Chen Siran’s past encounters with Jiang Feng left a sour taste—bordering on disgust. His reputation made it hard to see any good in him; even with a magnifying glass, his virtues were scarce.
Yet today, she glimpsed two: his formidable strength and his astonishing approach to reading.
It stirred her. Could someone change so drastically, so fast? No—this wasn’t change. It was a complete transformation, as if he were a new person.
Yanjing’s elite circle was small; gossip spread like wildfire. Chen Siran had heard rumors about Jiang Feng—tossing Jiang Jingyun out in front of Grandpa Jiang, snubbing Ye Qingxuan, prescribing medicine for Sister Hua, even teaching Li Yuanjue a lesson. She’d dismissed them as baseless, chuckling them off.
Now, she believed. Without proof, without conditions—she just did. It startled her.
Holding a book, she sat beside Jiang Feng, unable to focus, her gaze flickering to him, ripples stirring within. She knew she’d misjudged him, wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat, leaving her conflicted.
Jiang Feng noticed her arrival but thought nothing of it—he kept reading.
Time ticked by, and his indifference soured her mood. She considered moving to prove a point but stayed put, stubbornly. Her subtle movements didn’t escape him. Smiling faintly, he finally glanced her way.
Her beauty was undeniable. Even from this angle, her half-profile—smooth lines, delicate peach-blossom cheeks, perfectly curved chin—was mesmerizing. Despite seeing countless beauties, Jiang Feng’s heart skipped, his gaze lingering.
Feeling his bold stare, Chen Siran’s pulse quickened, her cheeks warming. She wanted to call out his rudeness but, sensing her earlier pettiness had worked, let him look.
His gaze wasn’t just bold—it was brazen. It hit him: her familiarity outside the library wasn’t random. She was strikingly similar to Fairy Tantai.
Too alike. Save for slight differences in hairstyle and age, he’d swear they were the same person. His stare grew hotter, unyielding.
After a while, he sighed, reluctantly looking away.
His essence had been obliterated in the tribulation lightning, his strongest soul fragment crossing to Earth, seizing a new body—a miracle of fate.
But what of Fairy Tantai? Had she perished entirely, or, like him, landed on Earth or another realm?
The Golden Core tribulation was minor. With countless elixirs, protective treasures, and even Fairy Tantai’s origin artifact, he should’ve passed, despite hurdles. Why had purple divine lightning—meant for Nascent Soul tribulations—struck during his? The mystery gnawed at him.
As he withdrew his gaze, Chen Siran’s flush faded, but his sudden indifference left her oddly bereft, her expression dazed.
Glancing at him, she saw him sketching on draft paper. Peering closer, she realized he was drawing a woman.
His strokes were swift, simple yet vivid, conjuring a stunning figure—lifelike, radiant, as if she’d step from the page.
Chen Siran’s eyes widened, her cheeks reddening. The woman resembled her—nine parts out of ten. But her expression was cold—not icy, but an aloof pride, lofty, humbling, untouchable.
‘Is that me? Why draw me like this?’ she wondered, then doubted.
The woman’s ornate white dress, though indistinct, exuded nobility, too classical for modern wear—beautiful but out of place.
“Not me. Who is she, so like me?” Chen Siran froze, instinctively reaching for the paper.
Jiang Feng jolted, caught off guard. Seeing her side profile had evoked Fairy Tantai, prompting the instinctive sketch. A master of many arts in Tianyuan Continent, such drawing was trivial, capturing the image vividly.
He hadn’t expected Chen Siran to see it or take it. Her reaction—clearly noting the resemblance—left him slightly embarrassed, though he quickly brushed it off, returning to his book without explanation.
Chen Siran stared at the drawing, transfixed. The likeness grew stronger the longer she looked. She tried mimicking the woman’s aura—innate, dazzling—but failed. Entranced, she wanted to ask who this was, how they were linked, yet couldn’t. Lost in the sketch, she sat with Jiang Feng all day, forgetting time and meals.
When the librarian announced the closing time, she exhaled, annoyed yet adrift. Clutching the sketch, she hesitated, then asked softly, “Jiang Feng, can I keep this?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
“Thank you,” she stammered, joyfully tucking it into her book, planning to study it later.
Jiang Feng gathered his borrowed books, registered them, and left.
Chen Siran hurried after, finding him distant, almost cold. Noticing he wasn’t waiting, she blurted, “Jiang Feng, let me treat you to dinner.”
“Hm?” He glanced back.
“You gave me the drawing—I’ll buy you dinner,” she said nervously.
“No need. I’m busy.” He waved, striding off.
Chen Siran stood, bewildered, missing Guo Conghu’s approach.
*****
For days after, Jiang Feng shuttled between the university and home, occasionally attending classes.
Zhao Wuxia brought him meals at the library; Ji Yan lectured him to focus on studies. He agreed to appease her but did as he pleased, frustrating her. She gave up, assuming he’d abandoned himself.
He spent days in the library, returning home only when it closed.
The distance grew bothersome, wasting his time. His home, though rarely visited by others, was crowded with servants, hindering his work. So he decided to move out, seeking a quiet place near school.
Unversed in such matters—unlike his knack for revelry—he reached for his phone to call Ma Lianhao for help.
Before he could, Ma Lianhao’s panicked call came, his voice desperate: “Young Master, save me!”