Tap, tap…

Footsteps echoed across the misty stone path. The man carried Ye Qingge in his arms and stopped before a steaming hot spring. Without a trace of gentleness, he tossed her straight into the water.

Splash!

The spring exploded into ripples, swallowing her whole.

Ye Qingge surfaced with a gasp, her long black hair clinging wetly to her neck. Fury burned in her eyes as she glared up at the man standing by the edge of the pool — arms crossed, looking down at her from on high.

“Do you even know what pitying a delicate flower means?” she snapped.

The man arched a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You call yourself a delicate flower?”

He actually took the time to study her — seriously, almost thoughtfully — as though testing whether his mockery might somehow be wrong.

“...”

Ye Qingge had to admit it — this face of hers was ruined by that birthmark.

Whenever anyone in the Northern Moon Kingdom mentioned “the Third Miss of the Ye Family,” they didn’t think of her name. They thought: the ugly one… the useless one.

“This spring,” the man said lazily, sitting by the edge, “is called the Three-Life Spring. It cleanses the bones, strengthens the body, and heals wounds. People would kill to soak in it once. Count yourself lucky.”

Ye Qingge gave him a side glance. Handsome, yes — but that venomous tongue of his could kill faster than a blade.

“And who exactly are you?” she asked, leaning back against the rocks. The water’s warmth seeped into her skin, easing the ache in her body.

“Ji Yue,” he replied, his eyes flashing faintly.

Ye Qingge frowned.

“To put it simply,” Ji Yue said, voice smooth as silk, “I’m the birthmark on your face.”

“The… birthmark?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

He nodded. “Years ago, I escaped to this continent, wounded and hunted. My life was hanging by a thread when fate led me to your birth. Our life forces aligned, and you were born at midnight — a perfect vessel. To survive, I sealed myself into your left cheek.”

Ye Qingge turned her sharp gaze toward him. “Then why didn’t you ever appear before?”

“In truth,” Ji Yue said with a faint smile, “you’re not the real Ye Qingge. But because you appeared, my power has grown — enough for me to regain a physical form.”

Everything suddenly made sense.

For the first time, Ye Qingge’s hostility softened. If Ji Yue truly was part of her, then they shared the same fate — bound to the same boat.

“The poison in your body is gone,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up out of the water. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he actually shook her — like trying to dry off a drenched cat.

Ye Qingge stared at him wordlessly, watching his expression twist with mild disgust.

If she ever died here, it wouldn’t be from an enemy’s blade. It would be from this man driving her mad.

“Can my dantian be restored?” she asked suddenly.

As a mercenary, she was no stranger to combat and martial arts — but without spiritual energy, she was crippled in this world. The dantian was the foundation of all cultivation.

Ji Yue’s expression grew serious. “Your dantian was destroyed the moment you were born. Back then, I was too weak to help you. But to repair it now... that’s not too difficult. Give me a day.”

Before she could ask more, his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Someone’s coming to cause you trouble.”

Dark light flared in his eyes.

Before Ye Qingge could even react, her surroundings twisted — and in the blink of an eye, she was back in her room.

Ye Qingtian, her grandfather, doted on her endlessly. After she became infamous as “the ugly waste,” he’d only grown more protective, even hiring a master craftsman — Feng Qingyang — to build her a private tower overflowing with spiritual energy: the Fengyue Pavilion.