Chapter 23: A Dream of Rebirth

The night was deep.

Moonlight slipped through the crack in the window, casting a pale glow across Ye Chen’s face.

He slept soundly—one of the rare peaceful nights since arriving in this world.

Without Xiao Liuli’s cold presence lingering, even the air in the courtyard felt more lonely.

Dreams are the reflection at the deepest part of the Soul.

This time, there were no pavilions of Qingyang City, no clamor or scheming of the Ye family.

He saw a boundless Star Sea.

Countless stars flickered into existence and faded away like dust.

He stood amidst the void, as if holding something in his hand.

It was a sword.

Its outline was indistinct, but when he “grasped” it, the entire Star Sea trembled.

A thought arose—without sorrow or joy—emerging from the very source of the Soul.

“Sever.”

The sword’s light flared, more dazzling than billions of stars, easily tearing through space and time, cleaving apart some supreme rule in the darkness.

Then came endless backlash and collapse.

“Boom!!!”

Ye Chen’s eyes snapped open.

Outside the window, dawn had yet to break; the same familiar, cold moonlight filled the room.

He lay still, fingers chilled.

The overwhelming dream that had pressed upon him now faded to a faint ember.

He sat up without lighting a lamp.

In the darkness, he could clearly “see” the feeble spiritual energy within his body—a thin stream in a dried-up riverbed, silent and still.

At that moment, a Cultivation Method began to flow through his mind without warning.

It had no name, no origin, yet it felt as familiar as instinct.

Every character, every circulation technique, was etched deep within his Soul like a brand.

He didn’t even need to understand.

His body simply knew how to move.

He closed his eyes on reflex, trying to guide that first wisp of energy.

And in the instant the Cultivation Method began, a surge of intense pain pierced deep into his sea of consciousness.

“Ugh…”

Ye Chen’s body shuddered, his knuckles turning white from the sudden force.

The world lost all color before his eyes, turning gray and white.

Every sound—the wind, the chirping of insects, the rustling of leaves—vanished.

Two blurred faces seemed to flicker before him.

One was cold as glass, tears in her eyes, starlight shattered within her gaze.

One was pure as frost, smiling with absolute trust shining in her eyes.

Who… are they?

The thought flashed by and was gone.

The pain faded as quickly as it came.

When color and sound returned to the world, Ye Chen found himself leaning against the bed, a cold sweat beading his brow.

He frowned, lifting a hand to rub his temple.

Something in his mind… was gone.

He remembered his name was Ye Chen.

That he lived in this courtyard.

He remembered the two girls: one named Xiao Liuli, the other Ling Qingshuang.

They were gifted, already gone to the Qingyun Holy Land.

But the details—those bits of daily life, the subtle emotions in their conversations—were as if behind frosted glass: the outlines were visible, but the reality could not be touched.

The Wedding Contract Incident that swept through the entire city was nothing more than a label in his memory now.

The intense emotions once attached had faded into a dull narrative.

The only thing clear was an unprecedented thought.

Cultivation.

No longer as a way to pass time unconsciously, but as a drive born from the core of his being.

A clear, unyielding desire.

He wanted to operate that Cultivation Method.

To become stronger.

This was what he… was meant to do.

When dawn broke, Ye Chen rose from bed and opened the door.

The chill and early light flowed in together.

In the courtyard, Xiaoxiao was already busy.

She hung clean clothes one by one on the bamboo pole, humming a tune off-key—the only song she knew.

Sunlight outlined her in a faint gold.

Life was quiet and peaceful, as always.

Ye Chen sat by the stone table, tapping his fingers lightly against its surface.

He could sense it—the spiritual energy of this land was far too thin, like tea diluted a thousand times.

It was nowhere near enough to sustain the consumption of the Cultivation Method.

His progress would be slow as a turtle.

A name rose to the surface of his mind, as naturally as a bubble rising underwater.

Qingyun Holy Land.

He needed to go somewhere with abundant spiritual energy.

“Xiaoxiao.”

He spoke, his voice unusually clear in the morning calm.

The girl hanging laundry turned, her face bright with a smile.

“Young Master, you’re awake? How are you up so early today?”

“Besides the Qingyun Holy Land, are there any other cultivation sects?”

Ye Chen asked, his tone calm.

Xiaoxiao’s hands paused in midair.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“Why does Young Master ask? Um… let me think… I remember Aunt Zhang mentioned once, on the other side of the Northern Continent, there’s a sect as famous as the Qingyun Holy Land—called the Zixiao Sword Sect. It’s supposed to be powerful too. But it’s really far away.”

“Zixiao Sword Sect…”

Ye Chen repeated the name, then nodded.

“That will do.”

He didn’t want to go to the Qingyun Holy Land.

That thought was instinctive, too.

He vaguely felt that if he went there, he would only bring trouble to those two girls.

Yes, trouble.

It was a rational and correct judgment.

“Xiaoxiao,”

Ye Chen raised his eyes to the maid, her face full of confusion because of his words.

“I’m going to the Zixiao Sword Sect to cultivate.”

“…Huh?”

Xiaoxiao’s smile froze.

“You… would you be willing to go with me?”

The courtyard fell into a long silence.

Only the breeze rustled the leaves.

Xiaoxiao’s hand dropped, and a freshly washed white shirt slipped from her weak grip, falling onto the flagstones.

She stared blankly at Ye Chen.

For the first time, her always-smiling eyes were filled with confusion and helplessness.

“Y-Young Master… Did you not sleep well last night? Is your head muddled?”

Her voice trembled faintly.

Ye Chen simply gazed at her, serious and unwavering.

His eyes told her he wasn’t joking.

A wave of fear seized Xiaoxiao’s heart.

Go to a sect? Leave the home she’d lived in for more than a decade?

Head to a place she’d only heard of in idle conversation?

Her world was this courtyard.

Her Young Master.

Her happiest dream was just to stay by his side, watch him marry and have children, and quietly grow old in this place.

This sudden change shattered all her visions for the future.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Her eyes burned, blurring with tears.

Suddenly, she spun around and ran back to her room, almost fleeing.

Bang.

The door slammed shut.

Soft sobs came from within.

“…Let me… let me think…”

Ye Chen sat quietly, unmoving.

He would respect her choice.

He could feel it—his own existence was already different from that of mortals.

A hundred years might be a lifetime for her, but for him, it was only a brief pause.

If she refused, he would wait.

Wait until she had lived her full and ordinary life.

Then he would set out to walk his own path.

With this thought, he closed his eyes.

He drew in the faint spiritual energy, circulating it over and over according to the Cultivation Method in his mind.

He did not know how long had passed.

Perhaps the time of one incense stick.

Perhaps an hour.

Creak—

The closed door slowly opened.

Xiaoxiao stepped out.

Her eyes were still red, her face streaked with drying tears, but the panic and confusion had been replaced by a stubborn resolve.

She walked up to Ye Chen, inhaled deeply, and spoke—each word clear and steady, as if using all her strength.

“Wherever Young Master goes, Xiaoxiao will go.”

“Where Young Master is, that is home.”

“If there is no Young Master… then this place has no meaning for me.”

Ye Chen opened his eyes and looked at her.

In the morning light, the girl’s face was pale, but in her tear-filled eyes burned a light brighter than ever before.

He was silent for a moment.

Then, his lips curled into the faintest, truest smile.

“Good.”

He stood.

The sunlight stretched his shadow long.

“Pack our things.”

“We leave this week.”