Chapter 39 · Anxious Lovers Break Through the Martial Realm
“Ha, Young Master Luo, you are truly ‘righteous.’ For the sake of profit, you don’t hesitate to betray your own friends.” A voice slowly sounded from behind Luo Yuchen.
Luo Yuchen slightly turned his head, his tone icy. “What is betrayal? What is friendship? How do you know I am not helping him, Young Master Tao?”
As the words “Young Master Tao” fell, the figure behind him gradually emerged—it was none other than Tao Huai!
Tao Huai smirked faintly as he gazed at Luo Yuchen. “Ha, whether you’re helping him or harming him, nothing escapes my ears.”
Luo Yuchen snorted lightly, choosing not to respond. Yet, Tao Huai could detect a hint of agreement in his tone.
“Where is the book?” Luo Yuchen asked coldly.
With a sharp sound, an object cut through the air, heading towards Luo Yuchen’s back. Luo’s eyes turned cold as he shifted his stance, sidestepped, and flicked his sleeve, neatly catching the object in his hand.
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“Well then, when my master speaks of it someday, I will surely sing your praises in his presence.”
“No need. We’ve traded fairly. If you truly wish to show goodwill, send me a few more rare medical books.”
“Ha, very well. Farewell.”
“Not seeing you off.”
A gust of wind swept by, and Tao Huai vanished from sight. Luo Yuchen took out the medical book from his robe, gently caressing it.
“Master, hmm? Ha, Qing Han, you’d better be careful.”
—
A streak of blue sword light flashed through the air, carrying a sharp, piercing energy. The Youze Sword stopped just an inch from a man’s throat, though the biting sword aura still cut the skin, drawing thin lines of blood.
The man wiped at the blood on his neck, looked at his fingers, and exaggeratedly cried out, “Ow—Qing Han, your strikes are far too ruthless!”
Long Qinghan coldly stared at the man in red before him. His gaze held a mix of resentment and hatred. His hand, gripping the sword, trembled slightly. Just one more inch forward, and blood would splatter—he could easily kill this man who made him feel both love and hate.
Yet, his hand slowly fell. A sharp sound rang out as the sword’s glow faded into its sheath.
Long Qinghan turned and walked away. In the end, he couldn’t do it. Even though he knew this man had harmed him, he still couldn’t bring himself to strike.
The snowy scene from his past life haunted him like a demon, an unshakable shadow in his heart. How could he now bear to kill this man?
Forget it. Before life ends, perhaps it’s better to live for him just once.
“Qing Han, Qing Han.” A voice like a nightmare echoed in his ears. Long Qinghan cast a cold glance, the resentment in his eyes making Feng Xuanyang shiver involuntarily.
With a mischievous smile, Feng Xuanyang clasped his hands behind his back and leaned close to Long Qinghan’s ear, blowing softly, “Qing Han, why are you ignoring me? Could it be…”
As the words “could it be” fell, Long Qinghan’s heart skipped a beat—a bad premonition arose within him.
Sure enough, he felt a wicked hand brush against his backside. Just as he reacted and attempted to slap the hand away, he found his body stiffen—his acupoints had been struck.
“Feng, Xuan, Yang!” Long Qinghan took a deep breath, his voice sharp with anger.
“Ah, I’m listening, I’m listening. My dear husband misses me this much? No need to shout so loudly.” Feng Xuanyang casually cleaned his ear, tapping his chin as he circled the immobilized Long Qinghan.
“Tsk, tsk. It’s only been a few days, and you’ve already lost so much weight. What a pity.” He reached out and pinched the sensitive muscles at Long Qinghan’s waist. The touch made Long Qinghan shudder, almost laughing out loud.
Long Qinghan trembled with rage. It seemed that no matter how much resentment he held, facing Feng Xuanyang always turned it into pure exasperation. “Feng Xuanyang, release me at once!”
“Release you? Why would I?” Feng Xuanyang leaned closer, lifting a strand of Long Qinghan’s long hair and waving it under his nose. “So you can kill your husband? I think not!”
“Achoo! Achoo!” Long Qinghan sneezed repeatedly, his nose itching. “You… Achoo… damn it… Achoo…”
Feng Xuanyang’s eyes lit up as if discovering a new toy. He grabbed more of Long Qinghan’s hair, stuffing it into his nose.
“Achoo! Damn… Achoo… you… Achoo, achoo…”
“Ha! Let’s see if you dare to try murdering your husband again!” Feng Xuanyang was having the time of his life. One hand poked at Long Qinghan’s sensitive waist, while the other continued tickling his nose.
Long Qinghan had lost count of how many sneezes he’d endured. His nose was now bright red, and his furious glare promised fire and brimstone. But every time he tried to curse him, another sneeze drowned out his words. In the end, he closed his eyes, calmed his mind, and used his inner energy to convert the moisture in the air into sharp ice needles, shooting them at Feng Xuanyang.
A scream rang out, followed by silence. When Long Qinghan opened his eyes, Feng Xuanyang was nowhere to be seen.
Had he wounded him?
At the thought of this, Long Qinghan grew anxious. He turned his head, searching everywhere, but still couldn’t find any trace of Feng Xuanyang. All he could see were bloodstains trailing forward, marking the direction of Feng Xuanyang’s departure after being injured.
However, Long Qinghan’s acupoints had been sealed. Not to mention searching for Feng Xuanyang—he couldn’t even move.
The more he wanted to see him, the more elusive Feng Xuanyang became. Overwhelmed with worry, his mind descended into chaos.
Realizing that continuing like this wasn’t a solution, Long Qinghan took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He tried to focus and channel his internal energy in hopes of unsealing the acupoints.
Yet Feng Xuanyang’s acupoint-sealing technique was incredibly unique. He exerted force on multiple acupoints, but none of them could be undone. The more anxious he became, the more obstructed his energy flow grew.
Just as he was about to give up and consider other methods, an image of Feng Xuanyang’s handsome face suddenly emerged in his mind. That roguish smile, paired with the brilliant red lotus mark on his lips, captivated him.
In that moment, his thoughts cleared, and his mind became sharp and lucid. Something deep within his body surged forward, merging into his limbs and veins, flowing through his bloodstream, and unblocking the barriers one by one.
All external noise vanished from his ears. The only sound he could hear was the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat—“thump, thump,” slow and even.
Waves of energy surged from his limbs and converged into his body. Gradually, his body felt lighter, as if something was awakening deep within him.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him centered around his body, forming thick layers of ice that spread outward, quickly crystallizing into intricate ice flowers.
In that instant, the world dimmed. When the final ice crystal formed, he let out a shout, and his body was instantly freed. With a light tap of his toes, he leaped forward, swift as the wind. By the time the ice flowers fully solidified, he had already disappeared into the mist.
The wind whistled past his cheeks, its gentle song brushing his ears. In this moment, his world was silent, and his mind held only the image of that person.
At this moment, Long Qinghan broke through the martial boundary that had eluded him for so long: the pinnacle of the “Han Ning Jue” technique.
He dashed forward, his sharp gaze scanning for that familiar figure. Suddenly, a glimmer flashed in his eyes. With a light tap of his toes, his sword flashed out as he lunged toward a towering tree.
“Ahhh—wait!” A voice rang out before his sword could land. The person perched in the tree wobbled and lost their balance, tumbling straight down.
Long Qinghan froze for a moment, quickly withdrawing his sword. With a light step, he dashed forward to catch the falling figure.
Feng Xuanyang flailed midair, shouting loudly. Before long, he landed squarely in someone’s arms. Realizing who had caught him, his eyes lit up as he feigned fear, wrapping his arms tightly around Long Qinghan’s neck and clamping his legs around his waist, latching onto him like a koala.
Long Qinghan let out a muffled grunt, casting a sidelong glance at the shameless man. With a sigh, he tightened his hold on Feng Xuanyang and slowly descended to the ground.
“Qinghan, are we safely on the ground now?” Feng Xuanyang, eyes squeezed shut, rubbed his face against Long Qinghan’s neck. He raised his sleeve and wiped his face as though he’d been terrified.
“Mm.” A cold, emotionless voice responded, as icy as ever.
“Ah!” Feng Xuanyang cracked one eye open, confirmed the wipe had done its job, and immediately began scheming again. “Alright, in that case—”
“Damn scoundrel! Let go of your teeth!” Long Qinghan’s voice rose in anger as he struggled, trying to pry the rogue off his neck.
But Feng Xuanyang, now in full mischief mode, clung to him like an octopus, biting down on his neck and mumbling, “You tried to murder your own husband… I’ll bite you as punishment.”
“…” Long Qinghan felt his patience slipping away as his energy drained. Resigned, he sheathed his sword and gently patted the clingy troublemaker. “Get down.”
“No.” Another bite followed, along with a few licks.
“Get down.”
“No.”
“What will it take for you to come down?”
“Admit your mistake.”
“…” Long Qinghan sighed deeply, deciding to forcibly pull him off. However, Feng Xuanyang clung to him like an unshakable plaster, refusing to budge. Long Qinghan, unwilling to hurt him further, had no choice but to relent. “Fine. I was wrong.”
“Ah, then I must punish you!” Feng Xuanyang grinned wickedly, licking a few more times for good measure.
Long Qinghan, eager to rid himself of this clingy man as soon as possible, blurted out, “Alright.”
But in the next instant, he regretted it. Feng Xuanyang’s hands suddenly released their grip, swiftly tapping several of Long Qinghan’s acupoints, including the mute acupoint, rendering him completely immobile.
Before Long Qinghan could process what was happening, his vision blurred, and he found himself hoisted over Feng Xuanyang’s shoulder. “Hmph! Daring to plot murder against your own husband? I’ll teach you a good lesson.”
With one hand, Feng Xuanyang delivered a sharp smack to Long Qinghan’s rear. “Smack!” Then another—“Smack! Smack!”—delivering several more slaps for good measure.
After thoroughly enjoying himself, Feng Xuanyang activated his lightfoot technique, carrying the speechless and immobilized Long Qinghan off to find a secluded spot for further “punishment.”
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