Chapter 16: PROTECTOR OR PROTECTIVE

The wasteland stretched without mercy, its earth cracked open like old scars. Red veins pulsed faintly beneath their feet, as though the land itself bled. Above, the sky sagged heavy and bruised, clouds thick with storms that would never fall.

Zixuan hugged her arms, trailing just behind Aoshen. His back was as rigid as his silence, his robes dragging across the dusty ground. She watched him for a long while, biting her lip, before finally blurting out,

“So where are we even going? Or are you just walking until we both drop dead?”

Aoshen didn’t slow, didn’t even glance at her. “The portals are sealed. Until they open, the only way back is the River of Ash.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It isn’t,” he said plainly. “But if we find the keeper, they’ll ferry us across.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then you can start decorating your new home in this wasteland.”

Her jaw dropped. She quickened her pace until she was at his side, glaring. “You’re actually heartless.”

He gave her a faint look out of the corner of his eye. “Heartless keeps me alive.”

“Heartless makes you unbearable.”

“That too.”

Her groan echoed in the stillness.

---

The ground trembled. Aoshen’s arm shot out in front of her, halting her in her tracks. His voice was low, sharp. “Stay behind me.”

From the cracks ahead, shadows thickened and clawed their way into form. The creatures that rose were wolf-shaped, but twisted wrong—skin stretched tight over bones, spines protruding like jagged blades. Their eyes glowed faint red, flickering like dying embers.

Zixuan’s chest tightened, but she forced herself forward a step. “Wait,” she said quickly. “Maybe they can understand us. What if they’re not—”

He turned his head slowly, disbelief etched across his face. “You’re not serious.”

“I am!” Her chin lifted. “Talking is better than rushing in like some brute.”

His stare lingered, long and scalding, before he said flatly, “Talking is what you do when you’re about to be eaten.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. Watch.”

The beasts lunged.

Steel flashed in his hand. Aoshen’s blade tore through the air, silver light slicing a beast across its shoulder. The ground shook with its snarl.

“See?” he muttered.

Zixuan’s lips parted, ready to snap back—but the air exploded into chaos before she could.

---

The clash rang sharp, steel against claw, Aoshen’s every movement precise but heavy. He gritted his teeth as the land itself pressed on him, its aura pulling at his strength like invisible chains. This wasn’t his territory. His power refused to flow freely here.

Zixuan raised her hands, flames licking faintly at her palms. Relief surged through her chest—until she thrust them forward and nothing happened. Not a spark, not even a wisp of smoke.

Her heart stopped. “No, no, come on—don’t fail me now.”

She slammed her palms together, her voice cracking. “Work!”

Nothing. The fire sputtered out, swallowed by the air.

A beast slammed into her, shoving her across the dirt. She choked on dust as she rolled, scrambling back to her feet with panic clawing at her chest.

Her gaze whipped to Aoshen, surrounded by snapping jaws and gleaming claws. “Do it!” she screamed. “End them—like you always do!”

His sword strained against the weight of a beast, sparks scattering as steel clashed with bone. His voice was rough, strained. “Do you think I wouldn’t? This place—this aura—it’s binding me!”

“Then what?!” she shouted, desperation spilling out of her. “We’ll be torn apart!”

The answer came in blood.

A beast’s claws ripped across Aoshen’s stomach. His body jerked, crimson soaking into his robes. Still, he didn’t yield, didn’t fall.

Zixuan’s scream tore through the wasteland. “Aoshen!”

Her legs moved before she could think. She dashed toward him, throwing herself into the fray. Another beast lunged, claws slashing across her side, her back, her face. Pain burst through her like lightning.

Her knees buckled. She fell against Aoshen, trembling, blood warm against her skin. With a shaky breath, she whispered, “At least… it’s not just you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her body sagging in his arms.

For a moment, Aoshen stood frozen. His hands tightened around her, fury rising, sharp and bitter, tangled with a fear he refused to name. His voice came low, hoarse. “Why would you do something this foolish…”

The wasteland answered with light.

The air cracked open, golden lines spreading wide until a portal yawned before them. Its glow swallowed the red-stained land, a promise of escape.

Without hesitation, Aoshen sheathed his blade. He gathered her into his arms, lifting her bridal-style. Her blood stained his chest, her head resting against him, fragile and unbearably still.

He looked down at her, his voice rough, almost a whisper. “Don’t you dare fade now. You’re far too troublesome for that.”

And with one step, he carried her into the light.

◇◇◇

The air grew heavier the closer they drew to the River of Ash. Aoshen’s boots sank slightly into the blackened earth, each step dragging fine soot into the wind. The river itself slithered ahead, thick and sluggish, gleaming with a dark metallic sheen as though it carried the world’s shadows in its currents.

Zixuan was pale in his arms, her head tucked against his shoulder, every breath shallow. Her blood had already dried along her side and cheek, but its metallic scent clung stubbornly to him. Aoshen hated it—hated how fragile she felt, how easily she had collapsed.

And then, from the fog curling over the river, the Keeper emerged.

He looked almost human, but too long in the limbs, his skin as pale as bone, and his smile carved too wide to be kind. His eyes lingered on Zixuan, not with lust, but with the terrible fascination of someone watching a candle guttering in the dark.

“You’ve brought me a dying flame,” the Keeper said, his voice dragging like gravel under water.

Aoshen’s hand flared cold, frost curling over his knuckles. A wave of icy shards darted forward, embedding themselves at the Keeper’s feet. “Keep your gaze to yourself.”

The Keeper only chuckled. “Protective, aren’t you? Strange, for one who pretends to feel nothing.”

Ignoring him, Aoshen lowered Zixuan onto the cold ground. He pressed his palm against her wound, whispering a sharp syllable that should have sparked light. Nothing came. Again, and again, his power flickered uselessly.

His jaw clenched. “Why isn’t it working?”

The Keeper tilted his head, smile never faltering. “Because this is the River of Ash. Here, all flames burn to silence. Birth does not stir, rebirth does not rise, and healing is devoured. Nothing grows here. Nothing returns.”

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Aoshen’s frost hissed against the earth. He turned back to Zixuan, anger biting into him. “Stupid girl. Why would you take the blow? Charging in like you matter.” His voice cracked into bitterness, but his hands lingered too gently against her cooling skin. He swallowed hard, confused by the weight pressing on his chest. Worry. That’s what it was called, wasn’t it? He had almost forgotten the word.

The Keeper crouched at the river’s edge, trailing one claw-like finger through the black waters. “Across the isle that divides this current lies something rare. A root, older than these lands, carrying a power that defies even the law of endings. But it does not give itself freely. If you want it… you must take it.”

“What is it?” Aoshen’s tone was flat, but sharp.

The Keeper’s smile grew. “A shard of the first tree. It bled into the river long ago, resisting decay. Dangerous. Alive. It does not wish to be touched. So, tell me—are you willing?”

Aoshen’s silence stretched. He looked down at Zixuan’s face, pale and trembling with shallow breaths. Her eyelashes tremored faintly, though she didn’t stir. Aoshen inhaled once, hard, then stood.

“I’ll go.”

The Keeper clapped his hands softly, mockingly delighted. “Then I’ll keep her safe. For now.”

---

The isle was not far, but every step across the waters felt endless. Aoshen strode over a jagged bridge of bone that rose from the river like ribs. Shapes writhed beneath the surface, whispering against the edges of his mind, offering him visions of failure, betrayal, and loss. He ground his teeth and forced himself not to look.

At the isle’s heart lay a twisted black tree, roots writhing across the ground like serpents. Embedded within, glowing faintly red, was the shard. It pulsed like a heartbeat, slow and heavy.

The moment Aoshen stepped forward, the roots stirred. They tore free of the ground, snapping like whips. Aoshen drew his blade, frost cracking across the earth.

The battle was nothing like fighting beasts. The roots anticipated him, struck from blind angles, coiled tight around his arm and leg. Each strike drained his strength, as though the tree leeched his will. Aoshen’s jaw locked, his power pouring from him in waves of ice, freezing root after root until the air glittered with shards. But the tree groaned and grew more violent, lashing harder.

One root pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Aoshen roared, the sound breaking raw in his throat. Frost surged in an explosion, shattering the root to dust.

Step by step, bleeding, panting, he forced his way to the shard. His hand reached for it—and the tree lashed again, wrapping around his waist. Aoshen’s eyes burned blue, and with a guttural snarl, he plunged his blade through the trunk itself.

For one moment, everything froze. Then the shard dislodged, sliding into his palm, burning with a heat that seared straight to his bones.

The tree withered instantly, roots collapsing into ash. Aoshen stumbled, clutching the shard, and began the walk back.

---

The Keeper waited by the river. His smile was wider. “Ah, impressive. But your flame flickers lower.”

Aoshen ignored him, scanning the Keeper’s gaze until it fell to Zixuan. She lay in a stone chamber now, her body paler, her lips almost colorless.

“She grows colder,” the Keeper murmured. “Even with this, her cultivation is weak. She will not hold.”

For the first time in centuries, Aoshen felt his composure slip. His pulse kicked fast, his throat dry. He crossed the chamber, crouching beside her bed, and for a moment simply stared. Then, hesitantly, he took her hand. His fingers curled around hers, stiff but trembling.

“No.” The word was barely audible. “Not yet.”

The Keeper tilted his head, and then began to instruct. “The shard cannot heal alone. It binds only if two flames meet. Sit her upright. Guide her breath to yours. Let your powers thread.”

Aoshen obeyed slowly, carefully pulling Zixuan upright in his lap. Her head fell against his chest, limp. He placed the shard between their joined hands. His other hand cupped hers, moving her fingers into strange circles.

Light sparked faintly. Aoshen whispered words, each syllable shaking the air. Zixuan stirred weakly, her lips parting as though trying to follow. A glow built between their palms, heat rising, until Aoshen could feel her heartbeat begin again, faint but growing steadier.

Her eyelids fluttered. Slowly, she looked up.

“Aoshen…” her voice cracked like glass.

Before he could speak, she staggered forward and clung to him. The grip was weak, desperate, and it made him go rigid. Aoshen’s hands hovered, unmoving, as if the very thought of returning the gesture was beneath him.

Only after a long, tense silence did he move—his arms closing around her with all the warmth of iron bars. It wasn’t comfort; it was restraint, keeping her from falling apart where he could see it.

His eyes narrowed, fixed on the darkness beyond her shoulder. There was no breath drawn for solace, no surrender to closeness. Only silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken by her voice.

“See?” she rasped, attempting a faint, crooked smile. “Talking wasn’t so bad after all.”

His mouth curved, sharp and humorless. “You’re insufferable.”

He didn’t loosen his hold. But it felt more like a cage than an embrace.

○○○

The keeper’s smile lingered as his skeletal hand gestured to the black barge waiting at the riverbank. Its hull looked as if it had been carved out of obsidian, smoke curling off it in wisps. Chains rattled when the current touched it, though no wind moved the air.

“Your passage,” the keeper said, bowing his head mockingly. His pale eyes slid to Zixuan, who still sat pale and fragile. That smile widened.

Frost hissed against the ash. Aoshen had moved a finger, a shard of ice shooting into the ground near the keeper’s feet. “Enough.”

The keeper chuckled, turning away. “Cold as always. How tiring.”

Aoshen didn’t answer. He bent, carefully lifting Zixuan and carrying her onto the barge. His face gave away nothing—no softness, no trace of the panic she’d glimpsed earlier. Only that unyielding mask again.

She settled against the wooden bench, wrapping her arms around herself. He sat opposite, his posture straight, hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed beyond her shoulder at the endless black river.

The keeper shoved the barge away from shore with a long pole. The boat creaked as it floated into the current.

---

The river whispered.

Not water—ash and smoke, carrying voices that didn’t belong. Zixuan swore she heard her name, faint and stretched thin, but when she turned, only Aoshen sat there, cold and unreadable.

She broke the silence first. “You… really weren’t going to let him near me, were you?”

His eyes didn’t shift. “He knows the rules. He wouldn’t have dared.”

“That didn’t stop you from nearly freezing him.”

Still nothing. His voice was flat, like a wall. “I don’t take chances.”

Her lips parted, but she shut them again, staring down at her trembling hands. Somehow, his refusal to look at her hurt more than any injury she’d taken.

The boat rocked. Her eyes drifted to him again, secretly studying the way the light from the river clung to his jaw, the calm in his posture that seemed unshakable. How can someone be so distant, and still make me feel… safe?

The thought made her snort faintly under her breath. Safe? Was she insane? This man was colder than ice, sharper than blades. She must be crazy to think anything else of him. Crazy, and doomed to heartbreak if she kept indulging it.

So she decided right there—he would stay in that quiet corner of her heart where no one could touch him. Not even her. He couldn’t hurt her if she never let him.

Was it love? No. Not even close. It was… fondness. That was all.

---

The whispers grew louder as the boat pushed deeper. Zixuan closed her eyes tightly when one of the voices took on Elder Ling’s tone.

“Zixuan.”

Her hands trembled. Aoshen finally looked at her. His voice cut through the noise. “Ignore it.”

“But—”

“Ignore it. None of it is real.”

She forced herself to nod, clutching her sleeves tighter. He looked away again immediately, his jaw tightening as if speaking to her was already too much.

They floated for what felt like an eternity.

---

Finally, light.

The blackness began to thin, a shimmer appearing on the horizon. Gold spread across the water like a wound in the darkness. The boat slowed as a barrier came into view, stretching endlessly into the sky. Warmth bled faintly from it—life itself, leaking through.

Zixuan’s chest tightened. “So that’s it,” she whispered. “The Heavenly Realm.”

Her words trembled with relief, but strangely, sadness laced through them. The journey, the strange terror of it all—it was ending. And in the cracks of all that chaos, she had gotten used to having him there. To his presence, sharp but unwavering.

She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but the thought of stepping back into the golden safety made something ache.

Aoshen stood first, his hand tightening briefly around the hilt of his sword. His expression had already hardened further, as if the closer they came to home, the colder he had to become.

The barge nudged the barrier. Light rippled, then split, opening the path forward.

On the other side, someone waited.

“Ziyu…” Zixuan whispered as she recognized the figure rushing toward them, his brows furrowed in worry.

“Zixuan! Aoshen!” Ziyu called out. His eyes flicked from her pale, tired body to Aoshen’s unreadable face. The air around them was thick, something unspoken settling between master and attendant.

Ziyu’s lips pressed together, and he said nothing more. Instead, he fell into step behind them as they crossed the barrier.

---

The warmth of the Heavenly Realm embraced them instantly—bright skies, fragrant wind, the hum of divine energy returning to her veins.

But Aoshen had already shifted.

His back straightened, his presence expanding into something sharp and unapproachable. Cold power radiated off him in waves, enough to make even Ziyu step more carefully. This was the Aoshen everyone feared—the one who belonged here, not the one who had caught her when she fell, or let her rest against him.

Zixuan lowered her head. She reminded herself firmly: she was only an attendant. That was her place.

So she played the role perfectly—silent, deferential, never looking at him longer than necessary.

And he, as if nothing had ever shifted between them, did not glance at her once.

Only master and servant.

Only distance.

Nothing more.

♡♡♡

Aoshen stood near the tall window of his residence, moonlight catching on the folds of his white robes. His back was straight, hands clasped neatly behind him as though carved from stone. His eyes fixed on the world outside, expression unreadable.

Behind him, Zixuan fidgeted. She hated silence. Silence with him was worse than silence with anyone else—because it wasn’t empty. It was weighty, crushing, cold as ice. She tapped her fingers against her sleeve, hoping he might say something, anything.

At length, Aoshen moved. He picked up a sealed scroll from the low table, the golden threads glinting faintly. Without turning fully, he extended his hand backward.

“Take this to Sovereign King Zheyeun,” his voice was smooth, sharp, commanding. “Do not linger. Do not speak unnecessarily. Deliver it and return.”

Zixuan blinked at the scroll. That was it? Just like that? She reached out, taking it gingerly. “That’s all?”

His head tilted slightly, and the corner of his gaze slid toward her. One look. Just one. It was enough to make her spine stiffen. That single glance told her she was already saying too much.

Her lips parted again, but when she caught the faint narrowing of his eyes, she snapped her mouth shut. He had silenced her without a word.

So she bowed, hugging the scroll to her chest. “Fine. I’ll… go then.”

He said nothing more, only returning his gaze to the window. To him, she was dismissed.

---

The Heavenly King’s palace towered like a mountain of jade and white stone, its vast steps polished smooth by centuries of reverence. Guards lined the entrance, their armor gleaming, spears planted firmly at their sides.

Zixuan climbed the steps quickly, heart thudding with nerves and annoyance. “Don’t linger, don’t speak unnecessarily,” she muttered under her breath, mocking his cold voice. “Hah. As if I don’t know how to be polite. As if I’d go and… and…”

She trailed off when she passed the enormous golden doors into the audience hall. Her eyes widened. This wasn’t some dull errand; this was the Heavenly Palace itself. Ministers in long robes stood like pillars on either side, their faces stiff with importance. At the far end, Sovereign King Zheyeun sat high upon his throne, robes of white and gold cascading like light down the steps. His crown glimmered under the heavenly glow.

Zixuan swallowed. Alright. Deliver the scroll. Leave. Simple.

She walked forward, careful not to trip on the polished floor, until she was close enough to kneel and extend the message above her head.

“This,” she said, forcing her voice steady, “is a message from Lord Aoshen to the Sovereign King.”

Zheyeun did not move at first. Instead, one of his officials stepped forward and plucked the scroll from her hand. He gave her a long, disdainful once-over, then turned to present the scroll to the throne.

It should have ended there. It should have been quick.

But then the official’s mouth curved. “So this is what Lord Aoshen sends now? A little girl to carry his words? Is the great Northern Lord so detached he cannot even step foot in this hall himself?”

A few ministers chuckled softly. The sound needled under Zixuan’s skin. She felt her ears heat. She was supposed to keep quiet, she remembered that—but her jaw clenched.

She bowed lower, trying to let it pass.

But the official’s voice rose again, mocking. “Or perhaps…” He leaned forward, his voice carrying just enough for the others to hear. “Perhaps this one is not an attendant at all. She looks more like a stray picked up along the road.”

Laughter. Polite, restrained, but still laughter.

Zixuan’s blood surged hot. Stray? Stray? She snapped her head up, eyes flashing.

“I am not a stray!” Her voice rang across the marble floor.

The laughter cut off instantly. The hall stilled.

The official straightened, eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Oh? The little girl speaks.”

Zixuan’s fists clenched against her knees. “I am Lord Aoshen’s attendant. I delivered his words exactly as commanded. That is my duty. Insult me if you want, but don’t dare mock him through me!"

Gasps fluttered across the chamber. The officials exchanged looks.

And high on his throne, Zheyeun leaned forward, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His voice, when it came, was calm, but the calm of a blade’s edge.

“You dare raise your voice in my hall?”

Zixuan’s stomach dropped. Her heart hammered wildly, but her pride kept her mouth moving. “I only spoke the truth!”

That was the last thing she managed before guards stepped forward, seizing her arms, shoving her down hard onto the cold marble floor. Her knees cracked against the stone, pain shooting up her legs. She gasped, struggling instinctively—but the iron grip on her shoulders forced her still.

Zheyeun rose slowly, descending one step from his throne. His eyes were sharp, his voice smooth. “This palace is a place of order. Your outburst is disorder. Your disrespect is a stain upon these halls. Punishment is inevitable.”

Zixuan froze. Punishment. Her throat dried.

But before she could protest, before she could even process, the great golden doors opened again.

A ripple of silence spread through the court.

Aoshen entered.

He walked with the weight of winter, every step echoing deliberate, unhurried. His robes trailed behind him like flowing ice. His presence alone made the ministers bow their heads, though his eyes did not move from the scene before him: his attendant forced down, humiliated, trembling beneath the guards’ grip.

Zixuan’s breath caught. Relief pricked in her chest—relief she didn’t want to admit. He was here. He would stop this. Surely he would.

Zheyeun inclined his head slightly. “Lord Aoshen. Your attendant has caused disruption in my hall. She raised her voice against my official, defied order, and insulted this court. Such cannot go unpunished. Do you permit it?”

The hall fell utterly silent.

Zixuan turned her head slightly, her eyes seeking his. She tried to mask the desperation in her gaze, but it was there, raw and pleading beneath the surface. He would say no. He had to.

Aoshen stood tall, his hands folded behind his back, his face unreadable. His gaze swept over her once—one cold, piercing glance—and then shifted back to Zheyeun.

“Yes.”

Her heart stopped.

The word rang louder than thunder.

For a moment, Zixuan could not breathe. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest tightened so sharply she thought it might break.

Yes.

As if she were nothing.

Her body sagged against the guards’ hold. She wanted to laugh, to scream, to demand why—but no voice came.

Zheyeun smiled faintly. “Then let the heavens judge.”

The storm began to gather outside.