was not what she felt.

She did not look at Haoran and dream of quiet courtyards or whispered vows under the moonlight.

Their paths were forged in blood, power, and the harsh realities of cultivation where the weak were trampled into dust.

She was a subordinate, and he is the emperor.

So her feelings for him is definitely not love.

But she does greatly admire and respect him.

He was a terrifying force of nature, a young supreme who possessed absolute strength, great intellect, and a will that dared to mock the heavens and bend ancient monarchs to their knees.

In a world full of hypocritical elders and cowardly schemers, Haoran’s arrogance was pure, backed by raw, undeniable might.

He had shielded his own, crushed their enemies without mercy, and provided an umbrella beneath which she and her companions could grow without fear.

That awe went far deeper than common infatuation.

It went so deep, in fact, that if he wanted to sleep with her, she wouldn’t necessarily refuse.

After all, it’s not like she was waiting for a prince charming and was saving her virginity for him.

She was the Holy Maiden of the Spirit Hall, a warrior raised in the harsh crucible of the Eastern Region.

She harbored no fragile, naive delusions of fairy tale romances.

In the brutal hierarchy of the cultivation realm, chastity was not a sacred relic to be hoarded for a phantom lover who might never exist; it was simply a part of oneself.

In fact, she believes that she probably won’t fall in love with someone in this life.

Her heart was set on the boundless peak of cultivation, on helping her mother and family to establish the greatest empire in history, and guarding the heritage of her people.

Romantic love was a luxury, perhaps even a shackle, that had no place in her grander ambitions.

So if Haoran were to ask for her body, if he desired her flesh, she would grant it freely, without regret, without shame, and without tears.

After all, to offer herself to a supreme man she revered, someone who had earned her complete allegiance and who stood at the apex of the realm, was neither a tragedy nor a sacrifice.

It was an exchange of trust, a natural alignment with a young supreme who was worthy of holding the world in his palms.

She turned towards Qing Yan and shook her head, her expression cooling back into an impenetrable mask of noble detachment.

"I don’t see what that has to do with helping us in this situation," she said plainly, her voice carrying a frosty, dismissive cadence that echoed off the obsidian walls. "We are trapped on the seventh floor of a lethal trial ground, hunted by an ancient guardian. Whether I harbor personal feelings for Young Master Haoran has no bearing on our survival."

Qing Yan clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.

His ragged fingernails bit viciously into his bleeding palms, the pain doing nothing to quell the roaring fire of jealousy threatening to burn his mind to cinders.

To his ears, that refusal to answer was not an evasion, but a confirmation.

After all, she hadn’t denied it, and she hadn’t even scoffed at the idea of being with Shen Haoran.

The mere hesitation, the quiet contemplation before brushing the question aside, tasted like liquid poison sliding down his throat.

His blood boiled, the veins along his neck throbbing like thick cords beneath his grimy skin.

He leaned forward, his eyes wild and bloodshot, desperate to shatter the golden pedestal upon which she placed that demon.

He wanted to persuade Qian Yunxi to leave Haoran, his voice rising in an urgent, manic hiss.

"You can’t be this blind, Yunxi! You think he cares about you?! You think he flew all the way here out of the goodness of his heart?! Look at him! He is ruthless, cruel, and selfish to the bone! He only wanted you for your beauty and body! To someone like Shen Haoran, women are nothing more than trophies to decorate his palace, dual-cultivation furnaces to satisfy his base desires! Once he tires of your flesh, he will discard you like worn-out silk!"

Qian Yunxi stared at him, her gaze utterly devoid of warmth. There was no shame in her eyes, no scandalized blush, only a deep, penetrating disgust at his uninvited hysteria.

"And what does Haoran liking my body have to do with you?" she asked, her tone sharp and icy, cutting through his tirade like a polished blade. "Last time I checked, we’re just ordinary school mates, not even friends, much less dao companions."

Qing Yan choked, the blunt, straightforward question catching him completely off guard.

He scrambled for words, his hands gesturing wildly in the dim, sulfurous air as the twisted entity in his soul screamed in outrage.

"That’s true, but I wanted to tell this to you because I think that you shouldn’t throw yourself away!" he spat, his chest heaving as spit flew from his cracked lips. "You are a beautiful and kind woman! You are someone who can wave a hand and have suitors lining up from east fo west! You carry the sacred bloodline of the divine! You should cherish yourself, protect your purity, and not allow a bastard like Shen Haoran to take advantage of you! He is a monster who bathes in blood, an arrogant tyrant who doesn’t know the meaning of true devotion! He is not worthy to touch even a single hair on your head!"

CLANG!

The sharp, metallic ring of divine authority snapped his words in half as Qian Yunxi stood up.

Her slender frame rose from the base of the pillar, her two remaining white gold wings flaring outward with an abrupt, concussive crack of sacred pressure that blew the loose gravel away from her boots.

The gentle, exhausted maiden had vanished, and in her place stood an incensed, imperial scion whose eyes burned with pure, incandescent fury.

She glared down at him, her golden blade trembling slightly in her knuckled grip, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.

"Shut your filthy mouth!"

The sheer force of her shout echoed through the stone corridor, vibrating with pure, unadulterated killing intent.

"Who gave you the right to judge him?!" Qian Yunxi hissed, her jaw clenched as she towered over the pathetic, crouching figure in the dirt. "You dare speak his name with your foul tongue? You dare lecture me on how to conduct my life, on who I should follow, and on who I should offer my body to?! You know nothing of Young Master Haoran! You know nothing of his burdens, his strength, or his vision! I will never allow someone like you to insult the young master in my presence! If you dare say such things again, I will completely sever your head from your neck!"

Every syllable dripped with absolute, unwavering loyalty.

She would not tolerate a single insult directed at Haoran—not from the elders of the great sects, not from ancient sovereigns, and certainly not from a groveling, miserable disciple who had spent the last hour weeping in the shadows.

Qing Yan was stunned seeing her get so angry and didn’t know how to react for a moment.

It was only a few moments later that he recovered, and his eyes flashed in anger as he started breathing heavily.

The sound was wet, ragged, and unnatural, like a dying beast choking on its own bile.

The words ’insult the young master’ and ’severe your head from your neck’ repeated in his skull, warping into a deafening, mocking chorus that shattered the final, fragile chains holding his sanity together.

"...I will cherish you. I love you." Said Qing Yan, his voice low and meek.

Qian Yunxi frowned, "Is that why you approached me? I’m sorry. I can’t accept your feelings."

At that answer, the pale, chivalrous facade melted away completely, and the desperate, pleading innocent student that he put on was gone, drowned beneath a flood of rancid, possessive malice.

He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his spine straightening with terrifying, unnatural rigidity.

His shoulders jerked, his fingers twitching as dark, corruptive miasma began to bleed through the pores of his bleeding forearms.

He glared back at her, his bloodshot eyes dilating until the whites were nearly swallowed by a murky, venomous abyss as a hideous, broken grin tore across his blood-stained lips, revealing teeth coated in red saliva.

"So that’s how it is..." Qing Yan whispered, his voice dropping into a guttural, layered rasp that sounded like two distinct entities speaking through a single mangled throat. "You would rather be a plaything beneath his boots than a queen beside me. You revere the tyrant who treats you like cattle, yet you cast aside the one who bled his life away to drag you through this hell."

He took a slow, heavy step forward, the obsidian stone cracking beneath his soles as an unstable, violent aura erupted from his core.

"Since you don’t treasure yourself," Qing Yan growled, his gaze locking onto her trembling, exhausted form with rabid, unbridled hunger, "then don’t blame me for taking what you were so eager to give to him!"