Su Lan stood in silence, her bare figure cloaked once again in her flowing violet robe, the scent of dual cultivation still lingering faintly in the air. The opulence of the chamber—golden curtains fluttering gently from a breeze of spiritual energy, soft cushions strewn across the vast silken bed, and the fragrance of crushed spirit blossoms wafting from the incense burner—did nothing to calm the storm that brewed in her heart.
Her gaze remained fixed on Meng Hao, who stood before her with tears still shining faintly in his eyes, gratitude and vulnerability mixing within their depths. For a brief moment, she admired his expression—the purity in it, the sincerity that made him look more like a naive youth than a cunning cultivator. But instead of comfort, a wave of internal panic surged through her.
