He Publicly Ignored Her

On the day of the Hundred Flowers Banquet, Qingyun Mountain's Murong Manor was decorated with lanterns and colorful banners inside and out, with guests gathering in droves. Immortals from all directions arrived with gifts, the sounds of swords flying under eaves, greetings, and footsteps of maids interweaving into a bustling spectacle.

As the host, Murong Yan stood in the center of the hall in a pristine white brocade robe, a lazy smile habitual on his lips as he casually greeted guests from all sides. Around him were six or seven female cultivators in splendid attire, each meticulously dressed and flamboyant, clustering around him like stars around the moon, occasionally covering their mouths to giggle or whispering softly.

Su Wan stood in a corner of the hall, holding a tray laden with filled wine cups. She still wore a moon-white robe, her face bare of makeup, without any adornments, blending in among the maidservants bustling to and fro, hardly distinguishable from them.

"Nephew Murong," said an elder with white hair and beard, Murong Yue, Murong Yan's uncle who held considerable prestige in the clan. Stroking his beard, his gaze swept across the hall and finally settled on the quiet figure in the corner. "That quiet girl beside you... she's quite proper."

Murong Yan followed his uncle's gaze.

Su Wan was lowering her head, offering the tray to a guest. Her movements were gentle, her brows and eyes tender, like a still lake without ripples. The guest took the wine cup and nodded at her; she merely gave a slight nod in return, saying nothing.

"Her..." Murong Yan withdrew his gaze, his smile unchanged, but his tone was as casual as if discussing an insignificant piece of furniture. "She's just a servant, not worth mentioning."

The voice was not loud, but it landed precisely in Su Wan's ears.

Her hand jerked abruptly.

The wine in the cup swayed, splashing a few drops onto her robe, wetting a small patch of the moon-white fabric. Her fingers gripping the tray tightened; her knuckles turned white, her nails nearly digging into the flesh of her palm.

"Miss Su, are you all right?" a nearby maidservant asked in a low voice.

Su Wan shook her head, her voice calm like deep water: "I'm fine."

She continued holding the tray, pouring wine for the next guest. A faint smile even lingered at the corners of her mouth, her brows and eyes still gentle. No one could tell that at that moment, her heart felt as if gripped by an invisible hand, aching almost to the point of splitting.

A servant.

She was a servant.

A hundred years. She had followed him for a hundred years, guarded him for a hundred years, and in his eyes, she was ultimately nothing more than—a servant.

Su Wan, tray in hand, moved slowly through the crowd. Her steps were steady, her back straight, but only she knew that with every step, something inside her chest was being crushed bit by bit.

"She's just a servant, not worth mentioning."

His voice echoed in her ears again and again, like a thin needle stabbing into her heart, yet she could not escape it.

She remembered the three months she had waited outside his cave during his closed-door cultivation, starving on dry rations, quenching her thirst with mountain stream water, enduring wind and rain without leaving for a moment; she remembered when he was severely wounded and unconscious, she used her spiritual power to protect his heart meridian again and again, until she fainted from depletion, only to wake up and force herself to continue; she remembered when he brought a new paramour home, she stayed up all night preparing the room, sewing curtains by hand, selecting their favorite incense...

He knew none of this, nor did he need to know.

Because in his eyes, she was just a servant.

"Miss Su, you don't look well." Su Xin approached, looking at her with concern. "Why don't you take a rest first?"

Su Wan shook her head, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "I'm fine."

She continued to hold the tray, pouring wine for guests, clearing cups, straightening tablecloths. She performed her tasks meticulously, like the most dutiful maidservant.

Only, the fingers holding the cup never loosened.

By the time the banquet ended, it was very late. Guests gradually dispersed, leaving the hall in disarray. Maids bustled about cleaning up. Su Wan crouched alone on the ground, picking up scattered petals, wiping tables and chairs.

Murong Yan saw off the last guest and turned back into the hall. He glanced at the crouched figure busying herself, said nothing, and headed straight for the inner chambers.

As he passed Su Wan, he paused for a moment, as if about to say something, but in the end, he did not speak and continued on.

Su Wan remained crouched on the ground, her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly.

She did not look up, nor did she call out to him.

Deep in the night, with all guests gone, Murong Manor finally fell quiet. Su Wan returned to her small courtyard, pushed open the door, and was greeted by a familiar fragrance of blossoms.

The peach tree in the courtyard was one she had planted herself ten years ago. She remembered it clearly: that day, Murong Yan had brought home another new paramour. Watching them walk hand in hand into the courtyard, feeling something clogged in her heart, she had gone alone to the back mountain, dug up a small peach sapling, and planted it in her own courtyard.

Ten years had passed; the peach tree had grown tall, lush with branches and leaves. Every spring, it was covered in pink and white blossoms, a beautiful sight.

Su Wan walked to the peach tree and sat down slowly.

A night breeze blew, and petals fluttered down, landing on her shoulders and hair. She looked up through the flowering branches at the bright moon in the sky, her eyes slowly growing hot.

"Just a servant..."

She repeated softly, a faint, bitter smile at the corners of her mouth.

Suddenly, a sharp pain struck her chest.

Su Wan clutched her chest, doubled over, and coughed violently. She coughed hard, her shoulders shaking violently, as if she were coughing up her very insides.

"Cough... cough cough..."

She covered her mouth with her hand, and gradually, traces of blood seeped through her fingers.

She opened her hand; in her palm lay a pool of fresh blood.

Su Wan stared at the blood in her palm, stunned for a moment. Then she slowly clenched her fist, hiding the bloodstain in her palm. Her face was pale as paper, her lips drained of color, but her eyes remained calm.

She had long known something was wrong with her body.

Ten years ago, when he was first critically wounded and on the verge of death, she saved him using the power of the Three-Life Spirit Root—that had been the first time she used the healing power of the Three-Life Spirit Root. After that, her body had grown weaker; she often felt fatigued; her spiritual power was no longer as abundant as before.

Five years ago, when he was ambushed by enemies a second time, with all five organs severely damaged, she again mobilized the power of the Three-Life Spirit Root. That time, she had been unconscious for an entire month.

She knew her spirit root was special—it could only save three people in a lifetime; each life saved cost one of her own. She had already used it twice.

One use remained.

Su Wan slowly stood up, wiping the blood from her mouth with her sleeve. She walked to the well, drew a bucket of water, and washed her hands clean. The water reflected her pale face; she glanced at it, then poured the water back into the well.

The night wind blew through the peach tree, scattering petals on the ground.

She looked up at the tree full of pink and white blossoms and murmured to herself, "One more use."

She could still save him one more time.

As long as he still needed her.

She turned and walked into the room, closing the door behind her. Moonlight streamed through the lattice window, casting pale silver on the floor. The peach blossoms outside fell silently, one after another, onto the spot where she had just sat.

But she did not see that, as she turned and entered the room, a white figure stood quietly in the shadows outside the courtyard wall. Murong Yan gazed at the closed door, his brow slightly furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the sword at his waist.

He had come to her small courtyard to tell her that tomorrow he would take the female cultivators to the Ten Thousand Mountains to hunt beasts and wanted her to prepare some healing medicines. But when he reached the courtyard gate, he heard her violent coughing.

He stood outside the courtyard for a long time, listening, until she went inside, then turned and left.

He did not enter, nor did he ask what was wrong with her.

Only, on the way back, his brow never relaxed.