Legend Of Fuyao 150 Untitled

She ignored Yan Jingchen, walking away in big strides. Yan Jingchen begged. "Fuyao, please give me another chance, and… give yourself another chance too…"

Without turning back, she shook her head and said, "Sect leader Yan, those blinded by greed do not deserve any chances."

The man behind her did not utter another word though she could hear the sounds of him trying to adjust his breath. She laughed grimly as she thought to herself, 'You want to fight? Very well, today shall be the day Pei Yuan becomes a widow.'

Meng Fuyao quickened her steps. Something seemed wrong. Wasn't the martial arts arena just nearby? Isn't there supposed to be a stream of people walking around? The crowded area now seemed desolated with not a single soul. The surroundings seemed to have changed as a blanket of dark, gloomy fog settled down slowly.

The dense fog twirled around clumsily, inching closer as it steadily wrapped itself one's breath, hands, blood, and consciousness. Meng Fuyao could hear her heartbeat slow down as the blood in her veins crawled to other parts of her body. Her limbs were now sluggish to the point where she could barely lift a finger.

Her heart sank. She quickly tried to circulate her energy only to realize that she was not poisoned. Rather than poisonous fog, these resembled a martial art that could control someone unknowingly. Such martial arts was not something that Yan Jingchen would know of!

Meng Fuyao had her guard up towards Yan Jingchen this whole time. Even when her back was facing him, every part of her was observing his move. He did not have any chance to attack her at all.

So what happened?

Amidst the fog, a crazed and hysterical laugh could be heard. It was a raucous voice that held an uncanny resemblance to the sound long nails made when dragged across a rough stone surface. A voice that left one squirmish and uncomfortable.

The laughter was the cue for Meng Fuyao's collapse.

She collapsed into the embrace of Yan Jingchen who had unknowingly appeared by her side.

The wind howled as the fog slowly dispersed. The raucous voice produced hearty laughter and asked, "My dear disciple, how are you going to thank me for helping you?"

Yan Jingchen held Meng Fuyao in his arms as he bowed. "It will all be as you wished," he replied.

He lowered his head as he watched Meng Fuyao. Her long silky eyelashes, her calm, tranquil expression as she laid in his arms so obediently. It was a stark contrast to her usual cold and hurtful behavior. To hold her close like this was the first time in forever. It was something he had desperately hoped for in those lonesome nights when he reached for the illusion of her, only to realize there was nothing between his arms.

He revealed a sorrowful smile as his fingers brushed against Meng Fuyao's cheeks. His movements were gentle, yet his eyes showed nothing but resolution.

Yan Jingchen whispered, "Fuyao, you once said that some mistakes were like a wound caused by a fast knife. One might not realize anything in the beginning, but as time pa.s.ses, the wound will start to hurt and bleed… If that is so, then let me hurt. It would be better than to lose you… and you forgetting me."

The surrounding changed. It was no longer near the crowded martial arts arena but a secluded mountain cave. A carriage stopped in the middle of the forest.

The thin fog slowly dissipated to reveal a scrawny old man in yellow. The old man wasn't just scrawny, but extremely scrawny, like a skeleton with a layer of skin. His brown snake-like eyes sat above those high cheekbones as he glanced at people sideways. The evil gaze he had made people feel disturbed.

He cackled evilly. Checking Meng Fuyao out, he said, "Women… women are ugly beyond words."

Yan Jingchen forced a smile. He lowered his head and carried Meng Fuyao up to the carriage. Before he even sat still, the old man in yellow followed suit, sitting closely with Yan Jingchen as he placed a hand on Jingchen's thigh.

Yan Jingchen froze. This subtle action was detected by the old man in yellow as he turned around, and he asked chillingly, "Why? Are you despising your teacher once you got the girl? What did you say back then? If I knew this would happen, I would have killed her."

"You must be kidding." Yan Jingchen immediately lifted his head and smiled. "Of course not… I am just afraid that the carriage driver would catch on…" His voice got softer and softer though he shuffled closer to the man in yellow.

The old man in yellow smiled, satisfied. The old man patted his hand, holding onto his eyes as he slowly caressed his palm. "Now, that is my boy… Look at how much I dote you on. You want this woman, I helped you out despite my unwillingness. So, how are you going to repay me?"

This was his second time asking about the repayment. Yan Jingchen daren't avoid his question once more. He lowered his eyes as he forced a smile, answering, "Teacher's kindness in helping disciple will not be forgotten… whatever disciple has… it is teacher's…"

The old man in yellow cackled once again, seemingly pleased with his reply. He whispered into Yan Jingchen's ears. "Nighttime… night time… pity…"

He gently stroked Yan Jingchen's face and laughed gleefully as he announced, "I dislike the scent of women. I shall head back first."

Yan Jingchen bowed. "Yes, please."

In a flash, the man in yellow was gone like the wind. Yan Jingchen's tensed shoulders finally relaxed. He stared blankly at the direction the man disappeared in and suddenly grabbed a handkerchief, rubbing his face. He rubbed with such force that his skin tore as tiny blood vessels peaked through.

Only upon feeling the burning sensation did Yan Jingchen realize how heavy-handed he was. He quickly dropped the handkerchief and touched his face. After contemplating, he dug up a box of regenerating skin ointment and carefully applied it to his wound.

He could not leave a trace. Otherwise, once that paranoid old fellow found out, it would be another round of questioning… and…

His hand gradually stopped as the color drained off his face. His breath sped up as traumatizing memories washed over him. Those pale white and blood-red, the rotten scent and meandering moments, those happy days with unbearably painful nights.

These memories shook him to the core as he held back the waves of pain.

Yan Jingchen sat there blankly. The sun rays, broken up by the blinds in the carriage, reflected on his pale face. He lowered his hand until it finally landed on Meng Fuyao face.

He caressed her brows, her beautiful eyes and those elegant lips with such gentleness and carefulness. It was as though he was determined to carve this long desired beauty into the bottom of his heart, with his fingers eagerly memorizing every inch of her face.

'Fuyao, as you traveled around Seven Kingdoms, as you raked up achievements in Wuji, as you walked towards the honorable stage of the Seven Kingdoms with much splendor, have you ever thought that someone out there would give up everything to catch up to you, to get you?'

Fallen into despair as he sacrificed himself to the devil, with no hope of salvation for eternity.

The carriage rocked ever so slightly as the bamboo blinds crackled. The emerald green from between the blinds came from the nature that surrounded them. The clean and fresh air outside, the soil of mother nature, the gentle sun rays and the cooling rain — these were all things that he could never have again.

Yan Jingchen smiled.

A young sect leader, practicing in the Stirring Thunder Technique, his name sweeping across Shangyuan, world-renowned.

There was nothing but glory in all of these.

But who could see the struggles and sacrifices he had made?

He laughed, an unbridled laugh in a silent yet almost manic manner.

In that broken laugher were pearls of tears dripping onto Meng Fuyao's face.

Yan Jingchen did not stay in the inn that Tiansha had arranged for people partic.i.p.ating in the True Martial Arts Meet. Instead, he stayed in a mansion owned by Zhan Beiheng given the close relations Zhan Beiheng had with the Mystic Essence Sword Sect. Ever since Yan Jingchen became the sect leader, the relations got even closer as it was managed by the couple. Zhan Beiheng was always eager to be on good terms with the various royals that practiced martial arts such as this couple.

Yan Jingchen entered from the back door and headed straight for a cellar. Before he headed down, he asked his servant, "Where is my wife?"

"My lady came back after her compet.i.tion but was immediately invited to view flowers by Prince Heng," he replied. "Sir Sang has ordered you to meet him once you are back."

Yan Jingchen froze. After a moment, he managed to croak out an "mhm". He headed down to the cellular. In that dark cellular, the only thing lacking was light as all basic amenities like a bed and table were present. Yan Jingchen carefully laid Meng Fuyao down and took away her dagger. From his sleeves, he took out a thick black chain and chained her to the bed frame. He stared lovingly at her before bitting down on his lips and rushed out.

At the room in the front courtyard sat the man in yellow. The flame from the candle flicked as the man in yellow glanced out of the window, his gaze was filled with evilness.

Yan Jingchen rushed over. Looking at the shadow cast on the window, he paused before opening the door.

The moon hung above the sky as the wind rustled the leaves of the trees. It was as though the trees were crying for help in the dead night. The lotus leaves were half-closed with an occasional drop of water, which reflected the luminous moonlight, roll off the leaves and into the glistening, yet unfathomable pond.

Sweat quietly rolled down the jade-smooth skin as Yan Jingchen suppressed his breath. Amidst the messy bed, a wrinkled and dried out hand reached out as the owner of the hand emitted a terrible rotting smell, one that belonged to someone in their twilight years.

This was not the first time he had to bear with this scent. Yet, today, he felt even more miserable and pathetic than ever with the girl now within his reach. He could not help but avoid the outreached hand ever so slightly now that his disgust had increased.

It was only a small distance, barely a nail long.

But that old man realized. The old man's fingers stopped in the middle of the air, and he said creepily, "Seems like I made the wrong decision to help."

"Teacher!" Yan Jingchen panicked as he moved over. "It is not as you think, it is just that disciple… disciple is feeling a little unwell…"

"Oh?" The old man stared at him coldly, pushing him down. "Since you don't feel well, then rest," said the old man as he put on his clothes.

Yan Jingchen avoided his gaze as he tried to not look at the old man put on his clothes. After a moment, he asked, "It's night time… where are you going?"

The old man turned back and smiled slyly. "I haven't had enough fun. To extinguish the flame."