Chapter Twenty-Five: Acknowledging the Master

—This artifact has turned countless cultivators and ghosts into nothing but scattered flesh upon the ground. It protects its master, warding off any who approach, until it is destroyed.

“So, aside from myself, anyone who comes within one foot of you will be pierced by the iron blades until they’re riddled through, then the thorns of iron will sprout, and with the thunder contained within the Purple-Gold Bell itself…” Bai Shengyun flicked the bell lightly with his finger, his tone as if discussing the amusements of a child’s toy, golden eyes shifting ever so slightly, holding infinite depths or perhaps utter calm. “It’s enough to turn someone into a pile of flesh, or dust scattered to the wind.”

“So, do you understand what this artifact does now?” Bai Shengyun sat in the chair, watching Xie Yingying with an expression of amusement, her face showing surprise, fear, and anger all at once.

As a civilized person of the twenty-first century, Xie Yingying could never have imagined such scenes where people are reduced to a heap of mangled flesh in an instant, nor did she expect Bai Shengyun’s tastes to be so base.

She hurriedly removed the Purple-Gold Bell hairpin, pulling loose her carefully arranged hair in her haste—her coiffure now a disheveled mess, like a bird’s nest.

The hairpin was tossed onto the table, and she stared at Bai Shengyun in horror.

Bai Shengyun, however, seemed quite interested, taking the hairpin in hand and gently swinging it, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t want it?”

Xie Yingying tried to refuse, but fear robbed her of speech for a moment. Bai Shengyun simply raised his hand, and her throat grew dry and painful—her mouth opening but no words coming forth.

Now, whatever she wanted to say was impossible.

Bai Shengyun placed the hairpin on the table, his tone light, as if discussing a trivial matter. “The Purple-Gold Bell has already chosen its master. You cannot discard it.”

Xie Yingying involuntarily stepped back.

Bai Shengyun was indeed the strongest protagonist of the story; it would take ten years of blood clots and a twisted mind to invent such a cruel method!

She recalled that once in the book, a nameless cultivator had pointed at Bai Shengyun, cursing him as a madman. Back then she withheld judgment; now she wished she could applaud and hail that nameless cultivator as a prophet.

At that moment, Bai Shengyun took a sip of tea, stirred the leaves, frowned slightly, and then tossed the cup aside. Its base landed steadily on the table, but soon deep cracks spread across it, and with a soft “pop,” it shattered into pieces, the fragrant spiritual tea spilling out, the fine jade porcelain losing its luster.

Xie Yingying was startled back to her senses.

Bai Shengyun merely glanced at her. “A slip of the hand.”

It sounded less like he was speaking to her and more as if he was talking to himself.

Suddenly, Xie Yingying’s throat felt cool, no longer dry and painful. She looked at Bai Shengyun, parted her lips, and asked hoarsely, “When did you make it recognize me as its master?”

Bai Shengyun heard this and seized her wrist. Xie Yingying struggled, but her wrist remained motionless, tightly gripped in Bai Shengyun’s palm.

“You… Let go!” she cried, straining against him.

He said nothing, simply picking up a shard of porcelain.

“Hey, hey, hey?” Xie Yingying panicked as she saw him take the shard. “What are you doing? Wait—you—”

Before she finished, Bai Shengyun pressed the shard against her wrist and drew it down firmly.

Her skin split open, blood oozing out in crimson streams, the fair and delicate flesh torn into a grim wound, like a mouth gasping for blood.

Xie Yingying paled from the pain, but Bai Shengyun did not release her, instead taking up the Purple-Gold Bell hairpin, turning her wrist and letting her warm blood drip onto it. The bell quickly absorbed the blood, emitting a faint glow.

All at once, Xie Yingying felt an inexplicable connection, as if she and something else were breathing and echoing together—she could hardly tell whether she was Xie Yingying or the Purple-Gold Bell.

Only then did Bai Shengyun release her hand, pacing the room with waning interest. His gaze caught a flash of red; turning, he saw an elaborate ceremonial crown, a luxurious wedding mantle, beneath which was a traditional bridal robe. The front was embroidered with a family of spirit foxes, the back with auspicious dragons and phoenixes, gold and silver threads tracing ancient fox clan script.

He picked up the bridal robe and stroked it, imagining how Xie Yingying would look dressed in it.

Meanwhile, the Purple-Gold Bell fully acknowledged its master, and Xie Yingying emerged from that strange state, only to see Bai Shengyun holding a corner of her bridal robe, lost in thought.

Soon, Bai Shengyun returned to himself.

“Put on this bridal robe today,” he said, looking at it, his voice cool.

Hearing his commanding tone, and recalling how he had forced her to bond with the Purple-Gold Bell, Xie Yingying was furious. She detested the bridal robe as well.

So, tending to her still-bleeding wound, she replied, “I’m not feeling well today. Please leave.”

Bai Shengyun’s face darkened, and he turned to glare at Xie Yingying.

She met his gaze—cold as the northern snows—and her legs trembled.

“I truly am unwell today,” she insisted, feigning a couple of coughs. “You should go. We can look at it again on the wedding day!”

“Troublesome,” Bai Shengyun frowned, and with a wave of his hand, the entire bridal attire appeared on Xie Yingying.

She was speechless, but she knew Bai Shengyun was always this domineering. She dared not argue, only stabbing him with imaginary daggers in her mind.

Bai Shengyun gazed at Xie Yingying in her splendid wedding finery; his golden eyes rippled ever so slightly, and his heart felt inexplicably complex—burning, yet indefinable.

Xie Yingying was, after all, a beauty to rival nations, which explained why so many men were willing to bow beneath her skirts. Her skin was as pale as snow, her bearing extraordinary. Wearing the vibrant red mantle, she was not the phoenix of fate sitting high above, but possessed a unique charm beyond words.

Outside, the full moon had risen over the mountains, fine rain falling among the leaves—midnight had come, heralding the next day.

Bai Shengyun looked at the night sky and broke the silence: “The eighth day of the seventh month—the wedding day.”

Xie Yingying had just asked the maid the date, learning it was only the third day of the seventh month—five days remained. Suddenly, she felt there might be a chance to escape.

Or perhaps… Xie Yingying glanced at Bai Shengyun’s indifferent expression. Or perhaps to make Bai Shengyun abandon this idea!

She coughed softly, then stepped forward to stand beside him, looking out at the mountain rain.

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” she asked suddenly.

Bai Shengyun stood with hands behind his back, his eyes utterly calm. “Yes.”