"Always like this, aren't you?"
The soft, scolding voice rang gently in Guang Lian's ears.
He lay sprawled on a wooden bed, his body wrapped in layers of bandages. Beside him sat Rong Yue, her face etched with worry she tried to hide behind a veneer of irritation.
"You never stop pushing forward," she muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Fighting, bleeding, breaking yourself—over and over again. Do you ever think about your own life?"
Guang Lian turned his head slowly toward her. His dark eyes studied the woman he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime.
Her lashes were long and elegant, framing eyes that gleamed with both fire and tenderness. Her nose was delicately straight; her lips a natural, faint red that drew the eye without effort. Her skin was pale as porcelain, glowing faintly in the candlelight. Long waves of black hair cascaded past her shoulders, soft and glossy as silk.
For a moment, a forgotten warmth stirred within him—a dangerous longing he thought had died long ago.
"Are you listening, my great hero?" Rong Yue's brows furrowed, her lips pursing in faint annoyance. "You always ignore me. But when you end up half-dead like this… I'm the one who has to patch you up."
Guang Lian said nothing at first. He simply watched her, letting her words pierce through the haze of his mind. Then, quietly, the corner of his lips curved upward.
"I know four battle maniacs," Rong Yue continued, her tone softening even as she sighed. "And all four of them… are you, Guang Lian."
He chuckled weakly, his voice rough yet amused. "If I stop fighting… it's the people around me who'll get hurt."
Silence fell. The light in her eyes shifted—something gentle, something deep.
Rong Yue leaned closer, her face now only inches away. Her warm breath brushed against his lips. "The people you protect…" she whispered, her tone lowering into something both sad and sharp, "…weren't they the very ones who betrayed you?"
Guang Lian froze.
His chest tightened. The words struck harder than any blade. His throat went dry, yet no sound came out.
Rong Yue's hand lifted, her touch featherlight as she traced his jawline. Her fingertips slid down to his neck, then to his chest, where her palm lingered, tender and intimate.
"And look at you now…" Her smile curved mischievously, though her eyes shimmered with something unreadable. "This boy from the Mo Clan… doesn't he have quite the handsome face?"
Her lips drew closer—so close he could feel her breath mingling with his own.
And just before they met—
—Mo Long jerked awake.
His eyes snapped open, wide and alert.
Right in front of him—mere inches away—was the face of a woman.
"Kyaaa!"
The young woman shrieked, startled beyond reason. Her body jerked in panic—and she tumbled forward, landing squarely on Mo Long's stomach.
"Arkhh!" Mo Long groaned, pain shooting up his chest as his breath caught.
The woman scrambled away in a flurry of limbs, nearly tripping over her own feet as she stood up. Her face was flushed crimson from embarrassment. She looked somewhat like Min Mao—same fair skin and soft features—but taller, slender, and with a more mature figure.
CRACK!
The door burst open.
"What's going on?!" Hu Wei shouted as his head popped through the doorway.
He froze, taking in the sight: the young healer apprentice bowing repeatedly, her face pale with panic.
"I—I'll get my master!" she stammered, voice trembling before bolting out of the room, her steps clumsy and frantic.
Hu Wei sighed heavily and entered, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "Young Master… are you feeling better?"
Mo Long slowly sat up, wincing slightly as his back met the headboard. His tone was calm but firm. "What happened? Where am I?"
Hu Wei bowed slightly. "When the Law Hall surrounded us, you suddenly collapsed, Tuan. You must've pushed your Qi Bayangan beyond its limit."
Mo Long said nothing. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment—until memories of that evening flooded back like a storm.
The Law Hall's enforcers closing in.
The noble in blue robes stepping forward, his voice echoing through the alley.
"Who are you?"
"His brother," Mo Long had answered coldly.
"I don't care! Then you'll come too!"
The man's tone was laced with arrogance and authority, the kind born of wealth and influence.
Then came the voice of the Law Hall's leader—calm, official, but sharp as a knife.
"Naturally. Someone must take responsibility for the damage done."
And just as Hu Wei moved to shield him, something inside Mo Long snapped.
A violent tremor ran through his body. The veins beneath his skin turned black, spreading fast like living ink. His chest tightened, each breath hotter than fire.
'This feeling… the same as that night…'
The same night he awakened his shattered dantian.
His vision blurred, the world fading into a haze of noise and color.
He remembered falling—Hu Wei's panicked face—then darkness swallowing everything.
Only silence.
Until now.
—
He opened his eyes, grounding himself back in the present. The faint scent of medicine filled the air, mixed with the earthy aroma of burning herbs. The room was simple: wooden beams, scrolls of old prescriptions pinned to the wall, and a single lantern flickering near the window.
Mo Long exhaled slowly and leaned back against the bedframe, shutting his eyes for a moment.
"How long have I been out?" he asked quietly.
Hu Wei folded his arms. "Just one day," he replied. "I brought you here to this healer's residence. The master said your body's still adapting. You overused the Shadow Qi."
Mo Long gave a faint nod, his tone low. "I see."
Mo Long gave a small nod, his expression calm though his eyes glowed faintly with restrained fire.
'Yes… this body was already well trained physically, he thought, but the Shadow Qi—this dark energy with devastating force—has only begun flowing again in the past few days. It's no wonder the body still struggles to contain it.'
Heavy footsteps echoed from the wooden hallway outside, slow and deliberate, growing closer with each step.
The door slid open.
An old physician in white robes entered, a long headcloth draping low enough to shadow his deeply wrinkled face. Behind him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark skin and a piercing gaze sharp as a night hawk's—the Head of the Law Hall, the same man Mo Long had seen during the commotion.
From behind the doorframe, a young woman peeked in timidly—the same one whose face Mo Long had seen right before he woke. Her cheeks flushed crimson, still embarrassed by the earlier incident.
The physician took a low stool beside Mo Long's bed. His thin middle finger, adorned with a ring set with a crimson stone, pressed lightly against Mo Long's wrist to feel his pulse.
"Let me see your solar plexus," the old man said in a gravelly but steady voice.
Mo Long nodded once.
The physician pulled aside the young man's robe. His weathered palm rested just below Mo Long's sternum, over a faintly darkened patch of skin—a visible mark of unstable Qi backlash.
"You've drawn out too much of that black Qi," the physician said, his tone calm yet firm. "I hear you only recently restored your dantian. Your meridians are still narrow. The Shadow Qi has burned through several of them already. You're lucky you stopped when you did. Had you pushed even a breath further, your meridians would've shattered beyond repair."
Mo Long stayed silent.
'So the Law Hall's arrival really saved me,' he thought. 'Had I unleashed the Shadow Dragon Dive Kick, my body might've collapsed completely.'
The physician continued, "You'll be free to leave by tomorrow. But for the next seven days, avoid all combat. Your body isn't ready yet."
Mo Long inclined his head again in acknowledgment. Deep down, he knew the old man was right. He had deliberately fought with his sword still sheathed, restraining his power. But when Mo Feng forced the fight further, the Shadow Qi had surged uncontrollably inside him.
The Law Hall Chief stepped forward, dragging a small wooden stool beneath him. When he sat, the chair creaked beneath his muscular weight.
His voice boomed in the quiet room.
"My name is Hirsoshi, Chief of the Law Hall for Long Ya and its surrounding territories."
His sharp eyes studied Mo Long like a hawk sizing up prey.
"The house you destroyed yesterday belonged to one of my Law Hall officers. The pavilion beside it, to a merchant family. Luckily for you, your clan's wealth smoothed things over. They agreed to forgive the damages… after receiving proper compensation."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping low with meaning.
"Your brother, Mo Feng—was the one who paid it."
Mo Long's tone was even, but his gaze sharp.
"What about the man Mo Feng beat? I heard he still hasn't regained consciousness."
Hirsoshi's expression hardened. "Mo Feng kept insisting he was innocent," he said, voice clipped with irritation. "He claimed it was self-defense—that Jin Yuu's guards attacked him first. Every witness backed his story." He let out a weary sigh. "Even Jin Yuu's father, Jin Hayato, flew into a rage at first… but strangely, his own men calmed him down—as if they were defending your brother."
Behind Mo Long, Hu Wei barely contained a laugh.
Through Qi Transmission, his voice echoed faintly in Mo Long's mind.
"Young Master, those must be the Shadow Dragon infiltrators inside the Jin family."
Mo Long's lips twitched slightly. 'Just as I thought'.
Hirsoshi exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. "You Mo Clan people are troublesome," he muttered. "The aftermath of your fight left traces of Shadow Qi everywhere. Passersby of lower cultivation got dizzy, nauseous—some even fell sick. Would it kill you to pick a forest or an arena next time?"
Mo Long bowed his head slightly. "I apologize. Everything happened too fast. I… couldn't fully control my emotions."
"Hmph. At least you still have manners," Hirsoshi grunted. He turned toward the window, watching the fading sunlight spill into the room. "Long Ya has been getting more chaotic lately. People going mad inside illusions… bandits burned alive in the forest… and now, the Mo Clan brawling in the streets."
Mo Long's brows drew together. "People going mad… inside illusions? What do you mean?"
But Hirsoshi only straightened, dusted off his robe, and strode toward the door.
"I've got other matters to attend to," he said curtly. "Just don't cause more trouble. I suggest you return home soon."
He left without another word.
The old physician rose as well, his slow steps creaking across the wooden floor. Just before he exited, he paused—turning back as if remembering something.
"Ah, yes. Tonight, Yaohua will bring your medicine and apply the salve," he said with a faint smirk. "So… don't fall asleep too early."
He reached back and tugged gently on a slender arm peeking from behind the doorway. The young woman stumbled forward, her face burning red.
"I–I'll bring your dinner soon," Yaohua stammered, eyes wide and flustered. "A-and after that… I'll apply the medicine."
She bowed so quickly her hair nearly brushed the floor, then fled from the room like a startled rabbit.
Hu Wei turned to Mo Long, barely hiding the grin on his face.
Mo Long only exhaled softly. His expression remained calm, but a glint of cold calculation flickered in his eyes.
***
That night, the recovery chamber glowed faintly under the dim oil lamp. The firelight danced across the wooden walls, casting long, swaying shadows—warm, yet strangely heavy with stillness.
Mo Long sat on the edge of the wooden bed, bare-chested, the flickering lamp casting molten gold over the lines of his lean muscles. The faint scars from battle gleamed under the warm light—marks of survival and struggle.
Behind him, Yaohua knelt quietly. Her slender fingers dipped into a small porcelain jar, scooping a pale ointment that smelled faintly of herbs and wintergreen. With delicate precision, she spread it across Mo Long's back, then began pressing along the meridian points one by one.
Her breath grew uneven, and her cheeks flushed with color—caught somewhere between embarrassment and a heat that came from deeper within.
"What are you doing?" Mo Long asked, his tone flat yet edged with curiosity.
Yaohua froze mid-motion. "I… I'm applying the meridian salve," she stammered softly. "It helps your qi channels recover faster… it widens them so energy can flow freely again."
Mo Long remained silent for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips—just enough to tease.
"Then tell me… were you also the one who changed my clothes while I was unconscious?"
SMACK!
Her palm struck his back sharply.
Mo Long grimaced, jaw tightening against the sting.
A heavy silence followed.
Then a small, guilty voice broke it. "S-sorry…" Yaohua murmured. "I only… wiped the dirt from your eyes, that's all."
A low chuckle rolled from Mo Long's chest, his voice smooth and quiet. "I believe you."
Yaohua's face turned a deeper shade of red.
Silence returned—thicker this time—broken only by the soft rhythm of her fingertips tracing the ointment along his spine.
Then Mo Long spoke again, voice steady.
"Hirsoshi mentioned people losing control… trapped inside illusions. Do you know anything about that?"
Her hands stopped moving.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, almost in a whisper, "It has something to do with me."
Mo Long's gaze sharpened, his tone low but commanding. "Explain."
Instead of answering, Yaohua softly said, "Turn around."
Mo Long obeyed, shifting his body until he faced her.
Yaohua moved closer—too close. Her robe slipped slightly, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone and the soft rise of her chest. For a heartbeat, Mo Long averted his eyes, the air between them thick with awkward tension.
The scent of salve and her perfume mixed together, dizzying yet strangely calm.
Her slender fingers dipped again into the jar, this time gliding gently across Mo Long's chest—right over his solar plexus, where qi once raged uncontrollably. Her movements were careful, deliberate, almost reverent.
Then she began to speak. Her voice was low, threaded with pain.
"The warriors who attacked using the Qi Reversal Technique… they didn't do it of their own will. Someone controlled them. When they awoke, every single one of them said the same thing—that a presence had taken over their mind."
Her hands trembled slightly. Her eyes dimmed, haunted by something long buried.
"And that person…" she whispered, her lips quivering as she met Mo Long's eyes, "…was my husband."