Chapter Text
1.
“You will marry Master Su Fang of the Chanpuru Sect.”
When Sect Leader Umemiya delivered the command, Qiuyan Yu did not offer a single word of resistance. Having recently passed his sixteenth autumn, he understood the duty that came with being the eldest heir of his sect. Yet, understanding his duty did not lessen the bitter ache in his chest. Qiuyan Yu was aware that he was not the brilliant martial prodigy his sect deserved.
Though he held the title of successor, his cultivation had plateaued at the Mid-Stage of Foundation Establishment. In the vast, turbulent expanse of Jianghu where powerful sects like Shishitoren Sect and Noroshi Sect, his spiritual strength was considerably weak. He had not even touched the threshold of forming a Golden Core yet.
It was not for a lack of effort. Qiuyan Yu was a common fixture of the sect’s pavilion libraries, his fingers stained with ink as he memorized cultivation manuals. In the morning, before the sun could even pierce the morning mist, he was out in the courtyard practicing his sword forms until his limbs aching. It was unfortunate that his meridians were naturally narrow and stunted, making the gathering of Qi an agonizing slow process.
Thus, came the order to secure a political alliance through marriage with Chanpuru Sect on the east border, Qiuyan Yu bowed his head in obedience. His belief is that if he could not protect his people with the strength of his saber, he would rip himself off of his freedom to secure the prosperity of his sect.
That night, he was all alone in the suffocating silence of his chambers. Silent tears slipped down Qiuyan Yu's pale cheeks. Staring into the dark, he could only offer a prayer to the gods. May the future husband be a decent man. The least he could have is a civil marriage even if it was not for the sake of love.
2.
“You are not the master I am bound to.”
It is too early for this shit, Sun Fei thought. He was internally assessing the Chinese-style grandeur of his surroundings. He made a low groan and walked reluctantly to splash his face with water from a wooden basin. The freezing water made his skin sting, prompting a miserable hiss from his lips. How he missed the luxury of modern plumbing. The practicality of a plastic tap then comes the stream of a regulated warm water.
“Look at you,” the dripping condescending voice echoed directly inside his skull. “You look like a half-plucked chicken. Put that hairpin in properly.”
Sun Fei glared at the blurry bronze before him. First of all, styling long hair without a mirror was just impossible. Second, in his previous life, he had never worn his hair longer than a neat crop. It was his Master back in Bankokugai who had silken locks cascading down to his middle back. It was a thought that never came to Sun Fei to ask for hair care tips from him. Their interactions had been limited to the art of throwing an elegant punch.
Sighing in resignation, Sun Fei dragged a stiff wooden comb through his tangled strands. He attempted to secure the heavy jade hairpin, but it slipped immediately, clattering against the vanity in an awkward angle. Giving up, Sun Fei tossed the pin aside and let his silky red wine hair cascade loosely over his shoulders.
“You cannot even dress yourself. Really, what good are you for?”
Listen here, you foul-mouthed fossil, Sun Fei snapped back in the privacy of his own mind. My name is Sun Fei. Or, as my friends back home used to call me, Suo. I am a sixteen-year-old high schooler from a world where cars, air conditioners, and convenience stores exist. Yeah, you don't know that, do you.
Yet, a month ago, he had woken up with long hair in a realm where humans rode flying swords and sought immortality. To his surprise, he had transmigrated into the body of a martial prodigy. A peak golden core Core cultivator capable of living for five hundred years. There's just a minor debuff that a residual spirit of a legendary dragon was currently using his left eye as free real estate.
If his past self had known that joking about having a dragon in his left eye would result in actual, lifelong trespass of privacy and psychological torture, he would have kept his mouth shut.
“So, my true master is residing in your original world?” the dragon mused, turning a judgmental eyes toward Sun Fei's memories.
How was Sun Fei supposed to answer that? All he could remember of his final moments in his past life was a suffocating guilt. He remembered wallowing in his bed, weeping over the foolish, impulsive decisions that had driven him away from a place that had become an importance to him, and hurting a person that had become the center of his universe. He had thrown a punch, delivered a scar, and left a wound on someone he cared about.
In his darkest moments, he had wished to atone his sins. The universe had taken him literally, hurling him through time and space into ancient China to teach him a lesson about being careful of what you wish for.
“Tsk. If you are truly a descendant of my Master’s bloodline, seeing your pitiful story, I can only wish he had died childless,” the dragon sneered.
Sun Fei slapped a hand over his left eye, a futile attempt to muffle the arrogant spirit. It was to no result. The dragon laughed menacingly, vibrating through his dantian, invading the quiet sanctuary of his mind.
“Haha! You cannot shut me out. I literally reside within your spiritual core. Whether I choose to torment you or not depends on my mood. If you want to complain, complain to your idiotic ancestor who drew the seal in his own flesh”
Said ancestor was long gone, probably chilling in some tea cafes, enjoying matcha latte and dubai chocolate desserts while leaving Sun Fei to drown in Jianghu sect politics.
3.
In this world of immortals and cultivators, the body Sun Fei now inhabited was considered a once-in-a-generation miracle. His meridians were wide, thick, and perfect for the gathering of spiritual energy. Recognizing this immense potential, his father, the sect leader of Chanpuru Sect, Su Fanghao had pushed him into unrelenting training from a young age.
By the age of five, while other children were playing with wooden toys, Sun Fei was reading complex cultivation techniques. By seven, he was drawing intricate talismans. By nine, he had mastered advanced sword forms. His first night hunt had taken place at the tender age of twelve. He had formed his Golden Core at thirteen. The rest of his existence had been spent in meditation, discussion conferences, and slaughtering resentment monsters during Night Hunts.
Such terrifying genius came at a terrible price. The dragon spirit in his eye had been his tribulation. It was a heavenly punishment for ascending to the Golden Core stage far too early. For a thirteen-year-old boy to face the residual spiritual wrath of a Supreme Ghost King was a death sentence. He could not call out to his ambitious father for help because a cultivation tribulation had to be endured alone.
During that blood-soaked, desperate battle, young Sun Fei had done insanity to save his life. He had thrusted a talisman brush directly into his own left eye, using his own essence blood to draw a high-level sealing talisman within his own socket. The dragon’s terrifying, volatile energy had been forcefully sucked into his eye, bound by blood and bone.
Sun Fei had named the entity Hua Ryuu. Hua (花), a subtle nod to the Supreme Ghost King Hua Cheng from whom the spirit originated and Ryuu (龍) the word for dragon.
“Your ancestor was a stubborn fool, and you inherited his stupidity,” Hua Ryuu hissed into his mind.
Sun Fei shook his head. He wasn't stupid. He was just an emotionally exhausted teenager dealing with burdens far too heavy for his age. Back in his original world, he had never meant to abandon his friends. He had never meant to leave a scar. He had only isolated himself because he wanted to keep them safe from the danger of his community.
“Look where that shut-in behavior got you,” Hua Ryuu mocked while he rolled his eyes.
A profound sadness and distress washed over Sun Fei. It was such a heavy feeling that pulled his soul down into this ancient era. To crown his misery, he still had to humor this cold, ruthless ambitious father.
His father had arranged a marriage with an influential sect near the capital. The Chanpuru Sect was situated by a volcanic mountain range. An alliance with one of the sects from the capital would secure lucrative trade routes and immense political leverage within the Jianghu. The marriage was transactional, not even expected to produce an heir, as the partner chosen for him was a male. That sect from the capital only possessed two successors, and neither were women.
Sun Fei couldn’t bring himself to care. As long as he can still perform on night hunts and attend a discussion conference, he could care less about marrying a male wife. If anything, Sun Fei only felt a detached sense of pity for his future spouse. To be humiliated as a male wife, locked away in the confines of an inner court, stripped of the right to ever participate in a night hunt again, it was truly a miserable fate.
“You will marry Qiuyan Yu of the Furin Sect,” his father’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Standing in his pristine, heavy robes, in the sect hall, the sect heir of Chanpuru lowered his gaze. His voice was smooth and devoid of warmth.
“Understood, Father.”