Arriving back at his residence, Hei Long felt a rare flicker of satisfaction.
His timing couldn’t have been better.
Just a few steps ahead, Ji Yao was stepping out of her own quiet courtyard.
Her long robes rustled softly in the breeze, and the golden light of the late afternoon frad her figure with an almost ethereal glow.
Hei Long raised a hand casually. "Yo."
His tone was relaxed, deliberately informal—but sharp enough to cut through the stillness.
Ji Yao’s steps slowed.
Her expression remained composed, calm... but her eyes widened just slightly, betraying the faint surprise—and, buried beneath that, sothing warr.
Despite her outward indifference, she was glad to see him.
Ever since Hei Long had saved her life, Ji Yao had found herself thinking of him far more often than she liked to admit.
He had stayed in her mind like a lingering note of a song, like warmth in winter that refused to fade.
She walked over to him with her usual grace, her hands folded behind her back.
"...Hello," she said softly.
Hei Long gave a small, genuine smile.
"I was just about to head back out and get sothing to eat," he said. "Would you like to co along? If you don’t mind, of course."
For most, that would’ve been an automatic rejection.
Ji Yao was known for her cold deanor—aloof, distant, and fiercely independent.
She wasn’t the type to share tea, let alone a al.
But for Hei Long?
She paused. Her heart fluttered—quietly, secretly.
"...Sure," she said.
That one word ant more than a dozen from anyone else.
Hei Long turned on his heel, motioning casually with a flick of his wrist:
"That’s good. You’re very talkative, huh?"
There was amusent in his voice. A teasing undertone.
Because he had noticed: around him, Ji Yao spoke the most.
Not in long conversations—but more than her usual mouse-like silence.
A word here, a nod there.
Her cold mask softened slightly every ti they crossed paths.
Ji Yao didn’t reply to his tease.
She simply followed, a quiet shadow at his side.
But her eyes—those quiet eyes—never left his back as they walked forward.
.
.
.
As Hei Long and Ji Yao stepped into the day-al pavilion—a quiet place for disciples to grab als between training sessions—all eyes turned to them instantly.
The once peaceful dining hall erupted into hushed whispers and heated murmurs.
The air practically split in half between two camps:
The won, swooning and clutching their sleeves, began muttering excitedly:
"They’re such a perfect match!"
"Just look at how he walks beside her—not too close, not too far. It’s like a dance!"
"He even slowed his pace to match hers. A gentleman!"
anwhile, the n were less than pleased:
"Hmph. She’s way out of his league."
"Probably just playing the long ga, manipulating the Saintess."
"Disgusting. These pretty boys think a smirk is enough to win a woman’s heart."
The civil war of jealous admiration and bitter criticism only intensified as Hei Long calmly walked Ji Yao toward a small table in the back corner, near the wall—a spot away from the noise, but still commanding attention.
Before she could move to sit, Hei Long pulled out the chair for her, his motion smooth, unforced.
A tidal wave of sighs rolled across the room.
The won clutched their hearts:
"He pulled out her chair...!"
"It’s over. I’m in love."
The n rolled their eyes so hard it’s a miracle none went blind.
Ji Yao, of course, showed no reaction.
Her face remained calm as always, though the faintest pink touched her ears.
She seated herself without a word, eyes flicking briefly toward Hei Long before looking elsewhere.
"..."
Hei Long took the opposite seat, relaxed and poised.
Within seconds, a young waitress ca rushing over, clearly unprepared for the sheer pressure of standing before the two most talked-about figures in the entire sect.
She was trembling, her tray rattling slightly in her grip, and beads of sweat trickled down her forehead.
"Saint... and S-Saintess..." she stamred. "W-Would you... um, what d-do you..."
Her words fell apart under the weight of their presence.
She looked ready to burst into tears from sheer nerves.
Hei Long smiled gently, reaching up and resting a calm hand on her shoulder—reassuring, light, and perfectly asured.
"Take your ti," he said softly.
That one smile shattered what little composure she had left.
The waitress’s eyes rolled up.
With a squeak, she fainted on the spot.
Before she could hit the ground—
Hei Long shot from his seat, catching her mid-fall like a seasoned gentleman.
His reflexes were sharp, movents graceful.
"Woah—are you okay?" Hei Long asked, genuinely surprised.
The dining hall gasped.
Even Hei Long blinked, montarily stunned.
He had grown used to admiration and whispers, but this level of popularity among the everyday disciples—especially the won—was sothing he hadn’t anticipated.
He looked down at the unconscious waitress, then toward Ji Yao.
"...I think I broke her," he muttered.
Ji Yao’s lips twitched—so subtly it would’ve been missed by anyone else.
But Hei Long caught it:
’Was that... the hint of a smile?’
Suddenly—
A booming voice cut through the air:
"Hey, you bastard! Let go of my girlfriend!"
Every head in the room turned at once.
A short, round young man ca waddling through the doorway, his face red with fury.
He was extrely overweight—his robe looked strained at every seam, his neck had enough folds to rival a stead bun basket, and his small, narrow eyes practically vanished when he scowled.
He moved fast—well, fast for him—his chubby arms flailing slightly as he stomped forward like a vengeful dumpling rolling downhill.
Hei Long, still holding the unconscious waitress gently in his arms, looked up calmly.
"Huh?" he said with feigned confusion. "I think there’s been a misunderstanding."
Despite his composed words, he was holding back a smirk.
Deep down, he recognized this man imdiately.
The cliché fatty...
Every cultivation novel had one.
The overeager, loud, over-the-top guy who would—sohow—end up as the protagonist’s best friend.
Loyal to the death.
Usually comic relief.
Occasionally powerful.
Always obnoxious.
’And here he is,’ Hei Long thought.
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