Chapter Eighty-Three: I Have a Wife Named Ruoyu

"This competition among the seven branches was a resounding success. The disciples performed admirably, especially Su Fan, whose wisdom and courage were truly exemplary—unquestionably deserving of first place. Hong Yuan was commendable as well,..." Those in power always speak in such a tiresome manner—long-winded and tedious. Though Su Fan kept his head bowed, appearing to listen intently to the red-robed elder’s summary, his mind had wandered far from the words.

Qin Yu and Xiao Lin exchanged glances from time to time. Xiao Lin still grappled with Qin Yu’s earlier remarks about truth or falsehood, while Qin Yu, having learned from Su Fan of the connection between Ye Xue and Xiao Lin, found himself at a loss.

Only Hong Yuan stood alone, throughout, like a child caught in wrongdoing, respectfully listening to the elder’s rambling discourse.

Su Fan mused silently: why is it that even those as shrewd and cunning as the red-robed elder, whose intelligence borders on the monstrous, must be so verbose? Are all sect leaders in the world like this?

The red-robed elder seemed to sense the younger generation’s lack of interest in his speech; his face flushed, and he cleared his throat before announcing, “Hong Ling is no longer young, so I’ve been considering finding her a dual cultivation partner. After observing these days, I believe Su Fan would be a suitable match.”

“Hong Ling, dual cultivation partner.”

Su Fan was momentarily stunned, thinking coldly to himself: the red-robed elder is indeed as expected. Though he appears slow and genial, his actions are anything but ambiguous—unable to eliminate, he seeks to draw in. A clever strategy.

After a long silence, Su Fan raised his head and replied, “I already have a wife.”

The elder’s smiling face froze instantly. Su Fan lowered his head helplessly, catching sight of Hong Ling hiding in the corner at the back of the grand hall.

The red-robed elder took a deep breath and continued, “It matters not; Hong Ling can be a secondary wife.” To willingly let his own daughter be a concubine—how shocking, especially coming from the foremost figure in Tianyuan County, the master of Tianyuan Sect.

Hong Yuan stared blankly at the elder, speechless. Hong Ling, who had been standing by the wall, crouched low, her eyes reddened—who knows how many times she had wept; by now, there were no tears left.

Qin Yu and Xiao Lin watched Su Fan quietly. From the look in Su Fan’s eyes, it was clear he was unsettled, so much so that he struggled to find words.

When Su Fan looked up again, he was smiling. He said, “I have a wife named Ruo Yu. Though she is now missing, she remains my wife. I will not make another choice.”

The red-robed elder erupted in fury: “Missing, yet unwilling to marry Hong Ling. Well...well, so you will not make another choice. Good.”

He repeated ‘good’ countless times, then swept his sleeves and departed the hall. Hong Yuan still gazed dazedly at the receding figure and Hong Ling following behind.

After a long while, Hong Yuan spoke softly, “Let’s go to the Seven-Colored Hall.”

Su Fan nodded, his mind too preoccupied to dwell on Hong Yuan’s changes or on the matter of Lin Ling and Xiao Lin. Qin Yu and Xiao Lin could only follow behind, somewhat dejected.

The Seven-Colored Hall was not far—it lay beneath the Seven-Colored Platform. There were no elders guarding it, nor powerful restrictive formations, only a single door.

The door itself was ordinary; even its ring was rusted, suggesting years without entry. Beside the door, on a stone, was a long, deep groove.

Hong Yuan calmly took a dagger from his storage pouch and, with practiced ease, inserted it into the groove. Clearly, this was not his first time performing this task. With a resonant thud, the door finally opened.

Hong Yuan gave a faint smile and stepped inside. Su Fan suddenly felt Hong Yuan’s smile was odd, almost sinister, and wondered whether he should enter the Seven-Colored Hall.

Su Fan had not yet decided when Xiao Lin gave him a push, sending him inside. The hall was empty—nothing, not even a speck of dust.

The door was rusty, dust coated the threshold, yet inside it was spotless, as if regularly cleaned. Truly peculiar.

Hong Yuan smiled, “Few ever enter here; the door is rarely opened, so it remains sealed off from the outside world, untouched by the grime of mortal affairs.”

Su Fan managed a faint smile at Hong Yuan, then sat cross-legged like him. Qin Yu and Xiao Lin followed suit, sitting beside Su Fan.

The arrangement was interesting—Hong Yuan sat alone, while Su Fan, Qin Yu, and Xiao Lin sat together, unconsciously isolating Hong Yuan.

As all four closed their eyes, the hall door closed with a soft thud.

Su Fan felt as though he had entered another world, one shrouded in darkness, though the hall itself was pitch black.

He smiled bitterly to himself—so the rumors weren’t true after all; the supposed increase in the chance of forming a Nascent Soul was merely wishful thinking among disciples.

It made sense—if it truly enhanced the chance, Tianyuan Sect would have countless seniors at the Nascent Soul stage, rather than only seven, with one missing and one killed.

As Su Fan sighed inwardly, suddenly a white light pierced his eyes. In alarm, he opened them—there was no white light, only a seven-colored halo.

The halo was very close; he reached out to touch it, but his hand met only emptiness, no sensation. Then, the halo began to spin—faster and faster, until the colors blurred, yet it kept spinning. Suddenly, a white beam shot from the center, stabbing into Su Fan’s eyes, a sensation like a spike through his heart swept over him.

It was pain—pain from within, primal and raw. Su Fan almost shouted, his cry shattering the quiet of the hall. When he opened his eyes again, darkness still reigned, and the others sat quietly, cross-legged.

Suddenly, a shrill scream came from Hong Yuan’s direction. Su Fan formed hand seals—now would be the perfect moment to strike Hong Yuan down.

The purple mist he concealed had no color; nothing could be seen in the dark, not even with spiritual sense.

Su Fan swiftly formed seals, but soon stopped. He spoke softly, “Hong Yuan died already, at the moment the Purple Shadow Illusion Immortal Finger struck.”

His voice was so soft that even he barely heard it, and masked by Hong Yuan’s scream, no one else could. Su Fan closed his eyes again.

Once more, a white light—he opened his eyes, again the seven-colored halo spun. He tried to halt its rotation, but how could it obey his will?

Another white light appeared; Su Fan hurriedly closed his eyes. The pain was less this time—at least he did not cry out. Perhaps, with experience, his heart could bear it, or perhaps closing his eyes in time helped.

When the white light faded, Su Fan opened his eyes—still darkness, nothing visible. He closed his eyes once more.

The scene repeated again and again; Su Fan waited helplessly for the white light’s assault. As expected, it came. This time, he kept his eyes open, enduring the stabbing light.

The white light showed no mercy, piercing his eyes. Su Fan clenched his fists, enduring the pain. He was not doing this aimlessly—within the white light, he sensed something akin to the Tianyuan Seven Colors that Ye Xue had displayed.

Even in the previous white light Hong Yuan unleashed, the feeling was similar, though Hong Yuan’s had been altered, producing a unique effect.

Suddenly, Su Fan understood the purpose of the Seven-Colored Hall—it was to comprehend the true legacy of Tianyuan Sect’s techniques. The seven branch arts were mere superficialities.

This realization was astonishing, yet Su Fan was willing to fight for it. He needed strength desperately; only with greater power could he determine his own fate.

The demon sealed within his immortal body, the unknown threat from the imperial city, the deep-seated hatred of the red-robed elder—all these could not be resolved by negotiation, only by displaying true power.

If danger persisted, it could only mean his strength was still insufficient.

Su Fan continued to endure, letting the white light stab into him. Though his eyes were bloodshot, nearly blind, and blood trickled from their corners, he persisted.

The pain was excruciating, nearly unbearable, but he did not yield. Suddenly, darkness descended, the pain eased.

The next moment, the white light vanished, darkness returned. Was this a sign of failure? Had all his perseverance been for nothing? Su Fan wiped his bloody tears, staring ahead in a daze.

Suddenly, he seemed to see someone—someone meditating, eyes closed. Why did this figure seem so familiar...? It was Xiao Lin. How could he see him? Could it be...could it be he had already penetrated the mystery?

Su Fan’s heart trembled, but if he had truly comprehended it, why did he feel no enlightenment? He closed his eyes again—no white light. Opened them—no seven-colored halo.

There was no halo, but instead a deep, bottomless black vortex. Su Fan paused, then slowly rose and stepped into the vortex.

A moment of disorientation, then clarity returned. Before him lay brightness—birds singing, flowers blooming, red petals everywhere, rosy clouds filling the sky. Was this not beneath the Seven-Colored Platform? Su Fan wondered.

Yet he found the Seven-Colored Hall’s door was open, and inside was nothing. He hesitated, then walked through the door.

As before, he sat cross-legged, eyes shut. The door closed behind him; Su Fan started, opened his eyes—darkness, and Hong Yuan, Qin Yu, Xiao Lin were nowhere to be seen.

Had they vanished? Or had he himself disappeared?

Su Fan sighed, closed his eyes once more, seeking the alluring Tianyuan Seven Colors.

But the feeling from before was gone—only endless darkness remained. He did not open his eyes, for he had made another discovery—specifically, a discovery from the jade pendant at his waist.