Lin Fengyang awoke to a throat raw as sand and a body that felt like it had been wrung out like a rag.
His limbs were leaden, his breath a shallow rasp, as if life itself hesitated to claim him.
The chamber was dim, lit by a lone bronze brazier flickering in the corner, its glow casting shadows that writhed across silk curtains embroidered with cranes.
He lay on a rosewood bed, its carved lotuses staring down with cold serenity. This was the marital chamber, a place of warmth and whispers—or so he'd thought.
His last mory was a blur: iyin's jasmine scent, her silken touch pulling him into a haze, and then... nothing. A void that swallowed him whole.
"Awake at last, boy?" A voice scraped like gravel, sharp and ancient, echoing not in the room but inside his skull.
Fengyang jolted upright, heart hamring, only to clutch his chest as dizziness threatened to drag him back to the pillows.
"Who's there?" he croaked, scanning the empty chamber.
The brazier's light revealed no one, only the faint hum of sothing unnatural in the air, a tingling pressure he'd never understood but always felt in this strange place iyin called ho.
"Down here, you dimwit." The voice dripped mockery.
Fengyang's eyes fell to his left hand, where a tarnished jade ring sat, its dragon etchings dull in the half-light.
He'd worn it for a year, a trinket he'd bought on a whim in Yunxi Village's market, ignored by peddlers and appraisers alike. Now it pulsed, warm against his skin, like a heartbeat not his own.
"The ring?" Fengyang's voice trembled. In his simple life—tending fields, bartering grain—such things were fairy tales, not reality.
"Elder Huo Yan, if you please," the voice snapped. "And you're lucky I'm here, Lin Fengyang. You were deader than a carp on a butcher's block until I hauled your soul back."
"Dead?" Fengyang's hand pressed to his chest, feeling the sluggish thud beneath his ribs. "That's impossible. I was with iyin last night—"
"Oh, last night?" Huo Yan's chuckle was dry, edged with sothing vile.
"Boy, your wife drained you dry. Your life essence—yang qi, they call it—sucked out to fuel her sorcery. I'd have let you rot, but..."
The voice turned sly. "The show was too good to end."
Fengyang's stomach twisted. "Show? What are you blabbering about, old man?" His voice cracked, anger warring with fear.
Su iyin was his sun, his reason for leaving Yunxi's muddy fields. Two years ago, she'd swept into the village, a vision in azure silk, her beauty like a blade that cut through the crowd.
Fengyang, a farr's son, had felt her gaze linger on him, her eyes tracing his features with an intensity that left him dizzy.
He'd been called handso before—his sharp jaw, clear eyes, and raven hair drew stares—but iyin's attention was different, like a hawk spotting prey.
Days later, she'd returned, claiming him as her husband, whisking him to this manor within her sect, a world of jade towers and shimring air he couldn't begin to fathom.
Huo Yan's laughter was a lash. "You're denser than a mountain. I've been in this ring since you bought , watching in silence. Why speak when the entertainnt was free? Your wife's been using you as a cauldron, boy. Every night, she siphons your yang to break through her bottlenecks. Last night, she went too far—nearly killed you for good."
"Lies," Fengyang spat, though a chill crept up his spine.
iyin had changed since they'd arrived at the sect. Her warmth had cooled, her visits to their chamber calculated, always leaving him exhausted yet craving more. He'd thought it love, not... this.
"Lies?" Huo Yan's tone sharpened. "See for yourself."
A pulse of heat surged from the ring, and Fengyang's vision blurred. Then ca the flood—images crashing through his mind, dreamlike in texture but heavy with undeniable truth.
He saw the manor's servants whispering behind lattice screens, their voices hushed, tinged with morbid sympathy.
"Young Master Lin—so beautiful, so dood. She's draining him bit by bit. He won't last much longer."
Then iyin, alone in a moonlit pavilion, her tone cool and clinical as she spoke into a jade slip. "His yang is purer than any I've encountered. If he holds for another year, I'll reach Core Formation."
By fate or luck, he survived even after she attained Core Formation Realm. But the worth of cauldron lasts till it drained completely.
And finally—her silhouette in their chamber, gazing down at his motionless body sprawled across the bed.
No panic. No fear. Just a slow, satisfied smile as she turned away, robes whispering across the floor. She thought he was exhausted as usual, not slain. To her, he was a well that had not yet run dry.
Fengyang's knees buckled, and he sank onto the bed, breath hitching. "No... it can't be."
But the mories were too sharp, too real. His heart, once warm with love, now burned with betrayal.
"Believe it now?" Huo Yan's voice was smug. "I gave you two more years to live, boy. Fixed your ridians, patched your soul. But she'll drain you again unless you wise up."
"Only Two years?" Fengyang's fists clenched, nails biting his palms. "Why save at all, you filthy ghost? You just wanted to leer, didn't you?"
Huo Yan cackled. "Guilty as charged. But don't whine—I kept you alive. Without , you'd be a husk by now."
Fengyang's mind churned. He'd been a fool, dazzled by iyin's beauty, blind to her sches. In Yunxi, he'd been nobody, yet his choice had felt like fate.
Now he saw the truth: she'd sensed sothing in him, so spark he didn't know he carried, and made him her tool.
This sect, with its glowing talismans and robed figures who looked through him, was her world, not his. He was a mortal, out of place, kept like a prized beast.
Before he could press Huo Yan further, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Su iyin stepped inside, a vision that stole the air from the room.
Her azure robes shimred faintly with runes, catching the brazier's dying light as her eyes swept toward the bed. She paused, noting the stir of movent, then smiled—gentle, relieved, carefully crafted.
"You're awake," she said softly, as if greeting a child from a troubled sleep. "I was beginning to worry."
Fengyang froze, Huo Yan's words searing through him like poison. She glided across the room, every step a lody of grace and danger.
Her hand reached for his face, and though his body scread to flinch, he held still, forcing a weary smile. "iyin. I... don't rember much."
Her fingers brushed his cheek, cool and possessive. "You collapsed last night," she murmured. "You've always been sensitive... but this ti, you barely stirred all morning. I had the servants bring dicine, but you wouldn't even open your eyes."
Huo Yan snorted in his mind. She's good, I'll give her that.
iyin's touch lingered, sliding to his chest, and Fengyang felt a strange pull—not just her fingers, but sothing deeper, like a thread tugging at his core.
"You're so pale, my love," she said, eyes glinting with sothing he now recognized as hunger. "Let help you."
Her presence was overwhelming, a mortal man's senses no match for her cultivated allure.
She pressed closer, her breath warm against his neck, and Fengyang's body stirred, traitor to his heart's rage. "I feel weak," he whispered, playing the fool she thought him to be. "But with you here, I'm whole."
Her lips curved, a predator's smile. "Then let make you feel even better."
She guided him back to the bed, her movents a dance of silk and intent. The air thickened, charged with a force he couldn't na but felt in his bones—her power, coiling around him like mist. She leaned in, lips grazing his, and Fengyang's pulse raced, caught between desire and dread.
As their kiss deepened, he sensed it: a subtle drain, like water slipping through his fingers.
His warmth, his vitality, flowing into her. She whispered against his skin, "Give yourself to , Fengyang. Let make you whole."
Her hands road, nails grazing his chest, each touch a spark that both ignited and weakened him.
Huo Yan's voice was a hiss. Play along, boy. Learn her ga before you make yours.
So Fengyang mirrored her hunger, pulling her closer, letting her think him hers. The brazier's glow cast their shadows on the wall, entwined and trembling, as her power pulsed, drawing at his essence like a tide claiming the shore.
It was intoxicating, a mortal's body no match for her art, and he hated how much he craved it.
In that mont, Lin Fengyang made a vow. He would survive this. He would unravel her sches. And one day, Su iyin would answer for every spark she'd stolen.
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