Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Rift Emerges

“No! I have to give it a try!” Haotian declared, his eyes narrowing as he flipped his sword in his hand, a murderous aura rising around him. “How troublesome! Another fight?!” Ruoxi glanced at Xiaoshan, still fast asleep, her expression hardening as a trace of menace flickered in her eyes.

She picked up the Soul-Stirring Sword from the ground and stood up.

“What do you want?” Ruoxi asked coldly.

“My sword will give you the answer!” came the firm, decisive reply, as Haotian flipped his sword and assumed an attacking stance.

“Then let’s see what the military is capable of—bullying the weak with numbers and strength!” Though her words sounded fearful, Ruoxi’s face betrayed no emotion; it was clear she was mocking them.

Haotian had failed to defeat Xiaoshan and switched to fighting Haopo instead; Ruoxi had said nothing of it. But now, with both men nursing their wounds and Haotian seeking to take advantage, she could no longer hold her tongue!

One against two, then two against three—if Ruoxi hadn’t been here, who could say what fate awaited Xiaoshan at their hands? Such bullying was disgraceful; for those in power, even more so.

She too was just a girl, still a child, and anger surged within her.

Across from her, Haotian’s face remained impassive. He hid his emotions within his sword, only to unleash them in battle. That was his way.

This, too, was the way of the martial world in which they lived.

Just as Haotian shifted his weight, preparing to strike, he suddenly felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, halting his momentum with force. He turned, brimming with anger, only to see Haopo—when had he stood up?—gasping for breath, with his right hand gripping Haotian’s shoulder.

“Let’s go back... The more you exhaust yourself now, the harder it’ll be to make it home,” Haopo said quietly between labored breaths, his gaze drifting to Ruoxi and growing distant.

The clamor just moments ago—the shaking earth, the thunderous noise—had roused even the wild beasts from their slumber. Now, all around, hungry eyes watched and waited. Another fight among themselves, and not only would they fail to recover what they’d come for, survival itself would be in doubt.

Haotian looked at Haopo’s pale face, his own turbulent emotions gradually settling, his martial energy drawing inward.

Seeing Haopo’s exhaustion, Haotian hurried to support him, offering to carry him on his back. Haopo waved him off, insisting he could manage, and Haotian didn’t press further.

Haotian looked up at Ruoxi in the distance.

Her stern expression softened; the corners of her mouth lifted, her eyes shining as if touched by the warmth of spring.

“It’s not bad, not being enemies; I think I prefer being friends,” Haotian said softly, gazing ahead as if Ruoxi’s image was etched into his eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, clearly savoring the feeling.

In truth, sometimes, in a fleeting moment, you decide to give up, to oppose, to abandon, to speak words that contradict. In your eyes, the other person can suddenly transform into a stranger—the one you are least familiar with, the one who angers you enough to storm out and slam the door.

But when you look at her again, with the eyes of someone who knows her well, with gratitude and familiarity, she becomes your favorite person. It’s a completely different feeling, and this was the feeling Haotian had now.

Yet, it was also something else—like lovers on the verge of parting, uttering certain words or performing certain actions, and later, when you remember the days you spent together, you regret it. Even if you reconcile, that particular feeling never returns. Certain words and gestures leave a pain that lingers deep in the other’s heart.

That is the distance that grows between people.

In that moment, Haotian felt as though he had a thousand things to say, but not the courage to utter even one.

Face to face, the silence was thick with awkwardness.