CHAPTER 54

Bottomless Well

The sprawling residence in Liuye City loomed before us, a grand yet understated testament to Ruan Yanjun’s power. Unlike his opulent estate in Henmei District, this property was modest by comparison—but still vast enough to make me feel out of place. Situated in the heart of Wun Empire, its manicured gardens and serene courtyards offered a deceptive calm, belying the storm of relentless training that awaited me.

“We’ll rest here for a week before continuing,” Ruan Yanjun declared, his tone as commanding as ever, as he accompanied me to my room with a pair of servants leading the way.

Rest?

I highly doubted that word meant the same to him as it did to me.

True enough, the next morning, he announced an extended training schedule: three hours at dawn and another three in the evening.

By the end of the first day, my body felt like it had been pummeled by a mountain spirit. My muscles screamed in protest, my lungs burned, and the ever-present sickness gnawed at me from within. Ruan Yanjun, of course, remained unfazed. He believed my will alone could conquer whatever poison was ravaging my body.

Each session ended the same way: I collapsed in the dirt, coughing violently, only to be carried back to my room. There, he would force another vile concoction down my throat—bitter brews that he claimed might help me recover. “Might” being the operative word.

The nausea these so-called remedies caused was unbearable, and any hope of improvement in my condition felt like a distant dream.

One night, after another grueling training session, I lay sprawled on the bed, too exhausted to do more than breathe. The bitter taste of his latest “medicine” lingered on my tongue, making me grimace. Meanwhile, Ruan Yanjun sat at a low tea table just a few feet away, a scroll in his hands. A scholar had delivered it earlier that day, and he had been engrossed in its contents ever since.

“Lord Ruan,” I said, my voice hoarse but determined.

“Mm?” he hummed, his gaze not shifting from the scroll.

“Are you experimenting on me again?” I asked bluntly.

His noncommittal hum made me question whether he had even registered my words, but after a beat, he finally replied, “Safe, I can guarantee. I’d never give my A-Fan anything harmful.”

The way he called me gave me the shudders. “Why do you keep calling me that? Your ‘A-Fan’?”

He glanced up briefly, his dark eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t place. “Are you not?”

I frowned. “I’d prefer if you addressed me formally. Luo Fan will suffice.”

“Calling you ‘Luo Fan’ makes it sound as though we’re mere acquaintances,” he said, his gaze returning to the scroll. “We’re far closer than that.”

My frown deepened. “Lord Ruan, what exactly do you think we are?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk. “A-Fan, are you truly that oblivious? Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“I haven’t,” I retorted, irritation creeping into my tone. “So please enlighten me, so I can correct whatever misunderstanding you’re harboring.”

He sighed, finally lowering the scroll. “Never mind. Think what you will. I’ll think what I will.”

Frustration bubbled within me, but I chose to let it go. There was no point in arguing with someone as maddeningly stubborn as him.

“I don’t think these medicines are working,” I said, steering the conversation to safer ground.

“Indeed, they’re not,” he admitted without hesitation.

I shot him a sharp glare. “Then why are you still giving them to me?”

“Like you said, it’s an experiment,” he replied smoothly, as if that justified everything. “They’re completely safe, so it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“I’m not some test subject for your experiments,” I snapped.

He turned to face me fully this time, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. “A-Fan, we’ve exhausted all conventional methods to cure you. Even the one who created the poison can’t help you. What choice do we have but to search for a cure ourselves?” His gaze softened, though his voice remained firm. “I’m working for you, day and night. Every decision I make is with you in mind. So instead of complaining, show a little appreciation for my efforts.”

Guilt tugged at my chest. Lowering my head, I murmured, “I apologize.”

He offered me a faint smile. “Go to sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s training.” His voice, though still commanding, carried a rare note of gentleness.

I sighed, dread pooling in my stomach at the thought of another brutal session. The words “dawn” and “night” had come to mean only one thing – torture.

“Are you not sleeping in your room?” I asked hesitantly.

“We had a deal,” he said simply.

“We’re in your residence,” I pointed out. “Your guards are everywhere. You don’t need to worry about me running away.”

"Until I’m certain I can trust you, you’re staying where I can see you," he said, his voice firm with finality.

I let out a resigned sigh, knowing there was no point in protesting. Rolling onto my side, I turned my back to him, my gaze fixed on the cold, unyielding wall. “Fine. Goodnight,” I muttered, my tone clipped.

“Goodnight, darling,” he replied smoothly, a teasing lilt in his voice.

My shoulders stiffened, and I pressed my lips into a thin line, willing myself not to respond. But the playful edge in his words sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine, the term of endearment lingering in the air like a challenge I refused to rise to.

*****

RUAN YANJUN

The soft flicker of candlelight cast wavering shadows across the walls of my private library as I pored over ancient medicinal texts. Outside, the residence was silent, save for the occasional murmur of disciples patrolling the grounds.

A few hours earlier, Luo Fan had approached me, his expression unusually solemn. He had asked for permission to visit the temple and burn incense for Jinjing’s birthday. I had agreed without hesitation, but not without precautions. Two level-five disciples were tasked with following him discreetly, ensuring his safety and preventing any attempts to escape.

And yet, a nagging unease lingered. Even in his weakened condition, I couldn’t shake the fear that Luo Fan might try to leave me. It was irrational—I knew. Without my protection, he would be nothing but prey, a wounded deer surrounded by wolves. Still, the thought of losing him again gnawed at me.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but I couldn’t take the chance. My A-Fan was intelligent enough to understand that his survival depended on me. Whether he stayed willingly or because he had no choice hardly mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, within my reach.

Over a year had passed since we began traveling together. In that time, he had become my constant companion, filling the once-echoing silence of my life with arguments, moments of quiet camaraderie, and his unyielding sense of righteousness. Even when we clashed, his presence had always amused me.

I, Ruan Yanjun, the devil feared by all cultivators, had always been a loner. Trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Even in sleep, I remained vigilant, ever alert to danger. While I did not fear death because I didn’t think anyone was ever capable of killing me, I despised pain and the tedious process of recovery.

Yet with Luo Fan, my restlessness eased.

He was a paradox. A righteous priest with a pure heart, virtuous principles, and a stubborn spirit. He posed no threat to me and was perhaps the only person in this world I could turn my back to without worry of getting stabbed. When he was near, I could lower my guard. I could even sleep soundly, knowing he would never exploit my vulnerability.

With him, I felt... safe. And for that reason, I refused to let him go. Even a devil like me needed companionship, and if coercion was the price, so be it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the hurried footsteps of one of the disciples I had sent to shadow Luo Fan. He entered the library with his head bowed, his face pale.

“Sect Leader,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “We... we lost him.”

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I stilled, my grip tightening on the scroll in my hands. “Lost him?”

“H-he had been kneeling in the temple for an hour,” the disciple continued, his words tumbling over one another in fear. “We thought it safe to step away briefly. But when we returned... he was gone.”

“Fool!” I roared, rising to my feet and flinging the scroll to the ground. The sharp crack of parchment against the floor echoed in the room.

The disciple dropped to his knees, his forehead nearly touching the ground. “Forgive this disciple’s incompetence. Punish me.”

Though my anger burned hot, a deeper fear gripped my chest. Had I truly lost him again?

The thought sent a chill down my spine. Without wasting another moment, I ordered the disciple to scour the city. Then I, too, set out to search.

Luo Fan’s condition meant he couldn’t have gone far. I focused my search on the areas surrounding the temple, combing through alleys, gardens, and quiet corners. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, my desperation grew.

After what felt like an eternity of searching, I finally found him.

He was sitting near the edge of a cliff, perched on a flat rock, his silhouette framed by the warm hues of the fading sun. The golden light painted his pale skin and cast soft shadows over his delicate features, giving him an almost ethereal glow. My breath hitched, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer relief that he was still within my reach.

I didn’t approach him immediately. Instead, I stood at a distance, watching him silently. From where I was, he was turned slightly away, his profile clear but his attention far from me. He hadn’t noticed my presence yet, his mind seemingly lost in another world.

In his hands, he held the wooden staff that he never parted with, his fingers stroking the silk scarf tied to its hilt. I recognized it instantly. The staff had been a gift from Jinjing, and the scarf had once belonged to her as well. That knowledge only deepened the tight knot in my chest. He clung to those items as though they were a lifeline, a fragile tether to the woman he had lost.

For a long moment, he sat there, still and silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The wind toyed with his loose hair, carrying with it the faintest whisper of his presence. He seemed completely oblivious to the world around him.

Even after three months, he still grieved her.

It wasn’t the first time I had seen him like this. Countless times, I had found him sitting alone, his thoughts wandering far from the present. And every time, he would stroke that scarf, his silent tribute to the woman who once held his heart.

I hated it.

Every time I saw him like this, jealousy burned through me. It was a dangerous, ugly emotion, one I wasn’t used to. But with Luo Fan, it surfaced time and time again. That scarf, that staff—they were constant reminders of the piece of his heart that would never belong to me.

I wasn’t sure when my feelings for him had grown so deep. What had begun as a flicker of intrigue had blossomed into something I could no longer ignore. At first, I told myself it was merely physical—a simple desire sparked by proximity and circumstance. But as days turned into months, I realized it wasn’t just his face or his form that captivated me. It was everything about him – his gullibility, his unwavering righteousness, his stubborn resilience, and even his moments of vulnerability.

It was maddening.

I had lived for over a century, untethered by human emotions. Love was a concept I had always deemed beneath me, a weakness that I, as the devil of the dark sects, could not afford. And yet, this fragile, grieving man had carved his way into my cold, immortal heart.

I hated how much power he had over me.

If only he would look at me, just once, the way he had looked at her. If only he would allow me to fill the void she had left behind. I would give him everything—protect him, nurture him, even indulge his foolish ideals. But even as I entertained those thoughts, I knew one thing for certain… My heart was something I could never truly give away.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

The idea of vulnerability, of placing my heart in someone else’s hands, was intolerable. It wasn’t just pride—it was survival. To love Luo Fan fully would mean surrendering a piece of myself that I had guarded for a hundred years. And I refused to lose myself, not even for him.

But that didn’t mean I would let him go.

Slowly, I approached him. My footsteps were deliberate, each one measured to give him time to sense my presence. Yet, he remained still, his focus never wavering from the horizon.

When I finally stood behind him, I spoke, my voice low and calm. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

He didn’t respond.

I stepped closer, the soft crunch of grass underfoot the only sound between us. “A-Fan,” I said, my tone firm but not unkind. “I will not leave unless you come with me. I have better things to do than stand here and watch you grieve. How much longer will you sit here, drowning in memories of someone who is no longer here?”

At last, he stirred. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to the ground, his fingers still clutching the stick. His voice, when it came, was soft and distant. “Lord Ruan,” he said, “you will never understand.”

The words stung more than I cared to admit.

“Because I’m a devil?” I said, forcing a wry smile. “Because I lack the capacity to feel grief or loss? You’re right, A-Fan. I’ve lived for over a century, untouched by the frailty of human emotion. But don’t mistake that for ignorance.”

He didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

Frustration bubbled within me, though it was tempered by a deeper ache—a longing to shake him out of his sorrow, to make him see the world beyond his grief.

“Are you coming with me,” I asked, my voice sharper now, “or shall I carry you like a princess again? Don’t think I won’t.”

Still, he remained silent, his stubbornness a familiar thorn in my side.

“A-Fan,” I warned, my patience slipping, “I’m losing my temper.”

“Then lose it,” he said, his voice tinged with defiance. “Beat me if you must. That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?”

“Ah, so you think I’m just beating you for my own amusement?” My hands curled into fists at my sides, not from anger, but from the effort of restraint. He didn’t understand—he never did. “I’m training you. If you took it seriously, you wouldn’t hurt so much. Or is that the point? Do you intentionally fail so you can pass out and escape your grief, even if just for a moment?”

His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

My anger cooled into disappointment. No matter how much effort I poured into saving him—curing his ailment, restoring his strength—he seemed to lack the will to fight for himself. The fire that once defined him had dimmed, smothered by sorrow. And no matter how much I poured into him, it felt as though I was trying to fill a bottomless well.

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

“A-Fan,” I said at last, my tone softening, “I’ll give you half an hour. If you don’t return to the residence by then, I’ll come back and drag you home myself. Don’t test me.”

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving him to his thoughts.

As I left, I glanced toward the two disciples hidden nearby, their figures barely visible behind the trees. With a silent nod, I commanded them to keep watch.

Even if he didn’t value his life, I did. And I wasn’t about to let him slip through my fingers again.

*****

LUO FAN

The residence was cloaked in darkness by the time I returned. Servants greeted me promptly, ushering me to a meal they had prepared. The food was warm and fragrant, yet every bite felt heavy, like swallowing lead.

After finishing my meal, I excused myself and retreated to my room. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my body and spirit, and all I wanted was to escape into sleep, if only for a few hours. But just as I was settling down, a knock interrupted the silence.

A servant entered and bowed low. “Young Master Luo, Lord Ruan awaits you at the training ground.”

I exhaled slowly, suppressing the groan that threatened to escape. Of course, Ruan Yanjun wouldn’t allow me even a single night’s reprieve.

Without a word, I rose from the bed, adjusted my robes, and followed the servant out into the cool night air.

When I arrived at the training ground, I found Ruan Yanjun, standing in the center of the courtyard. His arms were clasped behind his back, his imposing figure bathed in the pale light of the moon. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his stance spoke volumes.

Trouble.

“If you’re ready,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, “attack me.”

I sighed, my weariness bleeding into my voice. “Lord Ruan, if you don’t mind, could you allow me just one night to rest? Tomorrow at dawn, I’ll resume training.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp as steel. “So you can wallow in grief over your lost love again?”

I nodded hesitantly. “I just need time.”

His laugh was soft but devoid of humor. “If you can land a single hit on me tonight, I’ll grant your request. What do you say to that?”

It was an impossible challenge, and we both knew it. How could someone like me—barely holding on to the remnants of my strength—hope to touch an immortal-level cultivator like him? Yet, I knew there would be no escaping his demands tonight.

He waited, his gaze boring into me as I stood frozen in place. “Well?”

I remained silent, unmoving.

“A-Fan,” he said, his tone laced with impatience, “I’m giving you the advantage of the first move. Or would you rather I make it instead?”

“Lord Ruan,” I began cautiously, “am I really asking for too much? Just one night—”

His sharp glare silenced me. “I already excused you from training this morning,” he snapped. “Do not take advantage of my leniency.”

“A single day of rest won’t make a difference,” I reasoned.

“Every day matters,” he countered. “Miss even one, and your progress will suffer.”

I lowered my gaze, unwilling to meet his piercing eyes. My silence was answer enough—my defiance a quiet plea for understanding.

His tone softened, but only slightly. “A-Fan,” he said, his words deliberate, “I’ve worked tirelessly to prolong your life. Don’t make me regret it.”

Reluctantly, I stepped forward and made a half-hearted attempt to strike.

The fight that followed was a farce. I moved sluggishly, my attacks slow and probably too predictable. Ruan Yanjun didn’t even bother to exert himself, sidestepping my strikes with ease. His counterattacks came with the precision of a master, each blow striking just hard enough to remind me of my inadequacy.

“Pathetic,” he muttered after a particularly weak attempt on my part.

I couldn’t argue. My heart wasn’t in it. Every blow I took felt deserved. My limbs ached, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the hollowness inside me.

He stopped abruptly, his movements freezing as he studied me with a mix of frustration and disappointment. “You’re not even trying,” he said coldly. “Have you buried your dreams alongside her grave?”

I flinched but said nothing.

His eyes darkened, and with a flick of his wrist, he summoned a crackling orb of energy into his palm. It hovered there, pulsating with raw power.

“Fight back,” he ordered.

But I didn’t move.

The orb shot toward me with terrifying speed, and I made no effort to dodge. The impact struck me square in the chest, hurling me backward into a wall. Pain flared through my body, momentarily disorienting me.

When the haze cleared, Ruan Yanjun was crouched before me, his gaze fierce and unrelenting.

“Fool,” he growled, and before I could react, his lips were on mine.

My eyes widened in shock. His kiss was anything but gentle—it was an invasion, a forceful claim that left me breathless. I tried to protest, but the sounds were muffled against his mouth. His lips pressed harder, parting mine with ease, and then his tongue invaded, exploring with an audacity that left me paralyzed.

It was wrong.

It was so, so wrong.

His kiss was hot, dominating, and unrelenting, stirring a storm of emotions I didn’t want to confront. Disgust, confusion, and a faint, unwelcome flicker of something else all warred within me. This wasn’t a kiss—it was a battle, one I was losing without ever putting up a fight.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, his eyes blazing. I took the opportunity to hit him, but he quickly caught my wrists on each of his hands and pinned them on the ground above my head

“Here’s my new rule, A-Fan,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Every time you displease me, I’ll kiss you. Unless, of course, you want to be kissed over and over again. In which case, by all means, continue your pitiful display.”

I glared at him, my chest heaving as I struggled for air.

He smirked, leaning closer. “Or,” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “if you crave my kisses, just say so. No need for dramatics.”

Heat flooded my face, not from desire but from sheer indignation. I swallowed the anger rising within me, aware of the dark core within that fed on such emotions.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’ve made your point. Now let me go.”

He released my wrists and stepped back, but not without a sigh of exasperation.

As I tried to rise, a sharp pain shot through my chest. I pressed a hand to the ache, wincing.

Ruan Yanjun’s expression softened, though his voice remained stern. “You’re reckless,” he said, scooping me into his arms with infuriating ease. “We should still be training, but instead, I have to waste time healing your self-inflicted wounds.”

Self-inflicted?

I wanted to argue, but the words died on my lips. Exhaustion and pain sapped what little strength I had left.