Extra five

Zhan Yunwei couldn't understand how he had been fine just a moment ago and then suddenly got angry.

But that didn't stop her from cursing him in a roundabout way.

She poked the fire, letting more air in, making the flames burn brighter. "Where would I get a Dao companion? I used to have one, though. His temper was worse than a dog's. If he ever ended up in trouble, I'd be too happy to care."

Since Yue Zhiheng didn't know who she was, she could say whatever she wanted. It didn't matter what she said—he wouldn't know who she was talking about anyway.

"I wouldn't waste Changming Lu on him. Not whipping him a few times is already me being merciful."

Yue Zhiheng let out a cold, amused laugh.

Unhappy with his reaction, Zhan Yunwei nudged him. "What are you laughing at?"

Lowering his gaze, he asked coolly, "Your ex-husband… What did he do to make you hate him so much?"

That question caught Zhan Yunwei off guard. She was momentarily stunned as memories of the past few years with this man resurfaced.

Arrogant and indifferent, his methods were ruthless and cruel. But in three whole years, he had never actually hurt her. Even when she had tried to kill him, though he had been coldly furious at the time, he never held it against her afterward.

That realization left her momentarily dazed, and the dreams from a few nights ago suddenly burned at the edges of her mind.

For some reason, she feared that possibility and desperately searched for faults in him.

"He… had a terrible temper. He was erratic and cruel," she said.

Yue Zhiheng pressed his lips together. His already dim, gray eyes darkened even further.

"Is that so?"

The more Zhan Yunwei tried to find flaws in him, the more she realized that all his coldness and cruelty had been directed at others.

Her imprisonment had been ordered by the Spirit Emperor—she knew that well. If the Spirit Emperor had given her to the Third Prince, a depraved man, instead of Yue Zhiheng, her fate would have been far worse.

Even luring members of the immortal sects to save her—if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else from the dynasty. If Yue Zhiheng hadn't done these things, the situation would have been even more disastrous.

The worst thing he had done to her of his own volition was sharing a bed with her against her will on those nights.

When it came down to it, all she could really say was that he had a terrible personality.

Hearing his cold response, she felt even more annoyed.

She picked up a thin branch and struck his shoulder, as if convincing herself. "Isn't having a bad personality enough to make people dislike you? And what does my business have to do with you?"

At her hit, he seemed to reach his limit.

He turned around, his dark eyes filled with restrained anger.

Meeting his stormy gaze, Zhan Yunwei felt an inexplicable sense of panic. Perhaps it was a conditioned response from surviving under him for so long.

But then she quickly remembered that things were different now. She huffed, "What? Angry that I hit you? If you don't tell me where Changming Lu is, I'll whip you every day."

What was he throwing a tantrum for? She had just poked him with a branch.

Earlier, the commoners and the Black Armor Guards had nearly beaten him to death, and he hadn't even flinched. Now, just because she lightly threatened him, he was acting like this?

Yue Zhiheng seemed to be suppressing something. After a long moment, he closed his eyes.

"Do as you wish."

His voice was cold and lifeless, making him seem like a corpse again.

Zhan Yunwei rarely felt frustrated, but after two failed attempts to get through to him, she started reflecting. Maybe she should have learned some interrogation tactics from him back then.

Pulling her blanket tighter around herself, she curled up. The winter night was freezing, and since he wasn't speaking, she had no interest in talking to herself. Before long, she drifted off to sleep again.

She didn't feel the need to be wary of him anymore.

It wasn't until Zhan Yunwei's breathing evened out that Yue Zhiheng finally opened his eyes.

All he saw was darkness—he couldn't see anything at all.

Her words still echoed in his ears: "Isn't having a bad personality enough to make people dislike you?"

He fell into silence, thinking to himself: If that's the case, then why did you come back?

You already left. Why do you still care about me?

It wasn't her words that he resented. What he hated was himself—his inexplicable, foolish hope that had led him to ask that question in the first place.

Even if he had died under a thousand cuts a few days ago, it wouldn't have been worse than this.

The winter was bitter and merciless—for many, not just him.

Before long, Zhan Yunwei realized something was wrong.

Yue Zhiheng had developed a high fever.

Before, when she gave him water, he drank it. When she fed him food, he ate it. Even in pain, his injuries had been improving. But today, despite the better weather, his condition had worsened.

Yue Zhiheng was already at the end of his rope. Everyone said that without his spiritual core, with injuries this severe, he wouldn't be able to heal on his own.

Feeling the heat radiating from his forehead, Zhan Yunwei's heart sank. "Yue Zhiheng, wake up. Get up and drink some water and take your medicine."

But when she dissolved a spiritual pill into water and tried to feed it to him, it only dribbled down from the corner of his lips.

A faint sense of panic crept into her heart—he couldn't die.

That absurd dream of hers was also her only hope. If he couldn't even swallow water, then he truly had no chance of surviving.

Gritting her teeth, she made a ruthless decision—she would feed him the medicine mouth to mouth.

His lips were tightly shut, forcing her to use more strength. She pinched his jaw, pried his lips open, and made sure he swallowed.

After much effort, she finally managed to get the medicine down.

She gave his waist a hard pinch in frustration. Her mouth was filled with the bitter taste of the spiritual pill, and without a change in expression, she immediately ran outside to break off a piece of ice from a tree. She stuffed it into her mouth, hoping the numbness would help her forget the unpleasant sensation of their lips touching.

Eight years ago, if someone had told her that one day she would save Yue Zhiheng like this, she wouldn't have believed it even if they beat her to death.

His illness was severe.

In fact, the very fact that he had held on this long, that his condition had been improving, was already a miracle.

For three whole days, whenever he could drink by himself, Zhan Yunwei would make him drink. When he couldn't, she would force it through his lips.

Perhaps this was retribution for taking advantage of his ignorance and "confiding" in him.

On the evening of the third day, when she once again pried open his lips, Yue Zhiheng woke up.

She had been so afraid he would actually die that feeding him medicine had become as natural as helping him relieve himself. At first, she didn't even realize he was awake.

It wasn't until the body beneath her suddenly went rigid, and the water she fed him was swallowed only after a long silence—when she pushed it down his throat—that he abruptly turned away in a flustered, almost panicked manner.

"What are you doing?!"

Zhan Yunwei: "…" She could explain.

However, looking at Yue Zhiheng's ever-changing expression and his excessive reaction, she suspected that if he still had his spiritual core, he would probably have slapped her to death on the spot.

In Yue Zhiheng's eyes, she was just a rough-voiced, burly man. This must have been far too stimulating for him. No wonder he looked as if he had just been struck by lightning.

Zhan Yunwei had felt a bit awkward herself, but seeing his strange expression, she suddenly felt much more at ease.

There was no reason for her to suffer alone these past few days.

Thinking of how repulsed he must feel, she even found herself taking a bit of malicious pleasure in his misery. But ultimately, seeing him awake made her sigh in relief.

Deliberately deepening her voice, she said, "You think I wanted to do this? If you die, where am I supposed to find the Longevity Dew? Desperate times call for desperate measures. No matter how disgusted you feel, you'll just have to deal with it."

He was still trying to steady his breathing, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line, as if he was trying to erase the memory of what had just happened.

Seeing his reaction, Zhan Yunwei thought he needed an ice cube even more than she did. Out of goodwill, she picked one up and offered it to him. Before she could even say a word, his eyelashes trembled violently.

"Don't touch me!"

His voice was low and full of anger, making her grind her teeth in frustration.

"Fine, fine, I won't touch you. You think I want to?" She helped him sit up. "Here, drink it yourself."

He closed his eyes briefly, then drank the entire bowl of medicine.

Pills weren't supposed to be bitter, but when dissolved in water, they became almost unbearable to drink. However, Yue Zhiheng didn't seem to care—he drank as if he couldn't taste anything at all.

A long while later, she moved the bowl away and was about to check his wounds when he coldly spoke.

"I'll tell you where the Longevity Dew is. Then you leave."

Zhan Yunwei's eyes widened.

Her first reaction wasn't joy, but anger.

He had been willing to die rather than reveal it, but now, just to avoid her lips touching him again, he gave in so easily?

His blatant disgust made Zhan Yunwei scoff in disbelief.

"Fine. Speak."

"In the hidden passage behind Mount Qiyang."

The location wasn't too surprising. She fell into thought.

His lips pressed into a cold, thin line. "Get lost."

It was the first time she had ever heard him speak to her with such icy malice.

Zhan Yunwei glanced at the fire, at the dwindling food supplies.

She huffed. "I was going to leave anyway. No need to chase me out."

She deliberately stomped her feet heavily, making sure he could hear her leaving.

But Zhan Yunwei had no intention of truly going away.

Right now, the Longevity Dew wasn't as important to her as verifying the truth of that dream—whether her father and Zhan Shujing really had a chance to live again.

At this moment, she genuinely wanted Yue Zhiheng to survive.

Having spent the past few days saving him, their food had run out. Even if he hadn't said anything, she would have gone out to buy more supplies.

Yue Zhiheng listened to the sound of her footsteps growing fainter.

Leaning against the cold, hard wall, he tasted the bitter remnants of the medicine on his lips. Yet even that overpowering taste couldn't mask the lingering tremor in his heart from realizing what Zhan Yunwei had done.

He pressed his lips together tightly, a wave of cold anger and sorrow washing over him.

Had he fallen so low that she would resort to such humiliation?

But then, with a chilling thought, he realized—this wasn't humiliation. She simply feared that he would die before she got the Longevity Dew.

That person was so important to her that she was willing to go to such lengths.

He no longer wanted to endure this.

This torment, rising and falling unpredictably, was unbearable.

If she wanted the Longevity Dew, he would give it to her—anything was better than this endless torment.

He couldn't control her actions, but he could at least control his own heart.

Outside, the wind howled. Snow had begun to fall again.

Not long after, footsteps approached from the distance.

Yue Zhiheng tensed but did not move.

Even though he couldn't see, he could tell the approaching people were not Zhan Yunwei.

A large group of Black Armored Guards had tracked him down.

"There he is! Seize the traitor!"

"No need to take him alive," another voice sneered. "The Spirit Emperor has ordered—kill him on the spot."

Blades gleamed in the dim light, ready to strike.

But before they could land, someone intercepted them.

A young woman abandoned her supplies, soaring into the fray, her spirit arts unfolding soundlessly in the ruined temple.

Zhan Yunwei's heart pounded—if she had arrived a moment later, Yue Zhiheng would have been dead.

Ignoring her supplies, she engaged the Black Armored Guards in combat.

She didn't dare fight inside the temple. The structure was already on the verge of collapse, and she couldn't risk causing it to fall and bury Yue Zhiheng alive.

Instead, she used her spirit arts to drag the battle outside, into the blizzard.

…

The sky grew darker, the clash of blades and spells echoing farther away.

The attack had begun at dusk, but now, it was nearly midnight.

Blood stained the snow.

By the time the battle ended, Zhan Yunwei had killed all of the Black Armored Guards.

Exhausted, she collapsed onto the icy ground.

The snowfall thickened, gradually burying half her body.

She tried to find amusement in her misery—she was too tired to move. Maybe she'd just rest here for a while before heading back.

Then, through the swirling snow, she saw a figure in the distance.

A man, leaning on a staff, silent and cold.

The wind tugged at his thin robes.

He was blind, unable to see anything, yet he was searching in the snow.

Holding her breath, Zhan Yunwei watched him from afar.

She had once read in books how losing one's spiritual core brought agony worse than death.

She didn't know how much it hurt.

But Yue Zhiheng's face bore no trace of pain.

He was cold, determined—just silently walking through the snow.

There wasn't a single trace of emotion on his face.

No anger, no sorrow, not even the slightest bit of worry. Yet, even so, he did not stop walking.

Neither the wind and snow nor the pain and overwhelming darkness could hold him back.

She stared at him in confusion. He was in such agony—what was he searching for? She truly couldn't understand. What in this place could be worth his relentless pursuit, so cold yet so unwavering?

An answer was already forming in her mind.

If not for the Black Armor Guards… then could it be—her?

That dream became even clearer. Countless times, the dream's Xu Zhiheng had embraced her, those eyes filled with despair yet overflowing with love. The memory of them made Zhan Yunwei's heart pound with an unexplainable unease.

Watching the solitary figure in the snow, she could no longer remain a detached spectator.

Could it be that he truly… as the woman in the dream had said, deeply loved her?

For the first time, she felt a flicker of fear—fear of facing the truth. If it were real, how should she respond?

But she had no time to dwell on it. Exhausted and unable to move, she watched as Xu Zhiheng drew closer, her curiosity about the dream's truth growing unbearable.

She gritted her teeth and, on impulse, feigned lifelessness—stopping her breath and suppressing her heartbeat—to see how he would react.

If he really did… cough, like her, surely he would show some sign of grief.

Zhan Yunwei finally understood—if he had figured out her true identity, her failed attempt at heart-to-heart talks would never have worked.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she suddenly felt herself being lifted into an embrace.

The wind and snow were fierce. After lying in it for so long, her body had already gone numb. She knew she must be ice-cold, yet his body was even colder. If not for her forcefully suppressing the urge, she would have shivered in his arms.

He raised a hand to check her breath.

For a moment, all was silent. The snow quickly buried the bloodstained ground. That freezing hand, upon finding no breath from her, moved to press against her chest.

Zhan Yunwei held back with all her might, resisting the instinct to jolt awake.

It was truly frustrating.

In the three years they had been Dao companions, they had never been as physically close as they had in this single month. Everything that should and shouldn't be done had already been done.

She had gone out to buy supplies today without disguising herself. After all, the one who had rescued Xu Zhiheng that night was a "man," and moving about as a woman now was more convenient.

That led to this incredibly awkward situation—where he was coldly and indifferently confirming whether she was dead.

Zhan Yunwei shut her eyes tightly.

Hopefully, he would soon accept reality—she was "dead beyond doubt"—and finally show some reaction.

Yet after a long while, Xu Zhiheng only withdrew his hand and simply held her, remaining motionless for an eternity.

No grief-stricken words, no confession of emotions.

Like the snow itself, he was silent, frigid, and solemn.

Even his emotions were buried deep beneath the sky and earth.

Only when snowflakes landed on her face would he gently brush them away, careful not to touch her skin, his movements eerily soundless.

Zhan Yunwei couldn't hold back any longer.

Taking advantage of his blindness, she peeked open her eyes.

He was far calmer than she had expected.

He simply propped her up against his chest, his gaze lined with faint bloodstains. At some point, he had been injured again, the sight of it alarming.

Yet his expression remained composed.

Holding her with one arm, he neither planned to return nor intended to move.

She tried to decipher his actions—what exactly… did this mean?

Was the dream true or false?

What exactly did he feel for her?

Had he recognized her? Was this sorrow or indifference?

But she couldn't tell.

The winter was too cold, his embrace devoid of warmth.

Her mind grew increasingly tangled.

If they continued like this, there would be no need to unravel his thoughts—they would both end up buried in the snow, their intertwined corpses discovered years later.

Just as she was about to abandon her act and "come back to life," he moved.

A barely perceptible movement.

Like snowflakes landing on her lips, cold and fleeting.

Yet in that instant, her heartbeat spiraled out of control.

She stared at the magnified reflection of his eyes, unable to deceive herself any longer.

The lingering sensation on her lips told her exactly what Xu Zhiheng had just done.

Beneath all his cold solitude, something had been hiding—something that now, like a dormant seed beneath the snow, had finally sprouted and could no longer be concealed.

Like a startled snow hare, she was paralyzed.

For the first time, she faced the truth he had hidden for eight years, her mind screaming for an escape.

He truly… had feelings for her…

Zhan Yunwei snapped out of her daze, only to realize she had instinctively pushed him away, scrambling out of his arms in disarray.

"You—"

Xu Zhiheng remained silent for a long time.

Then, as if finally realizing what had happened, he lifted his gaze—cold, distant, and filled with resentment.

Yet after what had just transpired, his glare lacked any true intimidation.

Without a word, he picked up a wooden staff nearby and propped himself up, heading in the opposite direction.

Zhan Yunwei sat in the snow, dazed.

After a while, she touched her lips.

He wasn't walking fast, but every step seemed drenched in icy resolve.

Amidst the wind and snow, he offered no explanations—merely holding onto the last remnants of his dignity.

Zhan Yunwei's emotions surged like crashing waves—embarrassment, shock, and an undeniable tremor of disbelief.

How could a man known for his ruthless and heartless nature, someone the world feared, possibly have feelings for her?

And yet… he truly did.

The snowfall showed no signs of stopping.

Xu Zhiheng spoke in a cold voice, "Miss Zhan, have you seen enough of the spectacle? Are you not leaving yet? Or is there something else you wish to witness? If so, you might as well speak, and I'll grant you your wish."

She opened her mouth, wanting to say she hadn't been watching for amusement. But given their past enmity, it was understandable that he was suspicious of her recent actions in saving him.

Still, in this situation, he hardly had the upper hand—why was she the one being interrogated?

She pressed her lips together. "No matter what I wanted, I never intended to harm you. And what about your actions just now? Were they not strange as well? I didn't ask you for an explanation, did I?"

He lifted his gaze toward her.

Though his eyes were clouded, they held an undeniable intensity, chilling and piercing.

His tone was calm, yet laced with mockery.

"What do you want to hear? Haven't you already seen everything?" His voice was indifferent. "What, do you need me to say it aloud for you?"

She felt as though she were dreaming—no, something even more absurd than a dream.

Under his icy tone, she forced herself to remain composed. "No need."

Yes… there was absolutely no need for that.

And so, he said nothing more.

After all, even if he dared to say it, she would never dare to listen.