The Weight of His Presence (Part 2)

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms. I refused to turn around, refused to meet the devil face to face.

I could feel the eyes of the room pivoting between him and me, already hungry for any reaction, any flicker of emotion they could twist into gossip.

No, I wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

So I kept my eyes low, focusing on the floor beneath me, even as his presence brushed past me like a cold wind. That familiar yet foreign energy surged, leaving the hairs on my neck standing. He moved toward Peng Enlai, his steps deliberate and measured, his boots sounding louder than they should in the heavy silence.

"I've protected two empires for decades," his voice, low and sharp, cut through the room like a blade. "And this is how they repay me? By sending me a bunch of witless buffoons to escort me across hostile territory?"

The insult stunned the room into silence, confusion flickering across everyone's faces.

"Master," Peng Enlai began cautiously, his tone laced with an almost apologetic hesitance, "do you find the priest's suggestion unreasonable?"

Master?

I frowned, the realization hitting me. Is Peng Enlai a disciple of Ruan Yanjun?

"I was not referring to the priest." Ruan Yanjun's voice, edged with unmistakable irritation, carried through the room. "I was referring to the rest of you. Of all those present, he alone seems capable of rational thought."

The silence deepened, weighted by the unspoken shame that settled over the room. One by one, heads lowered, but I remained untouched by it.

I felt nothing. No vindication, no gratitude—only the unhealed sting of his betrayal, raw and searing as ever. No amount of veiled flattery from his venom-laced tongue could soothe that wound.

And yet, despite myself, my gaze betrayed me. Slowly, inevitably, my eyes lifted to him, drawn like a moth to flame.

For the first time, I saw him clearly. All those months we'd spent together, my vision had been blurred, and I had relied on touch, sound, and instinct to perceive him. Now, with my sight fully restored, I could see him for what he truly was.

And what I saw left me breathless.

Jinjing had been right.

Ruan Yanjun was the kind of man who looked as though he had stepped out of an ink painting—his features were both regal and untamed, sculpted with an almost otherworldly precision. Though he appeared no older than his late twenties, there was an ageless quality about him, as if time itself had bowed to his existence.

His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing dark eyes lent him an ethereal beauty, one that might have been mesmerizing if not for the cold intensity etched into his every expression.

Those eyes. Darker and deeper than I had imagined, with elongated tails that swept back toward his temples, giving him an otherworldly allure. Captivating, yes, but utterly devoid of warmth. There was no softness, no trace of kindness—only a piercing, unyielding glare that seemed to unnerve anyone who dared meet his gaze.

There wasn't even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in him. He stood like a monument of strength and authority, unyielding, untouchable, and absolute.

Yet something about him felt… out of place. His features did not align with the Southerners' lineage. He bore the hallmarks of the North, a resemblance made even more apparent by his towering height.

Could it be that Ruan Yanjun hailed from the Xue Empire?

The realization settled deep in my mind as I studied his face, and the longer I stared, the more certain I became.

Then I noticed something else—one far more unsettling.

I remembered the overwhelming aura that had once surrounded him, the sheer force of his presence that made enemies shrink back before he even lifted a finger. It was gone.

The once-immortal Ruan Yanjun had been reduced to a mere mortal.

What happened to him?

Suddenly, he turned toward me.

Our gazes locked.

A jolt ran through me, and before I could control it, heat rose to my face. I froze, caught in the weight of his stare.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, their sharpness easing just enough to reveal something unreadable. Then— a smirk. The barest curve at the corner of his lips, subtle yet taunting, as if he had caught me in something.

I wrenched my gaze away.

I had been staring too long. And worse—I had been staring the way a disciple gazes upon a revered master, the way a mortal watches a god.

I shouldn't forget. No matter how awe-inspiring he looked, no matter how my heart faltered under the weight of his presence, Ruan Yanjun had betrayed me. He had sold me out, bartered my life for his own gain. That truth cut deeper than any admiration I might have felt for him.

Jaw tightening, I turned away and made my way back to my seat, forcing my limbs to move with purpose. I refused to let him affect me. I refused to let the past entangle me again. Whatever had brought me here, it wasn't about him. I was simply fulfilling a favor for Abbot Mo.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Cai Jian smirking, a knowing, insufferable smirk, one that deepened when he had the audacity to wink at me. The rest of the men said nothing, but their silence was far from ignorance. Their faces—supposedly neutral—held the faintest hints of amusement, their gazes flitting between me and Ruan Yanjun, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

These men—rough, battle-hardened, with no sense of propriety—weren't ones to shy away from gossip when given the chance. They were starving for confirmation, for proof that the whispered rumors about Ruan Yanjun and me weren't just baseless speculation. And yet, for all their curiosity, in the presence of Ruan Yanjun, they held their tongues.

I sighed and lowered my head, willing myself to ignore them.

Still, my thoughts refused to quiet.

What was Ruan Yanjun thinking now that he knew I was alive?

He must have questions. How had I survived? How had I healed? And most importantly—why was I here?

If he thought I had come for revenge, he would strike first. That was who he was. Ruan Yanjun was not the type to wait for an enemy to make the first move. He was a predator, and predators never let their prey dictate the hunt.

Even with his cultivation diminished, I had no doubt he could kill me with his bare hands before I even realized I was in danger.

I needed to be cautious—more cautious than ever. No matter how calm he appeared, Ruan Yanjun was unpredictable.

"Does that mean… we'll do exactly as Priest Luo suggested?" Peng Enlai asked, his voice breaking through my swirling thoughts.

"Do you have any other suggestion?" Ruan Yanjun's tone was sharp and dismissive.

Peng Enlai hesitated, and then, bowing his head, he muttered, "I have none, Master."

The room followed his lead, each one nodding in agreement, their previous bravado and arrogance subdued in the presence of this man. It was astonishing to witness. Even though his cultivation was supposedly gone, his authority and presence alone commanded respect—and fear. He was the exception to every rule, the one who defied the natural order of things. His level didn't matter. It never had.

And then, there were the knowing glances. Subtle but pointed, exchanged between the others as though confirming something unspoken. I could feel their eyes darting toward me, as if to say, You are special to him. Your words hold more weight with him than anyone else's.

I wanted to scoff. Special? They didn't know what they were talking about. Ruan Yanjun didn't care about anyone but himself. If he valued my suggestion, it wasn't because of any fondness for me. It was likely just another part of his scheme to pull me back into his grasp.

"If there's nothing else, finish this meeting and go have your dinner," Ruan Yanjun ordered, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You're wasting your time laughing over someone else's mutilated piece. You may do that some other time—not in the middle of a discussion."

The men immediately bowed, a chorus of murmured apologies filling the room. I followed suit, lowering my head to avoid standing out. The demon must have been listening outside the door for some time, silently observing before making his entrance. How much had he heard? Had he caught their teasing or their crude remarks? Had he heard them laughing about me?

Peng Enlai dismissed the meeting shortly after, and I wasted no time. As soon as the formalities were done, I dashed out of the room. I needed to get away, to put distance between myself and Ruan Yanjun before our paths crossed again.

My heart pounded as I hurried toward the stables.

The horses were still waiting, their large, dark eyes looking at me with curiosity as I approached. I focused on them, anything to calm my racing thoughts. The rhythmic strokes of brushing their coats, the soft crunch of hay beneath my boots—it all helped steady my nerves.

But even as I worked, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The memory of his piercing gaze lingered, heavy and oppressive. He'd looked at me as if he could see straight through me, peeling back every layer I'd carefully constructed over the past two years.

I didn't want to see him again. I didn't want to sit in a room with him, breathe the same air, or exchange even the smallest of words. Being near him felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to crumble beneath my feet.

Let the others dine and laugh together. I didn't care if I had to eat cold scraps later. I'd rather be out here, alone with the horses, than trapped in the same space as him.

Surrounded by the quiet sounds of the horses, I felt safer. I could stay here, sleep on the hay beneath the tattered roof of the stable, where the gaping holes let the vast sky spill through.

Anywhere was better than being near Ruan Yanjun.