Chapter 9: Gently Holding Her in His Arms

Ever since Sang Ying could remember, her father had been very busy.

As the head of the sect, he had many tasks to attend to each day, and there were always countless people gathered outside the hall. Young and old faces came and went, but Sang Ying didn’t recognize any of them.

Sang Jing Ming never allowed her to appear in front of these people, nor did he permit her to leave the mountain.

The flowerbed in the small courtyard was where she spent most of her days, followed by the little swing, where the Talisman Person responsible for caring for her would push her gently back and forth.

Occasionally, when Sang Jing Ming finished his work and came to see her, Sang Ying would always clutch a small pink flower shovel in her tiny hands, flinging mud at him and angrily calling him a hateful ghost.

He never got angry, his eyes crinkling as he picked her up and tucked a small flower into her hair. “Today, I’ll read this storybook for our little Ying, and you’ll forgive me this once, okay?”

Sang Ying huffed, “You haven’t finished making up for last time yet! Read two books!”

When she grew a little older, at the age of seven, Sang Jing Ming brought two young boys up from the foot of the mountain and placed his hands on her shoulders. “From now on, these two will be your senior brothers, and they’ll also live on the mountain.”

The two senior brothers had completely opposite personalities. The eldest senior brother, slightly older, was gentle and steady, taking good care of Sang Ying—mending her clothes, combing her hair, and even cooking delicious food for her, though he never let her indulge too much due to her weak constitution.

The second senior brother, on the other hand, was like a fluttering butterfly, carefree and mischievous, often tugging at her little braids to tease her.

They weren’t restricted from going down the mountain, and every time the second senior brother returned from his trips, he would bring back novel trinkets, deliberately playing with them in front of her. Resting his chin on his hands, he would leisurely watch her pretend not to be interested while secretly longing for them, only giving them to her after he had teased her enough.

Sang Ying was simply overjoyed to finally have playmates, not noticing that Sang Jing Ming spent less and less time with her, growing busier by the day.

At the age of twelve, Sang Ying pulled off a major feat. Taking advantage of Sang Jing Ming’s absence from the mountain, she used a Talisman she had drawn herself to break through the formation array and secretly sneaked down the mountain alone.

When her two senior brothers discovered this, they were frantic with worry. Sang Jing Ming, who had been away on business, dropped everything and rushed back. While everyone was searching for her everywhere, Sang Ying returned unharmed.

Well, not entirely unharmed.

She was covered in dirt, her little face pale and drenched in sweat, half-dragging and half-carrying a bloodied, unconscious boy behind her. Her small frame was weighed down as she inched her way up the steps.

She looked up, her hair damp and sticking to her forehead, but her eyes sparkled brightly. “Look, I’ve brought back a little servant to serve tea and water! I’ve already decided—I’ll call him Little Tail. Dad, look, he really does have a little tail!”

Everyone was both angry and helpless.

However, fate had other plans. Later, this little servant became her junior senior brother. Sang Ying harbored some resentment about this—after all, he came later, so why should he outrank her?

The second senior brother took a bite of braised duck neck and laughed, egging her on. “Just fight him, and you’ll naturally become the senior sister.”

Sang Ying shot him a glare, grabbed a duck neck, and shouted, “Dad—Second Senior Brother is feeding me junk food from the mountain—” “Hey, hey, hey, don’t shout like that, my little ancestor! I was wrong!”

Although the little servant she had brought back had transformed into a senior brother, Sang Ying still bossed him around as she pleased. Every day after class, she made him carry her up the mountain, catch Spirit Fish from the back mountain, and then use his sword to grill the fish. If they got burnt, she would toss them all to him to eat.

…

At the age of fifteen, on a very ordinary evening, Sang Ying received news of a death—it was Sang Jing Ming’s.

The one who informed her of the news was the leader of the Immortal Alliance, a kindly old man whom Sang Jing Ming had once taken her to meet, telling her to call him Grandpa Bai.

Grandpa Bai told her that Sang Jing Ming had died in the Four-Nine Heavenly Tribulation, a trial faced by every high-cultivation cultivator in the Cultivation World. He urged her not to grieve too much and to return with him to the Immortal Alliance first.

Sang Ying asked, “If his cultivation was high, why did he die?”

Grandpa Bai fell silent.

But after a moment, he spoke again, “Little Ying, you’re a clever child. Would you stand by and watch as your father’s lifelong efforts are seized by others, and you yourself become a tool for someone else?”

Sang Ying understood. After Sang Jing Ming’s death, she was the sole heir.

Whoever married her would rightfully and legitimately become the sect leader of the world’s number one sect, the Wu Wen Sect.

Sure enough, on the second day after Sang Jing Ming’s death was announced, suitors crowded the Immortal Alliance, blocking it completely.

Taking advantage of Sang Jing Ming’s death, which left no one to refute their claims, each insisted they had long been betrothed, demanding the Immortal Alliance release her immediately, or else they would not be held responsible for their actions.

Grandpa Bai entered the tightly shut room and placed an Abdication Deed and a gilded Marriage Certificate on the table.

He sighed softly and whispered, “Grandpa Bai is old and can’t protect you forever. These are what he left for you. Jing Ming once told me he only wished for you to live a peaceful and happy life, free from the burdens of this world. Over the years, he deposited a considerable amount of wealth with me, enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Once the turmoil subsides, I will send you to Penglai, where everything has already been arranged.”

Sang Ying said, “Give me the money. And did he have nothing else to say?”

Grandpa Bai shook his head.

Sang Ying picked up the Abdication Deed and tore it to shreds.

Then she took the Marriage Certificate, gazing for a long time at the wedding blessings Sang Jing Ming had personally written in front of her just days before. Finally, she picked up a brush and signed her name.

Sang Ying said, “It’s too noisy outside. Make them quiet down for a while. I can’t hear my father scolding me.”

It was unclear what Grandpa Bai did, but two days later, the unrest within the Wu Wen Sect subsided.

The sect leader’s son was still young, and the Grand Elder, kind-hearted and benevolent, temporarily assumed the duties of sect leader to handle the sect’s affairs.

Before Sang Jing Ming’s seventh-day memorial had even passed, Sang Ying was married off.

It was a grand wedding, extravagant and overwhelming.

Every disciple of the Immortal Alliance was dispatched to escort her. Sang Jing Ming’s old friends, several long-retired influential figures, and the leader of the Immortal Alliance stayed close, following behind the Immortal Sedan to maintain order. At the wedding, the Grand Elder of the Wu Wen Sect also sent his congratulations.

Onlookers watched from afar, rumors swirling, but none dared to act.

Outside the door, celebratory music played joyously, lively and bustling.

Inside, it was deathly silent, with only dim red candles flickering.

Sang Ying sat on the bed, her icy fingers clutching the Wedding Fan so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, though she felt nothing.

Though she tried hard to hold back her tears, biting her lips until they turned pale, tears still fell uncontrollably, large drops splashing onto the Wedding Fan. The cloud patterns of dragons and phoenixes blurred before her eyes, soaked and indistinct.

The Wedding Fan was gently taken from her grasp.

The Red Veil was lifted, revealing the white flower in her hair.

Sang Ying looked up, and through her blurred, tear-filled eyes, she saw a young man dressed in red.

He leaned down, gently pulling her into his embrace as if she were a fragile treasure, holding her close, his voice soft and tender.

“Junior Sister, cry if you need to.”

Perhaps it was because the youth’s embrace was too warm back then, or perhaps his voice was so gentle it could make one let down their guard. Sang Ying remembered that night when she threw herself into his arms, tightly clutching the hem of his clothes, and wept bitterly.

In the end, leaning against his chest, she unknowingly fell asleep.

Recalling how pitifully she had cried in front of him back then, Sang Ying felt her ears grow slightly warm. She averted her gaze and spoke casually, “I know, it’s just half an hour, right? I’ll hold you.”

She tugged at her sleeve, mentally prepared herself, then grabbed his arm and pulled, dragging him into her embrace like a child, cradling the back of his head against her shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

Xie Lingyu: “…”

Noticing his strange silence, Sang Ying kindly asked, “What’s wrong? If you have any issues, just say it.”

The youth replied flatly, “Doesn’t Shimei feel her arms getting sore?”

Although his form had shrunk from a young man to a youth, he was still much larger than Sang Ying. Holding him like this required her to strain her arms, and her shoulder was growing a bit sore from the weight of his head.

She nodded honestly, “It is a little.”

The youth let out an almost imperceptible sigh, straightened up, and instead clasped her wrist, pulling her toward him. Sang Ying gently leaned into his embrace.

The familiar, cool scent of white sandalwood enveloped her. Sang Ying’s small face pressed against his chest, as if trapped in this small world, her entire body stiffening.

She spoke haltingly, “Um, actually, I don’t think my arms are that sore…”

“But I’m a little tired.”

Sang Ying paused.

The night was quiet, and the youth’s clear voice carried a hint of hoarseness, sounding scratchy and ticklish in her ear. “I spent the whole day chasing down criminals today. A few demons self-destructed, and I got injured. With Shimei holding me like that, it’s hard for me to regulate my breathing and recover.”

The little fat dragon, who had been tossed aside on the table with the bed curtains drawn and couldn’t see anything but was trying hard to eavesdrop: ?

Boss, didn’t those demons not even touch the hem of your clothes???

Sang Ying suddenly understood. No wonder he didn’t go to the tavern but came to the inn to rest—he was injured.

Back when they were still on Minghua Mountain, Xie Lingyu would also get injured during his training missions. Back then, he would never admit it, even when his wounds were deep enough to reveal bone, he would just calmly say he was fine.

Yesterday was the same. On the way back from Wanbing Valley, when she asked if he was injured, he didn’t say anything.

This was the first time Sang Ying had heard such words from Xie Lingyu. It felt like a fierce dog suddenly showing its wounds in a moment of weakness, and her heart instantly softened.

She immediately stopped fidgeting and leaned gently against his chest. “Is this okay? Am I pressing on you? Will it affect your breathing regulation?”

Xie Lingyu was slightly taken aback, lowering his gaze to look at the top of the girl’s head in his arms.

He gently lowered his eyelashes, hiding the emotions in his eyes. “No.”

That’s good, Sang Ying felt slightly relieved.

“Speaking of which, if you’re injured, shouldn’t you take medicine? Or go see a medical cultivator…”

“Shimei, the rewards for this mission, and last month’s salary.”

The youth suddenly stuffed a few storage rings into her hand. Sang Ying’s attention was immediately diverted, and she remembered the matter with the Immortal Alliance. She spoke discontentedly, “Right, why did you have to ask those families for things so openly in the hall today?”

Xie Lingyu paused, his eyelashes lowering slightly.

The girl suddenly poked his shoulder in exasperation, pointing and lecturing, “Xie Lingyu, you’re too foolish! How could you say such things directly to their faces? You should have privately sent a list to each family!”

“These aristocratic families have deep pockets and care so much about their reputations—they definitely wouldn’t refuse. That way, you could have gotten five sets of everything! Think how much you missed out on—such a huge loss. Next time, remember to send one to each family, got it?”

Xie Lingyu: “…Understood.”

Seeing that he had taken her advice, Sang Ying nodded in satisfaction. She counted out two hundred Spirit Stones from the two hundred thousand, intending to give them to him, but then remembered that the inn cost two hundred per night. She reluctantly took back fifty and handed him one hundred and fifty.

“Here, your allowance for this month.”

“Too much?”

Sang Ying buried her face in his chest and humphed softly, her hair covering her slightly flushed ears. “Since you’ve been behaving quite well lately, I’ll give you a little extra.”

It definitely wasn’t because she was happy about the hug! Absolutely not!

…

The night was quiet, and the cold moonlight filtered through the sheer bed curtains, faintly outlining their silhouettes.

Warmed by Spiritual Power, Sang Ying’s face was no longer pale but had regained its color. Like a well-behaved little fox, she nestled in the youth’s arms, sleeping soundly.

The person behind her lowered his lashes, his dark eyes swirling with thick, intense desire.

After a long silence, he slowly took her hand, bowed his head, and pressed a deep, lingering kiss to her slender, pale wrist.