Transmigrating into the world of Jade Dynasty, I was targeted by the female lead in a reverse romanc

Sometimes she would talk about the witch clan, saying which elder had made things difficult for her again.

The elder's surname was Meng. She was a thin old woman with eagle-like eyes and a sharp tongue. She always found fault with Linglong during the altar discussions, saying that she was too young, that she was not humane, and that she was not good enough to be the witch.

Linglong was not convinced and retorted to his face. She then went back to her room and started throwing things.

It is said that the statue of the witch god in the altar has cracked again. The statue is carved from black stone, about three zhang tall, with a blurred face. It is said that every witch goddess would inject spiritual power into the statue before her death. After thousands of years, the stone could not bear it and cracked from the base upwards. The cracks are like a spider web. It is repaired every year, but it cracks every year.

The elders said it was an ominous sign, but Linglong didn't believe them. She secretly went inside at night to take a look and said there was something moving inside, like it was alive.

She said she's recently been studying a new form of witchcraft, which is very difficult, and she keeps failing.

That's an ancient forbidden technique called "Spirit Summoning," which can summon the souls of the dead.

She searched through all the fragments of the witch clan's books, practicing at midnight, in the wilderness, and in the secret chamber of the altar, but each time ended in failure.

Once, she blew herself up, leaving her face covered in soot and half of her hair singed. When Jiang Xiaochuan applied medicine to her, she didn't utter a sound, but just clenched her fists.

She spoke in a very soft voice, as if she were talking about someone else. Jiang Xiaochuan listened, occasionally humming in agreement to show that he was listening.

Actually, he wasn't listening attentively. He was thinking about Xiaobai, wondering if Xiaobai had eaten breakfast, if Xiaobai had gone to bed on time, and if Xiaobai might also think of him on some night.

After thinking about Xiaobai, I thought about Lu Xueqi, about the way she wielded her sword, about the way she pursed her lips, and about what she said in the bamboo hut on Xiaozhu Peak that day.

He dared not forget a single word of those words; they were etched into his bones. He thought about them over and over again, and the more he thought about them, the more the bloodthirsty bead on his chest felt burning hot.

Once, she stopped mid-sentence and looked at him.

"Why didn't you ask?" she said.

"What do you want to ask?"

"Ask me why I want to be a priestess," she said, "ask me if I'm tired, if it's hard, if I want to escape."

Jiang Xiaochuan remained silent for a while.

In fact, he had asked himself these questions on countless sleepless nights.

He watched her be dignified and majestic on the altar during the day, but when she returned to her room at night, she would collapse in her chair and not want to move. He watched her sit alone by the window in a daze after being harassed by the elders, sometimes for most of the night. He watched her lock herself in her room and cry after failing to study witchcraft, but after she finished crying, she would wipe away her tears and go to the altar as usual the next day.

He saw it all, he understood it all.

But he knew she didn't need him to ask.

What she needs is not sympathy or pity, but someone to be by her side, not asking her why or what she wants, just to stay there.

"Do you want to say something?" he asked.

Linglong stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed, but this time her laugh was a little bitter.

"I don't want to," she said, standing up and walking to the window, her back to him.

She stood there for a long time, so long that Jiang Xiaochuan thought she had fallen asleep. Suddenly she spoke, her voice soft and gentle: "I'm afraid that if I say it, I really won't be able to hold back."

"You can leave now, I need to change my clothes."

Jiang Xiaochuan then went out.

Standing outside the door, listening to the rustling sounds of changing clothes inside, he looked up at the sky. The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and a bird flew by, its wings cutting through the air with a "whoosh" sound.

He suddenly felt a little uneasy. It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe. It wasn't heartache or guilt, but something in his chest seemed to be pushing outwards, wanting to break through the soil, only to be pushed back down by his own foot.

……

the first time.

Linglong first let her guard down with him in the third month after they met.

It was raining heavily that day. The Wu tribe's altar was built on the mountaintop. When the rain was heavy, flash floods would rush down the mountain ridge and wash away the road leading to the altar. Linglong went to the altar that day and did not return for a long time.

Jiang Xiaochuan waited inside until it got dark and the rain got heavier. After thinking for a moment, he took out the only oil-paper umbrella in the house and went out.

The road was difficult to walk on. The mudslide had washed away the steps, and in some places, one had to crawl on one's hands and feet. For some reason, one could not use spiritual power or magical artifacts. Sister Hongli said that something seemed to have happened.

He fell several times, scraped his knees, bled from his palms, and had his umbrella blown away by the wind twice, only to retrieve it again.

When he climbed to the altar, he saw Linglong sitting alone on the steps, soaking wet and curled up in a ball.

It's not that she can't go back; she's protected by witchcraft, and the wind and rain can't harm her.

But she didn't leave because she didn't want to go back, didn't want to go back to that cold, empty house, and didn't want to face the mysterious man she had locked up.

Jiang Xiaochuan didn't say anything, but walked over and held the umbrella over her head.

Linglong looked up at him, rain streaming down her face, indistinguishable between rain and tears.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice cold.

"I'll pick you up."

"I don't need you to answer it."

"I know," Jiang Xiaochuan said.

"But I want to take it."

Linglong stared at him for a long time. The rain was too heavy, the umbrella was too small, and half of his body was in the rain. His clothes were sticking to his body, and his hair was dripping wet. He looked extremely disheveled.

She suddenly stood up, snatched the umbrella, and held it above his head.

"Are you stupid?" she said. "You can't even hold an umbrella."

Jiang Xiaochuan paused for a moment, then smiled and said nothing.

The two shared an umbrella, walking one in front of the other down the mountain.

The road was difficult to walk on, and Linglong almost slipped several times. Jiang Xiaochuan reached out to help her. She didn't shake him off or glare at him. She just stiffened for a moment when he held her wrist, and then slowly relaxed.

After they got back that day, Linglong, for the first time ever, poured him a bowl of ginger soup.

"Drink," she said, "Don't get sick, or I'll have to take care of you."

Jiang Xiaochuan took it and took a sip.

Tears.

Too much ginger, it's too spicy.

Linglong looked at him, the corners of her mouth curved slightly, then quickly flattened.

"If it doesn't taste good, just throw it away," she said.

"It's delicious," Jiang Xiaochuan said, gulping down the whole bowl, his eyes watering from the spiciness.

Linglong turned away, refusing to look at him.

But her ears turned red.

Jiang Xiaochuan didn't see it.

He was busy wiping away his tears.

……

Linglong's cooking skills are really not that great.

She grew up in luxury, and although she was trapped in the mountains, she was always waited on hand and foot.

Cooking is not something she would do herself. The reason she suddenly decided to cook for Jiang Xiaochuan was simply because she once passed by the kitchen and saw the cook stir-frying vegetables, and thought "it doesn't seem too difficult."

The first time I tried to cook it, I burned a hole in the pot.

The second time I made it, I set the kitchen on fire.

On the third attempt, Jiang Xiaochuan finally managed to make a bowl of noodles, but after taking the first bite, he fell silent.

"How was it?" Linglong looked at him expectantly.

"...It's too salty."

Linglong didn't believe it, so she took a bite herself, and her expression instantly twisted.

She threw away the whole bowl of noodles and started over. This time she added less salt, but also less water, resulting in a lump of noodles.

"Never mind," Jiang Xiaochuan said, "I'll do it."

Linglong's eyes widened: "You can cook?"

"I know a little."

Jiang Xiaochuan can cook; it's a habit he developed on Qingyun Mountain. Before Zhang Xiaofan came up the mountain, Du Bishu's cooking was barely edible. As for Lu Daxin's cooking... after eating it for the first time, he'd rather go hungry than eat it.

He fiddled around in the kitchen all by himself, and slowly he got the hang of it.