Chapter 23

Yu Zhengzheng  stood frozen, staring at the ox tendon in her hands. After a long pause, she finally found her voice, though it quivered with disbelief: “This… this is for me?”

Rong Shang casually tossed the medicinal item aside, turning his back to her. Hearing the surprise in her tone, he simply assumed she was deeply moved.

Well, she should be. In his hundreds of thousands of years, this was the first time he had ever bought medicine for someone.

Tilting his chin slightly upward, he avoided giving her a direct answer. “Why are you still standing there? Go brew the medicine.”

Yu Zhengzheng  could tell he was deliberately toying with her. Honestly, who else but him would think of buying an ox tendon for this purpose?

She glared at his retreating figure, grinding her teeth in frustration, fantasizing about shoving the tendon where the sun didn’t shine.

But such fantasies were all she could afford. Seething, she grabbed the tendon and stormed off.

Once she left, Xiao Yuqing, who had been standing nearby, felt increasingly uneasy.

The oppressive aura of the Ghost King weighed heavily on anyone in his presence. It was as if an invisible force was pressing down on Xiao Yuqing’s chest, making it hard to even breathe.

He was just about to come up with an excuse to leave when the Ghost King’s voice rang out clearly: “Do you like Yu Zhengzheng ?”

The question startled Xiao Yuqing, and it took him a moment to realize he was being addressed.

After some thought, he replied cautiously, “Miss Yu is a good person—cheerful and kind. No one wouldn’t like her.”

Rong Shang scoffed lightly. Look at the kind of man she attracts.

He couldn’t even boldly admit he liked her, instead resorting to vague and evasive platitudes. If that was what people called “liking,” it was far too shallow.

Rong Shang leisurely sat down, his long, well-defined fingers tapping rhythmically on the stone table. “You’re the adopted son of Xiao Bitichi?”

Xiao Yuqing nodded. “Yes.”

A faint smile played on Rong Shang’s lips as he asked, almost warmly, “That old man isn’t dead yet?”

Xiao Yuqing was at a loss for words. For a moment, his composed expression faltered. “My father is in excellent health.”

Rong Shang nodded knowingly. “Makes sense. A thousand-year-old turtle and a ten-thousand-year-old tortoise—Xiao Bitichi probably has a few more centuries in him, just enough to fully embody a tortoise.”

Xiao Yuqing: “???”

He began racking his brain to recall if his adoptive father had ever wronged the Ghost King. But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t pinpoint anything.

His father had rarely mentioned the Ghost King, except for occasional complaints about his decision to shelter Xiang Feng.

But even those complaints were just idle grumbles. After all, even though Xiang Feng had killed his father’s junior sister, vengeance wasn’t worth risking the lives of tens of thousands of disciples in the Yu Ling sect.

As Xiao Yuqing struggled to navigate the conversation, others in the house began to stir, emerging from their rooms one by one.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful not to face the Ghost King alone any longer.

Before long, Yu Zhengzheng  returned from the small kitchen. With everyone assembled, Xiang Feng led the group toward the poetry gathering.

Yu Zhengzheng  had abandoned thoughts of escape. With the Ghost King constantly nearby, running wasn’t an option. Even if she did manage to flee, survival would be another matter entirely.

The Seventh Prince had told her that the silver chain around her neck would lose its oppressive aura only upon the Ghost King’s death.

Since the Ghost King would never voluntarily remove it, her only hope of escaping alive was to cooperate with the Seventh Prince in killing him.

Her thoughts flicked back to the ox tendon, and she glared at the white-robed figure ahead of her. No wonder he’d been single for hundreds of thousands of years—so plain-looking and insufferable. Only a fool would fall for someone like him.

As they passed by a medicine shop, she stopped and went in, planning to buy some pain-relieving herbs to help with her impending menstrual cramps.

Inside, she overheard the shopkeeper chatting animatedly with someone: “Early this morning, a wealthy young man came in looking for medicine for a woman. He insisted on the best and most expensive. One glance, and I could tell he was dealing with kidney deficiency. So I wrapped up the store’s prized ox tendon for him.”

The shopkeeper patted a gold ingot with satisfaction. “I bet that young man is full of energy by now—strong as an ox.”

Yu Zhengzheng : “…”

It couldn’t be anyone but the Ghost King.

She bit her lip, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes.

Had she misjudged him?

Perhaps he genuinely meant to buy her medicine, but the shopkeeper misunderstood his intentions, which led to the ox tendon.

After buying her herbs, she chewed on some absentmindedly. Her lower abdomen ached, and the pain from her rib injury flared, making her feel lightheaded and irritable.

Her time in the mortal realm was running out. Whether she liked it or not, the Seventh Prince would soon force her to drug the Ghost King. Once the poison took effect, the Seventh Prince would summon a thunderstorm, leaving the Ghost King with little chance of survival.

She hated him, but a favor was still a favor. Today, she owed him a thank you.

She sighed deeply and quickened her pace to catch up with him.

Standing behind him, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively reaching out to tug at the hem of his robe.

Her actions stunned everyone. Countless eyes turned to her hand, then quickly looked away, as if bracing themselves for the inevitable bloodbath.

The Ghost King was known for his aloofness and severe germaphobia. No one dared touch him.

The last person who had tried was torn to pieces and fed to the dogs, not even leaving behind a soul.

Yu Zhengzheng  had only served him for two nights, yet she really thought she was special.

Rong Shang paused mid-step, ignoring the heated gazes around him. He turned his head slightly, looking down at her as if waiting for her to speak.

He didn’t like being touched by others, and she felt the same way.

Her delicate fingers clutched his robe tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force. Her voice trembled softly: “Thank you.”

Rong Shang froze.

He had heard others say “I like you,” and he had also heard them say “I hate you.” But the phrase he heard most often was, “You’ll die a terrible death.”

Yet, someone thanking him? She was the first.

He lightly rubbed the jade thumb ring on his finger, his long lashes concealing his eyes, making it hard to read his expression. However, the faint curve at the corner of his lips betrayed his mood.

Rong Shang gave a nonchalant “hmm” in response and resumed walking forward.

Xiao Yuqing glanced thoughtfully at her hand, his gaze darkening.

When Yu Zhengzheng looked up, she was met with the stunned faces of everyone around her.

Confused, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Xiang Feng wore a peculiar expression. “You just touched the King’s sleeve.”

Yu Zhengzheng was even more puzzled. “Yeah, so?”

It wasn’t like she had forcibly kissed him in public—she had merely tugged his sleeve. Why were they so shocked?

The crowd, lost in their own thoughts, stared at her in amazement as if she were some sort of alien.

Especially the Seventh Prince, whose eyes seemed glued to her.

Under this strange atmosphere, Yu Zhengzheng arrived at the site of the spring outing poetry gathering.

The gathering, intended as a matchmaking event for the nobles and ladies of the capital, was held near the Marriage Temple outside the city.

Surrounded by mountains and rivers, the location was ideal for composing poetry during the day and enjoying riverboat cruises at night—a perfect setting for romance.

Before reaching the temple, Yu Zhengzheng spotted Nangong Tianba leaning against a stone railing, gazing at the sky with a melancholic 45-degree tilt.

His flamboyant, aristocratic demeanor attracted many young noblewomen, who hovered nearby, stealing shy glances at him but not daring to approach.

Xiang Feng halted and asked the group, “Who here can compose poetry?”

Aside from Xiao Yuqing’s soft “I can,” no one else responded. They could recite poetry, but composing it was beyond them.

In the world of cultivation, there was no emphasis on such scholarly pursuits. Power and spiritual strength were what mattered, unlike in the mortal world, where poetry and literature were held in high regard.

Xiang Feng felt troubled. Having only Xiao Yuqing compose a poem wouldn’t suffice—he needed a woman to step forward.

Nangong Tianba didn’t count. Sending Xiao Yuqing alone to approach the King’s consort would be too forward.

Though this task wasn’t initially his concern, the King had just ordered him to secure the family heirloom letter.

If not for the obstinate and unyielding temperament of King Yan, the Ghost Sect would have simply threatened Nangong Tianba’s life to force King Yan’s hand, avoiding such trouble altogether.

Just as Xiang Feng fretted, An Ning timidly tugged at his sleeve. “Brother Xiang Feng, I can compose poetry.”

Xiang Feng blinked in surprise. “Let’s hear one, then.”

An Ning nodded and surveyed the scenery before reciting:
“Spring slumber knows no dawn, everywhere birdsong resounds.
Night winds and rains came roaring through, but how many blossoms fell?”

The crowd collectively drew a sharp breath.

Though simple on the surface, the poem’s imagery was elegant and profound, leaving a lasting impression.

Originally thought to be just an ordinary woman, An Ning was revealed to be a hidden talent.

Xiang Feng praised her, “What a beautiful line: ‘But how many blossoms fell.’ Truly exquisite.”

Xiao Yuqing nodded in agreement. “The spring’s brilliance is not wasted on youth. Miss An Ning is indeed a remarkable person.”

An Ning blushed. “You flatter me, Sir Xiao. I know little beyond composing poems and setting them to music.”

Listening to their exchange, Yu Zhengzheng found it amusing.

This poem was clearly Spring Dawn by Meng Haoran—how had it suddenly become An Ning’s original work?

She wanted to point out the truth, but since this world was fictional and the others had never heard of Meng Haoran, it seemed like a waste of effort.

While she hesitated to speak, Shanshui pulled her aside.

Perhaps because she hadn’t eaten enough the previous night, Shanshui appeared even more haggard than before, her once rosy lips pale and shadows beneath her eyes.

Lowering her head, Shanshui looked dejected. “Miss Zhengzheng, am I stupid?”

Yu Zhengzheng patted her hand. “Of course not. You’re not stupid at all.”

Shanshui hesitated before asking, “Then… am I fat?”

Yu Zhengzheng froze, unsure how to respond.

Truthfully, Shanshui wasn’t very fat—she just had a hearty appetite and a naturally round, baby-faced appearance, giving the impression of plumpness.

Although beauty standards varied, in the world of cultivation, slenderness was prized. The smaller and more delicate a woman appeared, the more she could stir a man’s protective instincts.

Xiang Feng was undoubtedly one of those conventional men.

Just as she was about to offer encouragement, Shanshui murmured, “Miss An Ning is so beautiful. I really envy her.”

Yu Zhengzheng fell silent for a moment before gripping her hand. “You’re beautiful too. Everyone has their own unique charm—something no one else can replicate.”

Shanshui shook her head. “I want to be thin, like you, Miss Zhengzheng.”

Then, after studying Yu Zhengzheng’s chest for a long moment, she added, “But… Miss Zhengzheng, where did your chest go?”

Yu Zhengzheng: “…” That felt like a direct hit.

After the group had agreed on their respective tasks to approach the King’s consort, they each went off to carry them out.

For those without any specific role, Xiang Feng allowed them their freedom. A few of them wandered toward the Tree of Love together.

The tree stood on a white bridge adorned with countless rusty love locks. The bridge itself was known as the Bridge of Unity.

According to legend, carving your name alongside your beloved’s on a love lock and hanging it on the bridge would ensure a lifetime together.

If this had been half a month ago, Yu Zhengzheng would have etched her senior brother’s name onto a lock. Now, she felt indifferent—she even wanted to toss a lock into the river out of spite.

Watching Ziyu and Ziqian carve names into their locks, Shanshui dragged Yu Zhengzheng along to join the fun. She grabbed two locks from the stand near the Tree of Love.

Handing one to Yu Zhengzheng, Shanshui asked curiously, “Miss Zhengzheng, do you have someone you like?”

Yu Zhengzheng answered firmly, “No. What about you?”

Shanshui thought for a moment. “I like too many people for this lock to hold them all.”

Yu Zhengzheng’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Who are they?”

Shanshui began counting on her fingers. “Brother Wu from the butcher shop, Uncle Li who makes sugar figures, Grandpa Zhang from the wonton stall… and Old Wang from the coffin shop.”

Listening to Shanshui rattle off a list of over ten people, Yu Zhengzheng felt a bit embarrassed—not one of them was Xiang Feng.

Shanshui added, “Oh, and my master.”

Watching her carve names into the lock with a small knife, Yu Zhengzheng felt her fingers itch to join in.

What if these locks actually worked?

Taking up a knife, she carefully etched two names onto her lock.

Grinning at her handiwork, she hung the lock on the bridge railing.

Behind her, a calm voice spoke. “What are you doing?”

Yu Zhengzheng didn’t hide anything. She pointed to the lock. “I’m carving names on a love lock. If you hang it on this bridge, you’ll grow old with your loved one.”

Such nonsense was, of course, not something Rong Shang would believe.

Still, seeing her so delighted, he figured the lock must bear the name of someone important to her.

He leaned closer to inspect it.

At a glance, he spotted a familiar name:

Rong Shang.

That name… It was one he had used during his time posing as a disciple of Penglai Mountain. Disliking the original owner’s name, he had chosen to go by his real name instead.

Seeing her carve it wasn’t surprising.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as his mood brightened.

But as his eyes moved further down, they stopped abruptly on the next name:

Yu Jiangjiang.