Chapter Text
Evening fell over the Nightless City like a shroud of scarlet silk, tinting the ornate structures of the main hall with gold. But none of that beauty mattered when the real spectacle was about to begin.
Qi Rong sat upon an elevated platform, on what could only be described as a farcical throne designed to display precious merchandise. And that was exactly what Wang Naohu had made of him: an object to be admired, desired, and conquered.
His robes were a cruel work of art. Deep turquoise green like the finest jade, embroidered with patterns of clouds and phoenixes in gold thread that caught the light with every forced breath he took. Layers of white silk fell in calculated cascades, barely revealing a neck marked with reddish, finger-shaped bruises. His face had been made up with a delicacy that bordered on the obscene: a subtle touch of color on his lips, a pearlescent powder on his cheekbones that made his skin look luminescent, and dark kohl around his eyes that made them appear larger, more vulnerable. His black hair had been styled into an elaborate bun, adorned with jade and pearl ornaments that tinkled with the slightest movement.
He looked like a bride. No, worse than that. He looked like a war prize wrapped for delivery.
Beside him, Xie Lian and Mu Qing remained standing, supposedly to "support Feng Xin" in the competition. But the tension in their bodies told a different story.
The twitch in Qi Rong’s left eye had become more pronounced with every passing minute. His hands, hidden within the folds of silk, were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had lost all color.
Xie Lian, in his immaculate white robes of a Crown Prince, wore an expression that bordered on homicidal. His eyes, normally warm and kind, were two splinters of black ice driven into Wang Naohu. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword with such force that the leather creaked.
Mu Qing, for his part, had reached a level of coldness that would have made the snowy mountains of the north seem welcoming. His face was a perfect mask of aristocratic disdain, but anyone who knew him could see the storm of contained fury in the rigidity of his jaw and the way his fingers twitched spasmodically toward his saber.
Twelve Hours Earlier
The hall had erupted in chaos when Wang Yin burst in, blood dripping from his broken nose, wailing like a pig in a slaughterhouse. The Wang disciples followed him, dragging figures that Qi Rong recognized with a jolt as cultivators from other sects.
"Father!" Wang Yin pointed with his free hand while the other held his shattered face. "These arrogant Xianle cubs attacked me without provocation!"
Qi Rong felt the collective gaze of the hall fall upon him like a millstone. Ah, so that’s how it’s going to be. He maintained his polite smile—the same one he had perfected through years of surviving the Xianle court, where every word was a weapon and every gesture held three hidden meanings.
"How curious," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk over steel. "I don't recall 'defending one's room from an intruder' qualifying as an unprovoked attack. But perhaps the laws of hospitality of the Wang Clan differ from those of the rest of the civilized world."
Wang Yin’s face turned purple. "Cursed omega! Who do you think you are?!"
He lunged forward, but Feng Xin was already there, his body blocking the path like a stone wall. "Do. Not. Dare. To. Touch. Him. Again."
Every word was a promise of restrained violence.
Whispers swept through the hall like fire over dry straw. Qi Rong could hear fragments: "...an omega..." "...so bold..." "...should know his place..."
Wang Naohu rose from his throne, and the hall fell into an expectant silence. His eyes, small and cunning like a snake's, locked onto Qi Rong with a speculation that made the young man’s stomach churn.
"A cultivating omega," Wang Naohu said, approaching with measured steps. "And one with spirit, no less. Fascinating."
He reached out to grab Qi Rong’s chin. The youth slapped the hand away, his brow arched in silent defiance.
Lin Ruilian, who had remained as motionless as an ice statue in the corner of the hall, stepped forward. His golden eyes shined with something dangerous, something that made the air around him seem colder.
"How old are you, young master?" Wang Naohu asked, ignoring the gesture.
"Just turned sixteen." Qi Rong’s answer was sharp, deliberate.
Wang Yin opened his mouth to protest but suddenly found himself unable to make a sound. Everyone turned toward the Lin Clan, expecting to see Lin Zuiren with his hands in a seal position, but the Lin disciples looked just as confused as the rest.
Lin Ruilian kept his posture perfectly upright, his hand hidden behind his back in a gesture that seemed casual, but which Qi Rong recognized as the way to hide a recently executed seal. His golden irises were fixed on Qi Rong—only on Qi Rong—as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
"Perhaps," Wang Naohu said, his voice dragging out the words with evident pleasure, "we should resolve this in a more... civilized manner. Tomorrow we have the youth archery competition."
A pause heavy with intent.
"Let’s make a wager."
The hall seemed to collectively hold its breath.
"The disciple of any sect who surpasses the rest," Wang Naohu lifted his chin, his smile that of a predator, "will earn the right to take the omega home."
The silence that followed was so absolute that Qi Rong could hear his own heartbeat thumping in his ears like war drums.
Xie Lian stood up so fast his chair overturned with a crash that echoed like thunder. His face, normally serene and kind, was transformed by a fury so pure that several cultivators instinctively recoiled. "I beg your pardon?" His voice was soft—too soft—the kind of softness that preceded the most destructive storms. "Did you just suggest that my cousin, Prince Xiao Jing of Xianle, be treated as a... a prize?"
Mu Qing had reached a state of stillness more terrifying than any outburst of rage. His hand was on the hilt of his saber, and from the way his knuckles shone white, he was seconds away from drawing it. "Sect Leader Wang," his voice could have frozen hell itself, "I sincerely hope you are joking. Because if you aren't, we are going to have a problem."
Feng Xin didn’t even bother with words. He half-drew his sword, the hiss of metal against scabbard a promise of imminent violence. His eyes burned with a fury that would have made the fiercest demons reconsider their life choices.
Lin Ruilian hadn't moved, but something in the air around him had shifted. The temperature in his section of the hall seemed to have dropped several degrees. His golden eyes were fixed on Wang Naohu with an intensity that would have melted steel. One hand had clenched into a fist at his side, knuckles white with tension.
Qi Rong looked at them all: at his cousin with his righteous prince's eyes full of protective fury; at Mu Qing with his murderous coldness; at Feng Xin with his fierce loyalty turned into a weapon; at Lin Ruilian with his icy control on the verge of shattering.
And then, he laughed.
It wasn't a nervous or frightened laugh. It was a genuine, almost hysterical laugh that made everyone in the hall look at him as if he had lost his mind.
"Tell me, Prince Xiao Jing," Wang Naohu frowned at the unexpected reaction, "does this gesture not please you?"
Qi Rong stood up and performed a bow so perfectly executed it would have made the etiquette masters of Xianle weep with pride. But his smile was the same one Lin Ruilian had seen that first time: polite, elegant, and absolutely fake.
"This weak omega humbly accepts."
"WHAT?" The simultaneous shout from Xie Lian, Mu Qing, and Feng Xin echoed through the hall.
But Qi Rong only broadened his smile, his eyes shining with something that was pure mischief mixed with defiance. "After all," he said, his voice dripping with false modesty, "the rules never stated that the prize could not compete for himself."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall.
"In the end, two can play at that game."
Present Day
And that was how Qi Rong had ended up here, sitting on this cursed platform, dressed up like a porcelain doll, while alpha cultivators from across the realm gathered to compete for him.
"Second Young Master Wang of the Qishan Wang Sect!" the announcer proclaimed in a booming voice.
Wang Yin, his nose still swollen and purple, strutted toward the range. He aimed with all the arrogance of someone who had never known a real defeat, and fired.
The arrow didn't even hit the target.
Qi Rong and Mu Qing looked at each other and, in perfect synchrony, let out a mocking laugh that rang across the field. Wang Yin flew into a rage, his face turning a color that rivaled the brightest ceremonial robes.
Xie Lian didn't even bother to hide his satisfied smile. Feng Xin wore an expression that clearly said, "Pathetic."
Wang Xu, the elder brother, did better, but not by much. His arrow hit the outer edge of the target, earning polite but unimpressive applause.
Lin Ruilian watched from his section, his face a perfect mask of aristocratic composure. But Qi Rong, who had learned to read the Second Young Master Lin's micro-expressions during their years of complicated friendship, could see the storm in his golden eyes. His hands were perfectly still at his sides, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable.
More competitors followed. Some good, some mediocre, none exceptional.
"Feng Xin of the Xianle Sect!" the announcer finally proclaimed.
Mu Qing and Xie Lian straightened as if pulled by invisible strings. Xie Lian had his hands clasped in prayer, his lips moving in what was likely a fervent plea to whatever god was listening. Mu Qing, more pragmatic, had his eyes locked on Feng Xin with an intensity that would have melted metal.
Feng Xin took his bow, and for a moment, it looked as though he might snap it in two with the sheer force of his grip. His eyes found Qi Rong’s, and in them was a promise: I am going to win you back. I am taking you home.
Qi Rong smiled at him—genuine for the first time in hours—and gave a slight nod.
Feng Xin aimed, his form perfect after years of training under the Xianle sun, and—
"Wait!"
Everyone turned toward the platform.
Qi Rong was no longer there.
There was a moment of absolute confusion, cultivators looking around as if Prince Xiao Jing might have simply vanished into thin air.
Then they saw him.
Qi Rong was on the range, a barely decent bow in his hands, his elaborate robes shimmering under the afternoon sun like a mockery of everything Wang Naohu had planned.
"I am Qi Rong, Prince Xiao Jing. Younger cousin of Crown Prince Xie Lian." His voice rang out clear and defiant across the field. "And now, I shall defend my own hand."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Qi Rong raised his bow, aimed, and—
The cursed outfit snagged at his shoulder, restricting his movement. His arrow flew wide, landing pathetically far from the target.
The twitch in his eye returned with a vengeance. His face, so carefully made up, contorted into a grimace of pure rage.
"Useless rags!"
And then, to the absolute horror of every cultivator present who valued decorum and propriety, Qi Rong began to tear at the outer layers of silk.
"Qi Rong!" Xie Lian had turned pale as a ghost.
"Prince Xiao Jing!" Mu Qing looked like he was having a stroke.
But Qi Rong was no longer listening. He ripped away the elaborate sleeves, tore off the layers that restricted his movements, until he was left in his simplest inner robes, his hair half-unraveling from its elaborate bun, jade ornaments hanging at precarious angles.
He looked absolutely wild. He looked absolutely perfect.
He raised the bow again, aimed, and this time—
Thwack.
The arrow hit the dead center of the target, placed so perfectly that it split the wood.
The field fell into a deathly silence.
Qi Rong lowered the bow, turned toward Wang Naohu with a smile that was pure poison wrapped in honey, and said: "I believe I won my own hand. Or does Sect Leader Wang have any objections?"
—
Night had fallen over the forest like a blanket of black velvet, dappled with stars that seemed like silent witnesses to the chaos preceding this uneasy stillness. Lin Ruilian stood before the room the Xianle group had secured in a remote inn, far from the Nightless City, his posture perfectly upright and his hands hidden within the sleeves of his white robes.
He was restless.
To anyone who didn’t know the Second Jade of the Lin Clan, he would appear as serene as ever. But Lin Wan, who had insisted on accompanying him along with Lin Xuiren and Uncle Lin Qiren, could see the tension in his younger brother's shoulders—the way his fingers twitched imperceptibly inside his sleeves, and how his golden eyes never strayed from the closed door.
As an alpha, Lin Ruilian could sense the trail of pheromones emanating from the room. It wasn't the sweet, defiant scent he usually associated with Qi Rong. There was something else: frustration, shame, and a hint of inward-facing fury.
He was hurting.
And Lin Ruilian, who had spent years cultivating legendary self-control, felt every fiber of his being screaming at him to break down that door and ensure Qi Rong was alright.
"Ruilian," Lin Wan approached, his voice soft but worried. "Your usual bedtime has already passed."
It was true. Lin Ruilian always retired at nine o’clock sharp without fail—one of the many rules he followed religiously. But tonight, the rules felt distant, irrelevant compared to the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.
"I know, Big Brother." His voice was lower than usual, almost hoarse.
Lin Xuiren frowned, his alpha senses also picking up the waves of anguish from Qi Rong’s room. Uncle Lin Qiren seemed ready to say something—likely a scolding about proper behavior and rest hours—but Lin Wan stopped him with a quick wave of his hand.
"Ruilian," Lin Wan sighed, and in that sigh was years of brotherly understanding. "I'm sorry."
The words “That we can do nothing” remained unsaid.
His brother was apologizing for something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy: being outside while your fated omega suffered within, unable to do anything to soothe him.
Lin Ruilian knew that if things turned ugly—if Qi Rong asked him to run away—he would do it. He would forget his reputation, his position as the Second Jade, and the expectations of his clan. He had already weighed the grave consequences he was willing to accept. He could become the second corrupt Lin heir, the one who abandoned duty for an omega. If Qi Rong ended up bound to someone who didn't deserve him simply because fate was cruel, then so be it.
Qi Rong only needed to ask. To give his consent.
And Lin Ruilian would destroy the world to keep him safe.
But there was something else eating at him from the inside, a dark thought he couldn't silence: Had he done something wrong?
Had there been a flaw in his approach to Qi Rong? The omega had made it clear during their time at the Cloud Recesses (Heavenly Recesses) that he didn't feel contempt for him. They had shared silent conversations under plum trees, stolen moments where Qi Rong made him laugh with bold jokes, instants where Lin Ruilian allowed himself to lower his defenses.
But Lin Ruilian knew he wasn't particularly skilled at communicating. In fact, he might be one of the worst. Words stuck in his throat, especially when they mattered most.
And today, when Qi Rong had brushed past him after his dramatic display—as if Lin Ruilian were the last person he wanted to see—the alpha had felt something break in his chest.
He hadn't uttered a single full sentence. He had just stood there, motionless, as Qi Rong disappeared into the forest.
Piercing cries from the archery range interrupted his thoughts. Audible gasps, prolonged applause. Qi Rong was rising slowly after his victory, after proving that no one possessed him—that he chose his own destiny.
Lin Ruilian had to make a monumental effort not to run across the field, take Qi Rong in his arms, brush his soft lips with his own, and claim him before the entire cultivation world.
Self-control was what Lin Ruilian had learned from his honorable clan.
But Qi Rong, distractingly, tempted him to undo years of discipline with a single look, suggesting without words that it wasn't so hard to be free.
After the spectacle he had performed, Qi Rong had disappeared into the woods. And Lin Ruilian, after a pause that had cost him years of his life, had followed.
The forest was silent except for the rustle of leaves beneath his feet. Lin Ruilian used his light-footwork technique to track Qi Rong’s pheromones—an intoxicating blend of amber and spice now tinged with bitterness.
Finally, he found him in a small clearing, standing under a weeping willow, his torn robes swaying gently in the night breeze. His hair, once so carefully arranged, hung in messy strands around his face. The remnants of makeup smudged his cheeks.
He looked wrecked.
He looked beautiful.
"Qi Rong."
Qi Rong tensed at the sound of his name but didn't turn around. Lin Ruilian approached with cautious steps, as if nearing a wounded animal.
"Qi Rong," he repeated, letting his scent mingle with his words—an alpha technique he would normally never use, as it felt like an invasion of privacy.
But he needed Qi Rong to stop.
It worked. Qi Rong finally halted, his shoulders tense, his breathing slightly shallow.
"What is there to talk about with such enthusiasm, Qingrui-Jun?" Qi Rong’s voice was forcedly light, but Lin Ruilian could hear the strain underneath.
Lin Ruilian went still. Qingrui-Jun. The honorable title Qi Rong had always used with such casual familiarity now sounded like a barrier—a wall erected between them.
Qi Rong gave a brief bow, too formal, too cold. "Pardon me. Does your honorable title feel too familiar? Should I begin calling you the esteemed Second Diamond of the Lin Clan?"
Every word was a silk-wrapped dagger.
Lin Ruilian felt a tightening in his chest. "Stop."
He took a step forward, his hand instinctively rising toward Qi Rong.
Qi Rong backed away carefully, and in his silver eyes—barely adjusted to the moonlight after half an hour covered by ceremonial bandages—shone something dangerously close to panic.
"No." Qi Rong’s voice was firm, but there was a broken note beneath it. "It can’t be helped. Even if your hatred for me multiplies tenfold, it won’t change anything. Damn it, Lin Ruilian, you must be devastated."
Lin Ruilian felt as if he’d been struck. "Devastated?"
But then something warm bloomed in his chest. Qi Rong had called him by his name. Not Qingrui-Jun, not Second Jade. Lin Ruilian.
"I never hated you." The words came out before he could think. He took another step forward, his voice gaining emphasis. "What are you saying?"
Qi Rong seemed lost in frustration. His scent gave off a hint of fury, but Lin Ruilian could perceive it wasn't directed at him. It was an internal, self-destructive rage.
And then Qi Rong spoke, and his words were like stakes driven into Lin Ruilian’s heart.
"I may have defeated that bastard Wang Naohu back there, but I still feel like the same pathetic loser as always."
No. Every alpha instinct in Lin Ruilian screamed in protest. He wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he had been magnificent, that he had defied an entire hall of cultivators and won his own freedom with nothing but his skill and unshakeable spirit.
But before he could form the words, Qi Rong continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something that sounded like an apology.
"Lin Ruilian... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thought of treating you so coldly or shutting you out. It’s not your fault." He spoke calmly, but Lin Ruilian could see his throat move as he swallowed, as if a lump were growing there.
"Please, hate me as much as you want."
"Qi Rong Ying," Lin Ruilian spoke his full name with an intensity that made the omega shiver, "I do not hate you."
Qi Rong turned sharply, his eyes flashing with something wild and desperate. "Don't say that! You're making it hard for me to despise you!"
Lin Ruilian was left speechless. He raised his hand to touch Qi Rong’s face, but the omega flinched away before he could.
"Say it," Qi Rong pleaded now, his voice cracking at the edges. "Go ahead. Just say you don't want me. That’s why you're here, isn't it? I can't cheat fate or change the alpha I'm compatible with. So please, Lin Ruilian. Reject me now, while we're alone. Before I look bad in front of my shidi or everyone else. At least give me that."
The Prince Xiao Jing waited.
He waited for Lin Ruilian to simply give in, to say he was right. To confirm all the fears Qi Rong had been nursing in his heart.
But Lin Ruilian—the Second Diamond of the Lin Clan, famous for his stoicism and rigid adherence to rules—did something completely unexpected.
He leaned forward, with hands that trembled slightly—a detail no one but Qi Rong would have noticed—and took the omega’s face between his palms.
And he kissed his forehead.
It was a gentle gesture, almost reverent. The kind of gesture Lin Ruilian’s mother used to make when he was a child and his heart was breaking. It was the only thing Lin Ruilian knew when words failed him and only actions could comfort.
He let his scent envelop Qi Rong, speaking in a language older than words, more honest than any verbalized promise.
Qi Rong went completely still, his eyes wide with disbelief, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. He no longer resisted Lin Ruilian’s touch.
"I would never reject you," Lin Ruilian whispered against his forehead, his voice raspy with contained emotion. He let his scent linger, letting it speak for him to prove his sincerity. "I thought you would reject me."
Qi Rong needed a moment to process what had just happened. Did Qingrui-Jun—who loathed anyone even accidentally brushing his robes—really just kiss him on the forehead? Or had he fallen victim to some cruel apparition?
"Qi Rong," Lin Ruilian began, pulling back just enough to look directly into those silver eyes that had captivated him from the first moment. "You are not a possession. You are not a prize to be won. I will not fire an arrow at you, because that is not who you are."
Qi Rong stared at him from beneath his lashes, and Lin Ruilian could see his eyes stinging slightly with the water pooling at the corners.
"Qi Rong," his voice grew firmer, more sure. "If I ask for your hand, it is my choice alone. It is not by chance."
The omega turned away abruptly, not knowing if he could stand another second looking at Lin Ruilian without completely falling apart. This was the revered Second Diamond of the Lin Clan, the incomparable Qingrui-Jun, yet he had allowed himself to be completely vulnerable for him.
Because the alpha cherished him.
All of this fueled the omega's confusion. All this time, Lin Ruilian had cherished him too.
Qi Rong let out a shaky laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You should have fired that damn arrow."
And then, before he could think better of it, he turned around and crashed his lips against Lin Ruilian’s.
The alpha went completely still for a moment, shocked. But then his arms closed around Qi Rong, pulling him closer, returning the kiss with an intensity that contradicted every rule he had ever followed in his life.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Lin Ruilian rested his forehead against Qi Rong’s, his golden eyes glowing in the dark.
“Lin Ruilian," Qi Rong murmured, "we are such idiots."
Lin Ruilian let out a soft laugh—almost inaudible, but genuine. "Mn."
"Hey, Rong'er! Where are you?"
Xie Lian’s voice echoed through the woods, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps.
Qi Rong pulled away from Lin Ruilian, eyes wide. "Crap."
"What genius puts on a dramatic show only to run away afterward?" Mu Qing’s voice was a mix of exasperation and relief. "What a brilliant idiot!"
Lin Ruilian watched as Qi Rong turned slightly pale. "You're dead," Mu Qing continued. "Your defiant attitude didn't scare anyone except the Wangs. Good luck convincing... well, whoever marries you with whatever engagement letter turns up."
"Tell them I'm marrying someone from the Lin Clan!" Qi Rong shouted back, then covered his mouth in horror as he realized what he’d just said.
Lin Ruilian went completely still, processing those words.
Mu Qing, apparently unaware of the full context, rolled his eyes. "Get out here before I drag you out."
He stopped short, waiting with his arms crossed.
"I’ll come back alone later!" Qi Rong’s voice sounded rushed and muffled. "You won’t like seeing me right now!"
But Mu Qing had already lost his patience. With suppressed impatience at the surface, he tossed his sword into the air, using spiritual energy to slice through the bushes separating him from the omega.
"Prince Xiao Jing! I don't have all da—"
Mu Qing stopped dead in his tracks.
Disheveled robes. Crooked forehead ribbon. Swollen, reddened lips. Qi Rong standing far too close to Lin Ruilian, who looked equally discomposed—his perfectly pressed robes now wrinkled and his hair slightly mussed.
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU KISSING LIN RUILIAN?!"
Mu Qing’s scream was likely heard all the way back to the Nightless City.
Of course, the omega had warned him.
Lin Ruilian let out a low hiss as Qi Rong pulled away once more, this time with his cheeks completely crimson. "Uh, my dear shidi," Qi Rong tried to smile innocently, "would you mind turning around?"
What followed was the most irritating laugh Mu Qing had ever heard: a combination of Qi Rong’s mischievous cackle and a sound that could only be described as Lin Ruilian’s version of a suppressed chuckle.
"I AM NOT TURNING AROUND!" Mu Qing yelled, his face competing with red ceremonial robes in intensity. "XIE LIAN! FENG XIN! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!"
The chaos that followed would be remembered in the annals of Xianle for decades.
Xie Lian appeared first, followed by Feng Xin, and both went completely still at the sight: Qi Rong and Lin Ruilian standing too close, both looking like they had just been kissed—because they had indeed just been kissed—while Mu Qing looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Rong'er," Xie Lian began, his voice dangerously calm, "can you explain?"
"Better question," Feng Xin crossed his arms, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes, "Lin Ruilian, can you explain?"
Lin Ruilian, for the first time in his life, had absolutely nothing to say. His face maintained its usual serene expression, but the color on the tips of his ears betrayed him completely.
Qi Rong, for his part, decided the best defense was a good offense. "We were having a private conversation until someone," he shot an accusing look at Mu Qing, "decided to chop bushes with his sword like a barbarian!"
"A private conversation!" Mu Qing practically spat the words. "Your lips were literally on his!"
"Technical details," Qi Rong waved his hand dismissively.
Xie Lian sighed, deep and long, as if asking for patience from every god he had ever known. "Alright. Alright. Let’s... let’s talk about this when everyone is calm and—"
"There's nothing to talk about!" Feng Xin interrupted, but now he was smiling openly. "Our Qi Rong finally hooked the Second Diamond of the Lin Clan! He's been chasing him for months!"
"FENG XIN!" Qi Rong shrieked, his face reaching new levels of red.
"That’s not true," Lin Ruilian murmured, so low that almost no one heard him. "I was chasing him."
But Qi Rong heard it. He turned to look at him with wide eyes, and for a moment, all the embarrassment and chaos vanished, leaving only the raw truth between them.
Xie Lian, with the wisdom of a Crown Prince and a cousin who knew Qi Rong all too well, simply smiled. "Well," he said softly, "I suppose now we have to inform the Lin Clan that there’s going to be a wedding."
"Gege!" Qi Rong protested, but his voice lacked any real objection.
Lin Ruilian, for his part, only bowed his head in acceptance, his face as serene as ever, but his golden eyes shone with something that could only be described as pure happiness.
Because in the end, after all the chaos and drama, after being offered as a prize and fighting for his own freedom, Qi Rong had chosen.
And he had chosen Lin Ruilian.
Not by fate, not by chance, not because some corrupt sect leader decided it.
But because he wanted to.
And for Lin Ruilian, that was more than enough.
It was everything.