The setting sun was like spilled blood.
When Li Zhexian dragged himself back to the small courtyard, the final trace of dusk had already been swallowed by night.
Moonstones embedded along the courtyard walls glimmered faintly, bathing the garden in a veil of silver light—shadows of flowers and grass swaying in quiet poetry.
But—
Li Zhexian had no mind to appreciate the view.
He didn't even glance at the four delicately arranged dishes waiting on the stone table.
With a sway of his body, he simply collapsed into the reclining chair in the center of the courtyard.
Exhausted.
The fatigue had seeped into his very bones.
Even lifting a finger felt too heavy.
The mingled scent of blossoms and warm food drifted to his nose.
He knew.
This was Ning Rongrong's doing.
That pampered young lady who once would not let spring water touch her fingers—
she had gone to such lengths for him.
She truly had put her heart into it.
But—
Li Zhexian hadn't taken a single bite.
No matter how Ning Rongrong changed things up each day,
he didn't touch a grain of rice.
Not because he was heartless.
But because…
He already owed too many debts of affection.
Since he had no intention of rekindling old ties with this childhood companion,
he must cut cleanly—
leave not even a thread of hope.
That was best for both.
As these thoughts drifted through his mind,
the last bit of Li Zhexian's strength ebbed away.
Just then,
a breeze swept softly through the courtyard.
Whoo—
Whoo—
The bamboo chair creaked gently.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off into sleep.
Some time later,
a slender figure quietly stepped into the courtyard.
Ning Rongrong approached softly,
bending down to drape a thin blanket over the young man.
Then she crouched beside him,
her beautiful eyes gazing blankly at his sleeping face —
that face, made even more handsome and serene under the moonlight.
Time seemed to freeze.
Until the faint rustle of a night-sleeping plant folding its leaves in the corner stirred her from her trance.
Her gaze drifted to the stone table.
Those untouched dishes met her eyes—
and pain rippled across them, misting with unshed tears.
She drew a deep breath, holding it until her nose stung,
but she did not let the tears fall.
Quietly, she stood up,
lifting the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen.
She placed them inside the steamer to keep warm.
In case…
Brother Zhexian woke hungry.
He should at least have something hot to eat.
As her sleeve slipped down,
a patch of redness marked her wrist.
"Hiss…"
Ning Rongrong winced softly, turning in alarm toward the reclining chair.
Seeing the youth's breathing remain steady, she exhaled in relief.
She didn't really know how to cook.
Even during her years of training in the Star Dou Forest, she'd only managed to learn to roast fish—
anything to fill her stomach, regardless of taste.
Cooking—true cooking—had never been her domain.
But for Li Zhexian, she was willing to try.
For days she had stayed in the kitchen, clumsily following the cooks,
fumbling half a day just to prepare a few barely passable dishes.
Was it tiring?
Of course it was.
Yet in her heart, there was a sweetness.
Even…
A fragile illusion of contentment.
After setting the food in place, Ning Rongrong leaned against the kitchen doorway once more,
gazing toward the sleeping youth.
"Brother Zhexian…"
"If only you could stay here in the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan forever…"
"Rongrong won't give up."
"Not until the day you truly forgive me…"
Her delicate fingers closed around the little clay sword pendant upon her chest.
She believed in herself.
Just as the night-sleeping grass did not need the moon's answer to fold into dreams,
as stone may one day yield to sincerity—
Ning Rongrong believed that Li Zhexian's sword would one day grow soft.
—
That night's sleep lasted until the first pale light touched the eastern sky.
Li Zhexian awoke slowly to the gentle sway of the bamboo chair.
Stretching his limbs,
a crisp crack-crack-crack of joints echoed through the courtyard.
Glancing down at the blanket upon him,
his face remained unreadable as he brushed it aside.
The moment he stood, his step faltered.
Li Zhexian clenched his jaw, veins bulging on his forehead—
a searing pain like countless steel needles twisting in his skull struck without warning.
Had he not caught the armrest in time, he would have fallen flat.
"The Glazed Dream Wine must be completed!"
He gasped for breath, his voice hoarse and low.
"Otherwise… I won't be able to enter the Seven Treasure Starveil again—not today, nor for some time after."
It wasn't weakness of will.
His spiritual power had reached its very limits—
utterly drained.
A single night's sleep could not mend what the Starveil had ravaged.
To force himself further would only destroy his foundation.
"Hah…"
He exhaled slowly, clearing his chest.
Then, without hesitation, his sleeve flicked.
A glazed wine jug landed neatly on the stone table.
Within, the liquid shimmered like a miniature galaxy—
streams of starlit sand flowing endlessly, radiating waves of pure, vital spiritual energy.
"The Glazed Dream Wine has taken shape."
"Next, I must blend in the essences of spirit-nourishing herbs,
and use my own spiritual power as the catalyst to fuse them."
"During that fusion… the spiritual backlash will be fierce."
"If I can endure it, the immortalbrew will be complete!"
"Fortunately, Senior Dugu gifted me those herbs…"
Li Zhexian sat cross-legged before the wine jug.
With a thought, his nascent spiritual power — invisible yet potent —
rose like unseen hands,
lifting several rare spirit herbs into the air.
They were crushed instantly.
Droplets of vivid green sap, brimming with life essence,
fell one by one into the dreamlike liquor.
Buzz—
Buzz—
At that hour, when sun and moon traded places,
heaven and earth resonated in harmony.
Ripples of starlit brilliance spread outward from the jug—
the wine within growing ever clearer, purer, more radiant.
It lasted for nearly an incense stick's time.
Then—
BOOM—!!!
An invisible shockwave of spiritual power
burst forth with terrifying speed,
sweeping across the entire Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.
The dew on the tips of grass blades was shaken loose,
leaves on the mountain trembled though there was no wind,
and every disciple — whether training or eating breakfast —
felt a sudden, dizzying jolt to their mind.
"Hmm?!"
On the edge of a cliff—
Ning Fengzhi, who had been cleansing his spirit with the morning mist, suddenly opened his eyes.
Sharp light flashed in his gaze.
An invisible surge of spiritual power erupted outward,
scattering the mist that blanketed the cliff in an instant.
"Such pure spiritual fluctuation…"
A look of shock crossed his face—
and in the next instant, his body vanished from the spot.
Though his Spirit Power stood only at Rank 79,
his Seven Apertures Exquisite Heart and Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda Martial Soul
gave him a spiritual depth that even ordinary Titled Douluo could scarcely match.
High above the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect—
Ning Fengzhi, Chen Xin (Sword Douluo), and Gu Rong (Bone Douluo) appeared in succession.
"Uncle Sword, Uncle Bone—you sensed it too?"
"Hm."
Chen Xin nodded slightly, his face calm but eyes sharp.
"This surge of spiritual power covers half the sect…"
Gu Rong's heavy black robe draped over his lean, sinewy frame, his voice gravelly:
"What could be the source?"
"The purity of that spiritual power—this old man has never felt its like!"
The three gazed downward, expressions grave.
But the wave that had shaken the sect—
vanished as swiftly as it had come,
leaving not even a ripple behind.
Until they saw him—
That youth in plain white robes,
darting out from his courtyard.
He stepped upon the first golden rays of morning,
weaving through the dew-covered forest path.
His sleeves fluttered, shaking down countless droplets of dew —
yet not a single one touched his body.
He was racing,
impatiently,
toward the Seven Treasure Starveil once more—