In short, Duanmu Yu's approach had been wrong, so the present situation was basically the same as when her clothes had exploded earlier—it had all gone awry...

For anyone else, even a consummate Nascent Soul master, Duanmu Yu would have been dead beyond any doubt. Fortunately, seated behind her was a Primal Ascension Primordial Spirit—in the Tai Gu Minor Jianghu, that was practically a grandmaster of the highest order when it came to playing with divine consciousness. More crucially, this entity knew the entire tempering process of the Spirit-Consciousness Grass inside and out.

After all, ever since coming to the Tai Gu Minor Jianghu, Wei Zhao had gnawed off a bite of Spirit-Consciousness Grass root nearly every day to assist his cultivation. The first month, he had found it unbearable; by now, he had grown thoroughly used to it. He reckoned he was the first eccentric in history to treat Spirit-Consciousness Grass root as a daily snack. Painful it certainly was, but in his eyes the stuff was little different from coffee—painful, yes, yet rather fragrant and refreshing...

Wei Zhao, as expected, took over the surging tide of agony on Duanmu Yu's behalf, but he did not simply erase it for her—that would have robbed the process of its tempering effect. Instead, he suppressed it to a certain level in a rhythmic fashion, then released it bit by bit.

In this way, it stayed within what Duanmu Yu could endure while maximizing the tempering of her divine consciousness. Both ends were served.

Another day and night passed before Duanmu Yu finally struggled free of the endless sea of pain. A single day—such a span would seem far from long to anyone else, and to cultivators who might seclude themselves for years or decades at a stretch, it was utterly negligible. Yet place any of them in Duanmu Yu's shoes, and it would have been immeasurably long, for she had truly been living through each second as though it were a year.

The astonishing willpower Duanmu Yu displayed over that day left even Wei Zhao secretly taken aback. For all that he had suppressed the tide of agony, the total mass of half a stalk of Spirit-Consciousness Grass was what it was; even released in measured doses, the pain remained far beyond the ordinary.

After all, Duanmu Yu had taken only a single day to digest pain that others would need more than half a month to withstand. To have borne it without a single sound—even Wei Zhao had to give her a thumbs-up and a word of praise.

Girl, you really are one tough fellow!

"Phew..." Like a marathon runner who had finally reached the finish line, Duanmu Yu let out a long, weary breath of turbid air. By now her whole body had been drenched in sweat who knew how many times over; appearances and all such considerations had long since been cast to the winds. The instant her tension—wound tight for a full day—eased even slightly, she toppled backward.

Wei Zhao froze on the spot. Duanmu Yu was too exhausted to care about appearances, but he was not tired in the least. Especially over these past days, having openly admired her smooth, elegant back, he could not help but entertain a few flirtatious thoughts—though he had kept them well in check all along.

But now Duanmu Yu suddenly fell backward and dropped straight into his arms. Wei Zhao had not a moment to react; he simply stared blankly at the lovely sight before him. Previously he had seen only her back—now he could make out both points in front as well.

"Pink..." The thought flashed instinctively through Wei Zhao's mind, and then his eyes met Duanmu Yu's.

"Ah!" Only now did Duanmu Yu finally come back to herself. She hurriedly covered her chest and sat up straight, frantically looking for clothes to cover her shame. Unfortunately, the clothes on the floor had long since been reduced to scraps, and this was the confinement chamber, not her boudoir—naturally there were no spare clothes to change into. For a moment she was like a headless fly, at a complete loss for what to do.

"Uh..." Wei Zhao was deeply embarrassed as well. When Duanmu Yu had kept still, it had not been so bad—at most he had seen her back. But now her movement made the view all the more ravishing, and he had no idea where to put his eyes.

This embarrassment, tinged with a certain flirtatious color, did not last long, for Wei Zhao suddenly warned her: "Quick, hide—someone's coming."

Duanmu Yu was briefly stunned. This room was enveloped by the Black Water Formation; by all logic, anyone trapped inside should have been unable to sense anything outside, since divine consciousness simply could not extend beyond it. But on the basis of the absolute trust established between them, she reacted instinctively, scrambling onto the bed and pulling the covers tightly over herself.

In truth, that was what she should have done earlier when she had been at a loss—only some strange impulse had left her frozen stiff. Thinking back on it, it was quite bizarre.

Sure enough, no sooner had Duanmu Yu hidden herself under the quilt than the iron door swung open. The newcomer was still Qiu Mingchong.

Qiu Mingchong stood in the doorway about to speak, but one glance and he froze. From where he stood, he could not make out every corner of the room clearly, but he could see well enough in general—and he distinctly saw that Duanmu Yu was actually in bed!

A lone man and woman in one room—though Wei Zhao was still sitting off to the side, Duanmu Yu had for no apparent reason gone and gotten into bed. What had happened in between, anyone with half a brain could fill in for themselves, to say nothing of a creature with an imagination as fertile as Qiu Mingchong's.

Here was his chance! Qiu Mingchong's heart stirred, though he did not seize upon the matter. He had not come this time to gawk.

"Bing Wushuang will be here shortly. Before that, I wish to remind you of one thing, Your Excellency: what should be said and what should not be said—I hope you will weigh it carefully. As I said before, so long as Your Excellency can help make Bing Wushuang hand over the Spirit-Consciousness Grass, you will be a honored guest of our Ye Ling Sect, and everything else can be discussed." So Qiu Mingchong warned.

"Very well," Wei Zhao agreed readily.

"The wise recognize the times—a wise man adapts to circumstances. Then the next move is yours to show, Your Excellency." Qiu Mingchong was thoroughly satisfied with Wei Zhao's attitude. Between him and Wei Zhao there was no old grudge nor recent enmity; his sole aim was the Spirit-Consciousness Grass. So long as Wei Zhao cooperated and helped him swindle the Spirit-Consciousness Grass out of Bing Wushuang's hands, he had no intention of continuing to make trouble for him.

Qiu Mingchong left, though on his way out he deliberately stole a glance at the bed. He still could see nothing, but his gaze was laden with meaning.

"That fellow's got a weird look in his eyes—don't tell me he's taken a fancy to you?" Wei Zhao turned his head and said to Duanmu Yu on the bed.

"Huh?" Duanmu Yu was taken aback, then shook her head with a strange expression. "No way. I've had no private contact with him at all. Besides, a while back the higher-ups were still discussing... discussing..."

"Discussing what?" Wei Zhao found her reluctance to speak rather odd. This girl was always frank and forthright; it was rare for her to hem and haw like this.

"Nothing..." Duanmu Yu gave Wei Zhao a look of complicated feeling, then suddenly blushed and said, "You should still have some clothes over there, right?"