Chapter Fourteen: Your Name…

Only Me Sect, Southern Shore.

In the spacious bathhouse, steam rose in wisps, forming a hazy white mist that enveloped the surroundings. Wang Ran and the exquisite woman before him stood amidst this fog, staring at each other in mutual shock—the scene was so awkward, it bordered on unbearable.

Yet in the next moment, a chilling coldness gathered in the beautiful woman’s eyes, sharp enough to send a shiver down one's spine.

She lifted her slender, jade-like hand and swept it across the water.

Splashes soared several meters high, blocking Wang Ran’s view. Through the misty curtain of water, he could just make out a delicate, enchanting silhouette twisting gracefully in midair. With a flick of her hand, the garments draped over the nearby screen flew to her, wrapping themselves around her waist.

The exquisite woman spun several times in the air, and by the time she landed, she was clad in layers of silk and satin. Draped in a gauzy white robe, she seemed to dwell among smoke and mist, appearing to be just over twenty years old. Strands of black hair fell carelessly over her shoulders, still damp with lingering droplets.

At that moment, as the water in the bath finally settled, Wang Ran raised his head to meet her gaze. She appeared untouched by the mundane world, ethereal and holy, as though she had never tasted ordinary life.

Only her expression betrayed an icy indifference; her beautiful eyes held a trace of coldness. After sweeping a glance at Wang Ran, she drew a longsword from her storage pouch and instantly appeared beside him.

In a flash, Wang Ran felt a chill run through his body. Focusing his gaze, he saw her white robes fluttering like an immortal’s, a crimson sash dancing at her waist, and the longsword in her hand exuding a formidable aura, brimming with killing intent, lightly pressed against his neck.

In this moment, faced with her red-and-white robes and unfathomable power, how could Wang Ran not understand? The woman before him was a true disciple.

The title “true disciple” represented the highest status in Only Me Sect; even the elders greeted them with smiles. Each true disciple possessed cultivation equal to that of the elders—all were Golden Core cultivators.

Golden Core: an exalted realm where one could kill with a flick of the finger, walk upon air.

Now, Wang Ran was in no way a match for a Golden Core cultivator.

In the entire sect, there were few true disciples; Wang Ran had never seen this woman before, so he dared not make a rash move.

It was easy to see the cold, furious shame in her eyes.

After resting her sword against Wang Ran’s neck, she looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his blue-and-white robe, then spoke coldly, “You are a disciple of Only Me Sect?”

Wang Ran lifted his gaze and nodded.

Yet she did not withdraw her sword, continuing, “You have seen my entire body. Even if you are a sect disciple, no one would dare hold me accountable should I kill you!”

Hearing this, Wang Ran’s heart trembled, but his mind raced.

If she truly intended to vent her wrath by killing him, she would not bother with such questions, nor openly declare her intent. Since she spoke, it meant her heart was not as cold and merciless as her face suggested.

With that realization, Wang Ran devised his response. His expression remained calm, not a trace of panic, even though the sword hovered just a fraction of a centimeter from his throat. He knew that in a quarter of an incense stick’s time, the sword’s mistress would be utterly free of anger—for he had resolved to tell a lie.

Though Wang Ran had uttered countless lies in his life, he believed this one to be perfect.

At this precise moment, a shaft of moonlight streamed through a hole in the roof, coldly illuminating Wang Ran. A breeze swept in, dispersing some of the mist.

Standing straight beneath the cold light, Wang Ran gently raised his head, gazing at the sky at a forty-five-degree angle. Mist swirled in his eyes, blurring whether it was steam from the bath or tears.

A profound sadness and remorse filled him as he quietly recited, “One night, smoke and water sink; green mountains shroud deep sorrow. Mooring the boat turns life adrift, where can the traveler rest… Miss, you should do as you wish, and I deserve to die.”

After his hoarse words echoed, the room fell silent for a moment. In the depths of the beautiful woman’s eyes, an uncommon ripple appeared.

“You’re not afraid to die?”

Seeing Wang Ran’s demeanor, she asked, puzzled, unable to help herself.

Wang Ran’s gaze grew deeper, more remorseful; his voice, rough, carried a sense of self-sacrifice. “I am afraid. But every man must die—some deaths are weightier than Mount Tai, others lighter than a feather.”

“My eyes have sullied your pure, jade-like body, though it was unintentional, my heart is uneasy. I, Wang Ran, have lived as a gentleman, yet today I have betrayed my principles. Miss, do it. If I die beneath your sword, I will have no regrets.”

Her eyes trembled even more at his words, disbelief flickering across her face. “You truly dare face death? With your talent, if you lived, a bright future would be yours.”

At this, Wang Ran laughed coldly, a hint of pride in his voice. “Wealth and glory mean nothing to me. I, Wang Ran, walk the path of the upright, never coveting vanity; even if a mountain of spirit jade were before me, I would not take a single piece.”

The woman’s heart quivered slightly, the blade loosened subtly, but she pressed further, “Do you truly have no attachment to this world?”

Wang Ran, seeing her reaction, was ever more certain she was cold in appearance but gentle within. His acting peaked once more; he gazed skyward at a forty-five-degree angle, sighing deeply and forlornly, “My life has been but eighteen fleeting years—what is there to linger for? If anything, let the memories be brewed into strong wine and swallowed; in another life, I’ll continue the story.”

As he finished, two streaks of tears appeared on his fair cheeks, his gaze sincere and resolute. “Let your sword fall upon my throat, don’t hesitate.”

“If Heaven would grant me another chance, I would spend my life reflecting upon myself. And if a limit must be set upon this repentance, I wish it to be…ten thousand years.”

“Ding! Host has caused a powerful emotional shock to the true disciple, earning ten points of Dao value!”

Hearing the prompt in his mind, Wang Ran’s tense heart finally eased, though his expression remained that of a gentleman, steadfast in his desire for death.

Clang.

The beautiful woman sheathed her sword, turned, and walked out of the room. Her voice, clear and cold, rang out, “Let today’s incident be forgotten. Do not mention it within the sect, or I will not spare you.”

With the danger gone, Wang Ran finally shed his resolute demeanor. After a moment’s thought, he couldn’t help but call out, “May I ask this senior sister’s name?”

Within the hall, the beauty had already gone far, leaving only a distant voice drifting back.

“Yao Jianjia.”