"The stones here are ten primeval stones each."
"If it's your first time trying your luck, you might want the counters on the right; those are only five stones."
"But if you're chasing something more exciting, the center counter has the high-end selection—twenty stones each."
She'd clearly read him the moment he walked in—clothes, posture, age—everything told her he was a young Gu Master with a lot of coin.
This den only dealt with Gu Masters, so she simply waited for his decision.
Fang Yuan gave her a small nod and stepped forward.
Without hesitation, he picked up a stone with a subtle purple-gold sheen. He rolled it across his palm, feeling its weight and texture, his expression remaining unreadable.
"I'll take this one." He set ten primeval stones on the counter.
Before the attendant could offer to open the rock or give her usual spiel, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there mid-breath.
...
Fang Yuan stepped out of the gambling den and gave a small, dismissive shake of his head.
In his previous life, he had bought six stones here and uncovered a Mud Skin Toad in one of them. Back then, it had been worth the risk.
But now…
"I won't be selling a Mud Skin Toad in this lifetime," he muttered under his breath. "Money isn't something I need anymore."
He slipped the purple-gold stone into his robe and headed toward the auction house.
Inside, several Gu worms were up for bidding, but after scanning through the listings, he let out a quiet exhale.
"No Relic Gu today."
The disappointment was mild, almost routine. "The caravan stays for two more days. With a bit of luck, something worthwhile might turn up."
He purchased a few lesser Gu worms before leaving, then made his way back toward home, his expression calm and unreadable as ever.
...
Fang Yuan returned to his room quietly.
By the time he walked in, a few maids had already brought dinner, set it down, and left without lingering.
He took a shower, wiped off the fatigue of the day, and then ate calmly. Afterward, he sat cross-legged on his bed, the room dim and still.
"It's almost done," he whispered, pulling a square Gu out of the Stone Bag Gu.
This is none other than the Red Steel Relic Gu.
As he began the refinement, his primeval essence slowly spread over the Gu worm like a steady, controlled mist. The minutes dragged on.
An hour passed as he carefully wore down its resistance bit by bit.
Finally, the Red Steel Relic Gu was refined.
He then placed it inside his aperture and activated it at once.
Instantly—his cultivation rose from Rank 2 Initial Stage to Rank 2 Middle Stage.
"Three days," Fang Yuan said quietly. "Three whole days just to refine a relic Gu."
He couldn't help comparing it to his previous life, when the Spring Autumn Cicada made refining Mortal Gu almost effortless. Instant refinement.
"But now…" He allowed himself a faint smile. "Now I don't have that advantage—and I'm fine with that."
Without the Spring Autumn Cicada, no one could trace his rebirth. No one could guess the truth, not even heaven's will itself.
"At least for the time being," he muttered.
His expression darkened slightly.
"But danger is still out there."
He closed his eyes again and picked up a Rank 1 Cleansing Water Gu, beginning the next round of refinement.
Right now, he possessed quite a collection: one more Red Steel Relic Gu, two White Silver Relic Gu, three Liquor Worms, two Cleansing Water Gu, the White Boar Gu, Jade Skin Gu, Moonlight Gu, Brute Force Longhorn Beetle Gu, Yellow Camel Longhorn Beetle Gu, three Little Light Gu, and six more minor worms.
So far, he had refined the White Boar Gu, Jade Skin Gu, Moonlight Gu, all three Little Light Gu, and all three Liquor Worms.
...
Elsewhere, far from the last stretch of illuminated streetlights, Fang Zheng walked alone on the gravel shoulder of the road.
The night was quiet in a way that felt cruel—no people, no voices, just the faint rustle of the wind brushing past him like it couldn't be bothered to notice he was breaking.
"Why…?"
The word escaped him before he meant to say it aloud. Once it left his mouth, it didn't stop.
"Why…?"
His voice trembled the second time, thinner, like something fraying strand by strand.
Only a few hours ago, he had been standing in front of Shen Cui, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.
He had laid everything bare—every bit of sincerity he had, every quiet hope he had clung to.
He had told her he would take care of her, that he wanted a future with her, that he would marry her and mean every promise he spoke.
But she had looked at him with eyes full of apology, not love.
And she had refused him.
Now, with nothing left to focus on but the cold air in his lungs, the truth kept replaying in his mind until it felt like torture.
Fang Zheng's legs finally gave out beneath the shade of a half-dead roadside tree.
He collapsed slowly, as if gravity had simply decided he'd carried enough for one night. His palms slid over the dirt, grounding him and cutting him all at once.
He pulled in a breath that shuddered through his entire body.
He tried to swallow the pain.
But... he failed.
And then the sobs tore out of him anyway—ragged, uneven, humiliating.
His tears weren't poetic; they were messy.
Hot streaks that hit the ground and mixed with the dust, forming tiny dark patches that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.
His nose stung, his chest tightened, and every time he wiped his face the tears came faster, as if he was making room for more grief.
"Just… why…?" he whispered, voice cracking.
"I tried. I really tried…"
He pressed his forehead against his arm, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
The tree above him didn't offer refuge—its branches were thin, broken in places, swaying slightly as though they couldn't decide whether to fall or just keep standing there, useless.
"Why him?" Fang Zheng choked out, louder this time. His voice bounced weakly across the empty road and came back to him sounding even smaller.
"Why would you choose him… and not… me?"
He hated how desperate he sounded, but the words kept spilling anyway, dragged out by the ache in his chest.
He had pictured her smile beside him.
He had believed she saw him—really saw him.
And now the reality pressed down on him with a heaviness that made it hard to breathe:
She had never loved him.
Not even a little.
The wind shifted, carrying a faint chill that seeped through his clothes.
His fingers curled into the dirt, clinging to something—anything—because everything inside him felt like it was slipping away.
His sobs eventually softened, not because he felt better, but because he was running out of strength to cry.
His eyes were swollen, his throat raw, and even the quiet seemed painful, as if the world was giving him too much space to drown in his thoughts.
In the silence, the question kept echoing through him, slow and relentless, like a heartbeat that refused to steady:
'Why didn't you love me?'
'Why aren't I the one?'
And there, alone beneath the dim, indifferent sky, Fang Zheng realized there was no answer waiting for him—just the sharp, aching emptiness of being unloved in return.