The sound of water stopped. Xie Qingyan placed the cups on the drying rack, dried his hands, and returned to the living room. He didn't go back to the study. He sat down on the sofa again.
This time, his position was a little closer than before. The distance between them had narrowed from one person's width to half.
Yin Wuwang wasn't sure whether it was deliberate.
"After meeting Captain Lin tomorrow—" Xie Qingyan looked at the night beyond the window, his tone already shifted back to case rhythm—"if the information on Chen Wan's mother confirms the source of the gambling debt, we'll have enough leverage to meet Dragon Brother."
"Mm."
"Dragon Brother—you take the lead." Xie Qingyan said. "Your observational instincts are better suited for dealing with someone like him."
Yin Wuwang glanced at him. Fuguang had voluntarily ceded the lead—not because he couldn't handle it, but because he'd assessed that Yin Wuwang was the better fit. In the cultivation world, the Sword Sovereign had never entrusted anything to anyone. Every matter on Cangqiong Peak was decided by him alone.
But now he'd said "you take the lead."
Yin Wuwang filed this detail away. Not as evidence, not as progress. He simply noted it. Stored it in that specific place reserved for Fuguang-related memories, lined up alongside those moments of reddening ear tips and gazes that lingered one second too long.
"All right," he said.
The city nightscape flickered slowly behind the curtains. In the distance, a plane traced across the horizon, its red and green navigation lights blinking through the cloud cover, then vanishing.
Xie Qingyan stood.
"Get some sleep." He took two steps, then paused at the entrance to the hallway leading to the study. He didn't turn around.
"Yin Wuwang."
"Hm?"
"That sentence you wanted to say just now—" His voice was very quiet, nearly drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning. "There's no rush."
Then he walked into the study and closed the door.
Yin Wuwang sat on the sofa, staring at the closed door.
There's no rush.
Three words.
Not "you don't have to say it." Not "I don't want to hear it." Just: there's no rush.
Which meant—he was willing to wait.
Yin Wuwang drew a deep breath and let his head fall back against the sofa. The diffused warm light on the ceiling blurred for an instant, then sharpened back into clarity.
Fine. Then this sovereign won't rush.
But this sovereign will say it. Eventually.
[The Next Morning · City Center]
Yin Wuwang was up half an hour before Xie Qingyan.
He dressed quietly, muffled his movements at the entryway. The study door was closed, no sound from inside. He stepped into the corridor and pressed B2 in the elevator.
Little Deer Assistant chimed in: "Master, where are you going? Isn't today the precinct briefing?"
"Something to take care of first."
Yin Wuwang didn't elaborate.
The car pulled out of the parking garage and onto the main road. Traffic was light at this hour; he drove faster than usual. The navigation showed a commercial street in the city center—fifteen minutes away.
He'd looked it up last night. Three jewelry shops on that street; he'd picked the one with the highest ratings. Not for quality—mortal jewelry was all rocks in his eyes—but because someone in the reviews had mentioned custom orders.
Little Deer Assistant tried again: "Master, I need to know the destination in order to provide assistance beyond navigation—"
"Jewelry shop," Yin Wuwang said curtly.
Little Deer Assistant went quiet for a second.
Then, in a very, very careful tone: "…Is this work-related, or…"
"Shut up."
"Understood."
The jewelry shop opened at nine. Yin Wuwang arrived at 9:02. The storefront was modest but tasteful—warm spotlights, glass cases with neatly arranged rings and necklaces, a faint wood-based fragrance in the air.
The shop assistant froze for a beat when he walked in—probably because of his face—then recovered her professional smile instantly.
"Good morning, sir. See anything you like?"
Yin Wuwang scanned the display cases.
He knew nothing about mortal jewelry. Diamonds, platinum, rose gold—terms he'd picked up from Little Deer Assistant, but he had no actual aesthetic framework for any of them. The only thing he was certain of:
Fuguang didn't like anything flashy.
"Something plain," he said. "Men's. No diamonds, no engravings. Can you do custom?"
The assistant's eyes brightened. "Absolutely. What style were you thinking?"
Yin Wuwang looked down at the display. Platinum, rose gold, silver—each material caught the light differently. His gaze swept past the rows of bands and stopped on one in the corner—platinum, an extremely thin curved surface, no decoration whatsoever. About three millimeters wide, catching the light with a cold, almost translucent gleam.
Like frost.
Like the flash of Xie Qingyan's bonded sword, Frost Bloom, the instant it cleared its sheath.
"This style." Yin Wuwang pointed. "Can you engrave the inside?"
"Of course. What would you like engraved?"
Yin Wuwang opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Too many things he wanted to engrave. Fuguang.Three thousand years. All the things he had never said aloud. But none of them would do—not because they wouldn't fit, but because it was too soon.
"Hold on the engraving," he said. "I'll decide when it's ready."
"Sure. And the size? Do you know the recipient's ring size?"
Yin Wuwang measured silently in his mind.
He had seen Xie Qingyan's hands too many times—gripping a sword, a scalpel, a pen, a teacup. Long, with well-defined knuckles, joints slightly slimmer than average.
Three thousand years of life. Some images needed only a single glance to be committed to memory at precise scale.
"Size fourteen," he said.
The assistant noted it down. "Platinum, plain band, size fourteen, no engraving for now. Seven to ten business days."
"Fine."
Yin Wuwang paid the deposit, took the receipt, and walked out.
He stood at the shop entrance, morning rush-hour traffic flowing past, and looked at the thin slip of paper in his hand.
Mortal rings couldn't store items, couldn't shield the body, couldn't transmit messages.
But Little Deer Assistant had once told him—they carry the vow to spend the rest of your life with someone.
Yin Wuwang folded the receipt and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket. The pocket was deep. It wouldn't be seen.
Then he got in the car and headed for the precinct.
On the way, he texted Xie Qingyan: "Went out to buy something. On my way now."
Three seconds later: "OK."
Yin Wuwang placed the phone face-down on the passenger seat, stared at that single word for a moment, then hit the gas and merged into the morning rush.
The receipt in his pocket was very light. But somehow, the entire jacket felt heavier.
Not pressure.
Weight.
The kind of weight he was willing to carry through this world, and the next, and every world after that.
[End of V2_Chapter 50]
Next: Captain Lin Puts a File on the Table—and Chen Wan's Whole Life Falls Out