Chapter Fourteen: Your Name

Only I Sect, Southern Shore.

In the spacious bathhouse, steam rose in thin tendrils, curling into a hazy white mist that shrouded everything around. Wang Ran and the stunning woman before him stood amidst this veil of vapor, staring at each other in mutual shock, the air between them thick with awkwardness.

In the very next moment, however, an icy chill gathered in the woman's eyes, sharp enough to make one tremble. She raised her slender, jade-like hand and swept it across the surface of the water.

With a resounding splash, droplets soared several meters into the air, obscuring Wang Ran’s line of sight. Through the blurry curtain of water, he could just make out her delicate, graceful form spinning midair. With a beckoning motion, the garments draped over a nearby screen flew to her, winding themselves around her waist.

The woman spun several times in the air, and by the time she landed, she was already dressed in flowing silks. Draped in a sheer, white robe that seemed woven of mist itself, she appeared to be in her early twenties, with strands of black hair falling carelessly over her shoulders, still beaded with lingering water.

As the last droplets settled in the bathhouse, Wang Ran lifted his gaze and met her eyes. In that instant, she seemed otherworldly, untouched by mortal dust, as though divinity itself had descended. Yet her expression was cold and indifferent, her beautiful eyes glimmering with a frosty edge. After a single sweeping glance at Wang Ran, she drew a long sword from her storage pouch and, in a blink, appeared at his side.

In that frozen moment, Wang Ran felt a chill envelop his whole body. Refocusing his gaze, he saw her white robe billow like a celestial cloud, crimson sash swirling about her waist, and the sword in her hand radiating a deadly aura as she gently pressed it against his throat.

Now, upon seeing her red and white robes and sensing her unfathomable strength, Wang Ran instantly understood—this breathtaking woman was a true core disciple!

The title of Core Disciple in Only I Sect signified the highest status; even the elders greeted such individuals with smiles. Every core disciple had cultivated power on par with the elders, all of them masters of the Golden Core stage.

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

Wang Ran, as he was now, could not possibly match a cultivator of the Golden Core.

Among all the core disciples of Only I Sect, there were perhaps only a handful, and Wang Ran had never seen this woman before. Thus, he dared not act rashly.

It was not difficult to discern the cold fury and indignant shame in her eyes. With her sword at his throat, she finally looked him up and down. Upon seeing his blue-and-white robes, she spoke in a frosty tone, “Are you a disciple of Only I Sect?”

Wang Ran lifted his gaze and nodded.

Yet the woman did not withdraw her sword. Instead, she continued, “You have seen my entire body. Even if you are a disciple of this sect, no one would dare question me for killing you.”

At these words, a shiver ran through Wang Ran’s heart, but his mind raced. If she truly intended to kill him in anger, she would not have bothered to ask, much less say such words. The fact that she spoke at all revealed that her heart was not as ruthless as her expression suggested.

With this realization, Wang Ran formulated a response. His face remained calm, unflustered—even with the sword a mere hair’s breadth from his throat. He knew that, in the span of a quarter of an incense stick, this woman’s wrath would be completely dispelled—because he was about to tell a lie.

Wang Ran had told countless lies in his life, but he considered this one the most perfect.

At that very moment, a shaft of moonlight streamed through a hole in the roof, casting a cold glow over Wang Ran. A breeze drifted in, dispersing some of the lingering mist.

Wang Ran stood straight, quietly bathed in the pale light. He lifted his head, gazing skyward at a forty-five degree angle, his eyes misty and unreadable—whether from the bathhouse’s steam or from unshed tears, none could say.

With a profound sadness and remorse, he softly recited, “In one night, mist and water sink; green hills shroud deep sorrow. Mooring the boat, drifting through this fleeting life—where will the wanderer find rest? …Miss, you should do what must be done. I should die.”

His hoarse voice lingered in the air, and for a moment, silence fell. In the depths of the beautiful woman’s eyes, a rare ripple appeared.

“You do not fear death?”

Seeing Wang Ran’s demeanor, she could not help but ask, her voice tinged with doubt.

Wang Ran’s gaze grew more profound, more penitent, his rough voice carrying a hint of noble sacrifice: “I am afraid. Yet all men must die—some deaths are as weighty as Mount Tai, others as light as a feather.”

“These eyes of mine have sullied your pure and flawless body. Though it was unintentional, my heart is filled with anxiety and shame. I, Wang Ran, have always aspired to live as an upright man. Today, I have betrayed my own principles. Miss, do your duty. If I am to die by your sword, I have no regrets.”

Upon hearing this, the woman’s eyes wavered even more, disbelief flickering within. “You truly dare to face death? With your talent, if you choose to live, the heights you could reach are limitless.”

At this, Wang Ran gave a cold laugh, his voice tinged with haughty pride: “Wealth and glory mean nothing to me. I, Wang Ran, walk the path of virtue and am not one to covet fame or fortune. Even if a mountain of spirit jade lay before me, I would not take a single piece.”

A faint tremor stirred in her heart; the sword at his throat eased ever so slightly. Yet she continued to probe, “Do you truly have not the slightest attachment to this world?”

Sensing this, Wang Ran became even more certain that beneath her icy exterior lay a gentle heart. His performance surged anew. He gazed heavenward at a forty-five degree angle, sighing with deep melancholy, “I have lived but eighteen fleeting years—what attachments could I possibly have? If there are any, let them be distilled into strong wine for the next life.”

When he finished, two streaks of tears appeared on his pale face, his gaze sincere and resolute. “Let your sword cut my throat—do not hesitate any longer.”

“If Heaven could grant me another chance, I would devote the rest of my life to repentance. And if that repentance must have a time limit, I would wish for… ten thousand years.”

A chime sounded in his mind. “Ding! Host has delivered a powerful emotional shock to the core disciple and gained ten Dao Points!”

With that prompt ringing in his mind, Wang Ran’s taut heart finally began to relax. Yet his expression remained unchanged—upright, dignified, and prepared for death.

With a metallic clang, the beautiful woman sheathed her sword.

She turned and strode toward the door, her voice cool and distant: “Let today’s events be forgotten. Do not speak of this within the sect, or I will not spare you.”

With the danger passed, Wang Ran at last let the mask of resolve fall. After a moment’s hesitation, he could not help but call out, “May I ask, Senior Sister, your esteemed name?”

Within the hall, the beauty was already departing, but her voice drifted back like a distant echo.

“Yao Jianjia.”