After breakfast, Ruan Zhao felt his mind clear and his thoughts flowing more freely. A flash of inspiration struck him—he had an idea. A brilliant one.
He turned to Chu Xinglan. “I want to take a bath.”
“…A bath?”
For cultivators, keeping clean was as easy as flicking their fingers. A single cleansing spell could remove any trace of dirt, no matter how filthy they had gotten. Bathing, on the other hand, was far more tedious. Not only was the process elaborate, but it also wasted precious time that could otherwise be spent cultivating.
Among the new disciples of Guiyuan Sect, Chu Xinglan wasn’t just the most gifted—he was also the most relentless. While the senior disciples went out to enjoy the city, he was busy breaking through realms. When the juniors snuck down the mountain for snacks, he was practicing swordplay in the back hills. When the elders went traveling, he locked himself in the Sword Tomb for eighty-one days, battling endless formations until, at last, he drew the shattered blade “Suiying” under the sword spirit’s silent watch.
He had long since detached himself from worldly routines. Every moment he had was devoted to cultivation. The rare times he stepped into town, it was only to see what styles of robes and jewelry were popular—so he could buy them all for Ruan Zhao.
So now, hearing the word “bath,” Chu Xinglan froze. It took him quite a while to register what it even meant. He assumed Ruan Zhao’s spiritual meridians were still too damaged to cast a cleansing spell, and bathing was just a reluctant compromise.
He gently took Ruan Zhao’s wrist, channeling a sliver of spiritual energy through him… It was sluggish, yes, but not blocked.
“I’m fine. Not hurt or anything. I just want to take a proper bath.” Ruan Zhao pulled his hand back and said with a small frown, “When I was home, I used to bathe every day. The water had to be just the right temperature, with lots of pretty flower petals. That way, I’d smell nice and clean.”
The first part was true. He did bathe daily. The warmth soaking into his body helped ease fatigue in ways no spell ever could. But the bit about flower petals? That was a total exaggeration.
“Now?” Chu Xinglan asked, glancing around. “Here?”
Ruan Zhao nodded. And of course—Chu Xinglan would fulfill his every request.
Chu Xinglan went to find the innkeeper’s assistant and requested a few buckets of hot water. He paused, then lowered his voice and asked quietly—
“…Do you have any flower petals?”
The main hall was noisy, and the inn boy didn’t quite catch it. “Sorry, what?”
A faint blush crept up Chu Xinglan’s ears. “Flower petals. If not, then… it’s fine.” He’d figure something else out.
The assistant chuckled. “Young master, as long as the silver flows, what can’t be bought?” Wiping his hands with the towel draped over his shoulder, he said, “Leave it to me.”
Within the time it took to drink a cup of tea, everything Ruan Zhao had asked for was prepared.
He stared at the tub, where bright flower petals floated atop steaming water. For a moment—he regretted saying anything at all. He hadn’t expected Chu Xinglan to actually get them. But now, there was no turning back.
Steam curled lazily upward, slowly clouding the air and softening the edges of the room. Ruan Zhao bent over and stirred the water gently with his fingers, testing the temperature. Not bad—not too hot.
A soft petal, heavy with droplets, brushed lightly across the back of his hand. The vivid red against his pale, porcelain-like skin created a striking contrast.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Dreamy. Languid. Almost… romantic.
Though Ruan Zhao was still fully clothed, without even the slightest bit of skin exposed, Chu Xinglan inexplicably blushed. He averted his eyes at once, taking a step back, clutching his sword as if for dear life. In his fluster, he bumped into the doorframe with a loud thunk.
“I… I’ll wait outside,” he stammered, fleeing like his life depended on it.
“Wait.”
Chu Xinglan froze. Even his ears turned crimson now. Wasn’t Zhaozhao about to bathe? Why call him back now, of all times…? Don’t tell him—Was he asking him to bathe together?
Shameless. Indecent. Vulgar. Crude. How could he even think such things? If the situation allowed, Chu Xinglan would’ve slapped himself—hard—just to snap out of it.
While he was still lost in a swirl of guilt and embarrassment, a soft, sweet voice came from behind him.
“You need to go farther away,” Ruan Zhao said gently. “If you stay right outside the door, you’ll still be able to hear things.”
Chu Xinglan hesitated. “…I can block my hearing.”
“That’s not enough,” Ruan Zhao replied, frowning slightly, with a tone that was both firm and worryingly logical. “What if you secretly undo the spell behind my back? I can’t exactly run out mid-bath to check on you.”
“We’re not officially married yet. We’re only engaged. Until our wedding, we must follow proper conduct—no inappropriate behavior, not even the slightest.”
He said this with such righteous conviction, as if he’d completely forgotten how clingy he’d been just a few days ago—asking to be carried, hugged, doted on at every turn. The moment Chu Xinglan even hinted at discussing etiquette, Ruan Zhao had gotten upset and made him apologize. So terribly delicate.
Chu Xinglan raised three fingers solemnly. “I swear—I won’t eavesdrop. If I do, then I’ll—”
But before he could finish, Ruan Zhao swiftly covered his mouth, cutting off the oath. “Swearing won’t work either,” he said, enunciating each word clearly.
Chu Xinglan fell silent. In the end, he gave in. He left the room, retreating all the way down to the inn’s main hall.
Just before he went, he paused at the door and asked, “When… can I come back?”
Ruan Zhao thought for a second. “Come back in an hour.”
“An hour?” A tiny crack formed on Chu Xinglan’s expression again. “It takes that long to bathe?”
“Of course it does,” Ruan Zhao said, completely serious. “I’m a girl—of course I need time. And I haven’t bathed in days. Four, five, six washes—it’s not unreasonable.”
Chu Xinglan lowered his eyes. His fingers curled a little tighter around his sword hilt. Reluctantly, he murmured, “Okay.”
……
At last, he’d managed to send Chu Xinglan away. An entire hour of solitude—all to himself. It was more than enough time to carefully study the new cultivation technique.
Ruan Zhao let out a silent sigh of relief, careful not to betray even a hint of emotion.
True to its word, the system delivered the technique into his hands. It came in the form of a delicate jade slip. All he had to do was channel a strand of spiritual sense into it, and the contents would reveal themselves.
Perhaps it was the weight of destiny pressing down on him—this sense that he stood on the precipice of change, that one more step forward could rewrite his entire fate, no longer just a furnace meant for others to use.
His breath hitched. He could hear the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. His blood surged, heat rising to his face, making his vision spin. Even the fingers holding the jade slip trembled slightly.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. A deep breath. Steady. Then, carefully, he sent a sliver of his spiritual sense inside.
……
What he saw made his heart lurch. His expression shifted wildly—flushing red, then going pale, then red again, as though someone had knocked over a palette of paints on his face. His lashes fluttered faintly. Whatever he’d seen must have been very out of line, because a flush of heat rushed through him, painting his cheeks crimson.
The system couldn’t access the jade slip’s contents. All it could see was the ever-changing color of Ruan Zhao’s face. With a hint of concern, it asked: [What’s wrong? Is there something off about the technique?]
After all, this was a high-tier, top-of-the-line manual—it had cost a fortune at the system marketplace. Even in the cultivation world, it was one of a kind. No way it could be a counterfeit.
Ruan Zhao carved off a thread of thought to answer it.
[System senior… are you sure you didn’t send me the wrong technique?]
[Of course not!] the system replied with unwavering confidence.
Ruan Zhao’s eyes flickered evasively, cheeks still flushed. [Then… do you maybe have any other manuals I could learn from? Something else that suits me?]
[No, this is the only one,] the system answered, sounding slightly apologetic. It had scoured the entire system marketplace to find this one—perfectly tailored for someone with furnace physique.
Still concerned, it pressed him again: [What exactly is the issue?]
Ruan Zhao hesitated. His words stuttered, then faltered entirely. [The technique says I need to… find someone with a Pure Yang constitution.]
[A Pure Yang constitution? Isn’t that exactly what Chu Xinglan has?] the system responded, rather matter-of-factly.
Ruan Zhao’s lashes fluttered. [You mean him?]
[Exactly. You’ve seen his Natal Spirit Flame, haven’t you? Only cultivators with a Pure Yang body can summon one.]
Ruan Zhao blinked, surprised. He’d always thought Chu Xinglan was the cold type—aloof, unreadable, with that ever-present chill around him. Who would’ve guessed his body was brimming with Pure Yang energy?
Ruan Zhao slapped his cheeks lightly, trying to snap himself back to calm. The system, growing more curious, followed up:
[So what does the manual actually say to do with this Pure Yang body?]
Ruan Zhao: [………] His lips parted, then closed again. He seemed to struggle, caught between embarrassment and frustration. Eventually, he exhaled sharply, like someone giving up all pretense.
[It says… it says I need to dual cultivate with him.]
Dual cultivation? The system paused. Just to be sure, it secretly ran a background check on the term “dual cultivation.” And then its CPU practically exploded.
Ruan Zhao, having finally spoken the words aloud, felt like a heavy weight had lifted off his chest. The heat in his cheeks slowly began to fade. Once he’d calmed, he added, [But that’s just the last part of the manual. In the beginning, it’s enough to just be physically close to someone with Pure Yang—hand-holding, hugging, kissing, even exchanging… bodily fluids.]
The more intimate the act, the faster his cultivation progressed. And if he really went all the way… he could break through like wildfire. Finally free of the shackles of a furnace’s destiny.
[So, Zhaozhao… what do you think?]
The system’s question was simple—yet impossibly weighty.
What did he think? Of course, Ruan Zhao didn’t want to give up such a rare cultivation opportunity. If he had the choice, he didn’t want to be the kind of person who always needed protecting—clinging to others like a helpless vine, relying on someone else to shield him every time danger struck.
He didn’t want to cry for help, to be bruised by the world only to wait passively for Chu Xinglan to come save him. The cultivation world was ruthless. Peril lay in every shadow, and even if Chu Xinglan stayed by his side every moment, there would always be times when he couldn’t protect him—just like that encounter with the demonic cultivator.
Here, weakness was a sin. Only the strong could walk freely, with dignity and self-respect. Ruan Zhao understood this well. If he let this chance slip through his fingers, regret would haunt him for the rest of his life.
So he didn’t hesitate. [Of course I’ll follow the cultivation manual.]
Chu Xinglan was his fiancé. Their engagement had been sealed beneath the watchful eyes of Heaven itself. Any closeness between them—physical or otherwise—was perfectly within the bounds of reason.
Kissing and hugging… what was the big deal? It wasn’t like they hadn’t held each other before. Totally… simple. Totally… doable. He repeated it to himself until the last flicker of hesitation finally vanished from his heart.
Ruan Zhao slipped off his outer robe, preparing for a proper bath. But his hands stilled on the buttons for just a moment.
[Senior System…] he called softly.
The system knew exactly what he was worried about.
[Don’t worry. I won’t peek.]
[I’ll shut down… my awareness now.]
Whenever a host’s privacy was involved, the system would automatically sever all sensory connections—a protocol more commonly known as “being locked in the little dark room.”
In the void of that sealed-off space, the system drew invisible circles in the dark, deeply tangled in thought.
The mission for this world was supposed to be simple. Ruan Zhao was the male lead’s fiancée—childhood friends, bound by affection. Yet he didn’t like the male lead. All he wanted was to break things off. In that relationship, he caused endless drama.
He was spoiled, stubborn, unreasonable—pushing the male lead further and further away until not even the tiniest flicker of affection remained. In the end, they parted for good.
Heartbroken, the male lead shut himself off from all emotion. He gave up on worldly attachments and devoted himself entirely to the Dao. A hundred years later, he became the only cultivator in a thousand years to ascend.
A clear path. A straightforward narrative. But something had gone wrong from the very start. The host had lost his memory. He believed himself a native of this world—born and raised in the cultivation realm. And worse… he had begun to care for Chu Xinglan. He’d accepted him as his fiancé. And now… he was even planning to grow closer to him.
After that… would he really be willing to let go?
The system sighed long and low, utterly at a loss for how to move forward. It drew a circle. Then another. Then one more in the middle. No one knew how much time passed. But eventually… the little black room opened.
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