Perhaps because the plot was finally progressing, ever since meeting that old Taoist, Chen Xuan's condition had improved significantly, and Ling Chongxiao no longer stayed overnight in Canglang Courtyard.
Xia Lianqiao thought this might be a relief for both her and Ling Chongxiao.
The young man began frequently staying in the meditation room built for him at home, practicing cultivation day after day.
Xia Lianqiao, in turn, dutifully played the role of a pitiful young woman left alone in her chambers.
Lonely in her boudoir, trapped in the Mirror of Shattering Illusions with no way out, surrounded by people who, aside from Chen Luanzhu, looked down on her and often treated her with cold disdain, Xia Lianqiao didn’t let it bother her. After all, it was all an illusion.
By nature, she wasn’t one to suffer as much as Xiao Lingbo had in her memories, but she still felt bored and stifled.
The long-faced maid seemed to think it was Xia Lianqiao’s fault that Ling Chongxiao no longer returned to their room, blaming her for failing to win over her husband’s heart and for idling her days away. The maid must have complained to Chen's Mother, because the next day, Xia Lianqiao was summoned and given a gentle but pointed “pep talk.”
That evening, Xia Lianqiao was dressed up elaborately and sent to knock on Ling Chongxiao’s door.
When the young man opened the door, he was met with the sight of her heavily made-up, attempting to seduce him. He stared at her in silence.
Xia Lianqiao was so embarrassed she could have dug a hole in the ground with her toes. “Uh, sorry, I was forced into this. Please understand?”
It wasn’t that she wanted to seduce Ling Chongxiao—it was Xiao Lingbo who had dressed up every day hoping to win her husband’s affection!
It had been a while since she last saw Ling Chongxiao, and the young man had changed somewhat. His features were colder, his black hair cascaded like a waterfall, and he wore a dark robe. His face seemed paler than before, almost sickly, and his dark eyes held a distant, fragile, yet obsessive and unhinged aura.
With his snow-white skin and jet-black hair, he looked breathtakingly beautiful, but also like someone who had taken his religious devotion to the point of fanaticism.
Ling Chongxiao had always been cold and restrained, and even now, he was struggling to maintain control. Despite being influenced by the illusion, his eyes remained clear and sharp, filled with a pride that reached the heavens. The faint light in his eyes was like fire burning beneath ice, a stark contrast that sent shivers down one’s spine.
It made Xia Lianqiao’s cheeks flush. Meeting Ling Chongxiao’s piercing dark eyes, she stuttered, her mouth dry, unable to say a word. Sorry, but she couldn’t help it—this aloof, obsessive young immortal was just too irresistible.
“What are you doing here?” Ling Chongxiao asked bluntly.
“I came to see you,” Xia Lianqiao steadied herself and held up a food box as evidence. This was also part of the illusion’s plot—Xiao Lingbo had tried everything to win her husband’s favor.
Ling Chongxiao seemed caught off guard by her answer. He hesitated for a moment, likely considering whether to accept it, but before he could decide, Xia Lianqiao quickly shoved the food box into his hands.
The young man stiffened as if startled, immediately pushing her hand away.
Xia Lianqiao: “...”
Ling Chongxiao: “...”
The awkward moment left both of them in silence.
After a long pause, Ling Chongxiao finally spoke, his voice low and distant as he avoided her gaze. “My apologies. I don’t like being touched by others.”
This might have been the first time Ling Chongxiao had ever apologized, his tone stiff and his words carrying a cold detachment. Sharing a bed with Xia Lianqiao had already tested the limits of his patience. Even during the days they had slept side by side, he had done his utmost to avoid any unnecessary physical contact.
It was understandable—his icy demeanor meant he wasn’t fond of closeness. Xia Lianqiao was taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered, though she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness and disappointment.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t disappointed. She had thought that after spending so many days together, she and Ling Chongxiao might have developed some kind of camaraderie. Not necessarily a deep friendship, but at least not this level of avoidance.
“I thought we were friends?” Xia Lianqiao stammered.
At the same time, a sense of unease flashed through her mind.
Wait, why was she feeling so down about not seeing Ling Chongxiao these past few days? His cold attitude made her eyes well up with tears. Since when had she become so sensitive? Was the initial affection influencing her this much? Was this some kind of love-struck virus?
Whether it was due to the influence of Chen Xuan’s buff or because she had teased Ling Chongxiao a bit too much, the young man’s recent coldness had returned him to his usual aloof, unapproachable self.
Ling Chongxiao looked at her, his dark eyes as cold as ice, showing no hint of tenderness.
He made no effort to respond to her obvious disappointment, his voice light but firm. “I don’t have friends.”
It was the answer she had expected, but it was still brutally honest.
Ling Chongxiao had never understood the concept of “consideration.” His words came straight from the heart.
Before Bai Ji'an and Li Langhuan had softened him, Ling Chongxiao had barely any understanding of ordinary human emotions.
Forcing herself to suppress the chaotic feelings swirling in her chest, Xia Lianqiao nodded hastily and made up an excuse to leave.
After all, she had completed this part of the plot, and the faint awareness within the Mirror of Shattering Illusions shouldn’t punish her with unbearable stomach pains anymore.
She had thought she wouldn’t have much contact with Ling Chongxiao in the coming days, but her lack of effort once again displeased the long-faced maid.
The maid, who seemed to be Chen's Mother’s informant, didn’t say much this time. Instead, Chen's Mother summoned Xia Lianqiao and comforted her, thanking her for taking care of Ling Chongxiao these past days. She mentioned that Chen Manor had recently built a new hot spring pool for Ling Chongxiao, and Xia Lianqiao was welcome to go relax in it.
Xia Lianqiao felt something was off, but the allure of the hot spring was too strong to resist.
After the old Taoist’s appearance, the weather in Chen County had turned rainy. The continuous drizzle seemed to foreshadow the impending breakdown of Chen Xuan and Xiao Lingbo’s marriage.
The sky was overcast, the rain light but persistent, a fine mist that drifted endlessly, soaking everything in its path.
Moss clung to the steps, and green lichen grew along the water’s edge. The ancient trees were draped in ivy, and spiderwebs hung in the shadows.
As Xia Lianqiao walked down the steps, umbrella in hand, she nearly slipped on the moss growing in the corner. Her skirt brushed against it, and the hem was soon soaked by the rainwater flowing along the corridor.
The faint dampness mirrored the gloomy weather, oppressive and unrelenting, with no end in sight.
Following the winding, labyrinthine covered walkway, Xia Lianqiao, half-doubting and half-curious, was led by a servant toward the hot spring.
As they approached, the servant bowed and said, “Madam, you may proceed to the hot spring. I will go fetch the incense for you.”
Xia Lianqiao bid the servant farewell and continued forward. The hot spring was built outdoors, its pool lined with white jade.
The floor tiles were carved with lotus patterns, and brocade rugs covered the ground. Mist curled and swirled around the pool, and a folding screen depicting cranes and mountains stretched out before her. Flowering trees and pines grew by the poolside, their petals scattering in the breeze.
But what caught her attention wasn’t the luxurious hot spring—it was the figure bathing in it. Xia Lianqiao froze, thunderstruck.
Through the swirling mist, a slender, upright figure stood with his back to her. His waist was lean and pale as jade, his long hair, soaked and fragrant, cascaded down to the sensual curve of his spine. Below the waist, his body was submerged in the rippling water. The muscular lines of his back, typical of a swordsman, hinted at latent power and strength, leaving much to the imagination.
