Many children, many blessings: Stealing the offspring of powerful figures to cultivate immortality.

It was early morning in the innermost sleeping quarters of the Xuan Yin Palace.

The air was thick with the suffocating smell of blood and burnt vegetation.

Jiang Yining curled up in the corner of the large canopy bed, her whole body as if she had been pulled out of the water, cold sweat completely soaking through her thin nightgown, which clung tightly to her skin.

That hidden, pitch-black crack was now tearing wildly outward from her dantian, climbing up her pale collarbone like a living thing.

It hurts too much.

The power of the True Dragon's Yang energy transformed into scalding magma, rampaging through her eight extraordinary meridians; while the chaotic power of the Myriad Spirit Divine Tree was like sharp blades formed from millennia-old ice, relentlessly shredding the chaotic dragon breath. The two supreme laws of power were incompatible, turning her body into a meat grinder.

She clenched her teeth so tightly into the gold-threaded quilt that she bit through the brocade, the strong taste of rust filling her mouth. Her slender fingers dug into the rosewood bed frame, her nails snapping and splinters digging into her flesh, yet she didn't utter a single cry of pain.

You must not call anyone.

Once Yu Luofeng or anyone else probes her meridians, the truth about the uncontrolled power within her body will be completely exposed—the so-called "exchanging the dragon fetus for combat power" was, from beginning to end, a core lie she wove to stabilize the situation on Abandoned Star Island and intimidate those mad dogs. She schemed against the entire Canglan Realm, schemed against all the men around her, but placed her own life on the very edge of the gambling table.

The main hall is separated by a wall.

Gu Qinghan, who was sitting cross-legged, suddenly opened her eyes.

The biting wind of the polar night rushed in through the window, and in his eyes, which were as cold as the North Star, pure Yang energy surged wildly.

He caught it.

A faint yet extremely violent fluctuation of chaotic laws emanated from the air. He was all too familiar with that frequency; it was a harbinger of meridians on the verge of shattering and the complete collapse of the laws.

Gu Qinghan suddenly stood up. His usually silent footsteps now made a heavy, rapid scraping sound as he stepped on the obsidian tiles.

He didn't knock.

The index and middle fingers, joined together, unleashed a torrent of blazing Haotian Pure Yang sword energy, pressing it directly against the thick protective array of the sleeping quarters. Silently, the array, powerful enough to withstand a full-force attack from a Xuan Guang Realm expert, melted away like ice and snow.

The door hinge made a dull, soft sound.

Gu Qinghan pushed open the door and entered, her gaze passing over the layers of gauze curtains and landing directly on the corner of the bed.

The moment he saw the scene before him, his face, which seemed to be forever wearing a mask of ice and snow, shattered with a deafening roar.

Jiang Yining was convulsing all over, her full head of black hair sticking wetly to her pale cheeks, and the corner of the blanket was stained red with blood.

Gu Qinghan's breathing suddenly tightened, and she strode towards the bed.

Without a word, he took a long stride and sat directly on the edge of the bed. His strong arms reached under her ribs and pulled her body, which was convulsing in pain, into his embrace.

Jiang Yining's back slammed heavily against his hard, burning chest.

"Don't move." Gu Qinghan's voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded.

His left hand gripped her waist tightly, while his right palm pressed directly against her sweat-drenched lower abdomen. Pure Yang True Energy, like unraveling a silken thread, forcefully yet subtly pierced her dantian through his palm.

This is a dead end, walking on a tightrope.

Even if the true essence deviates by half an inch, it will immediately detonate the Myriad Spirits Divine Tree, or directly crush the fragile dragon embryo into blood.

Gu Qinghan pushed his peak Dao Inquiry Realm cultivation to its limit, transforming pure Yang power into countless invisible threads that forcibly interweave, isolate, and stitch together the heat of the True Dragon and the extreme cold of the Divine Tree.

Cold sweat seeped from his full forehead, dripping down his sharp jawline and landing on Jiang Yining's cold neck.

He held her tightly. This almost seamless physical contact should have been filled with a chilling intimacy, but at this moment, Gu Qinghan's eyes were only on the dark crack that was devouring her life.

He used all his pure Yang sword intent to repair her meridians, without a single trace of extraneous affection. This kind of restraint, so pure and extreme in his willingness to give his all to save her, is far more breathtaking than any morbid possession.

Time stretched infinitely in the deathly silence.

A full half hour passed.

The two laws that had been entrenched in the meridians were finally forcibly suppressed by the pure Yang power, and the terrifying black crack retreated back into the depths of the dantian, disappearing without a trace.

Jiang Yining's tense body suddenly went limp.

Exhausted to the extreme, her consciousness sank into a semi-conscious state. In this weakened moment when all defenses were completely down, her right hand fingers unconsciously curled up, gripping the front of Gu Qinghan's white robe.

It was very tight. The knuckles were a pale, bloodless white from the force.

There was no scheming, no pretense; it was the body's instinct to reach for the only source of heat on the brink of life and death.

Gu Qinghan stopped channeling her true energy.

He didn't pry her hands off. His gaze lingered on her knuckles, which were clenched tightly around her clothes, and his Adam's apple bobbed slowly and heavily in the shadows.

The stench of blood in the room was gradually swallowed up by the pure, cool fragrance.

He lowered his head very slowly, gently and tenderly resting his chin on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, his breathing gradually matching hers. It was as if he had endured an eternity of frost and cold for this moment of quiet.

The light of dawn pierced through the glass windows, casting dappled patterns of light on the floor tiles.

Jiang Yining slowly opened her eyes.

The pain had subsided, and a warm, soothing sensation flowed through her limbs. She found herself wrapped tightly in a soft brocade quilt, with even the collar buttons fastened neatly.

One side of the bed was empty; Gu Qinghan had already left.

Beside her pillow lay a piece of exquisite pure yang warm jade, its surface still retaining the warmth of that man's body, continuously dispelling the chill within her.

Jiang Yining propped herself up and sat up, her gaze passing over the edge of the bed.

On a small sandalwood table sat a bowl of calming porridge, simmering over a low flame. The white porcelain bowl was at just the right temperature, neither too hot to touch nor prone to condensation as it cooled.

Beside the congee, there was a piece of Xuan paper with cold, hard edges.

There were only eight characters on the paper, written with a cold and sharp style. Each stroke exuded the sword master's sharpness, enough to cleave galaxies, and the force penetrated the paper:

"Eat up. Don't die. You owe me."

There was no unnecessary small talk.

"Don't die" is a command from above, and "You owe me" is a declaration that he will never let go. It is brief to the extreme, yet it throws his suppressed fear, domineering affection, and unwillingness at her without reservation.

Jiang Yining stared intently at the note.

Her finger, which had just emerged from under the covers and whose nails still bore creases, trembled uncontrollably. When the pad of her finger touched the pure, warm jade, the edge of her lips curved slightly, revealing a few complex lines.

It contained a self-deprecating humor that even she found absurd, mixed with a touch of indescribable bitterness, and a faint warmth that pierced through millennia of ice.

She picked up the bowl of spiritual porridge, which was at just the right temperature.

As she swallowed the last mouthful of spiritual porridge, a deafening horn sounded from the outskirts of Abandoned Star Island.