The rain had yet to stop.
It ca in soft sheets now, quieter than before, but the sky remained a dull silver-gray, and the mountains around the sect were cloaked in mist.
The disciples who wandered the outer courtyards all walked with their heads bowed, murmurs of gossip trailing behind them like ghosts.
But Lin Fan only heard silence.
He stood on the far edge of the Celestial Petal Pavilion, staring through the downpour, his robes soaked through, hair clinging to his skin.
His gaze was fixed on the lone figure across the stone bridge: Mu Lanyue.
She walked beneath a paper umbrella, pale blue, matching the color of her robes. Her every step was elegant, restrained.
She was surrounded by two junior sisters, but Lin Fan could see it clearly—the smile she gave them wasn’t the one she saved for him.
Or... used to save for him.
His fingers curled into fists.
That smile had been his. The gentle one, slightly shy, where her eyes sparkled but she pretended not to care.
That smile had once made him believe that even with all the chaos around him, soone truly saw him—not as a failure, not as the shadow of Hei Long, but as Lin Fan.
He’d lost that smile.
And it was his fault.
He hadn’t acted fast enough.
He hadn’t protected her enough.
He hadn’t confessed, despite having a hundred chances.
He’d waited too long... and he had taken her.
Hei Long.
That night, the sky broke open in a thunderstorm. The mountains groaned under the pressure of divine rain, and cultivators huddled in their chambers, shielding their cultivation grounds with protective formations.
But Lin Fan sat alone in the Shadow Blossom Hall, candles flickering before him, each fla like a mocking echo of the warmth he’d once had.
Lan Yinyin’s laughter still rang in his ears from the last sect gathering—how she teased him for being voted "Most Likely To Be Cucked Again" during the Sect Gas.
Even the magical mirror had betrayed him.
"Lin Fan," Hei Long had said gently that day, as if he actually pitied him, "maybe you should take so ti away. Travel. Reflect."
As if he hadn’t been the one stealing everything from him.
Su Rou. Gone.
Mu Lanyue... almost gone.
He had to stop it.
. . . .
"Brother Lin," whispered a voice.
He turned sharply.
Two cloaked figures slipped into the shadows beside him—disciples from the remote Pale Ghost Sect, known for their anti-NTR formations and isolationist cultivation styles.
"You called for us?" the shorter one asked, bowing. "You said it was urgent. That soone... stole your woman?"
"Not soone," Lin Fan hissed. "It was Hei Long."
The other figure tensed. "The one who bedded the Flower Sect twins? And Princess Lan Yinyin?"
"All of them."
"...We will help."
That night, Lin Fan ford the Broken-Hearted Brotherhood.
A secret society within the sects, devoted to exposing Hei Long, dismantling his fake image, and... if necessary, invoking forbidden dual-destruction rituals.
Operation Moonlit Reversal was born.
anwhile...
Hei Long sipped wine beneath a cherry blossom tree, Mu Lanyue resting her head against his shoulder. They said nothing. The only sound was the distant wind and her soft breath, warm against his skin.
She looked up at him. "They say you’re dangerous."
"I am," he replied.
"...Good," she said with a smile.
She kissed him.
And far off, beneath a cracked talisman in the old archive room, Lin Fan coughed blood as a minor spirit-binding formation reacted violently to their kiss.
His face twisted with fury.
Lin Fan had one last plan.
If he could speak to Mu Lanyue—just once—without Hei Long around, he could remind her.
Of the tis they trained under moonlight, of when he shielded her from an angry phoenix beast, of when she asked him to protect her smile.
"She’s been enchanted," he muttered. "It’s the only explanation."
He forged a Soul-Stirring Letter, written using his own blood, folded within a lotus petal, and slipped it into her private chamber with a technique learned from a rat demon.
The next day, she returned the letter.
Unopened.
But with it... was a note, in Hei Long’s handwriting:
"Please stop sending these. She belongs to herself. Not to you.—H.L."
That night, Lin Fan scread into a pillow for two hours straight.
. . . .
All major sects gathered for the Festival of Bonds, a grand spiritual event that tested dual cultivation compatibility between potential couples.
Hei Long and Mu Lanyue appeared together in the main arena, holding hands.
Their bond score? 97.
The mirror spirit trembled with joy. Petals exploded from the sky.
Lin Fan partnered with a junior girl from a side sect.
Their score? -3.
The mirror cracked.
People laughed.
One cultivator muttered, "It’s a negative bond score? That’s possible?!"
Lin Fan fainted on the spot.
That night, Mu Lanyue stood by the waterfall, alone, as thunder rolled in the distance. Hei Long approached her silently, placing a dry robe around her shoulders.
"Are you still cold?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"...Do you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Leaving Su Rou. Choosing ."
Hei Long’s eyes softened.
"I never looked back."
And sowhere, in the darkness, Lin Fan broke into the spirit chicken sanctum—his final hope for the Anti-Soul-Bonding Ritual...
Only to be kicked out by a sect lawyer wielding a Divine Cease-and-Desist blade.
His obsession had beco a curse.
And Hei Long... was already preparing to steal the next heart.
"Did you see her smile at Hei Long?"
"She ran to him, not Lin Fan."
"How pitiful..."
He didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
A few paces ahead, Mu Lanyue stood beside Hei Long, her back slightly turned to Lin Fan.
Her sleeves clung to her arms, soaked through by the downpour, her soft hair slicked across her cheek. But her expression—was that concern? Was it guilt? Or was it just the shadow of pity?
She spoke softly to Hei Long, placing a hand over her heart.
Lin Fan couldn’t hear the words, but the gesture was clear.
The Days After...
Lin Fan did not return to his peak for three days.
He wandered the outskirts of the sect grounds, avoiding the courtyards and training halls. Avoiding people. Avoiding her. T
he rain hadn’t stopped since that night, as if the heavens themselves had taken sides—and he already knew whose.
In his room, untouched food gathered flies. His training blade, once polished daily, now lay rusted by the window.
Yet every mont was filled with her.
The way she had once smiled when he helped her up during their first mission together.
The late-night conversations about dual cultivation techniques—nothing perverse, just theory, but her eyes had glowed with fascination.
He rembered the scarf she had made him, clumsy but warm. He still had it. Damp now. Like everything else.
"I have to win her back..."
"She’s not his. She was never his. He’s manipulating her."
"She wouldn’t choose him unless sothing was wrong."
His mind spun into obsession.
anwhile, at Hei Long’s Pavilion
Hei Long sat comfortably beneath an enchanted cherry blossom tree, the petals refusing to wilt despite the storm outside the illusion barrier. Mu Lanyue was with him, reclining near the koi pond, laughing softly at sothing he said.
"You shouldn’t tease like that," she said, half-heartedly swatting his arm.
Hei Long only smiled, that calculated, calm, unchallenged expression on his face.
He had not made any moves on her.
Not yet.
Not in the way people expected. His hands never strayed, his words always respectful... yet every sentence dripped with emotional nuance, with warmth. He offered his presence like a fortress—and she, weathered by years of loneliness, had begun to take shelter in it.
Still, even now, she glanced toward the horizon sotis. Toward the mountain Lin Fan had once said he’d take her to.
Hei Long never asked why.
He didn’t need to.
. . . .
By the fifth day, Lin Fan had returned to the sect proper—but changed.
His robes were disheveled, and he carried a small scroll everywhere, filled with nas and incidents. Encounters. mories. Evidence, as he saw it, that Mu Lanyue and he were ant to be.
"She made tea during the winter trials. That’s not sothing you do for just anyone."
"She cried when I almost died. I saw her."
"She said I was her first real friend."
He repeated these to himself.
To the mirror.
To his master, who had begun avoiding him.
In an unhinged mont, he tried to intercept Mu Lanyue on the main path near the Jade Lotus Bridge.
"Lanyue!" he called, too loudly.
She paused.
So did Hei Long, walking a few steps behind her. His eyes narrowed—but he said nothing.
Mu Lanyue looked... uncomfortable.
"Lin Fan," she said, "You shouldn’t be out here. You’ve been unwell."
"I’m better now," he insisted, stepping closer. "I rembered the things we talked about, the plans we made—before he started whispering into your thoughts."
Hei Long blinked.
Mu Lanyue’s brow furrowed. "Whispering...? Hei Long has never forced to—"
"You’re not thinking clearly. He’s doing sothing to you. He has to be!"
"Lin Fan." Her tone dropped. "I care about you, but you’re not entitled to ."
That word—entitled—landed like a slap.
Lin Fan reeled.
"You don’t an that. You’re just confused," he said, almost pleading now. "We were—" He stopped.
Hei Long stepped forward at last. His voice was calm, but laced with edge.
"She’s not a prize to be fought over. If you respect her, act like it."
Lin Fan’s fists clenched.
"I’ll prove it then," he said, voice trembling. "I’ll show you that I’m worthy."
And then, he turned and fled before they could see him break down.
Thus began what the sect elders would later call The Month of Cringe.
Lin Fan entered every sect competition, from alchemy tournants to beast taming duels. He sent Mu Lanyue embroidered letters with poetic lines like:
"Your eyes are the moonlight on the still pond of my soul."
He attempted a grand gesture involving sky lanterns and a phoenix illusion.
It exploded halfway through, blinding three outer sect disciples.
Mu Lanyue stopped opening his letters after the one he scented with "spirit musk." Rumor said it was made from a celestial badger.
Hei Long watched from afar, occasionally intercepting Lin Fan—not to taunt, but with carefully chosen remarks:
"You’re losing yourself, Lin Fan. She deserves better."
"Maybe what you loved wasn’t her, but the idea of being loved by her."
Each sentence hit like a hamr to the ribs.
It ca on a festival night.
The Sect’s Lantern Gala—where disciples wrote wishes and released them into the skies. Mu Lanyue stood among the crowd, a lantern in her hands. She wrote:
"I want clarity."
Lin Fan, dressed in robes far too clean for soone in his state, approached from behind with a giant lantern shaped like a heart.
It caught fire instantly.
Everyone turned.
Mu Lanyue’s face twisted—not in amusent, but in anguish. Embarrassnt. She didn’t even speak this ti. She simply walked away.
And as Lin Fan stood, heart still burning in paper form, he saw her walk—once again—to Hei Long.
This ti, Hei Long reached out and pulled her into a silent embrace.
She didn’t resist.
That night, Lin Fan stood atop the Jade Lotus Bridge again. It rained.
And again, Mu Lanyue passed by.
But this ti, she didn’t pause.
This ti, she didn’t look back.
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