Tome of Troubled Times
Chapter 871 (1): The Trial of the Saber

Chapter 871 (1): The Trial of the Saber

Truth be told, over the past thirty years, the wronged and resentful women had long come to an unspoken consensus: when Zhao Changhe woke up, they would leave him hanging. If he wanted affection, he would have to beg for it. Whoever gave in first was the fool.

Piaomiao, of course, was not about to let herself be mocked behind her back. She had always assumed she could keep her distance with ease—watch him grovel, maybe even enjoy the sight a little.

But when she actually saw him again, all those three decades of pent-up longing surged forward like a tide. So much for calm as still water. She had kept her face cold and her distance intact, yet every part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him with all her might.

Watching Zhao Changhe squirm with desire, Piaomiao’s expression remained blank, but inwardly, she was thinking: Come on, say something sweet. Plead a little. Just a few honeyed words and I’ll “reluctantly” give in... That excuse about not letting Yangyang feel it? That was just an excuse. And even if Yangyang does feel it, so what? What’s the big deal?

She failed to mention that, over these years, they’d already figured out ways to block their shared sensations. Naturally, Zhao Changhe had no way of knowing that.

Zhao Changhe, fresh from his long slumber, still had his mind wrapped up in the affairs of the world. The more delicate aspects of romance had not quite kicked in yet. But after a few moments of awkward silence, the mood finally caught up with him. Seeing Piaomiao standing there with that stony expression, not speaking, not leaving, how could he not know what was going on?

He immediately scooted closer and murmured, “Miaomiao~”

Piaomiao gagged. “What did you just call me?”

“We need a term of endearment, don’t we? With most people, dropping the surname makes it intimate enough. But you don’t have a surname, so I’ve got to be a bit more creative. I can’t just call you Piaomiao. That sounds way too formal...”

“You’re making it sound like my surname is Piao.” Piaomiao kept her face taut. “Don’t give me that. You didn’t pull this kind of revolting nonsense before you went to sleep. What changed, huh?”

“Because back then, we didn’t have time for sweet nothings,” Zhao Changhe replied softly. “That was my fault...”

Piaomiao fell silent.

To be fair, it was not entirely his fault. Everyone had been under immense pressure—cultivation, war, schemes.... There was not much time for romance. That said, a significant portion of that precious time had been spent cozying up to Ye Jiuyou, which left a bitter taste in Piaomiao’s mouth. She had barely gotten together with him, and the next thing she knew, he was off wooing another woman.

She knew full well that winning over Ye Jiuyou back then had been a critical strategic move. Had she ended up as an enemy in that pivotal battle, the outcome would have been catastrophic. But knowing this did not make the memory sting any less.

So when he suddenly apologized now, it stirred something in her. She sighed and leaned her head gently against his shoulder, whispering, “Back then, we had no time... But as you said, we now have all the time in the world. As long as your heart doesn’t change, then nothing else matters.”

Zhao Changhe wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “To me, it was just a long nap. But for you all, it’s been thirty years. I was afraid... afraid you might’ve forgotten me.”

Piaomiao’s face turned stern. “That’s how you see us?”

Zhao Changhe leaned in with a pout. “Then why won’t you let me touch you...”

So that’s what this is about? Piaomiao grabbed his head firmly and smiled coldly. “Thirty years is but a blink to me. Even if it were thirty eras, so what? Who do you take me for, Zhao Changhe?”

He went into full puppy mode. “But you ignored me... I was scared...”

He planted a kiss on her hand, lips grazing her pale jade-like fingers. “That makes me feel a little more grounded.”

Piaomiao’s expression twitched between laughter and exasperation. “Is this how you wore down Jiuyou?”

Zhao Changhe grinned shamelessly. “This is exactly how I wore you down.”

“Get lost,” Piaomiao huffed, pushing his face away. “Stop playing the rascal.”

But Zhao Changhe could feel it—the tremble in her hand, the softness of her resistance.... She was already melting. He knew it.

He gently caught her hand again, and voice turned even warmer. “Then how should I address you?”

She tried to pull away but failed. Face taut, she muttered, “Just... Piaomiao. I’m not used to anything else. I don’t need a nickname. Now let go before I beat you up.”

Zhao Changhe held firm. “You say you have no surname, but that’s not quite true. Now that you’re mine, it’s only right you bear my surname.”

Piaomiao’s heart skipped a beat. “You—”

Before the word fully left her lips, he pulled hard and swept her into his arms, holding her close in a fierce embrace.

“Don’t struggle,” he whispered. “Let me hold you a little... I missed you so much.”

Piaomiao felt her strength melting away, her entire body soft and languid. His whispered words sent tingles through her chest, and the scent of him was even more alluring than she remembered. After all, this time, his new body had been reforged using a lotus platform just like hers. Their essence resonated, and each naturally stirred the other’s desires even more than before.

For all his new and pure body, he’s gotten even dirtier on the inside. How shameless.

She gasped lightly, pressing a hand against Zhao Changhe’s chest in a feeble attempt to push him back. “Don’t think a little whining and clinging is enough for me to forgive you. Show me something real.”

Zhao Changhe answered without hesitation, “How about I capture Ye Wuming and let you deal with her personally?”

Piaomiao blinked in surprise, and then she smiled. “Deal. Touch me when that day comes. Until then, stay away.”

Zhao Changhe: “...”

Far away in the Night Palace, Ye Wuming closed a book and chuckled to herself, “Serves you right. Now you’ve got to wait.”

She watched the newly awakened Zhao Changhe in silence, her face expressionless, though a subtle unease stirred in her chest.

It seemed that everyone in his camp had now made it an open strategy to “storm the Night Palace and capture the damn blind woman.” And Ye Wuming had no idea how to respond. She had once thought about taking advantage of his slumber to pick off the others one by one, but she could not bring herself to do it, nor did she want to risk giving the Heavenly Dao an opening.

So here she was, holed up in a corner of the world, left with nothing but the futile task of trying to sever Zhao Changhe’s connection to River of Stars.

How had she ended up like this? She who had orchestrated schemes spanning two eras, defied the Heavenly Dao, and moved all of creation like pieces on a board... now reduced to a passive onlooker?

Even her little curse of “Serves you right. Now you’ve got to wait.” had failed, because Zhao Changhe had already made his move.

Piaomiao tried to resist, but it was half-hearted at best. Her own turbulent emotions betrayed her, and before long, his lips found hers. Her defenses crumbled instantly.

“Hey, you aren’t keeping your part of the deal... Why are you kissing me...” she murmured breathlessly.

Ye Wuming: “...”

It was not just kissing, Zhao Changhe’s hands were roaming, and if this kept up, her clothes would be undone. You’re the god of the land who’s supposed to protect the mountains and rivers? At this rate, you can’t even protect your belt. So much for being a revered god. One round of emotional sweet talk, and you’re already done?

Ye Wuming suddenly had the urge to sabotage things.

Her eyes glinted mischievously. With a flick of her divine will, she cast her awareness far across the land, falling upon Ling Ruoyu, who was drifting downriver. Seeing the girl, a familiar, witch-like grin curved her lips.

You think you can come for me? I’d like to see you try.

Whoosh!

A grappling hook latched onto the edge of the boat. A male figure vaulted from the riverbank, landing lightly on deck. “Miss Ling, may I have a word?”

Ling Ruoyu, who had finally found a moment of peace to recover, had barely rested a quarter of an incense stick before being interrupted. Fuming, she grabbed her sword and stepped out of the cabin.

She had been wounded for days and still had not had a proper chance to recuperate. What is it now? Can’t people just stop with the nonsense and let me get some sleep? Seriously... I even went out of my way to avoid trouble by sailing south, yet someone still found me. Could there be a mole?

She stepped out and found a handsome, radiant young man standing at attention, sword reversed in hand, saluting politely. “Long Haoyang, at your service.”

“...Ah, it’s you,” Ling Ruoyu muttered wearily. “Young Master Long, what brings you aboard a ship in the middle of the night?”

“It was just a sudden thought. Everyone assumes you’d be heading north to the capital, and so the northern routes are tightly locked down. Why would you walk into that net? I thought that maybe you’d go south instead, so I took a chance, headed downstream, saw this boat, and figured I’d ask. Turns out, here you are.”

Ling Ruoyu: “...”

Even if you guessed I’d go south, how did you know I’d travel by boat? Even if you were sure I’d travel by boat, there are plenty of boats sailing the canal. How did you just “happen” to pick the right one?

Her sword heart pricked. It was the same eerie sensation Zhao Changhe had described before. It was the subtle pull of fate, as though the strings of fate were being plucked by unseen hands. Somewhere in the dark, someone was meddling with her fate.

This Long Haoyang was no harmless gentleman. For all his good looks and polished manners, he was a textbook member of the underworld[1]. The Demon Suppression Bureau had been covertly investigating his group’s illicit salt trade and smuggling operations for quite some time, though they had yet to find any concrete evidence. The fact that he showed up here was already proof enough. He had to be after Dragon Bird.

Of course, he was not the only one coveting Dragon Bird. But every last one of those eyeing the saber was a villain. Who among the upright would dare touch it?

Ranked sixty-seventh on the Ranking of Man, Long Haoyang was in the first layer of the Profound Mysteries. If Ling Ruoyu were in peak condition, this might have been the exact kind of challenge she once dreamed of—a worthy opponent to test her limits, perhaps even to use as a stepping stone to break through and seize a higher rank.

But now? She was exhausted, injured, and running on fumes. And to her dismay, there was no escape from this situation, at least not here on the Grand Canal. There was nowhere for her to run.

1. This is not referring to Ye Jiuyou’s domain. It’s simply referring to the standard dark side of society. ☜