【Inner Study of the Cheng Tian Hall】
The morning mist had not yet fully dispersed. Sandalwood incense curled through the hall, intertwining with the faint light seeping in from the windows into a hazy blur.
Li Xuan, with a head of slightly uncombed messy hair and wearing a somewhat worn Fulong Camp uniform, strode in angrily—
The sound of his shoes striking the blue stone floor echoed sharply in the solemn hall, as if venting dissatisfaction at being summoned so early in the morning.
“Why are people being called to the Cheng Tian Hall so early in the morning—what is this even for?”
In his mind, he had already cursed Zhao Chengyuan eight hundred times over. Yet the moment he stepped over the threshold, his expression instantly switched into a flawless “movie emperor mode.” His lips curved into a perfectly measured smile, his voice gentle enough to drip:
“Commander Zhao, what do you need me for? So early in the morning—did you sleep well?”
On the main seat, Zhao Chengyuan wore a dark robe. His ink-black hair was loosely tied back, a few strands falling across his forehead, adding a rare hint of laziness that could not conceal the heaviness between his brows.
His eyes were closed. His slender fingers pressed against his temple, rubbing hard at the throbbing pain. His voice carried exhaustion and restrained hoarseness:
“My head hurts.”
Li Xuan’s heart tightened, and his earlier irritation faded by half.
Of course—it had been two months since he last helped him purify the chaotic energy within his body.
During this period, with the resurgence of the Purple Judgment Flower incident and Zhao Chengyuan’s continuous overwork—handling eight spatial cracks yesterday alone and attending endless meetings without rest—his condition had clearly worsened.
Dark circles under his eyes, pale lips, and faint traces of black aura swirling around him—the sign of chaotic energy on the verge of losing control. It was unsettling to witness.
Without another word, Li Xuan stepped forward. His fingers gently hooked Zhao Chengyuan’s sleeve and slowly rolled it upward.
The fabric brushed against skin with a delicate friction, revealing a firm and streamlined arm. Years of martial training had sculpted distinct muscle lines, with veins like winding blue serpents crisscrossing the surface.
“That’s when I’ll begin,” Li Xuan said softly.
He gathered his focus, forming a strand of pale golden purification light at his fingertips, and softly chanted the familiar activation phrase:
“Gui Yuan Gui Ji.”
The moment the words fell, his slightly cool palm pressed against Zhao Chengyuan’s taut, veined forearm.
The contact sent a strange wave of numbness surging upward—from the arm to the chest, then straight to the crown of the head like electricity.
Zhao Chengyuan’s tightly shut eyes suddenly opened.
The chaotic black aura in his eyes receded like a tide under the golden light, replaced by clarity.
A wave of relief flooded his body, dissolving accumulated fatigue and agitation.
Yet as he looked at the youth before him—Li Xuan, eyelashes trembling like butterfly wings, focused and unknowingly alluring—something inside him shifted.
A strong, almost uncontrollable desire sprouted like vines.
I want to kiss his lips.
Once the thought appeared, it spread like wildfire, impossible to extinguish.
Since Li Xuan had arrived at Fulong Camp, Zhao Chengyuan had found himself repeatedly observing this strange youth…
From their first duel… to the first time he experienced the calming effect of Li Xuan’s palm light… to the dissatisfaction he felt seeing him purify others… to admiration for his intelligence in resolving the Purple Judgment Flower crisis… to anger and worry when he was injured… to jealousy over his secret meetings with Chu Fox… to being impressed by his insight in meetings…
In just a short time, this youth named Li Xuan had made him experience emotions he had never known in his life.
He did not let go of Li Xuan’s hand. Instead, he rose slightly along that cooling force.
The chair scraped against the floor, breaking the silence.
Caught off guard, Li Xuan stumbled forward and nearly fell into his arms.
The scent of Zhao Chengyuan hit him first—cold dragon incense mixed with faint bloodlust and sweat, intense enough to suffocate, yet strangely intoxicating.
“Too light.”
Zhao Chengyuan’s voice was hoarse, burning with restrained heat.
His other hand suddenly lifted, gripping Li Xuan’s nape. The force was not gentle, forcing him to tilt his head back, exposing a pale, fragile neck.
The purification light still flickered between their touching wrists, but the atmosphere had already shifted into something dangerous and ambiguous.
Li Xuan’s pupils contracted sharply.
“Commander Zhao! The Gui Ji requires concentration—”
Before he could finish, Zhao Chengyuan leaned in.
The robe brushed Li Xuan’s arm, cold in contrast to the burning breath that landed on his lips.
He gave no chance to escape.
His hand at the nape tightened slightly, thumb rubbing the skin as if confirming possession, while the other hand held Li Xuan’s wrist against his chest, making him feel the violent heartbeat beneath.
Then—he kissed him.
It was not gentle.
It was possessive, forceful, devouring.
Li Xuan struggled instinctively, but his wrists were held tighter.
The kiss deepened, breath stolen, resistance suppressed.
A low sound escaped Zhao Chengyuan’s throat as he grew more intense, as if trying to pour his chaotic energy through the contact.
The golden purification light flickered as if resisting this transgression.
Li Xuan’s face flushed red—part humiliation, part panic.
He thought of his past life’s boss, who had once lost control like this, but had restrained himself in the end.
But Zhao Chengyuan’s current aggression filled him with unprecedented fear.
“This taste… is addictive.”
Zhao Chengyuan murmured, forcing deeper intrusion, stealing breath.
“I can’t quit.”
His grip loosened on the wrist—but only to slide upward, tearing at the uniform collar. A button snapped.
“Don’t hide.”
“You belong to me.”
“Stop—!”
Tears welled in Li Xuan’s eyes as he struggled, but the force pinned him down.
The uniform was torn open, exposing pale skin beneath.
Zhao Chengyuan’s rationality collapsed completely.
Yet just as things escalated further—
Li Xuan suddenly gathered strength and pushed him back half a step.
Trembling but clear-eyed, he said sharply:
“Commander Zhao! If you don’t stop—I will leave Fulong Camp immediately, and never purify you again!”
Those words struck like cold water.
Zhao Chengyuan froze.
The chaos in his eyes faded rapidly, replaced by panic and hesitation.
He knew better than anyone—only Li Xuan could suppress his chaotic energy.
And more importantly—he could not let him leave.
Slowly, he let go.
Afterward, they each retreated into forced composure, pretending nothing had happened.
Li Xuan later fled the hall and collapsed into his room, heart still racing.
“Damn beast… using brute force on me…”
Meanwhile, in the Cheng Tian Hall study, Zhao Chengyuan sat alone, unable to focus on the documents before him.
A letter arrived.
From Li Yunpeng.
He crushed it into ash after reading:
“Coward.”
Outside, morning light fell across his solitary figure.
And somewhere far away, a report was urgently written:
“Master! Urgent situation! Zhao Chengyuan has taken extreme measures—door sealed, strange sounds within, suspected forced aggression. Li Xuan is in danger! Immediate intervention required!”