The moment Feng Yan heard the bell chime as the door opened, she felt an unmistakable shift in the energy of the shop. The atmosphere, already thick with yin energy from the cursed painting, now had a new presence—one that was powerful, commanding, and somewhat familiar. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was; the deep, manly voice she had heard in the apothecary was unmistakable. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her focus on the painting before her, pretending not to notice.
The man and his assistant entered the shop, their footsteps echoing softly on the creaky wooden floor. He stood tall and confident, surveying the dimly lit room. His sharp eyes immediately took in the details—the worn shelves, the dusty relics, and finally, the girl standing with her back to him. Despite himself, he felt an inexplicable pull toward her, something about her presence intrigued him. But he quickly dismissed the feeling, thinking it was nothing more than a passing curiosity. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
He approached the shopkeeper, his voice low and authoritative. "Do you have any white and blue porcelain vases from the Qin dynasty? And I'm looking for a calligraphy piece from the Ming dynasty."
The shopkeeper, who had just finished his conversation with Feng Yan, straightened up, clearly trying to appear more attentive despite his weariness. "Let me check," he replied, his voice cracking from fatigue. As he turned to search through the clutter, the man's gaze wandered, eventually landing on the cursed painting in the corner.
He frowned. There was something off about that painting. The dark aura surrounding it was palpable, even for someone like him, who wasn't openly a cultivator but certainly aware of such things. His instincts warned him that this was no ordinary antique, but before he could approach it, his assistant stepped forward, interrupting his thoughts.
"Sir, I just received word," the assistant said quietly, though the urgency in his voice was clear. "There's been movement. We need to act soon."
The man's expression immediately changed, his eyes turning cold as ice. His entire demeanor shifted, and the warmth that had briefly flashed in his eyes when he looked toward the painting was now gone. Feng Yan, who had been quietly observing the scene while pretending to study the painting, felt the sudden drop in temperature behind her. The man's energy had become as cold and sharp as a blade.
Still, she remained silent, unwilling to draw attention to herself. She had come here with a mission in mind—to investigate the cursed object—but her time was running out. She needed to return to her dormitory soon, and something told her that this man wasn't someone she should linger around for too long. She made a mental note to come back and investigate further another day.
Just as Feng Yan was about to turn and leave, her foot slipped on the uneven floor. She gasped softly as she lost her balance, her body tilting backward. Her reflexes weren't fast enough, and she braced herself for the inevitable fall.
But the impact never came.
In a flash, the man crossed the room with surprising speed and caught her in his arms. His grip was strong and secure, pulling her against him before she could even realize what had happened. For a moment, time seemed to stop as Feng Yan found herself looking up into the face of the man she had tried so hard to avoid.
He stared down at her, clearly as stunned as she was. His initial reaction had been purely instinctual, a reflex he hadn't even thought about. But now, as his eyes locked with hers, something shifted in him. Her delicate features, the smooth curve of her face, and the deep intelligence in her eyes took him by surprise. She looked much younger than he had expected, but there was a quiet strength about her, something that set her apart from anyone he had ever encountered.
Feng Yan, still catching her breath, was equally taken aback. The man's face was striking—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and eyes as dark and intense as the night sky. But it wasn't just his looks that caught her off guard; it was the aura he exuded. There was something more to him than just his commanding presence. There was power in his gaze, something deep and unsettling, and yet... she didn't feel threatened by him.
For what felt like an eternity, they stood there in silence, neither of them moving. The world around them seemed to fade away, the cursed painting, the dusty shop, even the assistant standing awkwardly to the side—all of it vanished in that moment.
Then, as if suddenly realizing what had happened, the man released her, stepping back swiftly and clearing his throat. His expression returned to its usual composed self, though a flicker of confusion lingered in his eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice more controlled now, but there was a softness in his tone that hadn't been there before.
Feng Yan, still a little breathless, nodded quickly, trying to regain her composure. "Yes, thank you," she replied quietly. She straightened her posture, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It was just a slip."
The man said nothing more, simply nodding in acknowledgment. He was about to turn back to the shopkeeper when his eyes flicked once more to the cursed painting behind her. There was something about the way Feng Yan had been standing in front of it, almost as if she had been drawn to it. Could she sense it, too? Could she feel the dark energy radiating from the painting the way he could?
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Feng Yan took a step back, bowing slightly in polite dismissal. "Thank you again," she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. "But I should be going now."
Without waiting for a response, Feng Yan turned and made her way toward the door. She could still feel the man's gaze on her as she left the shop, the sensation of his strong arms around her still lingering on her skin. She couldn't quite explain the strange connection she had felt in that brief moment, but she knew one thing for certain—this wasn't the last time she would cross paths with him.
As she stepped back onto the street, the cold air hit her face, clearing her mind. She had come here to investigate the cursed painting, but now her thoughts were clouded with the image of the man who had caught her. Shaking her head, she walked briskly toward her dormitory, determined to push the encounter from her mind, at least for now.
Back in the shop, the man stood still, watching as Feng Yan disappeared into the crowd outside. His assistant, noticing his unusual silence, spoke up cautiously. "Sir... is everything alright?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He continued to stare at the door through which Feng Yan had just left, a strange feeling settling in his chest. Finally, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
"It's nothing," he said coldly, turning back to the shopkeeper. But deep down, he knew that wasn't true. Something about that girl had stirred something in him, something he couldn't quite understand.
And for the first time in a long while, he found himself wanting to know more.