CHAPTER 66
Distant
LUO FAN
When I woke, the room was quiet, the bed empty save for myself. Ruan Yanjun wasnât here. Again. I stared at the hollow space beside me, a place where his presence had become an unspoken constant. For a moment, I wondered if his return had been a dream.
Night had fallen. The soft glow of lanterns painted shadows on the walls. My body, though still frail, felt better than it had in days. My breathing was steady, the sharp pangs of pain dulled to a manageable throb. Carefully, I pushed myself upright. To my surprise, I managed to stand without much effort.
Someone had helped me. Someone had stayed by my side. Could it have been him?
âHas Lord Ruan returned?â I asked the staff who came to deliver my dinner.
The young servant bowed. âHe returned two days ago, but you likely did not notice. Youâve been resting.â
Two days. I blinked, taken aback by the time Iâd lost.
As I sat at the table, eating alone, an unfamiliar heaviness settled over me. The meal was warm and comforting, but the silence was suffocating. I had spent countless days longing for solitude, wishing for space from Ruan Yanjunâs oppressive presence. Now that I had it, everything felt... wrong.
Am I missing him?
The thought startled me, and I shook my head.
No, that couldnât be it. How could I possibly miss that devil? Surely he had grown bored of me and found somethingâor someoneâelse to occupy his time. Perhaps he had finally decided I wasnât worth the effort.
I should be relieved.
But the empty silence gnawed at me, and I couldnât stop the unease creeping into my thoughts. My mind wandered back to the bouts of weakness I had witnessed in him, the moments he brushed off with irritation or a sharp word. The timing of those episodes wasnât lost on me. They always seemed to follow a battle. He had been careful to avoid confrontations recently, often thrusting me into situations where I was forced to fight in his stead.
I wondered what kind of burden he was hiding.
The warmth of the room felt distant as my thoughts spiraled. Perhaps it wasnât just worry. Perhaps I was lonely.
Back in Frost Mountain, I had grown accustomed to solitude. Those frozen peaks were my sanctuary, a place where silence brought peace instead of unease. But since leaving, I had been adrift, untethered. The security I once found in the mountain's cold embrace was gone, and I had been searching for something to replace it ever since.
I thought I had found it with Jinjing.
Even during my travels with Ruan Yanjun, the knowledge that she was waiting for me had kept me grounded. She had been my anchor, my home. But now...
Now, she was gone.
The emptiness she left behind was unbearable, a chasm I couldnât hope to fill. And though I could never call Ruan Yanjun a friend, much less family, he was all I had left. The devil who had saved me, tormented me, and tethered me to this uncertain journey was the only constant in my shattered world.
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Trust wasnât the word for what I felt toward him. I didnât trust him, not truly. But I knew he wouldnât abandon me, at least not yet. And that knowledgeâthat frail assuranceâwas enough to keep me tied to him, for now.
Perhaps it was pathetic.
Or perhaps it was just survival.
I willed myself to see him. The lingering ache in my body didnât deter me as I walked toward his room. The door was ajar, allowing the faint glow of a single lantern to spill into the hallway. I didnât bother knocking.
Inside, Ruan Yanjun sat by a low table, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a thick, leather-bound book in the other. His silhouette was calm, almost serene, as if the world outside couldnât touch him.
âLord Ruan,â I called softly.
He didnât lift his gaze. âMm.â
âMay I bother you for a moment?â
There was no response, but he didnât tell me to leave, so I stepped inside. I sat across from him, the table a barrier between us. His eyes never left the book, his attention fixed on the pages as though I werenât there.
It was unlike him.
Ruan Yanjun was never indifferent. Whether he was teasing, mocking, or berating me, his attention was always sharp, almost suffocating. Now, his silence cut deeper than his words ever could.
âYouâve been gone for a while,â I ventured. âYou said one week, but it took you two.â
His lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes still on the book. âDid you come here to say you missed me?â
The directness of his words startled me. My face warmed, but I managed a quiet nod. âI probably did.â
His smirk widened, amusement flickering in his expression. âA-Fan, donât think you can deceive me. The moment I was gone, you were likely running around the city like a stray dog freed from its leash. Thatâs probably why you fell ill.â
I stiffened, unable to deny the accusation. He wasnât entirely wrong, but that didnât mean I hadnât missed him. I just didnât have the courageâor the desireâto admit it outright.
âWhat are you reading?â I deflected, hoping to shift the conversation.
âItâs about the evils of politics,â he replied, finally taking a sip of his tea. âIâm sure it wouldnât interest you, so donât bother asking.â
I forced a smile, though his curt response stung. This man had always been difficult, but at least his taunts felt like attention. This cold indifference was unbearable.
Still, I couldnât let this strange tension linger. Our contract bound us, and despite everything, I owed him much. The least I could do was mend the strained thread between us.
âLord Ruan,â I began, fidgeting with my hands under the table. âRecently, Iâve been thinking... I realized Iâve been ungrateful to you. Everything thatâs happenedâlosing Jinjing, learning the truth about myselfâitâs left me bitter and distracted. But none of that excuses the way Iâve treated you. I apologize.â
Finally, he looked up from his book. His eyes met mine, sharp and calculating. âAre you saying youâre now willing to do as Iâve asked? To nourish both your cores and strengthen them together?â
The question hit me like a blow. My throat tightened, and I couldnât bring myself to answer.
Feeding my dark core was an impossible choice. For a light cultivator, walking the righteous path meant suppressing darkness, keeping anger, hatred, and other negative emotions at bay. To nourish the dark core meant doing the exact oppositeâinviting wickedness, indulging in anger and despair. It would mean fundamentally altering who I was.
Seeing my hesitation, he sighed, setting his book down. He reached for a small bottle on the table and slid it toward me.
âThis is the refined essence of the legendary flower we found in the forest,â he said. âTake it. By morning, I expect to see an improvement in your health.â
I stared at the bottle, its contents gleaming faintly under the lantern light. It was the essence of the Dual Bloom, unmistakably potent. I could feel its energy even without opening it. But I knew the truth of what it would do. It wouldnât strengthen just the light coreâit would feed both, dark and light alike.
And that went against everything I had resolved to do. My plan had always been to weaken my dark core until it dissolved completely. Even if it put my life at risk, I couldnât sustain both cores. It wasnât just a matter of survivalâit was about staying true to who I was.
âIf thereâs nothing else, go back to sleep,â he said, his tone sharp with dismissal.
I hesitated, the weight of my dilemma pressing against my chest. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, begging to be spoken, but fear silenced themâfear of his disappointment or, worse, his anger.
Ruan Yanjunâs gaze darkened. âWhatâs wrong, A-Fan? Do you need me to carry you back to your room like a blushing bride for the staff to see?â
I shot to my feet, heat rushing to my face. âThat wonât be necessary.â
He smirked, clearly amused by my reaction.
âGood night, my lord,â I said stiffly, bowing before I hurried out of the room.