Fang Lee's smirk deepened as he held Xian Rui's golden gaze. The air between them was thick with something electric—an unspoken challenge, a lingering heat. He liked women who were dangerous, and Xian Rui, with her teasing words and sharp intelligence, was proving to be exactly that.
"You're still avoiding my question," he murmured, fingers brushing lightly against the silken sleeve of her robe. "If I stay, will you make it worth my while?"
Xian Rui chuckled, stepping closer until her perfume—a subtle blend of lotus and something more primal—filled his senses. "That depends," she said smoothly. "Are you truly interested in me… or simply the thrill of the game?"
"Why not both?" Fang Lee countered, his tone rich with amusement.
But instead of laughing, Xian Rui studied him more seriously this time, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Young Master Fang," she said at last, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "You do realize that if you pursue me… you will be bound by your words?"
Fang Lee raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Bound?"
Xian Rui let out a slow breath before lifting a hand. With a flick of her fingers, a golden thread of Qi shimmered between them, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "I am of age to marry," she admitted, tilting her head. "And in the customs of my kind, choosing a mate is not done lightly. If I accept your pursuit, it will be with full intent to take you as my husband."
Fang Lee's breath caught—not from shock, but from sheer surprise.
Then he laughed, low and rich, as realization dawned. "So that's why you were testing me," he mused, eyes gleaming. "You wanted to see if I was serious."
Xian Rui arched a brow. "And? Are you?"
Fang Meilin, who had been half-listening with an expression of growing horror, choked. "Are you two seriously discussing marriage over casual flirting?"
Fang Lee ignored her, his attention locked onto Xian Rui. He could have deflected, could have turned it into another joke—but something about the way she watched him, calm and unyielding, made him pause.
This wasn't just playful seduction.
This was real.
And strangely… he found he didn't mind.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Well then," he said, voice smooth as silk. "If I say yes… does that mean I get to share your bed tonight?"
Xian Rui's lips curved, but her eyes remained unreadable. "Not so easily, Young Master Fang," she said lightly. "First, you must gain the Elder's approval. Only then will you be worthy of taking me as your wife."
Fang Lee exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. "So, it seems I have a challenge ahead of me."
"Mm," Xian Rui murmured, stepping back. "Let's see if you're truly up to it, then."
Fang Meilin groaned. "This is going to be a disaster."
Fang Lee let out a low chuckle, his jade-green eyes gleaming with amusement. "A challenge, huh? I suppose I should have expected that." He crossed his arms, studying Xian Rui with newfound interest. She wasn't just toying with him—she was setting the stakes. And yet, despite the gravity of her words, there was still that unmistakable glint of mischief in her golden gaze.
"Don't tell me you're reconsidering already," she teased, tilting her head. "I thought the great Fang Lee never backed down from a challenge."
Fang Lee scoffed, stepping closer until their bodies were mere inches apart. His voice dropped to a smooth murmur. "I don't back down, Rui. But I also don't make commitments lightly." He reached out, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her cheek. "If I go through with this, you'd best be ready to handle me."
Xian Rui's lips curled in amusement. "Oh? You say that as if I wouldn't be the one handling you, husband-to-be."
Fang Meilin, who had been standing off to the side, pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe this. You just met, and now you're engaged? What kind of nonsense—"
"Not engaged yet," Xian Rui corrected smoothly, flicking her gaze toward Meilin. "There's still the matter of the Elder's approval."
Fang Meilin narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly does that entail?"
Xian Rui smirked. "The Elder who oversees the Jade Serpent Hollow is strict. He will test Fang Lee to ensure he is worthy—not just of me, but of standing beside the sacred bloodline that tends to these lands."
Fang Lee arched a brow, intrigued. "And what kind of test are we talking about?"
Xian Rui's expression remained unreadable, but the amusement in her voice never faded. "That, my dear Fang Lee, depends entirely on what the Elder deems appropriate. But rest assured…" She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his skin. "He has never approved a suitor easily."
Fang Lee chuckled, unbothered. "Then I suppose I'll just have to make him."
Xian Rui pulled away with a satisfied smile. "We'll see."
Xian Rui met his gaze, a playful glint in her eyes. "Naturally, husband-to-be."
The path deeper into the Jade Serpent Hollow was winding and treacherous, shrouded in the thick, humid air of a place untouched by time. Towering jade-colored trees stretched high into the misty canopy, their serpentine roots twisting across the stone pathway like coiled dragons. Faint glows emanated from the underbrush—serpent flowers, their petals pulsing with a soft, eerie luminescence, birthing tiny, white-scaled snakes that slithered into the darkness.
Fang Lee walked with measured steps, his senses sharp despite his outward ease. He could feel the eyes watching them. Hidden figures moved within the foliage, shifting with a silence too precise to belong to ordinary men.
Guards.
Elite cultivators, their presence masked, but their killing intent coiled like a drawn bowstring. This was no ordinary garden—this was a sanctum, a domain where only the chosen were permitted entry. And he was an outsider.
Fang Meilin walked stiffly beside him, her fingers twitching near her sword hilt. "Fang Lee," she murmured under her breath, voice tight, "I really hope you know what you're doing."
Fang Lee smirked but did not answer.
Xian Rui, meanwhile, moved through the hollow like she belonged. Because she did.
The further they walked, the more the path changed. The stone beneath them became polished, embedded with swirling jade patterns. Ornate lanterns hung from the trees, casting soft golden light that flickered against the mist.
Then, the entrance came into view—a towering, circular gate carved from a single slab of dark green jade, its surface etched with winding serpents. Beyond it stood a courtyard lined with rows of disciples, all clad in deep emerald robes. Their expressions were unreadable, their stances disciplined.
At the center of it all, seated atop a raised platform beneath an open pavilion, was an old man.
His presence was overwhelming.
Elder Han.
His long, graying hair was bound in a simple knot, his beard neatly trimmed. His robes, though lacking ostentation, carried an unmistakable **weight.** Power radiated from him—not in an explosive display, but in the way the very air seemed to bend around him, as though the world itself acknowledged his authority.
Fang Lee felt it instantly.
A true master.
Xian Rui came to a halt before the pavilion and inclined her head respectfully. "Father," she said smoothly, "I have returned."
Fang Lee barely kept his expression neutral.
Father?
Fang Meilin's eyes widened beside him.
The old man opened his eyes slowly, golden irises eerily similar to Xian Rui's. His gaze swept over her, then flickered toward Fang Lee.
Silence.
The atmosphere in the pavilion was thick with tension as Rui's voice rang out. "Fang Lee has shown promise. He is a candidate worthy of consideration."
The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed felt as though it had settled into the bones of all those present. The spirit beasts clan—standing nearby, their hidden forms flickering in the shadows, watching with interest—observed the scene. Their gazes were sharp, though their expressions remained unreadable, just as their presence was barely perceptible. The pavilion was draped in silence, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. They were all waiting, quietly assessing the young man standing at the center.
Fang Lee felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his temple, but his gaze remained unwavering. His chest tightened, and his heart began to race. The words "candidate worthy of consideration" echoed in his mind, but he didn't have the luxury of basking in praise. This was no time for complacency.
Suddenly, the weight of Elder Han's gaze fell on him. The air thickened, pressing down on him with an almost physical force. The elder's eyes were sharp, his expression neutral, but Fang Lee could feel the palpable challenge in the air.
"You're weak," Elder Han said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You lack the foundation required to stand beside my daughter. You will fall."
Fang Lee straightened, his lips curving into a grin that didn't reach his eyes. He could feel the heat of the elder's scrutiny, but he wouldn't be intimidated. Not by this man. Not by anyone.
"Not weak enough to die from your presence alone," Fang Lee retorted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His hands clenched at his sides, trying to calm the fury that surged within him. His Qi stirred, like an untamed beast, but it was unstable, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.
Elder Han's lips twitched into a cold, disapproving smile. "You talk too much," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.
Before Fang Lee could react, Elder Han moved. The speed was so great that Fang Lee barely had time to process the movement. One moment, the elder was standing before him, the next, he was right on top of him. The world around him seemed to warp, the space between them collapsing in an instant. Elder Han's fingers pressed firmly against Fang Lee's chest—just a touch, yet the force behind it was unbearable.
Fang Lee's breath caught in his throat. Pain surged through his body, coiling around him like chains. His chest tightened, his lungs burning, but the agony didn't just come from the pressure. No, it was something deeper. His Qi fractured, splintering within his veins, and his body trembled as though his very essence were being pulled from him.
His vision blurred, and the courtyard around him seemed to tilt. He couldn't breathe. His heart hammered against his ribcage, each beat a struggle. His body felt like it was on the verge of collapse.
The elder's voice was a quiet murmur, cold and devoid of emotion. "Is this the extent of your strength?" he asked. "A weak show of force, a hollow display."
Fang Lee gritted his teeth, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. But he couldn't afford to fall. Not yet. He wouldn't give Elder Han the satisfaction.
With a desperate effort, Fang Lee forced himself to stand tall, his fists clenched at his sides. Despite the agony wracking his body, despite the darkness creeping at the edges of his vision, he refused to let go of his defiance.
"You think this is all I have?" Fang Lee's voice was low, hoarse, but his eyes blazed with defiance. "I'm not done yet."
For a split second, Elder Han's expression flickered, and that was all the time Fang Lee needed.
With a savage growl, he drew on the remnants of his Qi, pushing through the pain, forcing his body to react. He shifted his weight, his muscles protesting, and managed to raise his arm in a half-hearted attempt to block the next strike. But it was too late.
Elder Han's palm connected with his abdomen, the force of the blow sending Fang Lee stumbling backward. His body felt like it was splitting in half from the impact. His breath caught in his throat, but the agony didn't end there. No, this time, the elder's power laced through his body, spiraling deep into his core, draining him. It felt as if his very life force was being stolen.
His vision narrowed, his body trembled violently as the pain overwhelmed him. His knees buckled under the pressure, and though he fought with every ounce of his strength, his body could no longer keep up. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the ground, his vision swimming as the world around him spun out of control.
Through the haze, he briefly saw the Rui clansmen—there, standing in the shadows of the pavilion, their hidden forms flickering as they observed the fight. Their expressions were unreadable, but he could feel their eyes on him, studying, assessing, waiting for him to fail.
The beeping began then.
It was faint at first, like the distant sound of a clock winding down, but it steadily grew louder in his ears. Beep. Beep. Beep. The rhythmic sound pulsed in his mind, the only thing that pierced through the suffocating darkness. It felt like an alarm—like the countdown to his collapse.
And then, just as the world around him seemed to fade into oblivion, he was gone.