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."
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.