Chapter 55: BOOK 2 Chapter 55: Intimate Contact

CHAPTER 55

Intimate Contact

The journey to the Duke of Yuheng’s mansion was quiet, the clatter of the carriage wheels the only sound filling the air. I sat stiffly across from Ruan Yanjun, my eyes fixed on the passing scenery, refusing to meet his gaze. Anger simmered beneath my calm exterior, fueled by what had transpired the night before. His kiss—uninvited, forceful, and overwhelming—still lingered in my mind, an affront I could neither forget nor forgive.

For his part, Ruan Yanjun seemed unfazed by the tension, reclining with his usual air of dominance. His indifference only irritated me further, yet I kept my thoughts to myself. It wasn’t as if my words would make any difference to him.

By the time we arrived, the grand wedding ceremony had already concluded, and the banquet was in full swing. As our presence was announced, the Duke of Yuheng himself, along with the newlyweds, greeted us at the entrance of the grand hall. The respect they showed Ruan Yanjun bordered on reverence. Even the Duke’s deference suggested that the Sect Leader’s presence eclipsed that of Emperor An’s daughter, a notion that unsettled me.

“This is Luo Fan, my disciple,” Ruan Yanjun introduced me, his tone neutral yet commanding.

I noticed the subtle shifts in expression among the nobles. A few raised their eyebrows, their thoughts veiled behind polite masks. No doubt the rumors of my alleged affair with Ruan Yanjun had preceded us, and I could feel their silent judgment searing through me like an unspoken accusation.

Inside the hall, we were led to a seat of honor near the newlyweds, but I remained tense. Ruan Yanjun, however, was immediately surrounded by nobles and officials eager to pay their respects. I took the opportunity to observe the room, trying to distract myself from the oppressive weight of being in his shadow.

Amid the hustle and bustle of servants moving between tables, my gaze caught on a woman carrying a vessel of wine. Something about her movements set her apart—her steps lacked the practiced grace of the other servants, her eyes scanning the crowd with purpose rather than servitude. She wasn’t here to serve. She was searching for something—or someone.

When her gaze locked with mine, she froze. Her expression betrayed recognition, though I couldn’t place her. My grip tightened around my bamboo staff, instinct warning me that she might be a threat. But then, she raised a finger to her lips, a silent plea for me to stay calm.

Her gesture disarmed me. If she meant harm, it wasn’t directed at me. But why was she here? When she turned and slipped into the courtyard, my curiosity overrode my caution, and I followed her.

Beneath the shadow of a plum tree, she stopped and turned to face me. “Priest Luo,” she began softly, “you may not recognize me. We’ve met before, but at the time, you were blind.”

Her voice was familiar, refined with the cadence of nobility. My brows furrowed as I tried to recall her. “May I know who you are?”

“I am Consort Fei, mother of the late Prince Sheng,” she said, her words heavy with sorrow and resolve.

I stiffened, memories of her desperate plea for justice flashing through my mind. She had once come to me in tears, begging for answers about the poison that had killed her son. “Why are you here?” I asked cautiously.

“I’m searching for someone,” she replied, her tone clipped.

The need for discretion was clear. For a consort of her status to disguise herself and infiltrate the Duke’s mansion meant her purpose was not sanctioned by the court. “You’re looking for Consort Xie, aren’t you?” I ventured.

Her scoff was sharp, bitter. “That wretched woman deserves to suffer for what she’s done, but I don’t wish her dead. Not yet.”

I froze as realization dawned. “You’re after Prince Bai,” I said, the pieces falling into place.

Her silence was all the confirmation I needed. The desire for vengeance burned in her eyes. She wasn’t here to confront Consort Xie directly but to exact justice through the woman’s son.

As I studied her, I noticed the faint aura of cultivation surrounding her. She was no ordinary noblewoman—her power had reached the second level. But against the guards surely protecting Prince Bai, it wouldn’t be enough.

Before I could voice my concerns, her gaze flickered past me, and without another word, she fled into the shadows. Turning, I found Ruan Yanjun approaching, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding as ever.

“So, that was Consort Fei,” he said casually, coming to stand beside me.

I nodded, wary of his tone.

“She’s after Prince Bai, isn’t she?” he asked, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.

I hesitated, but my silence betrayed me.

A cruel smile tugged at his lips. “Let her be. She deserves her chance at revenge. Whether she succeeds or fails, it will be... entertaining to watch.”

My hands clenched at his callousness. To him, this was just another game, another story to amuse himself with. He didn’t care about the tragedy that might unfold or the lives that would be destroyed in the process.

“Does everything have to be entertainment to you?” I asked bitterly.

His smile deepened, but he said nothing, leaving the question unanswered as the weight of his indifference pressed down on me. My thoughts lingered on Consort Fei, knowing her path was fraught with danger. Justice wasn’t what awaited her—it was tragedy, and I hated that Ruan Yanjun seemed so eager to watch it play out.

My chest tightened with suppressed frustration. His infuriating calmness only heightened the storm of emotions swirling within me.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if the day could get any worse, a loud, self-assured voice cut through the air.

“Lord Ruan,” the man called, his tone a blend of arrogance and challenge. “I’ve heard tales of your greatness. Allow me, Jiang Wuying, brother-in-law to the Duke, to test your skill. Let us spar—no cultivation, no tricks—just raw, unbridled skill.”

I turned to see a tall man striding into the courtyard, his robes of deep crimson and gold a clear display of wealth and status. Jiang Wuying’s sharp features were twisted into a cocky smirk, and his confident swagger drew the attention of several onlookers.

Ruan Yanjun barely glanced at him. “And why would I waste my time on you?” he asked, his tone dismissive.

Jiang Wuying’s smirk faltered but quickly returned, more pronounced this time. “Afraid you’d lose, Lord Ruan? Or are you simply too cowardly to face me without your cultivation to rely on?”

Ruan Yanjun’s chuckle was cold and sharp, cutting through Jiang Wuying’s bravado. “Afraid? Hardly. But if you’re so eager to embarrass yourself, why not start with my disciple?” He gestured toward me with an infuriatingly casual wave.

My stomach dropped. I shot him a glare, but he ignored me entirely, his smirk only deepening.

He couldn't possibly be serious about pushing me to fight a level four cultivator, could he?

Jiang Wuying frowned, clearly unimpressed. “Your disciple?” He sneered. “A second-level cultivator? Do you take me for a fool?”

Ruan Yanjun shrugged. “Fighting me is a privilege, one you’ll need to earn. If you’re too proud to face him, then I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

The tension in the air thickened. Jiang Wuying’s face darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might turn and leave. Instead, he clenched his fists and barked, “Fine. I’ll humor you. But if your disciple fails to entertain me, don’t think you can hide behind him.”

The crowd that had started to gather murmured in excitement, eager to witness the spectacle. My heart sank further.

I turned to Ruan Yanjun, keeping my voice low. “Lord Ruan, this isn’t a fight I can win. Jiang Wuying is leagues above me in skill and strength.”

Ruan Yanjun’s eyes flicked to mine, his expression unreadable. “A-Fan,” he said quietly, “level means nothing when your mind is sharp. You’ve faced greater odds before. Trust your instincts.”

Before I could argue further, he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Win, and I’ll give you two days free of training. Lose, and I’ll kiss you right here, in front of everyone.”

My face flushed with indignation as I pulled away, his infuriating smirk only growing. He wasn’t bluffing—Ruan Yanjun never bluffed.

I released my rising anger with a deep breath, stepping forward to face Jiang Wuying.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Ruan Yanjun called lazily. “And try not to embarrass me.”

Jiang Wuying stood in the center of the courtyard, his stance loose but ready, his smirk radiating confidence. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hit too hard.”

The crowd tittered at his remark, their anticipation growing as the match began. Jiang Wuying was the first to move, a flurry of precise strikes and swift kicks that forced me onto the defensive.

Sweat began to bead on my brow as I blocked and dodged, my mind racing. I couldn’t match his speed or strength, but perhaps…

Ruan Yanjun’s words during one of our training sessions echoed in my mind.

‘When you’re not sure what to do, defend and observe. The more you know about your opponent, the better decision you can make.’

So I kept my defense and studied Jiang Wuyin’s movements.

His overconfidence made him predictable. His strikes, while powerful, lacked the finesse of someone truly focused. I noticed small openings in his movements, gaps I could exploit.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I bided my time, enduring his onslaught as best as I could. When he overreached on a sweeping kick, I saw my chance. Summoning every ounce of precision I had, I struck at a vulnerable meridian in his side—a technique Ruan Yanjun had drilled into me endlessly.

Jiang Wuying staggered, his eyes widening in surprise. The crowd gasped, and the murmurs grew louder. I took a step back, panting and aching but steady on my feet.

Jiang Wuying straightened, clutching his side. His face was a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Not bad,” he muttered, begrudgingly nodding.

The match ended in a draw, the tension in the courtyard dissipating as the crowd erupted into applause. Jiang Wuying stormed off, his pride bruised but his reputation intact.

Ruan Yanjun approached me, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Next time, don’t let him land so many hits.”

I glared at him, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

He laughed. “My A-Fan hates me. But it doesn’t matter. You won the match.”

“It’s a draw,” I argued.

“Against a level four, you are the winner.”

With my body aching and my mind spinning after the fight, I did not bother to argue with him any further.

As the crowd began to disperse, I allowed myself a brief moment to catch my breath. My muscles were sore, my knuckles bruised, and the exhaustion from holding my ground against Jiang Wuying weighed heavily on me. Yet, there was also a faint glimmer of satisfaction. Despite everything, I had managed to avoid a public humiliation orchestrated by Ruan Yanjun.

Just as I was preparing to slip away from the courtyard and its lingering onlookers, a middle-aged man approached me. His appearance was unassuming—more akin to a scholar than a cultivator—with sharp, intelligent eyes and an air of quiet authority.

“Priest Luo Fan,” he greeted, his voice steady and polite.

I straightened and cupped my hands in greeting. “Yes, that’s me.”

“My name is Jin Tian,” he continued, a faint smile on his lips. “I am the successor of the great scholar Zeng Lei.”

The name caught me off guard, and I blinked in surprise. Zeng Lei was a legend, a scholar renowned across the five empires for his meticulous records of cultivation techniques. His books were a treasure trove of knowledge, detailing the mechanics of skills practiced by cultivators of all levels. Even Frost Mountain Sect had several volumes of his works.

I quickly bowed deeper, my respect genuine. “It’s an honor to meet you, Senior Jin. The writings of the great Zeng Lei have been invaluable to my cultivation journey. His insights have guided me many times.”

Jin Tian’s smile deepened, and he inclined his head. “I am pleased to hear that. Zeng Lei’s legacy was one of dedication to understanding cultivation in all its forms.”

Then his expression shifted slightly, curiosity shining in his eyes. “I must ask, Priest Luo Fan—what is the name of the technique you just used during the fight? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Before I could respond, Ruan Yanjun’s smooth, arrogant voice cut in. “It’s called Intimate Contact.”

I stiffened, my frown immediate. Of course, he would interject—and with that name, no less.

Jin Tian turned toward him, startled. His demeanor shifted instantly to one of deference. “Sect Leader Ruan, forgive my impertinence,” he said, bowing low. “I did not realize this technique belonged to you. My eagerness to inquire blinded me to your presence.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, silently seething. Since when had I officially become Ruan Yanjun’s disciple? True, he had been teaching me techniques—sometimes against my will—but we had never formalized any master-disciple relationship. Yet, to outsiders, the assumption was natural. I was known as his… companion, and he was a sect leader. Who else would have taught me?

Ruan Yanjun’s smirk deepened, and he crossed his arms, exuding an infuriating aura of smugness.

“But Sect Leader Ruan,” Jin Tian ventured carefully, “may I ask why the technique is called Intimate Contact?”

The question made my stomach churn.

Ruan Yanjun’s smirk turned devilish. “Because,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “it was created by two people during intimate contact.”

Jin Tian’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded with a wide, awkward smile. “Ah, I see. That explains it. Truly fascinating.”

I couldn’t tell if Jin Tian was genuinely gullible or merely playing along with Ruan Yanjun’s shamelessness to avoid offending him. Either way, I wanted to disappear into the ground.

“Understood,” Jin Tian said, bowing again. “Thank you for clarifying, Sect Leader Ruan. And Priest Luo Fan, thank you for allowing me to witness such a unique technique.”

I returned the bow out of politeness, though my thoughts were less than courteous. Meanwhile, Ruan Yanjun stood there like an emperor, not bothering to return the gesture.

As Jin Tian straightened, he added, “I am nearing completion of my compilation of cultivator techniques. Once it is finished, I will ensure a copy is sent to the Eternal Damnation Sect.”

“I appreciate that,” I replied sincerely.

When Jin Tian finally departed, I turned to Ruan Yanjun, my gaze sharp and unyielding. He noticed, of course, but pretended otherwise, diverting his attention to a cluster of guests who approached to congratulate him. His dismissal of my silent reproach burned more than it should have.

I pressed my lips together, suppressing the words bubbling in my chest. Now that everyone believed I was his disciple, all the credit for my performance in the fight had naturally gone to him. They marveled at how the great Sect Leader Ruan had managed to mold a mere level-two cultivator like me into something worthy of recognition. My own efforts—the grueling hours of training, the bruises, and the mental fortitude it had taken to master his techniques—were nothing more than a reflection of his so-called greatness.

As the murmurs of admiration for him swirled around us, I felt a pang of bitterness. I was no more than a tool, polished and displayed to elevate his reputation.

Nearby, the bride glowered, her frustration evident. The spectacle had stolen the attention meant for her and her new husband, casting a shadow over what should have been her brightest moment. To restore order, the groom’s mother stepped in, gently urging us back inside the main hall.

Though the initial excitement around our fight subsided, Ruan Yanjun still monopolized a portion of the limelight. He wore the attention well, continuing to play the role of my master with seamless charm. It was infuriating but, in some ways, preferable. Better to be seen as his disciple than his toy—a rumor already circulating among the guests.

Their glances gave them away – sidelong, knowing, and laced with curiosity. They whispered assumptions about why Ruan Yanjun and I always shared a room when traveling, even when other accommodations were available. I longed to dispel their misconceptions, but no one dared voice the rumors aloud—not in his presence. To address them unprompted would only deepen the awkwardness.

Ruan Yanjun, on the other hand, basked in their attention, a behavior entirely out of character for a man who typically loathed social interactions. His rare amiability made my suspicions stir.

Had he brought me here solely to assert his claim over me in front of an audience?

Several guests approached to congratulate him for “transforming” me into a capable fighter. He accepted their praise effortlessly, never correcting their misconceptions. His silver tongue worked its magic again when the Duke of Yuheng approached, expressing interest in exchanging words with me.

“My disciple is very shy,” Ruan Yanjun said smoothly when the duke addressed me directly. “He struggles to interact in large gatherings, so I brought him here to help him break out of his shell.”

I frowned, inwardly seething.

Shy? I wasn’t shy—I was reserved, yes, but I had no trouble maintaining polite conversation. He was deliberately spinning this narrative to distance people from me.

The duke nodded sympathetically. “I see. Sect Leader Ruan, may I extend an invitation to both you and your disciple for tea at my estate tomorrow? It has been some time since your last visit, and there are matters I would greatly appreciate your insight on.”

Ruan Yanjun sighed, as if the offer were a burden. “I’ll send word to your estate if we’re free.”

The duke’s face brightened. “Excellent. In the meantime, would you care to join me at my table for a cup of wine?”

To my utter shock, Ruan Yanjun reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine in a casual yet possessive grip. Heat rushed to my face, and I stiffened. The duke’s expression faltered, caught between surprise and awkwardness.

“My disciple is exhausted from the fight,” Ruan Yanjun explained. “I should let him rest.”

“Of course,” the duke said hastily. “Forgive me for being insensitive. Please, take care.”

As the duke departed, I yanked at my hand, but Ruan Yanjun held firm, his grip unyielding as he led me toward the exit.

“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.

“Keeping those hungry wolves from circling,” he replied, his tone light but laced with an edge. “Do you see how they’re looking at you? Like a pack of scavengers eyeing a defenseless lamb.”

I glanced around. Sure enough, several guests watched us, their expressions speculative. But I doubted it had anything to do with what he claimed. They were staring because he was holding my hand so brazenly.

“They’re staring because of you,” I muttered. “Not me.”

“Believe what you want,” he said with a smirk, “but if I let go, you’ll have half the room clamoring for your attention. Do you want that?”

“Just let me go.”

He ignored me, dragging me along until we were outside the main hall. Only then did he release my hand.

“Lord Ruan,” I said, my tone sharp, “what exactly was your intention in bringing me here?”

“For you to enjoy yourself,” he replied casually, as if it were obvious.

“Lord Ruan,” I said through clenched teeth, “I feel uncomfortable when you tease me like this. Please stop doing such inappropriate things.”

“Inappropriate? A-Fan, everything is inappropriate to you. If I stopped, I’d die of boredom in days.”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. “A-Fan, haven’t I told you? I never do things without reason.”

“Maybe so, but none of this was necessary.”

He smiled faintly, his gaze unreadable. “Perhaps not necessary, but effective. Like when I kissed you in front of your cousin. You should have seen his face. It was priceless. A perfect blow to his pride for insulting you.”

I sighed, exasperated but unwilling to argue further. “For the sake of peace between us, I’ll let that slide. But I don’t want it to happen again.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “If you tempt me, A-Fan, I might not be able to resist.”

“Don’t worry,” I shot back, “I won’t.”

His laughter followed me as I walked away, and though I wished to be rid of his presence, a small, treacherous part of me lingered on his words.

As we approached the gate, the sharp cry of a woman pierced the cool evening air, chilling me to my core.

Ruan Yanjun froze mid-step, his sharp gaze narrowing toward the source of the sound. Without a word, he spun on his heel and marched back inside, his stride deliberate and unyielding.

I hurried after him, my heart pounding with unease. The scream had come from the direction of the kitchen. By the time we arrived, a crowd had gathered, murmuring anxiously as they tried to peer past the kitchen door.

The guards recognized Ruan Yanjun immediately and wasted no time clearing the path, pushing people aside with stern commands. As we entered, the metallic tang of blood assaulted my senses, making my stomach churn.

Inside, the scene was ghastly. A woman’s body lay crumpled on the cold tiles, her face turned away, her head a grotesque mess where her scalp should have been. The skin and hair were gone, stripped clean in a manner too precise to be the work of an animal.

A healer knelt beside her, his hands glowing faintly with spiritual energy, though it was clear there was nothing he could do. The murmurs from the crowd behind us seemed to grow louder as the healer lifted his head, his pale face etched with horror.

Ruan Yanjun, however, was calm—eerily so. His expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint.

“The Thread Reaper is back,” he murmured, his voice low but resolute.

I turned to him, my breath caught in my throat. “You know who did this?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “There’s only one person who would do something like this.”

“Why would anyone…” I trailed off, glancing at the mutilated body. “Why would anyone do this to a woman?”

Ruan Yanjun’s lips curled into a grim line. “He collects hair. Beautiful hair. It’s an obsession—no, a sickness. The Reaper doesn’t care about the person, only what they can give him.”

The healer, who had remained silent until now, looked up sharply. “Sect Leader Ruan, wasn’t it you who killed the Thread Reaper years ago? Everyone thought you’d put an end to him.”

Ruan Yanjun’s gaze remained on the body. “I beat him to a pulp and threw him into a lake. Whether he drowned or clawed his way back out, I didn’t stay to find out.”

The tension in the room thickened. The idea that this monster had survived sent a ripple of unease through everyone present. The guards exchanged nervous glances, and the healer’s hands trembled faintly as he continued his futile attempts to preserve the woman’s dignity.

Ruan Yanjun finally turned, his robe sweeping behind him as he strode toward the door. “Let them investigate,” he said coldly. “There’s nothing more for us here.”

I followed silently, casting one last glance at the horrific scene before stepping out into the hallway.

The Duke intercepted us, his usually confident demeanor shaken. “Sect Leader Ruan,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation, “please, stay the night. Your presence would reassure the household and…” His words faltered as he glanced over his shoulder, as though expecting the Reaper to emerge from the shadows.

Ruan Yanjun’s eyes flicked to me briefly before he answered. “No. I’ll take him somewhere safe.”

The Duke’s face fell, his shoulders slumping. It was obvious he was terrified, hoping Ruan Yanjun’s presence would ward off danger. But Ruan Yanjun’s priorities were clear. Whatever power struggle or chaos the Thread Reaper’s return might bring, he wouldn’t risk me being caught in the middle of it.

As we stepped out into the night, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. The Duke’s fear had been palpable, and I knew Ruan Yanjun’s presence here could have saved lives. But I also knew better than to argue with him.

The devil beside me had made his choice. For better or worse, he had chosen me.

“Do you think he’ll come after us?” I asked hesitantly as we mounted the carriage waiting by the gates.

Ruan Yanjun’s gaze flicked toward the distant horizon, his expression unreadable. “If he does, he’ll regret it.”

His words should have comforted me, but instead, they left me uneasy. Somewhere in the shadows, a monster was lurking, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last we’d hear of the Thread Reaper.