Chapter Forty-Six: Yanran of the East

"Alright, senior, you can do it! I won't cry out!" Mu Yanran said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Ye Wuyia nodded, took the herbs he had chewed in his palm, and applied them to her wound. Mu Yanran felt no pain initially; the medicine brought a cool, soothing sensation to her arm. But before she could enjoy the comfort, the herbal paste suddenly turned searing hot, as if a burning stone had been pressed against her skin. She clenched her teeth, stubbornly refusing to cry out, beads of sweat gathering on her forehead.

With a ripping sound, Ye Wuyia tore a long strip from his black robe. He raised Mu Yanran's arm and wrapped it carefully, his movements gentle and cautious, as if afraid of hurting her further. Once her wound was bandaged, the burning sensation eased, the pain lessened considerably.

"You stay here for now. I'll get some food," Ye Wuyia said, heading toward the small lake ten meters away.

This place was a hollow; the lake, about ten meters wide, was formed in the depression. Ye Wuyia’s stomach had been rumbling after two days buried in the earth. The Ye family’s home wasn’t far—just over the mountain behind them.

Now, Ye Wuyia made his way to the foot of the mountain, where the lake lay. While underground, he had glimpsed fish leaping through the water, tempting him. He cast his sword swiftly at a jumping fish, piercing its body and retrieving it. He repeated the process, catching over a dozen large fish.

Ye Wuyia had gained a profound sense of his sword’s abilities—its range was ten meters; beyond that, his connection to it weakened.

After catching twelve fish, Ye Wuyia crouched by the shore, scraped off their scales, gutted them, and cleaned out their innards. He carried the fish to a large stone, set them down, then gathered dry wood, branches, leaves—materials for a fire.

For someone as experienced in wilderness survival as Ye Wuyia, building a fire posed no difficulty. Soon, a small blaze flickered to life.

He took wooden sticks, shaved smooth by his sword, skewered the fish, set them on a rack, and went out again to find aromatic leaves. He crushed them into powder, smeared them inside and out as seasoning.

The man busied himself with his tasks, while the woman gazed at him with deep affection. In the night, their scene radiated tranquility and warmth.

Time passed in silence. Ye Wuyia had heard from Ye Ruyue and Ye Ruxue about Mu Yanran. The three—Mu Yanran, Ye Ruyue, and Ye Ruxue—were famed as the Three Talented Ladies of Ling City, close friends and confidantes. Mu Yanran excelled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—even Ye Ruyue and Ye Ruxue admitted her superiority.

The three most outstanding men were Ye Tian of the Ye family, Ling Xiao of the City Lord’s Mansion, and Lu Jie of the Lu family. Mu Yanran belonged to the Mu family and had recently married into the Lu family. By rights, Ye Wuyia should have eliminated her, but he had just witnessed members of the Lu family pursuing Mu Yanran.

As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Mu Yanran was no ordinary woman; a practitioner at the Spirit Gathering Realm, she was a notable figure in Ling City.

Ye Wuyia pondered how to persuade Mu Yanran to willingly join the Ye family’s cause.

The aroma of roasted fish wafted through the air. The golden, crispy flesh was mouthwatering. Ye Wuyia finished roasting two fish and handed one to Mu Yanran.

She accepted it silently, eating in small bites. As she ate, tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks, her sorrow evoking compassion.

Witnessing this, Ye Wuyia thought to himself, “Are all women made of water? How can they cry so easily?”

He spoke aloud, “I say, it can’t taste so bad that you’d cry, right?”

“No, senior, it’s not that. Your cooking is delicious,” Mu Yanran choked out, continuing, “It’s just… your fish tastes like my mother’s cooking, so I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” she said, wiping her tear-stained face.

“Mother… Mother!” Ye Wuyia’s lips twitched at her words.

He replied, “If you like it, eat more. There’s plenty left,” pointing at the ten fish on the ground.

“Senior, you’re so kind! Anyone who marries a man like you would surely be very happy,” Mu Yanran said dreamily.

Ye Wuyia smiled without answering. He didn’t want to respond; he was, after all, a notorious philanderer. His principal wife had left him after a misunderstanding, and there were still two concubines at home.

He changed the subject, “Your name is Mu Yanran? You’re from the Mu family, right?” he asked, though he already knew.

“No, I don’t belong to that filthy clan. My surname is Dongfang. My name is Dongfang Yanran,” she replied stubbornly.

“Oh? But the people chasing you just now called you Mu Yanran,” Ye Wuyia questioned.

“Senior, let me tell you a story,” Dongfang Yanran said, setting down her fish.

“Go ahead,” Ye Wuyia nodded, his interest piqued.

Dongfang Yanran seemed lost in memory, speaking as if to herself.

“My mother was named Dongfang Yuqing, a well-bred lady from Lulan Town. One day, Mu Qing passed through Lulan, saw my mother’s beauty, and was seized by evil intentions. Relying on his cultivation, he murdered her entire family, violated her, and took her back to the Mu family.

Mu Qing’s wife, Qian Shui’er, was jealous of my mother’s beauty and tormented her relentlessly. At first Mu Qing protected her, but as time passed and his interest waned, he abandoned my mother, leaving her to Qian Shui’er’s cruelty.

My mother was forced to sleep in the woodshed, wash servant’s clothes, living a life worse than a servant. The following year, I was born. My mother hoped my birth would soften Mu Qing’s heart, but he never once looked at us.

Qian Shui’er restricted our movements. Mu family servants wore padded clothing in winter, but we had only thin garments, huddling in straw for warmth. While the servants feasted, we survived on two steamed buns a day.

One time, Qian Shui’er stormed into the woodshed, slashed my mother’s face with a knife, cursing her as a worthless wretch.

We lived worse than servants, cold and hungry, beaten and scolded by the staff. Whenever their masters reprimanded them, they vented their anger on us, hitting or cursing, knocking our food to the ground and stomping it to pieces, forcing my mother to pick it up and eat.

My mother was an ordinary woman, powerless, unable to resist. When I tried to defend us, I was slapped to the ground and beaten further. My mother shielded me, enduring their blows until she was barely alive.

When I was ten, my mother died, tortured to death by Qian Shui’er, and her body was thrown into the river, devoured by creatures, leaving no trace.

I was always strong, but that day I cried for the first time, my grief tearing me apart. Hatred took root in my heart—I swore to kill Mu Qing, the beast, and Qian Shui’er, the vile woman.

One day, the clan children were testing their attributes. I was cleaning the square and, curious, touched the stone tablet. It shone with brilliant green light.

That day I learned about cultivation, about cultivators—the Mu family was a clan of cultivators. My displayed talent freed me from servitude.

For the first time, I had new clothes, my own room. I trained with my peers, and though I lacked resources, I progressed quickly—breaking through the third level in my first year, the fifth in my second, and reaching the eighth in my third, becoming one of the Mu family’s young experts.

But when I learned of the power of the Spirit Gathering Realm, I realized my cultivation could never defeat Mu Qing.

So I trained even harder, paying a price hundreds of times greater than others, finally reaching the ninth level.

Yet the ninth level was a barrier—I was stuck for three years, unable to break through. During those years, I followed the Mu family’s demands, studying music, chess, calligraphy, painting, all unrelated to cultivation.

At seventeen, the Mu family used me as a pawn for marriage, sending me to the Lu family as Lu Jie’s wife.

Dongfang Yanran spoke through clenched teeth, gazing at Ye Wuyia, “Senior, you’re so powerful. I want to ask you to help me take revenge!”

Ye Wuyia was deeply moved by her story. Dongfang Yuqing’s life was tragic, her child suffered alongside her. It reinforced Ye Wuyia’s impression of the world’s cruelty—without strength, one is trampled and toyed with.

He looked at Dongfang Yanran and said, “Why should I avenge you? You saved me, and I saved you—we’re even now,” he replied seriously.

He thought to himself, “It seems this girl was confined in the Lu family after marriage. She doesn’t know Mu Qing has already been killed by me.”

“Senior, if you promise to help me take revenge, I—I am willing…” Dongfang Yanran blushed, lowered her head, twisted her hands together, hesitated, unable to finish her sentence.

“Willing to what?” Ye Wuyia watched her, suppressing his amusement, and asked seriously.

Dongfang Yanran, as if resolving herself, looked at Ye Wuyia with determination, “I am willing to give myself to you, senior.”

Ye Wuyia: “......” It seemed he had gone too far.

Dongfang Yanran, seeing Ye Wuyia’s silence, thought he misunderstood and hurried to clarify, “Senior, rest assured, I am still pure, untouched by anyone. If you agree to help me kill that beast Mu Qing, I am willing to serve you as your slave, as your maid, for life.”