Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Bitter Resolve

CHAPTER 51

Bitter Resolve

LUO FAN

After Jinjing’s burial, Ruan Yanjun wasted no time bringing me to his residence. I wasn’t shackled or caged, but it was clear I was a prisoner in all but name. Two of his disciples stood guard outside my chamber at all times, their silent vigilance constantly reminding me of my confinement.

I was allowed to walk through the lush gardens that sprawled around the residence, but never alone. Wherever I went, a pair of watchful eyes followed. The gates were heavily fortified, and I was expressly forbidden from even nearing them. Freedom was a memory that felt farther away with each passing day.

To my reluctant relief, Ruan Yanjun himself kept his distance during those initial days. He had returned to the imperial palace, supposedly to attend to matters with the emperor. Perhaps he knew his presence would only deepen the ache of my grief, or perhaps he simply didn’t wish to deal with me while I was like this. Either way, his absence gave me the solitude I craved to process my emotions, though it did little to dull the sting of losing Jinjing.

I tried to distract myself with the mundane. Tending to the garden became my only solace. I watered the flowers, trimmed overgrown branches, and potted new plants to brighten the residence's front yard. It was an empty routine, but it kept my hands busy and my thoughts from spiraling.

One day, as I sat by the pond watching the koi lazily swim beneath the surface, Huang Wen approached me. His expression was hesitant, as though unsure if he should even speak.

“Priest Luo,” he began gently, his voice low enough not to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. “Jinjing didn’t mean to betray you. She didn’t do it for the money.”

I didn’t look at him, but I felt my chest tighten. My silence prompted him to continue.

“She did send the money you both earned to her sick son, yes, but that wasn’t the reason she gave you up. My senior sect brother was present when it happened—when they forced her hand. Two men dragged her into an alley while she was on the street. They had tracked the location of her son through the money transfers and threatened to kill him and her entire family if she didn’t cooperate. The money she received was merely a reward, but the choice wasn’t hers.”

His words cut through me like a blade, though I kept my gaze fixed on the rippling water.

“They knew you had people secretly watching over you, protecting you,” Huang Wen continued, “so they needed to eliminate them first. They used Jinjing because they knew she was important to you. They ordered her to mislead Xiong Juan, telling him you wouldn’t be traveling as planned. That’s why Xiong Juan stayed behind, unaware you’d gone ahead to the village.”

“Why didn’t your sect brother intervene?” I asked, my voice low and cold.

“Master Ruan instructed us not to interfere unless your life was directly at risk,” he admitted, his tone apologetic. “My senior sect brother was only following orders.”

I clenched my fists, struggling to suppress the anger bubbling beneath my grief. They had watched, knowing she was helpless, knowing her fate—and they did nothing. Their inaction had led to her death.

“After you were taken…” His voice softened, his tone tinged with regret. “Jinjing came here to plead for my master’s help. But at that time... my master was nowhere to be found.” He hesitated, as though weighing whether to continue, then pressed on. “Before my master departed, he gave strict orders. I was to remain here until he sent further instructions. No exceptions. No deviations. And without his explicit permission, I couldn’t dispatch disciples to aid her. That’s just the way of the Eternal Damnation Sect—absolute obedience to the master is our highest law.”

Bitterness swelled in my chest, a tide of anger and grief threatening to spill over. My fists clenched at my sides as I struggled to contain the storm within me. What good would it do to voice my fury? No amount of recrimination could undo what had happened. No words could bring her back.

So I swallowed it all—the pain, the anger, the unbearable guilt. I forced myself to nod, to bury my emotions behind a mask of composure. Speaking my bitterness aloud wouldn’t change a thing. It would only lay bare the hollow truth: that I had failed her too.

When he received no response from me, he lowered his head and then silently retreated, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

*****

As night fell, I returned to my chamber, my steps heavy with the weight of grief and resignation. Sitting at the table, I stared at the familiar bottle of wine a servant had placed there earlier. They had grown used to my nightly ritual, probably anticipating my request even before I voiced it.

For two weeks now, wine had been my only solace. Each night, I drank myself into a haze, letting the alcohol dull the sharp edges of my pain until sleep finally claimed me. But tonight, as I looked at the bottle, something inside me hesitated. Was this really the path I wanted to tread? How much longer before the wine consumed me entirely?

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Before I could respond, the door slid open, and Ruan Yanjun entered uninvited, his presence as commanding as ever.

I immediately stood, bowing slightly out of habit. “Lord Ruan,” I said, cupping my hands in greeting. “I was not informed of your return. My apologies.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze briefly sweeping over me before settling on the table. Without a word, he moved to sit across from me. I followed suit, unsure of his intentions.

His eyes fell on the bottle of wine. “The servants tell me you haven’t been eating properly,” he said evenly. “But you’ve certainly been drinking plenty.”

I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet his penetrating stare.

“A-Fan,” he said, his tone softening, though it still carried a note of authority. “I’ve given you time—two weeks to grieve, to collect yourself. But now, it’s time to move forward. You owe me that much.”

I sighed and lowered my head. “I understand.”

“Are you ready to fulfill your end of the bargain?” he asked, leaning back slightly. “Or do you need more time to wallow in this room? I can give you another week if you insist, but no more.”

“…There’s no need,” I replied quietly. The truth was, I couldn’t stand being confined here any longer. The idle days had only deepened my sorrow, giving me too much time to dwell on what I’d lost. Perhaps leaving—traveling, working—would distract me, even if only for a moment. “I’m ready.”

Ruan Yanjun’s lips quirked in a faint smile. He reached for the wine bottle, pouring a generous amount into a single cup. As he lifted it to his lips, I blurted out, “Lord Ruan, I’ve already used that cup.”

“I know,” he said simply, taking a deliberate sip.

I blinked, stunned. The Ruan Yanjun I’d heard about was meticulous, almost obsessively so, when it came to cleanliness. Yet here he was, drinking from the same cup I had used without hesitation.

“Let me fetch another for you,” I said, rising from my seat.

He raised a hand to stop me. “There’s no need. We’ll be traveling together for a long time. It’s better if we both get used to sharing.”

I frowned slightly. Sharing? Why would that be necessary?

Before I could question him further, he reached into his robes and placed something on the table. I stared at the object, my breath catching when I realized what it was. My mother’s locket, the one I had pawned in a moment of desperation.

“I bought that back from the pawnshop,” he said, his tone nonchalant. “Don’t pawn it again. It’s an heirloom—you should treasure it.”

“I meant to retrieve it,” I said defensively. “But… unexpected things happened.”

“If you need money, just ask,” he replied smoothly. “Don’t sell off your valuables. You’ve already endured enough indignities.”

“I’ve already taken too much from you. Asking for more would be excessive.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and disarming. “A-Fan, I don’t mind how much I spend on you. Everything I’ve invested will return to me a hundredfold once I’ve restored you to your rightful place. So don’t hesitate to ask. But if your pride won’t allow it, I’ll arrange for you to receive a monthly allowance. Consider it your salary.”

I frowned. “Salary? For what? I’ve done nothing to earn it.”

“Accompanying me in your current state is work enough,” he said lightly. “There may be things you need that I can’t foresee, so it’s best you have your own money. But don’t think for a moment you could use it to escape me. There’s nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t find you.”

I sighed, weary of his confidence. “I have no intention of running. I gave you my word, and I will honor it.”

His smile widened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. As long as you remain loyal and obedient, we’ll get along just fine.”

“And as long as you treat me with respect,” I added sharply. “Do not compromise my dignity in public again.”

His expression shifted, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “A-Fan, as long as you don’t provoke me, I won’t have to punish you. But as for my teasing? That’s non-negotiable. It’s my only source of entertainment these days.”

“Your teasing makes me uncomfortable,” I muttered, frustrated.

“Then you need to build some resilience,” he said with a shrug. “Life isn’t always comfortable. Learn to find humor in it. You might even enjoy yourself.”

I clenched my fists under the table but didn’t respond. Perhaps he was right—this was the real world, after all, one that cared little for my ideals or sensitivities. If I was to survive alongside someone like Ruan Yanjun, I would have to adapt.

He poured himself another drink and raised the cup in a silent toast. As I watched him, I couldn’t decide if he was an ally or an adversary. All I knew was that my path, for better or worse, was now entwined with his.

“Where are we headed next?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, though my curiosity betrayed me.

“We’re going to Silang,” Ruan Yanjun replied as he lowered his empty cup.

I froze, though I made sure not to show my surprise. Silang was a distant empire, far beyond the lands I had ever dared to imagine myself visiting. The journey there would be arduous, stretching across treacherous mountains and forests.

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The prospect of entering Silang stirred something conflicted within me. It was the heartland of the most esteemed light cultivators, the seat of great grandmasters whose names alone commanded reverence. The thought of meeting such figures filled me with a cautious hope. Perhaps I could even find a sect willing to accept me—a place to belong once more.

But that fragile hope crumbled as quickly as it formed when I remembered the truth. The dark core. It pulsed faintly within me even now, a quiet, invasive force that didn’t belong.

“Lord Ruan,” I began hesitantly, my voice breaking the silence. “There’s something I need you to clarify for me.”

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “Speak.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “…Why is there a dark core inside me?”

He didn’t even flinch. It was as though he’d been expecting the question.

“When did you discover it?” he asked calmly.

“The night I was abducted,” I replied, my voice tight.

He nodded, almost approvingly. “So it’s only recent. You handled it well, though, against that lunatic Purple Rogue. I thought you’d known about it for some time.”

I clenched my fists. His nonchalance stoked the fire of my anger. “Lord Ruan,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Was it you who implanted the dark core inside me?”

“Who else?” he said, his tone maddeningly casual, as though we were discussing something trivial.

“For what reason?” I demanded, my anger threatening to boil over.

“It was necessary,” he replied, his voice calm but resolute.

“Necessary?” I hissed. “Because I angered you? Because I refused to be your pawn?”

He sighed, as though I were a child throwing a tantrum. “That wasn’t the reason, though I admit your defiance hastened my decision.”

I fought to control my breathing, knowing full well what would happen if I gave in to my emotions. The dark core fed on negativity, growing stronger with every surge of anger or despair. “Lord Ruan, you think this is a small matter, don’t you? A mere inconvenience for me to endure. But I was born with a light core. It was my destiny to follow the light cultivation path. Now, because of your actions, my light core is being devoured.”

“That’s because of your imbalance,” he replied, his tone almost instructional. “The dark core feeds on your negative emotions. If you can master them—if you can balance the two—you’ll achieve something unprecedented.”

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to lash out. “Balance? How can I balance opposing forces within me? You’ve cursed me with this thing, and now you tell me to embrace it?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening, though it did little to soothe me. “Removing the dark core is not an option. Once implanted, it cannot be extracted without nullifying your light core as well. And your light core has already survived one nullification—it wouldn’t survive another.”

His words hit me like a hammer. The thought of losing my light core once again filled me with dread.

“Why not see this as an opportunity?” he continued. “If you master the two cores, you’ll be the only dual-core cultivator in the world. You’d wield a power greater than any light or dark cultivator alone.”

I stared at him, stunned by his audacity. “You think I should be grateful?”

“You should,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “This dark core isn’t just any core—it’s a fragment of the ancient demonic core, an artifact of immense power. Unlike ordinary cores, my demonic core can’t be passed down freely. It can only bond with one host, and I chose you. You should feel honored.”

“H-honored?” My voice cracked as I repeated his words. “You mean to tell me… this is a demonic core?”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not the demonic core—only a by-product. While it carries a fraction of the demonic core’s power, it lacks its more... unsavory qualities. Think of it as a stronger-than-average dark core.”

I shook my head, disbelief coursing through me. “I didn’t even know cores could differ in quality.”

“Of course they can,” he said, as if explaining something obvious. “Even your light core is superior. Why else would it have survived the nullification process?”

My mind reeled. None of this had been in the books I’d studied. My master had never mentioned such distinctions.

“How do you know all this?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “No one has ever told me anything of the sort.”

“Because no one knows,” he said simply. “Only when a cultivator reaches the eighth level can they truly understand the nature of cores. And as you’re well aware, there isn’t a single living eighth-level cultivator today.”

“History records a handful who reached that level,” I countered. “Why wouldn’t they share this knowledge?”

He snorted lightly, his eyes narrowing with distaste. “Because they’re self-centered.”

I blinked, startled by his bluntness. “Self-centered?” I echoed.

His lips curved into a sardonic smile, though there was a glimmer of something darker in his gaze. “The reason they reached level eight is because the quality of their cores is exceptional. Once the world knew that, there would be a flood of people eager to get their hands on their cores. The royal courts would demand it, as would countless others. If they shared their core, they’d open themselves up to countless competitors—men and women who would go to any lengths to take what they had. Those at level eight wouldn’t survive long. The power, the influence, would become a target, not a blessing.”

I fell silent, processing his words. Despite his reputation as a manipulator, there was a strange logic to his explanation. But a part of me still suspected he was spinning this tale to make me look stupid for his own amusement.

“So it’s not self-centeredness,” I said after a moment. “It’s self-preservation.”

His gaze flicked to me, a spark of approval flickering in his eyes before it disappeared, replaced once more by that unreadable mask. “That is also acceptable,” he said with a shrug, as though it made no difference to him either way.

“But if that’s true,” I said, still lost in my thoughts, “those level-eight grandmasters must have passed their cores to their disciples. How come no one has reached the eighth level in the last half-century?”

Ruan Yanjun, reclining with infuriating ease against the low table, tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. “Because not everyone is fit to handle a high-quality core,” he replied smoothly. “If the cultivator lacks worthiness or discipline, even the finest core will degrade over time. The core isn’t just a gift—it’s a responsibility. Its excellence depends on the one who wields it.”

He paused, his gaze flicking to me with an almost lazy interest. Then, his lips curved into a faint smirk. “As for you…”

I frowned. “Am I not worthy?”

“That,” he said, his smirk deepening, “is entirely up to you.”

His answer felt like a challenge, but I resisted rising to it. Instead, I sighed and shifted my posture, leaning forward slightly. “Lord Ruan,” I said carefully, “I need to know. For what reason did you implant another core inside me? If your answer satisfies me, I might consider nurturing them both.”

For a moment, he was silent. The crackle of the fire between us filled the space, its light dancing on his sharp, almost cruel features. Finally, he sighed, though whether it was in reluctance or annoyance, I couldn’t tell.

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” he said. “First reason… because I wanted you to stand above everyone else.”

The simplicity of the answer startled me. I opened my mouth to question him further, but he continued before I could interrupt.

“There is a skill,” he said, his voice taking on a measured, deliberate tone, “that only a dual-core cultivator can master. Once you achieve it, you’ll have the power to take on even those far above your level. More importantly, you’ll become a particular danger to dark-core cultivators like me.”

I stiffened. “Then why would you want me to learn a skill that could harm you?”

His smirk returned, sharper this time, as if he found my confusion amusing. “Because I want a worthy rival,” he said. “Do you know how dull it is to exist at the top, unchallenged? For decades, I’ve had no equal. No one capable of pushing me to my limits. So, if such a rival doesn’t exist…” He shrugged. “I might as well create one.”

His words sent a chill down my spine. “You… turned me into this abomination just to satisfy your desire for entertainment?”

“Abomination?” He laughed, the sound low and rich. “You’ve been listening to too many fools who failed to sustain their dual cores. They’re the ones who spread those ridiculous tales, bitter at their own inadequacies. Dual cores are not an abomination, A-Fan. They’re a rarity. A gift. One that most cultivators couldn’t even dream of possessing.”

“It doesn’t feel like a gift,” I muttered bitterly. “No man can balance light and dark, good and evil, at the same time.”

“Still clinging to that notion, are you?” His gaze turned sharp, piercing. “How many times must I tell you? Darkness isn’t inherently evil, just as light isn’t inherently good. Haven’t you already seen it for yourself? Your own master, Han Bao, and Ma Huan—beacons of light cultivation, yet their deeds were anything but righteous.”

I clenched my fists, his words striking too close to truths I didn’t want to confront.

“A-Fan,” he said, his tone softening slightly, though the intensity in his gaze remained. “You’ll come to understand the realities of this world as we travel together.”

I inhaled deeply, steeling myself. “What’s the second reason?”

Ruan Yanjun smirked, that infuriating curve of his lips radiating smugness. “To prove my theory,” he said casually, as though his words weren’t laced with something sinister.

I frowned, suspicion prickling at my senses. “Would Lord Ruan care to enlighten me?” I asked, my tone as calm as I could muster, though my fists clenched at my sides.

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to mock my restraint. “As you are aware,” he began, his voice smooth like silk hiding a dagger, “dark cores are inherently more resistant to poisons. It is one of their greatest advantages over light cores. So, I theorized that the same should hold true against what you call a ‘destructive drug.’” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the air before flashing a wolfish smile. “It will be… interesting to find out the result.”

I stared at him, my breath hitching. “In other words,” I said slowly, forcing the words out despite the growing anger in my chest, “you’re experimenting on me?”

He laughed then, a rich, unrepentant sound that sent my blood boiling. “Experimenting?” he repeated, as if the term was a jest. “You’re dying anyway. Would you rather I sit idly by and wait for the inevitable? At least this way, you have a chance at survival—however slim.” His tone was maddeningly nonchalant, as though my suffering was just another problem to be solved, or worse, a curiosity to indulge.

I swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the rising urge to lash out. My nails dug into my palms, grounding me as I struggled to keep my composure. The audacity of this man, treating my life like some disposable tool for his amusement! “So, I’m just another experiment to you,” I bit out, my voice low and trembling with restrained fury.

He tilted his head, studying me like a predator assessing prey. “An experiment, yes,” he admitted without shame. “But one with purpose. If my theory proves correct, you might actually live long enough to reach a level of power others can only dream of.” His gaze lingered on me, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps amusement, or perhaps genuine curiosity—dancing in his eyes. “Is that not worth a little suffering?”

I clenched my teeth, my vision clouded by a mix of frustration and anger, but I tried to keep myself calm. “Does Lord Ruan expect me to feel grateful for this… this violation of my will?”

“Grateful?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Not at all. Gratitude is unnecessary. Survival, on the other hand… now that is worth everything.” He leaned in slightly, his tone lowering as if to drive his point deeper into me. “And let us not pretend you wouldn’t take any chance, no matter how small, to stay alive. Even if it comes from me.”

My hands balled into fists, the temptation to punch his smug face nearly overwhelming. “You’re insufferable,” I muttered under my breath, though I wasn’t sure if he heard or simply ignored me. I imagined, for a fleeting moment, what it would feel like to knock that smirk off his face—how satisfying it would be to see him caught off guard, even for a second.

But of course, Ruan Yanjun was never caught off guard. He saw everything, anticipated everything. And worse, he thrived on my frustration, feeding on my helplessness like a flame stoked by wind.

“Resent me all you like,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “It won’t change the fact that without me, you wouldn’t even have a glimmer of hope. Call it an experiment, if that helps you sleep at night. But remember this—experiments often lead to breakthroughs.” He straightened, his smirk fading into something far colder. “And breakthroughs… well, they come with sacrifices.”

I glared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re despicable,” I spat, my voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or indifference, I couldn’t tell. “Perhaps,” he said. “But despicable or not, I’m the only one willing to do what’s necessary to save you. So tell me, A-Fan, which would you rather have—a despicable ally or an early grave?”

I had no answer. Not one I could say aloud, anyway. All I could do was sit there, fists clenched, and swallow the bitter truth that, despite my hatred for him, I was bound to him now, body and soul.

And he knew it.

That smirk of his told me everything I needed to know. Ruan Yanjun had already won this battle.

“When do we leave?” I asked to change the subject.

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded. I had no objections. I had already given my word to follow him, no matter how much I detested it. Besides, with Jinjing gone, I had no home to return to. This place, for all its grandeur, would never be home either. From now on, the road would be my home—a path of wandering, observing, and learning.

“The journey to Silang will take months,” he continued, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We’ll make several stops along the way. The first will be in the province of Yuheng in Wun Empire. I’ve received an invitation to the wedding of the duke’s son and the emperor’s younger daughter. Yuheng is a beautiful province. Majestic mountains, rivers like threads of silver—you might find it to your liking.”

I said nothing. The idea of sightseeing felt hollow in the shadow of Jinjing’s loss, but I saw no point in voicing my disinterest.

“There’s a forest near Yuheng,” he went on, undeterred by my silence. “It’s said to be guarded by fairies. We’ll search for two particular plants there—the Dual Bloom and White Sage. Both will be essential for your condition. One restores the balance of positive and negative energies, the other repairs internal damage.”

I blinked, the names tugging at the edges of my memory. “I’ve read about them,” I said slowly. “But they’re supposed to be myths.”

He chuckled softly. “If they were myths, they wouldn’t be in books. You underestimate the threads of truth hidden in legends.”

“You’ve been reading about them?”

“While you were busy sulking, I was combing through the imperial library,” he said, his voice tinged with mild reproach.

I lowered my head, conflicted. His words carried no affection, yet they hinted at a level of care I hadn’t expected. “I… didn’t know,” I said softly.

“I told you, A-Fan,” he said, his tone firm. “Stick with me, and you’ll be fine. No one in this world is more invested in finding a cure for you than I am.”

The weight of his statement pressed against me. I wanted to believe there was more to his effort than self-interest, but I couldn’t ignore the reality of his ambitions. Even so, I couldn’t entirely dismiss the gratitude stirring in my chest.

This was Ruan Yanjun, a man whose time and effort were more valuable than gold. And yet, he’d poured both into me.

I should have felt honored.

But all I felt was trapped. A prisoner bound by his will, a pawn in his intricate game, helpless under the weight of his control.

== END OF BOOK 1 ==