The next few days were good days.
Seven Profound Martial House was louder than it had ever been.
Human Hall and Earth Hall boiled from dawn till dusk—disciples crowding together with red eyes and hoarse voices, arguing over the Lantern-Heart Flame Diagram Ren had casually tossed into their world. Every practice field had a small knot of people drawing crude flame wheels in the dirt, trying to trace circulations they only half-understood.
True essence that had once moved in neat, rigid patterns now stumbled and lurched as martial artists tried to force their meridians into this new, deeper understanding of Fire. Heavenly Abode's courtyards were full of closed-door cultivators who had forgotten sleep entirely, sitting cross-legged while their old techniques suddenly felt clumsy and crude.
Seven Profound Martial House as a whole was restless—like a beast that had slept for a hundred years and suddenly realized its bones could still move.
Ren's courtyard was the opposite.
Pine resin. Spring water. Warm stone. Soft laughter that came and went with the breeze.
The formation he'd laid over his small yard didn't just muffle sound; it smoothed it. Beyond the walls there were shouts, arguments, the roar of true essence clashing against new patterns. Inside, the noise arrived as a distant, harmless murmur, like waves against a far shore.
Murong Zi stomped in and out every day with her spear on her shoulder, ponytail swinging, scowl in place. She always picked a different direction to "happen" to enter from, as if that could hide the fact that she'd been waiting at the gate since before dawn.
Qin Xingxuan rose with the morning bell. When mist still clung to the flagstones, she was already in the inner courtyard, spear in hand, practicing thrusts again and again until sweat darkened the back of her training clothes. Each stroke was immaculate, military neat—yet every so often, Ren would feel a line of spear intent slip past his formation and smile faintly. The girl who once tried to carry everything alone now had somewhere to anchor her heart.
Bai Jingyun brewed tea in the mornings, arranged the small pavilions and screens as if she had lived there for years. She hadn't. None of them had. But the formation made the little yard feel… inevitable. Like they had always been there—three young women sitting around his stone table, quietly arguing over Dao marks and martial intent while the Martial House outside struggled to catch up.
Ren liked it that way.
He liked it so much that, on a certain afternoon, his hand itched.
…To be a little shameless.
...
Bai Jingyun was in her pavilion, of course.
Dusk slanted in through carved plum-blossom screens, painting the room in soft gold. A pot of spirit tea steamed gently on the low stone table, fragrance of roasted leaves winding together with the faint sweetness of plum wood.
Bai Jingyun sat straight-backed on a cushion, white dress immaculate, waist ribbon tied with precise care. Her black hair was pinned up with a simple jade hairpin, no excess jewelry, no gaudy decoration.
She was reading.
Not a martial skill manual this time, but a thin, well-thumbed book of military case records Qin Xingxuan had recommended—accounts of border skirmishes, campaigns that collapsed because someone misjudged terrain, victories snatched back because a commander saw morale tipping a breath earlier than his enemy.
Her fingers turned the pages without a sound.
On the surface, she was the very picture of a noble young lady: quiet, dignified, unmarred by vulgarity. The Bai Family's proper eldest daughter, as the world expected her to be.
Ren leaned against the doorway and watched her for a moment.
The formation muted the noise of the Martial House; the only sounds were the soft ripple of the spirit spring in the courtyard and the whisper of paper as she turned a page. Bai Jingyun didn't notice him at first. Her consciousness was keen, but right now her mind was fully sunk into the text, following the lines of supply routes and command banners.
He let himself enjoy the sight for a breath.
Then he rapped his knuckles lightly against the doorframe.
"Jingyun."
Her shoulders jolted.
"Ah—Senior Brother Ren?" She stood up quickly, almost knocking the book over. Her cheeks colored a faint rose. "When did you arrive?"
"A while ago," he said, strolling in as if this were his own room.
In a way, it was.
"If a stranger had come, you'd have noticed. But you're used to my aura now."
She pressed her lips together, embarrassed. "That… may be so."
Ren's gaze slid over the table, taking in the neat stacks of notes she'd made in the margins, the inkstone, the brush with its tip carefully cleaned.
"Reading military records in my courtyard," he said, clicking his tongue lightly. "That's a bit cruel, you know?"
"How is it cruel?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"Because," he said, lowering himself onto the opposite cushion, "while you're thinking about supply lines and war banners, I'm sitting here thinking about how to steal some time alone with you. The difference in focus is too big—I'm at a disadvantage."
Her heart skipped.
Bai Jingyun had always been good at keeping her face composed. She could face elders, princes, and self-proclaimed geniuses who tried to court her for her looks with the same polite, distant smile. She knew exactly how to let their words slide past without touching her.
But this man in white, sitting lazily in her small, elegant room, seemed to brush aside every defense she'd honed.
"Y-you're joking again," she said, lowering her gaze. "Senior Brother Ren is already very busy—"
"Busy?" He tilted his head, genuinely amused. "Not really. You all can practice on your own. The Martial House will either adapt or stagnate; that's their business."
He let his eyes travel from her hairpin, down the pale line of her neck, to the fingers still curled around the book as she held it to her chest like a shield.
"As for me…" His smile deepened, turning a shade softer. "I'd say I've already decided how to spend the rest of my afternoon."
Her pulse stumbled.
"…You speak nonsense," she whispered.
"It's not nonsense," he replied mildly. "Jingyun, come here."
Her fingers tightened around the book.
There was none of Murong Zi's loud, reckless courage here, none of Qin Xingxuan's soldier-like stiffness. Bai Jingyun's upbringing as a noble daughter wrapped around her like invisible silk—rules, etiquette, everything a young lady should and should not do when alone with a man.
But Ren had already smashed the biggest chain that bound her.
In front of half the city, he had made Ouyang Dihua kneel. He had forced that man to personally cancel the marriage contract with the Bai Family, scattered the Acacia Faction's pressure like dust in the wind, and then looked at the world and said that if anyone tried to press the Bai Family again… they could try.
She still remembered that day.
Ouyang Dihua's face twisted in humiliation, fine robes stained with dust as he kowtowed before this youth whose cultivation didn't match any inheritance she knew. The gasp of the crowd as the Acacia Faction's name, which had always hung over her head like a mountain, suddenly felt… small. Manageable. Breakable.
In her heart, something had quietly shifted that day.
Now, under his gaze in this small pavilion, that shift became a slow, stubborn warmth.
"…What are you planning to do?" she asked, standing there like a white plum tree in winter—delicate branches, roots sunk deep where no one could see.
"Nothing complicated," he said, still seated, palm opening toward her in invitation. "Just want to hold you for a bit."
The words were straightforward. Too straightforward.
Bai Jingyun's mind immediately produced a dozen reasons to refuse.
They weren't married. The door wasn't even closed. If someone saw—
"Jingyun."
He said her name again, softer this time.
"Do you trust me?"
She looked up.
His eyes weren't playful now. They were calm, clear—like a deep well that never reflected panic, only what it chose to.
The answer slid out before her noble upbringing could stop it.
"…Yes."
"Then come here."
She took a step.
Another.
Her bare feet were silent on the warm floor, but in her chest every heartbeat sounded deafening. When she was within arm's reach, Ren didn't stand. He simply reached up, took her wrist with gentle fingers, and tugged.
She gasped as she stumbled forward.
The next moment she found herself sitting sideways in his lap, her back pressed lightly against his chest. His arm slid around her waist like it belonged there.
"Ren—!" Her voice jumped, more startled than angry. "This, this is—"
"Comfortable," he said.
With the hand not holding her, he reached out and picked up the book she'd nearly dropped. His fingertips brushed the back of her knuckles as he set it aside on the table, carefully marking her page.
"Your room smells nice," he murmured near her ear. "Plum wood, tea, a little ink. And you. Why wouldn't I want to sit here?"
Her ears burned.
"W-we're in Seven Profound Martial House," she protested weakly. "If someone comes—"
"Then they'll see I'm courting Bai Jingyun," he said, not bothering to lower his voice.
She stiffened.
Courting.
It was such a simple word. But coming from his mouth, backed by the things he had already done, it felt heavier than all of Ouyang Dihua's silk-slick flattery and golden promises.
Ren rested his chin lightly on her shoulder.
"I don't need to hide it," he went on, lazy tone wrapped around steel. "I tore up that engagement in front of the city. The Bai Family is under my protection now. You'll be able to stand proud in the future. Anyone with a problem can take it up with me."
The last words carried a faint edge that made her skin prickle.
Her lips trembled.
"You… you say such things so easily…"
"Not easily," he corrected. "I act first. Then I say it."
His hand moved slowly at her waist, not groping, just tracing the curve through her dress, a quiet reminder that he was there, solid and real.
"I know dealing with that slime Ouyang Dihua leaves scars in your mind," he said. "But like I told you—I do what I say. Any rat crawling over from the Acacia Faction won't even get to touch your sleeve."
His voice lowered, warm and dangerously calm.
"You truly trust me, right?"
Her throat clogged.
Bai Jingyun had always thought she would marry the man her family chose—some elder's nephew, some prince, some disciple from Seven Profound Valley who saw her as a stepping stone or ornament. She had prepared herself for that fate with the same quiet resolve she used to practice calligraphy: lines neat, heart steady, never expecting joy.
Then he appeared—this strange youth from nowhere whose cultivation path didn't follow any sect she knew, who spoke and laughed like he had never feared power in his life, who promised in a single sentence to stand between her and the dirt of Acacia Faction.
At some point, she realized she was clutching his sleeve.
"…I do," she whispered.
His arm tightened, pulling her a fraction closer.
Her back fit against his chest. Through the thin fabric, she could feel the solid line of his body, the steady, unhurried thump of his heart. It was absurd that this made her more nervous than any ranking battle.
"Good," he murmured.
His breath brushed the shell of her ear, making her shiver.
"You're not some ornament for a cultivation furnace," he said, tone cooling. "You're a woman I like. So from today on, if anyone dares talk about 'deals' or 'marriage contracts' with your name, like you're some item being traded…"
His smile sharpened.
"I'll help them shut their mouth."
She believed him. Completely.
Time stretched.
Outside, the sky shifted from gold to violet. The distant shouts and clashing true essence of Seven Profound Martial House passed through the formation and arrived as a soft, forgettable murmur. Inside the quiet pavilion, Bai Jingyun let herself relax by degrees, leaning into his embrace until her head rested against his shoulder, hands folded over his chest.
"Ren," she said softly.
The name left her lips without the "Senior Brother" for the first time. It felt… daring. Warm.
He hummed. "Mm?"
"I… thank you." She hesitated, lashes trembling. "For that day. For… everything."
He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against her hair in a light, unhurried touch.
"Pay me back slowly," he said. "Stay. Cultivate. Live well. Let me watch."
Her heart, bound for so long by duty and fear, loosened another knot.
The words that rose surprised even herself.
"…Then you're not allowed to throw me away, either."
His fingers tightened at her waist, grip warm and steady.
"That," he said, "was never an option."
She closed her eyes.
For the first time since she had learned about the marriage contract, since whispers of "Ouyang Family" and "Acacia Faction" had started cutting into her days, Bai Jingyun's heart beat without that cold, dull weight.
In its place, something else took root—small but stubborn, like a plum sapling pushing through snow.
...
Those days, Ren was satisfied.
Outside his courtyard, Seven Profound Martial House seethed and changed according to its own rhythm.
Human Hall and Earth Hall disciples quarreled over access to the depository, over who had the right to touch the new fire manuals, over which elder's interpretation of the Lantern-Heart Flame Diagram was closer to Ren's intent. Heavenly Abode boiled with quiet desperation—geniuses who thought they already stood above the kingdom now forced to admit there was a mountain in their own backyard they'd never noticed. Elders argued in closed halls, voices low but tense, as messages flew back and forth from Seven Profound Valley.
Rumors of Seven Profound Valley's movements drifted through every conversation.
His courtyard, however, was full of softer things.
Murong Zi barged in from training, sweat on her neck, spear still humming with the echoes of fire intent. She threw herself into his arms without an ounce of shame, complaining loudly about Elder So-and-so's stubbornness and which Heavenly Abode disciple needed a beating. Ren listened, one hand rubbing lazy circles on her back until the tension bled out of her shoulders and the fire in her eyes turned from frustrated to hungry.
Qin Xingxuan quietly brought him reports on Sky Fortune Kingdom's situation—how factions were moving, which families smelled like they were waiting to switch sides when the wind changed. Afterwards, she let him steal her composure under the old pine tree, long legs stretched out along the bench as she leaned against him. He'd thread his fingers through her hair, or rest his palm over the place where her heart beat slow and firm, and watch her iron-straight back soften by degrees.
Bai Jingyun poured tea with perfect noble grace, sleeves falling like water around her wrists. The moment his arms slid around her from behind, that mask slipped; her shoulders would ease, the corners of her lips would soften, and she would lean back into his chest as naturally as breathing.
Na Yi and Na Shui came and went as they pleased.
Na Yi walked with the silence of someone who trusted the ground beneath her feet. She'd sit beside him under the pine, calloused fingers tracing imaginary meridian routes on his palm as they talked about the modifications he'd made to Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians and where to push their next step. Her calm eyes always brightened when he nudged her toward a new understanding.
Na Shui was the opposite. She laughed easily, threw herself over his lap like a lazy cat, stole snacks from Murong Zi, and grinned when he caresed her hair. The wild violence in her true essence, which had once burned like an untamed bonfire, now circled in tighter, steadier patterns—still fierce, but guided.
Ren did not hide his affection.
He walked through Seven Profound Martial House with Murong Zi hanging off his arm, Qin Xingxuan at his side, Bai Jingyun one step behind with a faint, satisfied smile in her eyes. Na Yi might walk in front of him, measuring the path ahead with a soldier's eye; Na Shui would cling to his shoulders and complain about stairs.
If disciples whispered, he ignored it. If elders frowned, he met their gaze with mild indifference until they looked away first.
He was generous with his time, ruthless with his enemies, and shamelessly, openly biased toward his women.
That was his Dao.
But he was not idle.
While he teased and coaxed and guided, part of his awareness stretched far beyond the tiled roofs and training fields.
Ren's spirit sense had long since broken past what this lower realm could understand. Even when he lounged on a pavilion roof with a woman's head on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, a portion of his mind sat somewhere above the Sky Fortune Kingdom, watching the flows of heaven and earth origin energy move like great, slow rivers.
He felt the small eddies of country-level powers. He felt larger currents—the weight of Seven Profound Valley's core region growing more restless by the day. Elders traveling. Hidden arrays humming to life. Stored treasures dusted off and quietly tested.
Attention was turning toward Sky Fortune Kingdom. Toward the commotion he'd caused.
They would be moving very soon.
Ren felt it like a change in the wind.
"Planning to come down and show off, huh," he murmured one evening.
He was lying on the pavilion roof, arms pillowing his head, Murong Zi's head resting comfortably on his shoulder as she napped, spear within arm's reach. Below, Na Yi, Na Shui, Qin Xingxuan and Bai Jingyun talked in low tones beneath the old pine, their voices weaving together with the sound of the spring.
He didn't bother explaining.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let his mind range south, along the spine of the mountains, to where a certain peak pierced the sky.
Thundercrash Mountain.
The highest mountain in the Southern Wilderness, it rose like a spear thrust into the heavens, its most famous peak over a hundred thousand feet tall. The summit brushed the clouds year-round; at its crown, thunder never stopped falling, not even in ten thousand years.
The entire mountain was a massive magnet for heaven's rage. Layers upon layers of magnetic ore in its body drew down lightning from the Primal Chaos Heavens again and again. Endless bolts had carved scars into its cliffs, leaving behind complex heavenly thunder marks. In some places, the stone had melted and re-solidified so many times it looked like flowing glass, frozen mid-wave.
True essence thunder drifted in the air around that peak. It sank into every rock and tree. Vicious beasts that survived there for any length of time had lightning etched into their bones.
At its summit, coiled around a nest of treasures plundered over ten thousand years, slept a Purple Thunder Flood Dragon.
A Saint Beast—rarer variant of the Thunder Flood Dragon race, its blood carrying traces of ancient divinity. It ate thunder and lightning as food, personality cruel and tyrannical even by Saint Beast standards. It had taken all the mountain's thunder resources as its own, siring lesser thunder lizards to prowl the lower slopes. The thunder soul it had nurtured, the Purple Flood Dragon Divine Thunder, was one of the most fearsome lightning essences in the region.
To a normal martial artist, Thundercrash Mountain was a forbidden land where even an Xiantian expert might be turned to ash if caught in the wrong strike.
To Ren, it was a cultivation ground.
And a convenient meeting point.
Somewhere beyond these mountains, beyond Thundercrash's storm-wreathed peaks, lay Divine Phoenix Island—an island sect in the Divine Phoenix Province that raised girls who walked with flames under their feet and carried phoenix blood in their veins. Every few hundred years, the Mu Family would produce a Saintess with seventh-grade talent, able to summon a Saint Beast and stir Divine Phoenix flames.
One of them, Mu Qianyu, would sooner or later come to Thundercrash Mountain.
To temper her life-bound Vermillion Bird, to draw on the Purple Flood Dragon's thunder to push her phoenix fire to a higher order.
Ren smiled faintly.
'Before Seven Profound Valley moves,' he thought, 'I'll go take a look.'