Most of the candle in the room had burned down, the wax dripping down drop by drop and hardening on the candlestick like unshed tears. After Jiang Ci spoke, no one followed up. Hong Jiu lowered her head, staring at a speck of dust on the toe of her shoe, trying to rub it off for a long time without success, muttering something under her breath that no one could hear. Yao Wu clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, his hands twitching like a crab having a spasm. Only one thought kept repeating in his mind: It's over. I'm definitely taking the fall for this.
Lu Yan sat on the edge of the bed, with Jiang Ci right next to him, separated by the width of a fist. He clenched his fist, unclenched it, clenched it again, and let go. He opened his mouth several times, but each time he only took a breath in and let it out, unable to utter a single word. A single thought kept spinning in his mind—how am I supposed to protect her? A blind man at the second level of Qi Condensation, who couldn't even buy the right size of undergarments and couldn't even protect himself, was going to protect someone else? The corner of his mouth twitched, not in a smile, but in self-mockery. He remembered when he jumped off Boundary Cliff back then. It was these same hands, yet they had grasped nothing. He couldn't grasp the old man when he died, he couldn't grasp Lin Yuan when he died, and now, when someone was finally willing to stay by his side, he still couldn't grasp her. A bounty of ten thousand spirit crystals, the Beast Soul Sect, the Moon Walkers... any random nobody could trample him to death. What was he going to fight them with? His half-baked formations? His Focus-Stabilizing Pills, which he struggled to secure from one meal to the next?
Jiang Ci didn't say anything either. She kept her head down, staring at the embroidered flower on the quilt. It was fiery red, petal overlapping petal. She was counting the petals; when she reached the seventh, she forgot the previous ones and started over from the beginning. She felt she had already said everything she needed to say, and the rest was not for her to decide.
Hong Jiu really couldn't take it anymore. She sent a transmission to Yao Wu, her voice as quiet as a mosquito's buzz, “I can't take this. How are these two even more sluggish than us?” Yao Wu didn't reply, only glaring at her. Hong Jiu took two steps back toward the door. It wasn't that she wanted to help, but she felt incredibly out of place standing there, like an exceptionally bright third wheel.
Lu Yan finally spoke. His voice wasn't loud, as if he were talking to himself. “I can't protect her.” He didn't look at Jiang Ci, Yao Wu, or Hong Jiu when he said this. He looked at his own hands—hands covered in burn scars, with thick, prominent knuckles, but devoid of strength. He remembered when the old man had pressed these hands onto a formation plate back then, saying, “You've got decent talent, kid, but your heart is too soft.” A soft-hearted person can't protect anyone. That was the unspoken second half of the old man's words. He only understood it now.
He reached into his storage bag and searched for a long time before pulling out a formation plate. It was palm-sized, pitch-black, with intricate, fine patterns covering its surface like a dense spiderweb. In the center of the plate was embedded a grayish-white bead, dim and lifeless. When Yao Wu saw the formation plate, his eyelids twitched violently—the Ten Thousand Formations Plate. The ultimate treasure of the Formation Sect, a semi-divine artifact. Back when he had caused trouble with Lu Yan in the Central Continent Alliance, Lu Yan had never let this thing leave his side. Later, when the Formation Sect was destroyed, everyone thought it was lost or confiscated by the Central Continent Alliance. He hadn't expected it to still be in Lu Yan's hands.
Yao Wu's expression changed instantly. It wasn't fear, but the kind of look you give when you know your friend is about to do something stupid, yet you can't stop him. He knew what the Ten Thousand Formations Plate was, and he knew that activating this thing required paying with one's life. If spiritual energy wasn't enough, one had to burn their lifespan to make up for it. Lu Yan was currently only at the second level of Qi Condensation, with spiritual energy practically non-existent. To activate this thing, he would have to burn his life. Yao Wu opened his mouth, wanting to say, “Are you crazy?” but the words died in his throat. What right did he have to stop him? He wasn't Lu Yan. If he were Lu Yan, he would do the same. He said nothing, only lowering his gaze to stare at his mud-stained shoes.
Hong Jiu didn't know what the Ten Thousand Formations Plate was, but she could tell from Yao Wu's expression that it was nothing simple. Yao Wu's face was as pale as paper, his lips pressed into a tight line, and his eyes were locked onto the formation plate as if staring at a tombstone. She didn't ask; asking would be pointless anyway.
Jiang Ci also saw the formation plate. She didn't know what it was, but she noticed that after Lu Yan took it out, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. It was as if someone had shut the windows, making the air stiflingly heavy. She wanted to say something, but her lips parted and no sound came out. Lu Yan placed the formation plate on his knees, his fingers tracing its patterns very slowly, as if saying goodbye to an old friend. He said nothing else, merely storing it back into his storage bag. He stood up, his legs slightly numb. He supported himself against the edge of the bed for a moment until he recovered. He looked toward Jiang Ci; though he couldn't see her face, he knew she was looking at him. He smiled—a genuine smile this time, not self-mocking, not bitter, just a simple smile. “It's fine. I have a way.”
Yao Wu looked at him, his lips twitching, but in the end, he didn't say a word. He saw that when Lu Yan put the formation plate away, his fingers paused at the opening of the storage bag for just a brief second. Then, Lu Yan tightened his grip on the bag, as if he had made some sort of decision. Yao Wu lowered his eyes and stopped looking. He didn't want to know what decision Lu Yan had made, fearing that if he knew, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to hold him back.
Lu Yan turned to Yao Wu, his tone lightening up considerably, even carrying a hint of his usual provocative playfulness. “Lao Wu, is your herb hall still short on hands? I've been a bit short on cash lately and want to find a part-time job.”
Yao Wu froze, not quite catching on to how the topic had suddenly jumped here. He opened his mouth, his mind still struggling to keep up, but his tongue had already taken over. “You? Come to my herb hall? You just want to refine all my herbs into pills, don't you?”
Lu Yan chuckled. “Who knows? If I happen to refine some top-grade pill, won't you have to kowtow to me?”
“Kowtow to your uncle,” Yao Wu cursed, the tension in his voice easing up slightly without him realizing it. He didn't mention the Ten Thousand Formations Plate again, and neither did Lu Yan. As if by unspoken agreement, the two turned the page on that topic. But Hong Jiu saw that when Yao Wu turned around, his fingers clenched inside his sleeve until his knuckles turned white. She remained silent.
Hong Jiu stood by the door for a moment, sighed, and pulled it open. “Alright, alright, you two take your time chatting. I'm leaving. I'm exhausted, and I have to wake up early tomorrow to put on a face mask.” With that, she left without looking back. Yao Wu followed her out. He paused at the doorway, not turning around, and threw a sentence over his shoulder: “Keep that pot and use it, but don't overwater it and kill whatever's inside. It belonged to my Senior Sister. She tried to grow something in it for over ten years but couldn't keep it alive, so only the pot is left. If you kill it too, I won't let you off even as a ghost.”
He closed the door and left. His footsteps echoed in the corridor a few times, growing more distant until they faded completely. In the end, he still couldn't hold back his concern.
Silence returned to the room. The candle had burned down very low, its flame struggling in the last bit of wax. Jiang Ci looked down at the copper pot in her hand. Its spout was polished bright, and the patterns on its body had grown somewhat blurry. She suddenly felt the pot was a bit heavy. Not from the weight of the copper, but something else. She couldn't quite describe it.
Lu Yan sat back down on the edge of the bed. “It belonged to his Senior Sister. She tried to grow something in it for over ten years but couldn't keep it alive. He doesn't say it, but it's always been on his mind. By giving you that pot just now, he's truly treating you as one of his own.”
Jiang Ci didn't speak, only tightening her grip on the pot a little. She suddenly thought of her master. Her master had also given her something—a sword, Qinghan. The sword was still here, but its owner no longer dared to look at her.
Outside the window, rain had started to fall at some point. It wasn't heavy, just a fine drizzle pattering softly against the eaves. The sound of the rain reminded her of those nights on the mountain, when he would sit in his chair with his legs propped up on the edge of the table, swinging them back and forth while the chair legs creaked. Back then, she had thought that she would just take those days as they came. Now, she thought that maybe they could get through one more day. She placed the pot on the nightstand, lay down against her pillow, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. This time, she didn't face the wall; she faced him.
The candle went out, plunging the room into darkness. He sat in the dark, listening to her breathing, without getting up. He knew she wasn't asleep. She didn't ask why he didn't leave either. The two of them just stayed like that, one lying down, one sitting, neither speaking first. The rain pattered against the eaves, as if speaking on their behalf.
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