Chapter 95 — Homeward Pull, Lingering Obsession
The lights of City Hall burned a golden wound into the dusk.
Eight hundred and sixty-seven kilograms of high-purity energy crystals lay upon the inspection platform, their surfaces shimmering with a muted violet glow. Mayor Carter personally pinned the medal of honor onto YiChen’s chest.
Applause rose like a tide.
Yet YiChen’s gaze never once drifted toward the corner of the hall—toward the small, dark-brown head lowered there. Elena stood quietly, fingers absently worrying the strap of her medical pack, tracing slow, unconscious circles along the leather buckle.
I can’t afford to soften again.
In that instant, he lifted his head—and did not look back.
?
The black sedan rolled across the fallen plane leaves of No. 112, Azure Radiance Street. Above them, the sun slipped past the spire of the house, its last light bleeding into evening.
Bernard the butler stood before the gilded gates, the silver chain of his pocket watch catching the dusk.
“Welcome home,” he said calmly. “Dinner is ready—Miss’s favorite. Truffle steak.”
Inside the dining room, the crystal chandelier cast its light downward, pinning their shadows to opposite ends of the long table.
Elena chewed mechanically.
The fragrance of truffles turned to ash on her tongue. She forced herself to swallow—without strength, she couldn’t purify.
And yet every bite felt like swallowing a blade.
“Tomorrow,” YiChen said abruptly, “I’m returning to my parents’ place.”
His silver fork scraped against the porcelain with a sharp, jarring screech.
“Do as you like.”
“Mm.”
Her reply was soft. Almost weightless. Like a breath slipping away.
?
Moonlight spilled like water across YiChen’s shoulders.
He sat cross-legged in the quiet, Spirit Force cycling steadily through his body. The Taiwei Guiyuan Art turned without pause. The third layer—All Phenomena Return to One—was beginning to take form within his Spirit Meridians.
Once perfected, a single gesture would be enough to command heaven and earth—an absolute domain formed at will.
Such progress would have been unthinkable in his previous life.
And yet—
he felt as though he still lacked one final moment of enlightenment.
The black thorns embedded within his meridians churned violently with every circulation of Spirit Force. Each cycle carved pain through him like a blade drawn across living flesh.
He did not slow.
If anything, he pushed harder—
as though punishing his own body might somehow drown out the ache gnawing at his heart.
“Heh. You brought this on yourself,” Shadowfang sneered within the Consciousness Sea.
Shixi’s silvery-white light bobbed gently nearby. Three crystals, swirling with starlight, floated out before him.
“YiChen…” Shixi said softly. “Don’t be angry anymore. Make up, okay?”
“Thank you.”
His reply was curt as Starhalt merged into his meridians, its energy dissolving into the flow.
That was when the knock came.
YiChen opened his eyes.
Elena stood at the door.
Soft lamplight soaked into her white cotton sleepwear, faintly outlining her slender frame. Her long hair, still damp from washing, spilled over her shoulders; droplets clung to the ends, catching the light as they fell.
She hugged her pillow to her chest.
“I…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I came to purify…”
YiChen’s Adam’s apple shifted.
“…Much obliged.”
—————
“Begin.”
YiChen closed his eyes as he felt her fingertips settle lightly against his Shanzhong acupoint.
This time, the Spiritflame was different.
Its warmth hovered just above body temperature—refined, compressed, almost needle-thin—carrying with it a faint, electric tingling as it slipped into his Spirit Meridians.
They were far too close.
Her breathing brushed past his collarbone. A few strands of her still-damp hair grazed his throat as she shifted. The Spiritflame hissed softly as it advanced through his meridians, like the most precise surgical blade—clean, controlled, and utterly unforgiving as it burned through each cluster of black thorns.
The intensity of the purification forced YiChen to steady his breathing, his jaw tightening unconsciously.
Don’t think… don’t—
A fine sheen of sweat gathered at his temples.
When her fingertips guided the Spiritflame downward toward his dantian, a deep, rebounding sensation spread through his body—like pressure suddenly released after being held too long.
A low breath escaped him before he could stop it.
“…Mm.”
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Shixi’s voice came suddenly, soft with surprise.
“She’s… crying…”
YiChen’s eyes flew open.
Elena’s head was bowed. He couldn’t see her expression—only two crystalline tears suspended within the Spiritflame itself, refracting the rose-gold light into tiny points of starlight.
At the instant the final cluster of black thorns shattered, a powerful backlash surged through his chest—relief and aching tightness colliding at once.
Elena abruptly clutched her pillow, turned, and rushed from the room.
The quiet click of the door closing echoed far too loudly in the stillness of the night.
Alone, YiChen slowly reached toward the fading traces of Spiritflame—
and caught nothing but a lingering hint of orange-blossom scent in the air.
———————
The morning mist had yet to disperse when YiChen slipped away in silence.
The bloodshot veins threading his eyes told the truth of a sleepless night—
those tears suspended within the Spiritflame had pierced him more deeply than any black thorn ever could.
“Brought it on yourself.”
Shadowfang’s mockery cut especially sharp in the cold morning air.
As the black sedan turned onto Maple Street, YiChen’s phone rang.
Bernard’s voice came through the line, calm and immaculate as ever.
“Miss Lin requested a driver to take her home.”
Something inside YiChen snapped tight.
A thread-thin pain cinched around his heart, stealing the breath from his chest. His thoughts went blank, then exploded—countless dreadful possibilities detonating all at once.
She’s leaving?
For good—
“Sir? Sir!”
The driver leaned forward, concern edging his voice.
“We’ve arrived.”
YiChen jolted.
Outside the window lay his parents’ garden—
the rose beds meticulously trimmed, every bloom in perfect order.
Red. White. Pink.
They were in full bloom.
And yet, in that moment, YiChen’s world drained into black and white.
?
Morning light filtered through sheer curtains.
Elena sat before the vanity, an ice pack resting against her slightly swollen eyelids. She worked carefully, applying light makeup to conceal the faint shadows beneath her eyes. When she finished, she pulled on a loose, creamy-white turtleneck sweater—the soft cashmere falling to mid-thigh, hiding just how much weight she’d lost these past days.
The moment she stepped through the door, Catherine gasped.
“Oh my god—Elena, how did you get so thin?!”
Elena smiled, gentle and practiced.
“Just tired from missions. That’s all. Don’t worry—YiChen takes very good care of me.”
Mike was already at her side, eyes bright, bombarding her with questions about the Spirit Realm. She picked a few moments to share—how YiChen had charged alone into the crystal cavern, how he had slain the colossal guardian beast.
Mike’s fists pumped in the air.
“Brother YiChen is incredible! He’s basically a war god!”
When the subject turned to the removal of the thorns, Arthur set his coffee cup down.
“How close was the second spike to the lung?”
His tone was clinical. Exact.
The gaze behind his lenses left her nowhere to look away.
“…Very close.”
Arthur removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The sigh he released seemed to sink straight into the coffee between his hands.
“You’re only eighteen,” Catherine whispered, her eyes reddening.
“How can you be doing work like this?”
Elena reached out, taking her mother’s hand, thumb brushing slow, steady circles over her skin.
“I’m already an adult, Mom. And the allowances are good. Really good.”
That much was true.
Since she’d joined the special unit, everything had changed—
Arthur had been promoted twice at the hospital.
Mike was now enrolled at the best school in the district.
Catherine shook her head, voice breaking.
“I’d rather have nothing at all—as long as you’re safe…”
Elena squeezed her hand gently.
“I’ll take care of myself. I promise.”
She smiled. “I’ll come home whenever I’m not on assignment.”
Her thumb never stopped its slow, reassuring motion.
“And I’m fully certified now. A Spirit Healer.”
She met her mother’s eyes, calm and steady.
“I have the best protective measures.”
After lunch, Arthur rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Come to the study,” he said softly.
“Let’s talk.”
————
Warm sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds, casting broken patterns across the old sofa in the living room.
Elena curled into one corner, both hands wrapped around a steaming teacup, drawing herself inward like a wounded animal seeking shelter.
Arthur sat opposite her.
The fruit knife in his hand traced smooth, unbroken arcs along the apple’s skin. His peeling was steady, practiced—but his gaze kept lifting from the blade, returning again and again to his daughter’s pale, withdrawn face.
“Don’t hide it from me,” he said suddenly.
The knife flashed briefly in the light.
“This mission—was dangerous, wasn’t it?”
Elena’s fingers unconsciously rubbed along the rim of the cup.
Her father had always been like this.
Those eyes—belonging to a surgeon who had faced life and death countless times—could see straight through every disguise.
“…Mm.”
She nodded at last, lashes lowering, shadows pooling beneath her eyes.
“The Salamander’s venomous thorns… three of them pierced his body.”
Her voice tightened.
“He almost—”
The word caught in her throat.
“All I could do was watch him suffer,” she continued softly.
“Other than purification… there was nothing else I could do.”
Arthur listened in silence, turning the peeled apple slowly in his hand.
Elena lifted her head, confusion and vulnerability brimming in her eyes.
“He was so good to me after he woke up,” she said quietly.
“When I fell ill, he even went to hunt a top-tier Spirit beast for me…”
Her voice thinned.
“But later, he started distancing himself—on purpose.”
She swallowed.
“As if… as if I were something he needed to avoid.”
The last word nearly dissolved into breath.
Arthur set the knife aside at last and split the apple cleanly in two. He took a bite from his half, then offered the other to her.
“You like him,” he said plainly.
“And you’re sure you want to walk this path?”
“I’ve chosen him.”
Her answer came without the slightest hesitation.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
“It won’t be easy.”
“No matter how hard it is,” she said, just as calmly,
“I’ll hold on.”
“Even if,” he asked, voice low,
“in the end, there may be no result at all?”
“Without regret.”
Soft words.
Unyielding resolve.
Arthur leaned back heavily against the sofa.
“That boy,” he said after a moment,
“suppressing his emotions to this extent—he’s walking right along the edge of hell.”
Elena’s head snapped up.
“Dad?”
“In your eyes,” Arthur asked quietly,
“what kind of person is he?”
“He’s strong,” she answered, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
In her mind rose the image of that figure who always stood at the front.
“So strong he makes people feel safe,” she said,
“yet so lonely it hurts to watch.”
She swallowed.
“He never talks about pain. Never complains. It’s like… like—”
“Like he’s atoning,” Arthur finished softly.
Elena’s pupils trembled.
Ripples spread across the tea in her cup.
A tired, almost gentle curve touched Arthur’s lips.
“When I worked in field hospitals,” he said,
“I saw that look often—in the eyes of the critically wounded.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the table, producing a soft, clear sound.
“That’s not a lack of love.
That’s fear.”
He looked at her steadily.
“Fear that he doesn’t deserve that love.”
Elena set the teacup down.
The faint sound it made was almost a sigh.
Her fingertips tightened unconsciously, leaving blurred prints against the porcelain.
“You’re still young,” Arthur continued gently.
“Perhaps you don’t fully understand yet.”
Some people don’t keep their hearts closed because they don’t want to open them—
but because they don’t dare.
“They’re afraid that once opened,” he said,
“they’ll never be able to close them again.”
His gaze rested on her like warm sunlight.
“If he truly didn’t care about you,” Arthur asked quietly,
“why would he ever allow you to touch his lifeline?”
Silence thickened in the room, as though even the light had stilled.
“Then I…”
Her voice was light as a falling leaf.
“How long do I wait?”
Her nails pressed faint crescents into her palm.
“I’m afraid he’ll always—”
A broad hand settled on her head, warm and steady.
“Treat him like a wounded wild beast,” Arthur said gently.
“If you’ve chosen him, then you must have resolve—and courage.”
“Don’t fear being hurt.
Don’t fear waiting.”
He stroked her hair once.
“Wait until the day he finally dares to reach out his hand.”
“And when that day comes—be there.”
Sensing her trembling, he added softly,
“This isn’t ‘doing nothing.’
This is the hardest, most steadfast form of companionship.”
Elena’s tears fell without sound, darkening the collar of her sweater.
Arthur gazed out the window at the shifting shadows of trees.
“That child’s heart,” he said quietly,
“must be suffering greatly.”
Fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes in the sunlight.
“But with you as that light,”
“he won’t fall completely into darkness.”
?
Elena sat alone in the study, holding the piece of apple.
Warmth lingered in her palm.
Sunlight spilled across the floor.
And just like that,
the most wavering string in her heart steadied.
She understood now.
Waiting was not passivity.
It was an act of resolve.
She would wait.
She would not force him.
She would not retreat.
She would stay—
always, always—
by his side.
Until the day
he was finally willing
to take her hand.
