The three of them had already been searching since the afternoon, and still hadn’t found Jiang Luo by dinnertime. They were practically panicking. When they reported to Feng Li, they were as nervous as three quail eggs.
Feng Li told them to keep waiting. So they hid in their car, finished dinner and even a late-night snack—and finally saw Jiang Luo appear.
Jiang Luo wasn’t surprised at all to see them. Wenren Lian shot him a worried look according to plan, and Jiang Luo gently persuaded him to go upstairs.
Jiang Luo then cooperatively followed the three, and they finally relaxed. When they arrived at the gate of the Heavenly Master Residence, Zhou Wudu—the closest of the three—whispered to Jiang Luo, “Master is very angry.”
Jiang Luo had expected as much.
They escorted him to the door of the study. Shen Ruma knocked. “Master, he’s here.”
After a long pause, a voice from inside finally replied, “Let him in.”
Let him in—not them.
The three senior brothers immediately let out a breath of relief. They gave Jiang Luo a sympathetic look and ran off without a trace. Jiang Luo chuckled at their retreating backs and pushed the door open.
The study was completely dark—Feng Li hadn’t turned on the lights. He sat behind the desk, his figure even darker than the background. Jiang Luo couldn’t see his expression, but instinctively sensed he wasn’t someone to be trifled with right now.
He trusted his instincts. So, he cautiously kept his distance from the desk—positioning himself to either approach or flee if needed.
Feng Li didn’t comment on how far away he was standing. He remained silent. Jiang Luo took the initiative and said, “Master.”
No response.
Jiang Luo continued, “Master, I want to leave the Heavenly Master Residence.”
After a long while, Feng Li asked, “Why?”
Jiang Luo answered softly, “I’ve told you before—I’m not worthy to be your disciple, and I can’t adapt to the rules of the Heavenly Master Residence. You’ve helped me greatly, and even if we can’t be master and disciple, I will always respect you deeply. If you ever need anything from me, I will do my utmost to fulfill it, to repay your guidance.”
Feng Li habitually reached for the jade thumb ring on his hand, but it had already broken. He’d been too busy in recent days to replace it. Now that he reached for it and found nothing, he wasn’t sure whether it was because of Jiang Luo or the missing ring—but a surge of violent frustration rose up inside him.
He thought of the call with Chen Pi earlier that day.
Chen Pi had been terrified upon hearing Jiang Luo wanted to leave the Heavenly Master Residence, and hastily promised to persuade him to change his mind. But he’d also hinted: if Feng Li didn’t care for Jiang Luo, he could offer other talented disciples as replacements.
But a Heavenly Master never lacked disciples.
Leaning back in his chair, Feng Li remembered what he’d said while looking at the lotus-shaped agarwood ornament that afternoon.
He’d told Chen Pi, “The kid’s gone wild—he just needs a few more lessons.”
Like his habit of touching the thumb ring—once the habit is formed, Jiang Luo would eventually get used to his discipline.
Jiang Luo called again, “Master?”
Feng Li actually let out a laugh.
The laugh was eerily strange, but he quickly restrained it—as if it had only been an illusion. Jiang Luo took an inconspicuous step back. “Master, this disciple is unfilial. I ask for your permission.”
Feng Li said, “Go bring me a cup of tea.”
The sudden command caught Jiang Luo off guard, but whether personally or formally, he couldn’t refuse. He answered with a “Yes, Master,” and went downstairs to prepare the tea.
There was always tea ready in the kitchen. Once he had the cup and turned around to bring it upstairs, he saw Feng Li had silently come down as well, standing by the staircase, cloaked in shadow, watching him.
So soundless, so ghost-like—it startled Jiang Luo, though he quickly calmed down and smiled, “Master, the tea is ready.”
Feng Li said blandly, “Bring it to my study.”
Jiang Luo nodded and, at Feng Li’s gesture, walked upstairs first. Feng Li remained below, watching him with an unreadable expression.
The stairs in the Heavenly Master’s Residence were made of wood and never slippery. But as Jiang Luo stepped onto the fifth step, just as his foot landed, something gave a hard push at his stable ankle. His balance shattered—he fell heavily down the stairs, unprepared.
The tea splashed against the steps, but Feng Li, who had remained below, caught him in time.
Pain exploded from Jiang Luo’s right ankle. It was definitely sprained.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He tried to stand, but his right foot couldn’t support him. Looking up the staircase, he spotted a paper effigy—no bigger than half a palm—resting innocuously on a step.
One of Feng Li’s paper effigies?
Why had he pushed him?
“Master,” Jiang Luo asked in shock, “why…?”
Feng Li scooped him up and started walking back upstairs, step by step. His traditional robes swept over the shattered porcelain, and he didn’t even bother to retrieve the paper effigy—offering neither an explanation nor a denial.
Jiang Luo clenched his fists. He realized now—he hadn’t seen Feng Li clearly enough before.
Feng Li brought him to his room.
He laid Jiang Luo on the bed and bent down to check his ankle.
The sudden fall had caused an instant swelling. It was clearly painful—but Feng Li’s fingers pressing down on the injury hurt even more. He prodded it hard.
Jiang Luo couldn’t hold back a hiss.
A faint smile flickered across Feng Li’s lips. He set the foot down and stood up. “It’s a sprain. Don’t walk on it for the next few days.”
He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hands, smiling again. “When you’re able to walk out of the Heavenly Master’s Residence, then you can talk to me about leaving.”
He turned and walked away.
Those words amounted to a confession: I made you get hurt on purpose.
Jiang Luo’s expression immediately turned cold.
Not long after, Feng Li returned with medicine and an ice pack. The almighty Heavenly Master, tending to a disciple’s sprain himself—if anyone heard, they’d think it was a horror story. Yet Feng Li did it slowly and calmly, even with a touch of satisfaction.
The satisfaction of achieving what he wanted.
Jiang Luo said coldly, “Sir, I can use ginseng spirit.”
The Heavenly Master acted as if he hadn’t heard. Only after he finished applying the medicine and set Jiang Luo’s foot gently on the bed did he say, “No need.”
Jiang Luo’s sneer nearly broke through. “You don’t want your disciple to recover sooner?”
Feng Li rose, took a step forward, and came to stand by Jiang Luo’s side. He lowered his gaze, watching him for a few seconds, then suddenly reached out.
That hand—always smelling faintly of sandalwood, always composed and restrained—paused at Jiang Luo’s cheek, but in the end avoided it. Instead, he gently touched Jiang Luo’s hair. His touch was delicate, as if handling something fragile, yet his words were ruthless and cold.
“When you no longer wish to leave, your injury will naturally heal.”
“What if I always want to leave?”
Feng Li looked at him deeply. “You’re welcome to try.”
He withdrew his hand, straightened up, looked at Jiang Luo twice more, then turned and left. The door clicked shut—and locked.
Jiang Luo laid on the bed, listening to Feng Li’s footsteps fade into the distance. His expression gradually settled into blankness. He lifted his leg to look at the swelling and lazily muttered with sarcasm, “This is our wonderful teacher.”
He had expected that once he met Feng Li, leaving would become difficult. But he hadn’t imagined Feng Li would use such tactics.
He remembered the time Feng Li had threatened him—if he insisted on leaving, the man might really break his legs.
Jiang Luo’s gaze darkened. He let out a cold laugh and closed his eyes, preparing to sleep.
For the next five or six days, Jiang Luo’s life followed the same routine. He was completely confined inside the Heavenly Master’s Residence. The only people he saw were those who delivered his three meals, and Feng Li, who came each evening to apply medicine.
Their interactions during treatment were eerily quiet. Neither spoke, neither showed emotion. Feng Li came precisely on time and left just as promptly. The longer this went on, the more suffocating the silence became.
Jiang Luo’s phone had been confiscated. Other than reading dry, dull books, all he could do was stare out the window. One night, after drinking too much water during the day, he was woken by the urge to pee. As he opened his eyes, he saw Feng Li silently standing by his bedside, staring down at him.
Terrifying—like a ghost.
Honestly, if Jiang Luo hadn’t been confident in himself and had the spirit channeling arts as a life-saving card, he would’ve thought he’d go mad from Feng Li before going mad from the confinement.
He was nearly at his breaking point—but thinking that Chi You was probably suffering just as much brought him some comfort.
Whenever he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, Jiang Luo would tell himself: Almost there. Almost. It’s almost time for Chi You to break first.
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