Chapter 67: Chapter 67: Date Night

CHAPTER 67

Date Night

RUAN YANJUN

The morning sun had climbed high yet Luo Fan was still asleep. I let myself into his room without knocking. Privacy was a luxury he didn’t deserve after his repeated defiance.

There he lay, his face pale and his breaths faint. He was ill again.

I moved closer, observing the faint rise and fall of his chest. On the table beside his bed, the bottle of elixir I’d given him remained untouched. I picked it up, the weight of the small container like a quiet confirmation of what I already suspected.

He hadn’t taken it.

I glanced around the room and noticed another bottle tucked behind some books—the elixir of Pale Revenant I had given him weeks ago. It, too, was sealed and unused.

Of course. Stubborn to the end.

I sighed, though it was less an expression of disappointment and more one of calculation. I had given him chances. Too many, perhaps. Each time, I thought he’d finally see reason, yet he clung to his righteous path like a drowning man to driftwood.

He was only sinking himself further.

This time, his refusal cemented my decision. If he wouldn’t take the easier road I offered him, then he’d have to learn the hard way.

I sat beside his bed, my gaze lingering on his face. Despite my irritation, his beauty still softened my anger. Even now, unwell and fragile, he had a grace that drew the eye. His lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks, his lips slightly parted as he breathed.

If only I had more time. If only the world wasn’t constantly on the brink of falling apart. I might have had the patience to keep indulging his stubbornness a little longer.

But time was a luxury I didn’t have.

Whether I chose to push forward with my plan or not, I would soon have to leave him. The matters waiting for me weren’t trivial. They concerned the existence of this world and my own survival.

*****

LUO FAN

It was noon when Ruan Yanjun woke me. His voice was soft, his touch even softer as he lightly shook me awake. I blinked up at him, groggy and disoriented, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar sight.

He was smiling. Not the sly, teasing smirk he usually wore, but a genuine, tender smile that sent a shiver down my spine.

Something was wrong.

Before I could say anything, he placed a tray of food on the table beside me. “You should eat,” he said warmly, his voice lacking its usual edge.

I stared at him, suspicion bubbling up within me. This wasn’t like him. Ruan Yanjun was cunning, domineering, and impossible to predict, but tender? Kind? This felt like a mask he’d hastily thrown on, and the dissonance was unnerving.

Still, I decided to push my doubts aside. Perhaps this was his attempt to reconcile after our recent tensions. Maybe he, too, wanted to mend the fractured bond between us.

But his behavior was so out of character it made my skin crawl. I’d almost prefer his mockery or sharp reprimands to this unsettling display of warmth. At least those felt real.

After I finished the meal, he surprised me again. “Let’s take a stroll,” he said, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

I hesitated. While I wanted to accept, the lingering weakness in my body made even standing a challenge.

He seemed to anticipate my response. With a flick of his fingers, a surge of his energy coursed through me, soothing the pain and restoring enough strength for me to move with ease. “There,” he said with a faint smile. “No excuses now.”

So we went.

The shopping lane teemed with activity. Vendors shouted to promote their goods, children’s laughter rang out as they weaved through the crowd, and the air was filled with the aromas of freshly baked pastries and fragrant herbal incense. Ruan Yanjun strode beside me, his presence commanding yet surprisingly unassuming.

We bought a few small trinkets and souvenirs, though it was clear he had little interest in such things. When I lingered too long at a stall, admiring a set of intricately carved figurines, he merely sighed and handed over the payment before I could protest.

I didn’t know what to make of him.

By the time evening fell, I was exhausted, but Ruan Yanjun didn’t let the night end there. He led me to a private dining room he had reserved, its dim lighting casting a warm, intimate glow over the space. He ordered wine—an indulgence he rarely allowed himself—and poured me a glass before raising his own.

As we drank, the conversation drifted, and soon we were discussing the book he had been reading last night.

“The evil of politics,” he began, swirling his wine as if it held the answers to the world’s questions. “Take Han Bao, for example. The monk was once revered for his righteousness, for his dedication to helping the poor. But the moment his title of Divine Mage was stolen, his ambition led him down a darker path. He created the White Vulture, killed a crown prince, and for a brief moment, regained his title. And yet, it all unraveled. A confession, a scandal, and his name was disgraced once more.”

I frowned. “Doesn’t that prove that evil will never prevail?”

Ruan Yanjun smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “His failure wasn’t because evil cannot prevail, but because he was incompetent. Had he kept his mouth shut and concealed his crimes, no one would have had the evidence to bring him down.”

I shook my head, disapproving. “Even if he succeeded, I’d never want to achieve anything that way. Honesty and integrity matter more than victory.”

He leaned back, resting his arm on the edge of his chair as his smirk deepened. “And that, A-Fan, is why you’re lying at death’s door, stripped of your former glory, while men like Emperor Sun reign supreme.”

I stiffened. He had never been one to hold back, but his words cut deeper than usual tonight.

“Your uncle,” he continued, swirling his wine lazily, “committed fratricide to steal the throne. Wicked, undeniably. But unlike Han Bao, he has no conscience and has never confessed to his crimes. Yet for more than twenty years, he has ruled unchallenged. Few emperors have managed to sustain their reign for that long. And why? Because, despite the evil that brought him to power, his abilities are undeniable. His intelligence and benevolence toward his people rivaled that of your father. That’s why he’s respected and adored across the five empires. Would you call that an entirely evil outcome?”

I couldn’t argue. Emperor Sun had taken the barren Kan Empire and turned it into a thriving land of prosperity. I had grown up under his reign, witnessing the stability and growth he brought to a territory others had written off as inhospitable. The vast deserts and jagged mountains that made up much of Kan’s land had been transformed under his rule. Even as a child, I never saw the rampant hunger or displacement that plagued other kingdoms’ borders, like those I’d recently seen between Wun and Silang.

I stared into my glass, his words weighing heavily on me. “Even if some good came of it,” I murmured, “it doesn’t justify his crimes.”

“Perhaps not,” he replied smoothly, “but history rarely remembers morality. It remembers results.”

Ruan Yanjun’s point was clear. Good outcomes could emerge from evil deeds. But no matter how logical his argument, it didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t imagine being content if I achieved my goals through wicked means, no matter how noble my intentions. I didn’t believe happiness born of such actions could last.

Just like Emperor Sun. I was certain that, even now, the brother he had murdered still haunted his dreams.

“You’re still not convinced, are you?” he asked, noticing my silence.

“I am,” I replied. “I understand your point.”

“But you’d still never do such a thing.”

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I lowered my head, unwilling to answer directly.

He sighed deeply, as though dealing with a particularly stubborn child. “Just as I thought. Nothing I say will ever sway my A-Fan’s principles. He will always remain steadfast on the righteous path no matter how many people betray him, even if his own wife betrayed him for a pouch of gold.”

My chest tightened at his words, the familiar ache of that betrayal flaring to life. I hated when he brought it up, but I couldn’t deny the truth of it.

“You wouldn’t even mind if I betrayed you, would you?” he asked, his tone deceptively light.

I frowned, looking at him sharply. “What could the great Sect Leader Ruan possibly gain from betraying me?”

His lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you’d be surprised, A-Fan. You are, after all, the missing crown prince of Kan Empire. Imagine the rewards I’d reap if I handed you over. Gold, power, influence—I’d no longer need to place you on the throne myself. They’d give me anything I asked for just to have you.”

The words struck me like a blow, cold and sharp. My throat tightened as I considered the possibility. It wasn’t far-fetched. If I continued resisting him, if I refused to follow his plans for me, would he grow tired of this game and choose the easier path?

He laughed then, his amusement ringing clear as he noticed my unease. “A-Fan, the look on your face is priceless,” he said, his tone teasing but laced with satisfaction.

I sighed, forcing my shoulders to relax as a wave of relief washed over me. It was just another one of his twisted jokes.

His smile shifted, softer but no less calculating. “Don’t worry. I give you my word, I won’t hand you over to Kan Empire. I don’t deal in petty barters for trivial rewards.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “I’d much rather battle for control of the empire myself and claim it as my prize. Isn’t victory sweeter when it’s earned with your own hands?”

I looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. His ambitions were as vast as the skies, and I was just another piece in his grand game. A puppet meant to serve his purpose.

“A-Fan,” Ruan Yanjun said after a stretch of silence, his tone unreadable. “If Jinjing hadn’t died, would you have forgiven her?”

The question startled me. I opened my mouth to reply but found no words. Could I have? The thought dredged up memories I had tried to bury—the love we had, the betrayal, and the heartbreak.

Before I could answer, he filled the silence himself. “I think you would have,” he said confidently. “Just seeing her in tears would have melted your heart, and you’d have gone on to marry her despite everything.”

The pain surged in my chest, sharp and undeniable. “Let’s not talk about that,” I murmured, turning my gaze away from him.

But Ruan Yanjun wasn’t done. “If I were the one who betrayed you,” he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, “would you have forgiven me?”

I hesitated, the question feeling heavier than it should have. Why was he asking me this?

“You wouldn’t have,” he said, answering himself once again, his voice softer now, almost resigned. “You would have turned away from me and sworn never to see me again.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, unnerved by how accurately he had read my thoughts. He was right. If he betrayed me, I wouldn’t look back. But I wasn’t about to admit it, not to him.

He let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against his chair. “When you think about it,” he said, his tone almost contemplative, “we’ve spent far more time together than you ever spent with Jinjing. I’ve done more for you than she ever could.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Lord Ruan—”

“I’m not talking about the money I’ve spent,” he interrupted, raising a hand to silence me. “I know you don’t see that as a sacrifice on my part—not when you know the extent of my wealth. But I’ve spent precious time with you. Time I could have used for my own ambitions, my own priorities. I set them aside for you. To help you uncover your identity, to find a cure for your condition. And yet…” He trailed off, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to me, piercing and unyielding. “Yet she’s the only one you think about. The one you miss. The one you’d rather be with.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me, guilt creeping into my chest like an unwelcome guest.

“No matter what I do,” he continued, his voice laced with bitterness, “I know I can never fill even a tenth of the space she holds in your heart. But what can I do? Life has never been fair.”

I lowered my gaze, unable to deny the truth of his words. What could I even say?

For a long moment, silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he took a deep breath, breaking the tension with a forced smile. “Enough of that,” he said, waving his hand as though brushing the subject away. “Let’s eat and talk politics instead. There are still many things I want to teach you.”

I glanced up at him, his sudden shift in tone catching me off guard.

“Even if you don’t agree with what I tell you,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “it’s important that you understand how politics work. When the time comes for you to sit on the throne, you won’t make the same mistakes your father did.”

His words lingered in the air, carrying both a challenge and a warning. I nodded faintly, picking at the food in front of me, but my thoughts remained tangled in the weight of our conversation. Even in his teachings, there was always an undertone of something more—a demand for me to see the world as he did. Whether I liked it or not, Ruan Yanjun wasn’t just grooming me for power. He was remaking me into something else entirely.

For the first time, I genuinely enjoyed having dinner with Ruan Yanjun. His demeanor tonight was entirely different—measured, respectful, and free from his usual teasing or inappropriate remarks. He spoke with the ease of a seasoned statesman, offering insight without veiled jabs or playful barbs. For once, it felt like we were equals in conversation, not adversaries locked in a game of manipulation.

It made me wonder. If things could always remain this way, could we truly get along? Could I, perhaps, even support his cause?

The thought unsettled me, but I couldn’t dismiss it entirely. Tonight had revealed a side of Ruan Yanjun that was often obscured by his reputation—the cunning and dark-hearted demon feared across the cultivation world. He wasn’t the devil the stories painted him to be. Yes, he bore the demonic core, and yes, he walked the path of dark cultivation, but his intelligence and foresight made him something more complex than a simple villain.

Unlike the violent stereotypes of dark cultivators, Ruan Yanjun understood the necessity of coexistence. He didn’t kill indiscriminately. He was acutely aware of the consequences of such actions. Mass slaughter, as much as it might cement his infamy, would eventually turn against him. Fear could unify even the weakest under a shared goal of survival. They’d rise against him, or worse for someone like him, they’d flee. What use would he have for power if there were no people left to command?

Ruan Yanjun thrived on balance. He protected the people he ruled to bask in their glorification and ensured his power remained unchallenged by displaying his might just enough to instill fear. Glorification fed his ego, and fear solidified his control. He wielded both as tools, like a master tactician playing a game of strategy.

I had heard the whispers of commoners in Xianru and Wun praising his name. Despite his arrogance and the rumors of his cruelty, Ruan Yanjun had never taken anything from the poor. He saw them as insignificant, beneath his notice, their meager possessions unworthy of his attention. While wealthy landowners oppressed the common folk—stealing their lands, seizing their livelihoods, and sometimes even their lives—Ruan Yanjun’s indifference had unintentionally become a shield for them.

And yet, his indifference wasn’t entirely benign. It wasn’t kindness or mercy that stayed his hand but practicality. Killing without gain was a waste of effort, and for Ruan Yanjun, every action needed to serve a purpose. He didn’t spill blood unless it benefited him.

The proof of his calculated leadership was evident in the progress of Xianru and Wun, the two empires under his influence. Compared to other regions, they had fewer homeless, fewer beggars lining the streets. Stability reigned because his sect maintained peace with an iron grip, crushing any signs of rebellion before they could take root.

The contrast to places like Silang and Kan was stark. I had wandered through Silang and seen the despair in the eyes of the homeless gathered outside the city gates, begging for entry. In Kan, Emperor Sun’s brilliance had brought prosperity, but the constant uprisings and discontent threatened to undo his legacy.

And then there was Crown Prince Jiayi, Emperor Sun’s successor. Compared to his father, Jiayi was incompetent at best. He lacked the vision, the intelligence, and the strength to rule. If Kan were to fall into his hands, chaos would surely follow.

As much as it pained me to admit, the thought of Kan under Ruan Yanjun’s control seemed preferable to the alternative. At least under him, there would be order, progress, and stability, even if his methods were dark.

From that moment, my perception of Ruan Yanjun began to shift. The man sitting across from me was more than just a demon or a dark cultivator. He was a ruler—a flawed, dangerous, and calculating one—but a ruler nonetheless.

*****

When we returned to the inn, Ruan Yanjun accompanied me to my room. The air between us was quieter now, as if the weight of unspoken words filled the space. After closing the door behind us, he leaned casually against the frame, his piercing gaze softened by something I couldn't quite place.

"I have news," he said finally, his voice steady but laced with a hint of something more—reluctance, perhaps?

I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“I’ve found someone who might be able to help you,” he continued. “A physician who specializes in conditions like yours. He lives in the capital, and I’ve arranged for you to meet him.”

Hope flickered in my chest, but it was tempered by the undertone in his words.

“You won’t be coming with me, will you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

His expression didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened slightly. “No. There are pressing matters I need to attend to. I’ve already delayed too long.” He exhaled, almost imperceptibly, and then added, “The journey will take a week, and depending on how the examinations go, you might need to stay there for months.”

The thought of parting settled heavily in my stomach. A week’s journey, months apart… After all the time we had spent together, the idea felt strangely hollow.

“But the coachman will take you there safely,” he continued. “And I’ll ensure the physician receives everything he needs to help you.”

I nodded, trying to keep my emotions in check. It wasn’t fair to feel this way. Ruan Yanjun had already spent so much of his time on me, despite his responsibilities. I couldn’t ask for more.

He must have sensed the hesitation in my silence because his lips curved into a faint smile. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I murmured. “I do.”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, I felt the tension in the room shift. His hand lifted, and before I could react, he tapped my cheek gently, his touch light but lingering.

“Good,” he said softly. “Now go to bed. I’ll give you your medicine.”

I hesitated, unsure why I felt compelled to ask, “Are you staying here tonight?”

His smile widened, a touch of mischief glinting in his eyes. “I have to look after you.”

“I’m fine,” I protested. “You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s our last night together,” he said, his tone almost playful, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words. “Are you sure you want to send me away so easily?”

Heat rose to my cheeks. He had a way of saying things that sounded both casual and intimate at the same time, throwing me off balance. “You make it sound... strange,” I muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“Strange?” He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “You wound me, A-Fan.”

Despite myself, I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. He always knew how to disarm me, even when I was determined not to let him.

“It’s true, though,” he added, his voice quieter now. “Tomorrow, we’ll part ways. Who knows how long it will be before we see each other again?”

That hint of sadness in his tone caught me off guard. Ruan Yanjun was always so composed, so in control. Hearing this small crack in his armor made my chest tighten.

“As long as you behave,” I said, keeping my tone light despite the unease I felt, “I don’t mind sharing the room.”

He smirked, a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “As long as you don’t tempt me with your beauty, I’ll have no reason to misbehave.”

Heat rose to my face, but something about his tone caught my attention. Though he was teasing, as he always did, there was a faint sadness laced within his words.

“Since when have I tempted you?” I asked cautiously.

His smile wavered, forced and fragile. “All the time, A-Fan,” he said softly.