Only when Bai Jingyun's aura finally smoothed out—no more surges, no more sharp drops, only the steady, deep pulse of the Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed breathing in her dantian—did Ren let his hand fall still.
The last wisps of azure-gold light faded from her skin.
Her breath, which had been drawing in short, disciplined sips, slowly lengthened. The faint flush on her cheeks settled into a healthier color. Her meridians, which had been trembling at the edge of collapse only weeks ago, now felt like tempered jade under his perception—flexible, resilient, carrying Fire and dragon power without the slightest leak.
He rested his palm lightly on her hip and gave a small, satisfied pat.
"All right," he said, tone sliding back toward lazy and teasing. "If I keep you here any longer, Zi's going to kick down the door."
Bai Jingyun's lashes trembled.
For a heartbeat she looked every bit the proud Heavenly Abode genius again—back straight, sword-brows steady, that cool, distant poise that had let her endure years of pressure.
Then, to Ren's quiet amusement, a faint, radiant smile broke through.
"…Let her," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
That single line held a weight of things she couldn't say out loud. Let her see. Let them all see. I'm not that caged bird anymore.
Ren laughed, low and warm.
"Tempting," he admitted, fingers giving her waist an indulgent squeeze. "But we still have work to do today."
Reluctantly, she slid off his lap.
Her knees trembled once—just once—but held. The new strength coiling in her bones caught her before she could stumble, the Azure Dragon Seed in her dantian adjusting, feeding a thin stream of vitality into tired muscles.
Even now, the Seed's law was at work: regeneration pacing half a step behind her body and Dao heart, pushing without overwhelming. The flaws in her old foundation, the hidden cracks left by Acacia Faction's poison and desperate cultivation, were being erased stroke by stroke.
Bai Jingyun turned and bowed.
Not a small nod, not a casual dip of the head.
She bowed deeply, formally, the way a disciple might salute a master she had decided to follow for life.
"Thank you," she said.
The word held more than simple gratitude. It was an oath—silent but sharp. 'Thank you… and from now on, I will walk this path you gave me, without turning back.'
Ren met her eyes, the lazy smile softening at the edges.
"Go run three slow circulations of the new art," he instructed. "Modified Chaotic Virtues first, then Heaven-Opening Origin. Let your meridians get used to the new pattern. Then rest." His gaze dipped briefly, checking the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her breath still hitched now and then. "No sparring tonight. Let your body remember this state."
She hesitated. The proud Heavenly Abode sword girl who had once forced herself to the brink of collapse out of sheer refusal to yield warred with the woman in front of him.
"…And later?" she asked, voice softer, the hint of a question she rarely let herself ask anyone.
His smile deepened, a little crooked, a little wicked, but his eyes were gentle.
"Later," he said, "come back if you want. I'll still be here."
That was enough.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous jump—then steadied. She drew in a breath, shoulders straightening with a newfound lightness.
She turned and left the courtyard.
Her steps were lighter than they'd been in years. Each one fell with the quiet confidence of someone whose body would no longer betray her in the middle of a strike.
…
The door slid shut behind her.
Ren exhaled, rolling his shoulders once to shake off the last echoes of her aura. The bench beneath him still held the faint imprint of her warmth, like a shadow of her presence pressed into the wood.
He let his gaze drift toward the courtyard entrance.
As expected, he didn't have to wait long.
Murong Zi appeared first—of course she did—leaning against the doorway with arms folded across her chest, spear strapped to her back. She tried for casual and almost managed it. Wind had tangled a few strands of hair across her cheek; she hadn't bothered to smooth them.
Behind her, Qin Xingxuan stood half a step to the side, posture straight and composed. Her robe was neat, her hair immaculate, her expression calm… except for the faint tightness at the corners of her eyes.
Na Yi and Na Shui were nowhere in sight.
That, too, made him smile.
Those two were not stupid. They knew when this was a time for Heavenly Abode's proud pair and the martial house's fairy to step forward first.
Murong Zi's eyes narrowed as they flicked over him, then over the courtyard, then—most importantly—over the faint traces of Bai Jingyun's aura still lingering in the air.
"You took a long time," she accused.
Ren raised an eyebrow.
"Were you timing me?"
"Obviously," she huffed. "If Jingyun walked out with an entirely new cultivation base, new bloodline, and a completely different expression, I'd have questions."
"Do you?" he asked, amused.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then scowled.
"…No," she muttered. Then, after a beat, more honestly: "…Just a little jealous."
Qin Xingxuan looked away, lips pressing together.
"That's only natural," she said quietly. "Her meridians and foundation were… in more danger. She needed it the most."
Ren pushed himself up from the bench, cloak falling into place around him with an easy motion. He looked between the two girls: one a spear burning with fighting spirit, the other a blade honed by discipline.
"All right," he said. "Which of you is more impatient?"
Murong Zi stepped forward instantly.
Qin Xingxuan's fingers twitched—he saw it—but she held back, eyes steady.
Ren's gaze softened.
"Zi first, then," he decided. "Xuan, watch if you want. Seeing the process might make your turn smoother."
Qin Xingxuan nodded once.
"I'd like that," she said.
Murong Zi swallowed.
For days, she'd been telling herself she wasn't nervous. That she was just going to sit down, get stronger, and then go smash anyone who dared look at Bai Jingyun or Qin Xingxuan wrong.
Now, with Ren's dark eyes on her and the faint warmth of Bai Jingyun's aura still clinging to the air, the reality sank in.
"W-what about…" she started, forcing the words out. "…the, um… cuddling part?"
Her cheeks reddened as soon as she said it.
Ren didn't even blink.
"Same as I told you earlier," he said, tone maddeningly calm. "As close as you're comfortable with. Direct contact with your meridians makes it easier. Bare skin helps. If you'd rather keep most of your robe on, I can work around it."
Murong Zi inhaled sharply.
She glanced back once at Qin Xingxuan.
Qin's gaze was steady, clear as cold water. But there was warmth there too, quiet support and a trust that said: go.
Murong Zi clenched her jaw and stepped fully into the courtyard.
"Then…" she said, voice a little rough. "…I'll trouble you to take care of me."
Ren's smile curved.
"Always."
He sat back down on the bench and patted his lap.
Murong Zi froze for half a heartbeat.
Her heart hammered in her chest, loud enough that she swore he could hear it. But she moved forward—a spearfighter walking into the heart of the storm, not backing away from it.
She turned and lowered herself.
She settled into his lap with far less hesitation than Bai Jingyun had… but far more awkwardness. Her spear-calloused hands didn't seem to know where to go; they hovered uselessly in the air until Ren caught one and gently guided it down to rest against his thigh.
"Relax," he murmured near her ear. "You're acting like I'm about to feed you to a beast."
"You are," she muttered defensively. "A dragon. That's worse."
He laughed.
"Fair enough."
His arm slid around her waist, drawing her back until her shoulders rested against his chest. With his free hand, he reached for the front of her robe.
Murong Zi sucked in a breath.
He didn't yank, didn't tear.
He simply loosened the top knot of her outer robe, letting it slide slightly off one shoulder, exposing the clean line of her collarbone and a strip of smooth skin down to where her undergarments lay.
Cool air brushed over hot skin.
She shivered.
Qin Xingxuan, watching from the side, exhaled quietly. Her eyes flickered once over the scene—the loosened robe, Murong Zi's flushed ears, the casual intimacy of Ren's arm around her waist.
Then she forced her gaze inward, focusing on the meridian work instead of the closeness.
"Same as before," Ren said. "Close your eyes. Run your current meridian path slowly."
Murong Zi obeyed, jaw tightening.
True essence rose in her body, taking the pattern of the Modified Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians she had already begun to practice. But it still carried her characteristic recklessness—surging a little too hard at each aggressive node, leaping impatiently through routes that should have been steady.
Inside Ren's perception, the Immortal Soul Bone pulsed.
Her body and meridians unfolded before his inner sight like a living diagram. He saw her true essence rushing forward again and again, spear-thrusts driven through rotten wood without restraint. It was exhilarating now.
Ten years later, it would be cracked meridians, hidden injuries, a crippled future.
His fingertips pressed lightly to the bare skin of her shoulder, tracing down along the curve where neck met collarbone, then further along the inside of her upper arm.
Everywhere he touched, her meridians lit up in his inner vision like rivers under moonlight.
"Zi," he said quietly. "You're using force like a spear thrust through rotten wood."
"I am a spear user," she muttered, eyes still closed. "Why hold back?"
"Because anything can change in the heart of battle," he said calmly. "If your meridians are too used to charging forward, they'll shatter the first time you have to pull that thrust back halfway."
His thumb pressed lightly into an acupoint just below her collarbone.
Pain flared like a stab of lightning.
Murong Zi hissed between her teeth.
He continued, tone steady as a forge bellows.
"I'm not going to blunt your spear," he said. "I'm going to give it a stronger shaft. A tighter grip. When you thrust, your body will remember the whole movement, not just the part that feels heroic."
Her breathing grew harsher.
"…Fine," she bit out. "Do it."
He did.
In her Spiritual Sea, the Fire Martial Intent she had touched under his guidance spun wild and bright—red-gold flames forming a rune-wheel, edges flickering, arcs of spear-light leaping out like lunging dragons. Around it, the Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians diagram reshaped under his will, loops tightening, nodes thickening at the points her aggressive habits hit hardest.
Each time his fingers traced along her bare shoulder, upper back, or side, her channels twisted and straightened. Old, bad habits—forcing essence through weak spots, overloading "heroic" points—were burned away and rebuilt.
The pain was sharper than Bai Jingyun's had been, but shorter-lived.
Not a long siege.
A storm of precise spear-thrusts cutting straight through flawed paths.
Sweat slid down her temple, traced along the curve of her neck, and disappeared beneath the loosened robe.
Qin Xingxuan watched, fists clenched lightly at her sides.
Every correction Ren made to Murong Zi's flow, she tracked in her mind, silently mapping how similar adjustments might apply to her own more restrained style. Where Murong's impulses rushed forward, Qin knew her own often held back too much.
When Murong Zi's new meridian pattern fully settled, Ren didn't pause.
His hand slipped down to her abdomen.
"Dragon blood now," he warned. "Don't try to wrestle it. You'll lose. Use your intent to shape it instead."
"Do I look stupid?" Murong Zi shot back, voice coming out a little hoarse.
His smile curved.
"Sometimes," he said.
She would have elbowed him if she'd had the strength.
The Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed essence surged.
It spilled from the droplet he guided into her, plunging into her dantian like an azure-gold spear, scales catching the light of her Fire Intent. Its law spread out in a sweep—regeneration tied to her realm, true essence growth with no hard cap, vitality surging.
Murong Zi's Spiritual Sea erupted.
Her fire lake boiled, waves smashing against the sky. The Fire Martial Intent rune-wheel blazed so bright it threatened to crack, its field throwing off sparks that became countless spear-shadows.
The dragon essence did not come meekly.
It surged up from the depths like a dragon leaping out of a ravine, fangs bared, claws extended.
The collision shook her inner world.
Murong Zi gasped, body jerking in his arms.
Ren's arm tightened around her waist, anchoring her. His other hand pressed firmly against her lower abdomen, True Essence and Dao heart forming a calm anchor in the middle of the storm.
"Zi," he murmured near her ear, his voice the only steady thing in the chaos. "You like to fight, don't you?"
She gritted her teeth.
"Yes—!"
"Then fight properly," he said. "Don't just throw yourself forward. Shape the battlefield. Use your Fire Intent to dictate where that dragon can move."
The words struck something deep.
In her inner vision, for the first time, she stopped trying to crush the dragon with sheer Fire. Instead, she let her Martial Intent flare out, its field expanding, turning the boiling lake into a vast red-gold arena.
Every time the dragon tried to leap toward the edge, invisible spear-lines—formed from compressed flame and killing intent—stabbed down, not to wound, but to herd. Shimmering spear shadows created "lanes" it could move through, "walls" it couldn't cross.
Slowly, the dragon realized that every movement it made simply led it into another perfect cage.
Its wildness shrank.
Its body condensed.
Murong Zi's Dao heart, forged through countless rank wars and desperate sparring matches, locked onto that image—a spear user who didn't just charge in blindly, but forced the opponent to dance to her tune.
The dragon essence yielded.
It compressed under the combined pressure of her battle-hardened will and blazing Fire Intent, folding into a denser, sharper Seed than even Bai Jingyun's—a compact azure-gold spearhead wrapped in scales, coiling beneath the rune-wheel like a dragon forced to become a weapon.
Her aura exploded outward.
The air in the small courtyard trembled. Grass at the edges bent away. The wooden beams of the nearby training hall groaned softly as pressure brushed over them.
From mid Altering Muscle, her bodily foundation surged, completing the hidden step she'd been standing on the edge of—bones thickening, tendons tightening, marrow beginning to remember force. In terms of pure combat power, with Chaotic Virtues reworked, Heaven-Opening Origin Art humming, Fire Martial Intent at Small Success, and the new dragon Seed anchoring her dantian, she stepped firmly into Late Houtian battle strength—with room left to climb.
Ren felt every change under his hands.
He breathed out quietly.
"Good girl," he murmured, almost under his breath.
Murong Zi, half-delirious from the pain and exhilaration, actually laughed.
"Saying things like that now…" she panted. "Do you… want me to hit you… later?"
"Probably," he said cheerfully.
When the last violence of the integration faded, her body slumped back against him.
Her robe had slipped further, exposing more bare skin along her shoulder and upper chest, but Ren hadn't taken advantage even once. Every touch had been precise, controlled, utterly focused on her meridians and Dao foundation.
Only now, with the work complete…
He allowed himself to ease his restraint.
His hand moved from her abdomen to her waist, fingers splaying against her side. His other hand slid up, tracing the line of her jaw before cupping it, thumb brushing her cheekbone as he gently turned her face toward his.
Her eyes opened, still hazy with effort, pupils dilated from pain and power.
Their gazes met.
"You did well too," he said softly. "Very Zi of you."
She tried to smirk.
"…Is that praise?" she muttered.
He didn't bother answering with words.
He kissed her instead.
If Bai Jingyun's kiss had been a deep, steady burn—a bonfire finally given air after years of suffocation—Murong Zi's was a spark thrown into a barrel of oil.
She responded almost immediately, lips pressing back against his with fierce enthusiasm. Her hands, which had been limp a moment ago, clenched in the fabric of his robe, dragging him closer.
Her heart pounded hard enough that he could feel the rhythm through both their chests.
Time blurred.
Qin Xingxuan looked away politely, lashes lowering.
Not before she saw, though, the way Murong Zi's shoulders—always held high and tense, as if she were carrying the entire weight of Heavenly Abode's expectations alone—finally relaxed. The last shadow of Zhang Guanyu's schemes, of Acacia Faction's threat, of being used as a pawn, melted away under the warmth of Ren's embrace and the solidity of her new foundation.
When they finally parted, Murong Zi was breathless.
Her eyes, usually sharp and aggressive, were bright and strangely soft.
"…If you tell anyone I melted," she rasped, "I'll deny it."
Ren's smile turned slow and wicked, but there was fondness in it.
"Then you'd better get stronger," he said. "So no one dares to doubt your denial."
She laughed, hoarse but full, spear-fighter's pride flaring even in that intimacy.
Reluctantly, she pushed herself off his lap and stood.
Her legs shook once, then steadied as the Azure Dragon Infinity Seed circulated a wave of vitality through her newly tempered bones. She rolled her shoulders, feeling how her body moved—how her spear arm felt heavier, but in a satisfying way, like a weapon that finally matched her intent.
"…It feels like my body doesn't quite know what to do with this strength yet," she admitted.
"Good," Ren said. "That means you have room to grow into it. Go run some basic spear forms. Nothing fancy. Let your bones memorize the new patterns. Think more about your footwork and withdrawals than your thrusts."
Murong Zi nodded.
Then she shot him one last, heated look—half promise, half challenge.
"…Thank you," she said. "For all of it."
She left in a whirl of robe and spear, the faint echo of her rough, joyous laughter trailing behind her.
Silence settled again.
Only Qin Xingxuan remained.
She hadn't spoken during the entire process, only watched—eyes tracking every movement of Ren's hands, every shift in Murong Zi's aura, every subtle change in the flow of true essence.
Now, with the courtyard quiet, her calm felt almost brittle.
Ren patted his lap once more.
"Your turn," he said gently.
Qin Xingxuan's throat moved.
She stepped forward.
Unlike Murong Zi, she didn't hesitate at the last moment. She simply turned and sat, movements steady and controlled, as if she were taking her place on a meditation cushion before a long night of cultivation.
Her back aligned with his chest naturally. Her hands folded together in her lap, fingers interlocking.
Her heart, however, was anything but calm.
She didn't say it.
But Ren felt it.
Her aura, usually smooth as still water, held a faint, quivering heat—like a spearpoint held just a fraction of an inch from its target, straining not to move.
He smiled against her hair, breathing in the faint fragrance of sandalwood and refined true essence that clung to her.
"You're allowed to want this, you know," he murmured. "You don't need to strangle the feeling to death before letting it touch your meridians."
Her fingers tightened in her lap until her knuckles turned white.
"…I don't want to distract from cultivation," she said softly.
"Who said this wasn't cultivation?" he countered. "Your Martial heart, is part of your path. If you keep pretending your feelings don't exist, your Dao will always have a hollow spot."
She fell silent.
For someone like Qin Xingxuan, who had always done what was "correct"—the correct stance, the correct etiquette, the correct distance—admitting she wanted anything for herself was harder than facing a Revolving Core master's crushing aura.
After a long breath, she whispered, "…I understand."
Ren's arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her more fully against him.
"Good," he said.
The work itself went smoother.
Her meridians were already more disciplined than Murong Zi's. They lacked Bai Jingyun's hidden damage and knots, lacked Murong's reckless surges. But that discipline had its own cost.
Her channels were almost too rigid, too "proper," following forms perfectly… even when the situation called for change.
Ren's fingertips traced along the line of her neck, then down between her shoulder blades. This time he worked mostly through cloth; Qin hadn't loosened her robe as much as Murong Zi. Even so, the warmth of his hand sank through, his true essence threading along her meridians.
He found the places where her flow hesitated whenever it was forced to change rhythm, the nodes where her spear style wanted to become something new but habit dragged it back to the familiar.
Inside her Spiritual Sea, her Fire Martial Intent rune-wheel spun with a quieter light than Murong's—edges straighter, spear-shadows along its surface forming orderly arrays rather than wild thrusts.
Ren reworked the Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians with a different emphasis.
For Murong, he had thickened endurance nodes and reinforced "impact zones."
For Qin, he loosened structures, introduced spirals where straight lines had been, carved "pivot points" into the flow so her body would naturally accept sudden changes in tempo and angle.
Her new loops and circuits would train her to transition smoothly from thrust to withdrawal, from direct line to curve, from rigidity to adaptable form.
She bore the pain in silence.
Only the slight tremor at the corner of her eye and the way her breath occasionally hitched betrayed how intense it was.
Ren didn't rush.
He matched her rhythm exactly, letting her fine control guide the pace. Where Murong needed a storm, Qin needed a steady rain that seeped into every crack.
With each adjustment, he felt her rigid self-discipline loosen—not into chaos, but into something living, like a blade that finally learned it could bend a little without breaking.
When the meridian work finished, he let his hand rest on her abdomen one last time.
"Xuan," he said quietly. "I'm sending the dragon essence now. You know what to do."
She nodded once, the movement small but sure.
In her heart, words she didn't dare speak slipped free:
I want this. And… I want you.
The Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed's essence flowed into her.
Compared to Bai Jingyun's clean furnace and Murong Zi's roaring arena, Qin Xingxuan's inner world received it like a silent battlefield.
Her fire lake was calmer, its surface smooth and mirror-bright. Her Fire Martial Intent rune-wheel cast its light like a steady sun, spear shadows rising and falling beneath it in precise formations.
When the dragon essence stormed in, it met not a wall, not a chaotic brawl…
But a formation.
Guided by years of training, the strict discipline of her noble upbringing, and her deep respect for form, her mind instinctively arranged her spear intent into layered, shifting arrays—thrusts that became feints, feints that became cuts, footwork that created invisible killing zones.
The dragon rushed forward and found itself gradually contained.
Not crushed.
Not chased.
Surrounded.
Every time it tried to break out, it met a perfectly positioned spear image, its momentum redirected, its wildness shaved away. The process took longer than with Murong Zi, but it was cleaner—fewer explosive surges, more internal refinements.
Ren watched with quiet appreciation.
'This is the difference,' he thought. "Zi fights by seizing the flow and forcing it fast. Xuan controls by shaping it from the start."
When the Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed finally formed, it did so as if it had always belonged there.
In her Spiritual Sea, beneath the Fire Martial Intent rune-wheel, a slender spear coiled in dragon scales stood upright, point directed toward the heavens. Azure-gold lines ran along its length, inlaid with quiet, steady fire light.
Her aura rose.
From peak Altering Muscle, her body completed its hidden step into Bone Forging's front edge. Her marrow began to memorize force, bones took on a faint, tempered weight.
Her combat prowess, already Mid Houtian after Ren's earlier arts, grew denser—her strikes would carry more weight, her endurance stretch further, her transitions between styles smoother.
In the small courtyard, the pressure shifted, subtle but unmistakable. A calm, sharp presence settled into place—like a spear that had finally decided which battlefield it would stand on.
Ren felt her body slowly relax back against him as the last shudders ebbed.
Her breathing gentled.
Her fingers, which had been clenched so hard in her lap that her nails had left half-moon marks in her skin, loosened.
"You did well too," he said softly near her ear. "As expected of my Xuan."
Her eyes opened.
For once, the composure in them cracked visibly.
"…Ren," she whispered.
Just his name. Nothing else.
He turned his head slightly.
Their faces were very close—close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her breath against his cheek, see the minute tremble of her lashes.
He studied her quietly.
The girl who had once stood on a high platform as the distant genius of Sky Fortune Kingdom, a flower everyone admired from afar, was gone. In her place was a young woman who had stepped off that stage and into a path where her heart and Dao walked together.
He smiled.
"…Come here," he murmured.
She didn't move away when he turned and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up.
His lips found hers.
The kiss was different again.
Softer than Murong Zi's wild clash, calmer than Bai Jingyun's blazing relief. It was like the moment right before a spear thrust—silent, taut, full of hidden power.
Qin Xingxuan responded hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty. Her hands rose, fingers resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
Her newly reforged meridians hummed.
The dragon Seed pulsed quietly in her dantian, its rhythm syncing gradually with her racing heart.
When he drew back, her pupils were slightly dilated, color high in her cheeks.
"…I didn't… say anything," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
"You didn't need to," he replied. "I heard you anyway."
Her composure finally, truly cracked.
A faint, helpless laugh escaped her.
"You're… impossible," she breathed.
He grinned.
"I try."
They stayed like that for a while—her back against his chest, his arms looped loosely around her waist, the warmth of the kiss blending into the quiet thrum of cultivation.