Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Enchantress of Fateful Affection

Jiang Pingchuan lay on his bed, replaying the events of the day, especially the sight of Wu Duo on the dueling stage. Wu Duo had died atop Mount Qiyun, yet somehow he appeared here to challenge Jiang Pingchuan. The secrets hidden within East Continent City seemed endless, and Jiang Pingchuan felt as if he were already entangled in its murky waters, unable to extricate himself. Tonight, Lord Gong was to host a banquet in Jiang Pingchuan’s honor.

Lord Gong’s excessive enthusiasm struck Jiang Pingchuan as somewhat unreal. He wondered when Lord Gong’s carriage had appeared behind him, and what was the story behind that peculiar steward. These mysteries weighed heavily on his mind, and he found himself unable to see through Lord Gong’s true intentions.

Knocking sounds echoed through the room.

“Brother Chuan, it’s me, Lan Dao,” came Lan Dao’s voice from outside. Jiang Pingchuan sat up, straightening his robe.

“Come in,” he said. Lan Dao entered, his expression tightening with concern as he saw Jiang Pingchuan’s haggard face. He hurried over, examining Jiang Pingchuan intently.

“Brother Chuan, what’s happened to your face?”

Lan Dao’s eyes widened in alarm as he spoke. Jiang Pingchuan reached up to touch his face, a lock of hair falling before his eyes.

Seeing his snowy white hair, Jiang Pingchuan’s expression turned deathly pale. He frantically grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling it before his eyes—his once jet-black hair was now silver.

Staggering to the bronze mirror, Jiang Pingchuan gazed at his reflection: pale face, silver hair, lips blackened like Wu Duo’s before his death, deep rings under his eyes. He trembled, running a shaking hand over his reflection, and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, just an illusion. You needn’t worry about me.”

Jiang Pingchuan spoke softly, watching Lan Dao’s anxious face in the mirror. Lan Dao nodded, half-convinced. Though Jiang Pingchuan claimed to be fine, his body betrayed him.

He said no more, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Lan Dao, motioning for him to sit. Lan Dao received the tea and took a seat.

“Brother Chuan, are you sure you’re all right?”

Lan Dao’s worry showed plainly, but Jiang Pingchuan shook his head.

“What is it?”

Jiang Pingchuan spoke quickly, as if releasing a pent-up breath, then fell silent, watching Lan Dao.

“It’s this—I’ve learned a bit about Four Blessings. Rumor has it his father was the old steward of the Gong estate, but was caught by Lord Gong for dishonesty. To atone, Four Blessings’ father took his own life.”

Lan Dao took a sip of water, speaking in hushed, mysterious tones, inching his chair closer to Jiang Pingchuan.

“Four Blessings wasn’t supposed to stay, but Lord Gong took pity and let him inherit his father’s post as steward. Yet the stain of his father’s crime left Four Blessings with no authority or dignity, despite his title.”

Lan Dao looked at Jiang Pingchuan, waiting for a reply, but Jiang Pingchuan only nodded, deep in thought.

“Brother Chuan, there’s more—Han Ming is dead.”

Lan Dao grinned at Jiang Pingchuan, but upon hearing the news, Jiang Pingchuan merely smiled faintly, patting Lan Dao’s shoulder without comment.

Though he smiled, Jiang Pingchuan’s brow was furrowed. Han Ming’s death pulled him even deeper into the city’s troubles. Something significant was about to unfold in East Continent City.

“Rest well, Brother Chuan. I’ll be heading back.”

Lan Dao felt awkward at Jiang Pingchuan’s calm reaction. He himself had inwardly laughed for ages upon hearing Han Ming’s death, only approaching Jiang Pingchuan once his composure returned.

Jiang Pingchuan waved him off. Lan Dao drained his tea, turned, and quietly closed the door behind him. As the door shut, Jiang Pingchuan felt a bitter taste rise in his throat, coughed up a mouthful of blood, and darkness clouded his vision as he collapsed from his chair.

He had barely lost consciousness when the door opened. Mei’er entered, scanning the room and spotting Jiang Pingchuan on the floor, panic rising in her eyes.

She stepped towards him, but her arm was grabbed from behind. Startled, she turned and saw Jiuling standing there.

“Let go of me.”

Mei’er glared at Jiuling, forcefully breaking free and rushing to Jiang Pingchuan’s side, reaching out to lift him.

But as her hand touched his body, a corrosive aura surged towards her. Mei’er withdrew her hand, anxiously watching Jiang Pingchuan lying on the floor.

He was being corroded. If she could not help him, the man before her would surely perish.

“You cannot save him. Only death will bring him release.”

Jiuling’s voice was cold as she looked at Jiang Pingchuan. She had intended to kill him herself, but now the man she resented was dying before her eyes.

Jiuling saw it as retribution. Anyone who tried to take Mei’er from her deserved death, and Jiang Pingchuan most of all. His presence was meant to resolve East Continent City’s crisis, which Jiuling least wanted to see.

“If he dies, I, Fox Mei’er, will not linger in this world.”

Fox Mei’er gazed at Jiuling, her voice resolute.

“Ha, you’d die for a worthless man? For love? He’s a cultivator. If he knew you were a fox demon, do you really think he’d care for you? He’d probably kill you himself.”

“Silence!”

Fox Mei’er’s eyes reddened as she stared at Jiuling. Jiuling shrugged, smiled coldly, and left. Fox Mei’er closed the door with a wave, lowered her head, and looked at Jiang Pingchuan.

“Jiang Pingchuan—such a lovely name. Yet, as Jiuling said, we belong to different worlds. You are human, I am demon. Still, I have fallen for you.”

Fox Mei’er, enduring the pain of corrosion, gently stroked Jiang Pingchuan’s face. A deep blue aura radiated from her, her gauzy skirt lifting to reveal eight pristine fox tails swaying gracefully in the air.

Lowering her head, Fox Mei’er kissed Jiang Pingchuan’s lips. At the moment their lips met, she smiled faintly, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. The black aura enveloping Jiang Pingchuan flowed to his face.

Fox Mei’er drew out all the blackness from Jiang Pingchuan’s body. Her own body trembled, and she slumped atop him, her blue eyes dimming as she drifted into sleep, her floating tails gradually fading.

Jiang Pingchuan’s silver hair slowly regained its original color as the black aura dissipated. The pallor left his face, replaced by a healthy flush.

He awakened in a daze to find Fox Mei’er lying atop him. He reached to embrace her, only to find her body cold as ice.

Alarmed, Jiang Pingchuan sat up, cradling Fox Mei’er and placing her on the bed. He grasped her wrist, but felt no pulse.

In that moment, he not only realized Fox Mei’er had no pulse, but her internal meridians differed greatly from those of ordinary people.

Staring at Fox Mei’er on the bed, Jiang Pingchuan’s heart was tormented. She had saved him, yet he discovered that his savior was not human.

As he hesitated, Fox Mei’er coughed softly. Jiang Pingchuan quickly lowered his head, gazing at her pale, drowsy face.

Fox Mei’er looked at him with delight. She had known that expending the primordial energy accumulated over three thousand years would save Jiang Pingchuan.

“As long as you’re safe,” she said, recognizing his hesitation.

“Don’t think too much. I am a demon. If you wish to kill me, do it now.”

Fox Mei’er turned her face toward the wall, refusing to look at him. Jiang Pingchuan stared at her—this fox demon had saved him twice.

The first time, he owed her. He should have realized then that she was no ordinary woman; no one could dispel such heat through mere intimacy.

“Why did you save me?”

Jiang Pingchuan asked softly, gazing at her back. Demons and cultivators had always been sworn enemies; their auras were fundamentally different. Fox Mei’er must have sensed his identity.

Yet, she had still chosen to save him, even sacrificing everything as a woman the first time.

“Sometimes, things need no reason.”

Fox Mei’er replied quietly, taking Jiang Pingchuan’s blanket and covering herself. He glanced at her and turned to leave the room. Fox Mei’er closed her eyes as the door shut, a tear slipping unnoticed into the blanket.

Passing by Lan Dao’s room, Jiang Pingchuan paused. From within came a woman’s soft moans, mingling with Lan Dao’s low growls. Jiang Pingchuan smiled faintly and continued toward the main gate.

Inside Lan Dao’s room, the woman moved atop him, her eyes occasionally casting a glance toward the door.