Chapter 68: I Must Be Hallucinating!

That night.

As night descended, tranquility and mystery followed. The entire world seemed to be washed in deep shades of blue, the stars twinkling in the sky like diamonds set into the darkness. The moon rose, a silver lantern illuminating the earth.

The lights in White Deer Manor were sparse and dim, forming a hazy halo over the land. The farmyard, under the moonlight, cast deep, enigmatic shadows, their outlines blurred and mysterious. A gentle night breeze drifted by, carrying the fragrance of distant flowers and the scent of nearby grass. All sounds were softened, woven seamlessly into the fabric of the night.

From afar came the chorus of crickets and frogs, a natural symphony rising and falling in the stillness.

Cheng Liunian stepped carefully out of the stable, shrouded in night. His face was ashen; even here at White Deer Manor, he could not obtain a proper dwelling, relegated instead to the stables, sleeping among the horses. No sooner had weariness crept into his heart than a stray hoof would lash out from somewhere, leaving him dazed and sore, all at once wide awake.

The horses in this stable all possessed exotic bloodlines, vibrant and energetic. Even days without sleep left them unfazed. Ordinarily, this would not trouble Cheng Liunian, but now, curled up in a pile of straw, being kicked awake from sound sleep left him both pained and miserable for hours on end. Who could endure such circumstances?

He felt that if he remained with these horses for a few more days, he would either lose his mind or go mad altogether. Fortunately, a single beam of light remained in his heart—a person who, even in his deepest frustration, brought him warmth: Bai Shuxuan.

Cheng Liunian tiptoed away from the stable, wending his way through quiet alleys toward Bai Shuxuan’s chambers. Under the pale moonlight, his steps were light and cautious, careful not to make a sound. If anyone caught him sneaking to Bai Shuxuan’s room at midnight—even if she herself said nothing—the likes of Lin Cheng and the merciless Qingluan would never let him go.

The mere thought that he, a noble son of the Duke who Guards the State, had to be so furtive just to see his fiancée, filled him with indignation. Yet, for now, he had no choice. If caught, it would not mean death—but he would certainly be beaten half to death.

He crept along the walls, bent low, striving to remain unseen. As he drew near Bai Shuxuan’s small courtyard, he discovered the side gate was locked, and guards placed by the master of White Deer Manor, Lü Changshou, stood watch at the main entrance. He could not get close.

His only option was to climb the wall. Lifting his gaze, he saw the wall was dauntingly high—five or six meters at least. For an ordinary cultivator, this was nothing, but for someone who had never trained, it was insurmountable.

Cheng Liunian searched the surroundings, hoping to find some tool or method to help him in, but soon found a hole at the base of the wall. It was just large enough for a person to squeeze through. However, the pungent animal smell from the opening made it clear this was not a proper passage. A dog hole, perhaps.

His face darkened with embarrassment and gloom. Was he to crawl through a dog hole just to see Bai Shuxuan? His pride balked, but the memory of her exquisite beauty quickly overcame his hesitation. So what if it was a dog hole? Compared to his recent sufferings, this indignity was minor, especially if no one witnessed it. His pride would remain intact.

He stooped low, cautiously poked his head through, and peered around. Finding the courtyard empty save for Bai Shuxuan’s candle-lit room, he sighed in relief and wriggled through, inching forward like a worm until he was inside. Quickly, he hid himself, careful not to let his efforts go to waste, and crept along the shadows toward her window.

Within moments, he was outside her window. Peering inside, he saw her seated at her desk, moonlight streaming over her, surrounded by medicinal herbs she picked up and set down in turn. To Cheng Liunian, Bai Shuxuan was breathtakingly beautiful—not just on the surface, but deep to her core. Her beauty was tranquil and restrained, like a still lake, yet lively as summer flowers.

Her face was as fine as porcelain, skin so smooth it seemed to reflect the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, her lips rosy and delicate, and her smile revealed a row of white teeth that felt like a spring breeze. Her brows arched gracefully, accentuating her noble bearing. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, adorned with tiny white gardenias that gave off a faint fragrance. He could only imagine how blissful it would be to press his face to her hair and breathe in that scent.

He gazed at her, utterly enamored, nearly forgetting his purpose. Sensing something, Bai Shuxuan turned and saw him mesmerized at her window, even a little drool glistening at the corner of his mouth. She suppressed her disgust, smiled gently, and feigned surprise.

“When did you get here?” she asked softly.

Her voice brought him back to his senses. He wiped his mouth and grinned, “Just now, Miss Bai. You’re truly beautiful.”

His gaze lingered on her, admiring her elegant figure. She wore a pale green dress embroidered with silver lotuses, accentuating her grace and slender waist. Her figure was the perfect balance of fullness and delicacy, each curve sculpted like a work of art.

Just a short glance made him feel a reaction in his body he hadn’t felt in a long time—whether illusion or reality, he was overjoyed and credited it all to Bai Shuxuan. She was his fated one; no other woman, however lovely or tempting, could affect him as she did.

Noticing his gaze, Bai Shuxuan subtly shifted her posture, avoiding his eyes, and said softly, “Since you’re here, don’t linger outside. The night is cool after the rain; you haven’t trained, so take care of yourself.”

Her casual concern moved Cheng Liunian deeply. His eyes reddened; he was about to cry again. In times of wealth, he had no shortage of those who cared for him, but now, with his identity hidden and not publicly acknowledged, Bai Shuxuan believed in him and even called him ‘Young Master.’ The sound of that title nearly made him swoon.

He shivered as a cold wind blew, reminding him of his fatigue. Quickly, he climbed in through the window, determined not to take the ordinary path.

Bai Shuxuan watched him for a moment, then said, “Wait here. I’ll prepare some medicine for your injuries.”

He saw the various rare medicines arrayed on her desk: Qi and Blood Paste, Azure Phoenix Pills, Ninefold Pills, Regulating Elixirs—all precious beyond compare. Only the wealth and power of the Duke’s household could assemble such treasures; any ordinary family would be grateful to obtain even one.

She explained these medicines were meant for the fake Young Master in the Duke’s residence, to heal his injuries. Cheng Liunian believed her; otherwise, why would Qingluan go to such trouble to collect so many rare herbs? He suspected the stablehand in the household must have faked wounds identical to his own, fooling his father, but had no real injuries. The medicine was useless to him; an uninjured person taking such tonics without training would only suffer harm.

The stablehand, unable to use the medicine, was reluctant to waste it, so he had Qingluan deliver it to White Deer Manor to consume gradually and improve his cultivation. Cheng Liunian felt he’d seen through the stablehand’s schemes and swore to have him executed upon his return, to avenge his grievances.

As he pondered, Bai Shuxuan finished preparing the medicine—an inky, cloyingly sweet paste, the rare herbs all mashed together. The smell was overwhelming, acrid, and foul. Cheng Liunian’s face turned pale; he pinched his nose, afraid he’d vomit if he smelled it again.

“Miss Bai… is this really effective?” he asked doubtfully. He didn’t distrust Bai Shuxuan, but doubted the medicine itself.

She smiled calmly, “It works. Eat it all.”

Seeing her gentle concern, he could not refuse. She would never harm him, he thought, and steeling himself, he gulped down the foul paste in one go, not daring to taste it, lest he vomit and ruin his image in her eyes. He no longer cared whether his injuries were cured—after so many years, he’d survived worse. Now, he simply wanted to get it over with and escape before he lost control and vomited everything up.

No sooner had he swallowed the medicine than he felt his body heat up, his face flush, blood racing beneath his skin, a mist rising from his body. The medicine was potent. Suddenly, he felt warmth in his nose—touching it, he found blood on his fingertips. A nosebleed.

Soon his nose would not stop bleeding, blood gushing as if from a spring. Even his skin flushed red. He grew fearful, “Miss Bai, isn’t this a bit much?”

“Hold out your hand,” she said, producing a sharp knife and smiling gently. “Don’t be afraid.”

Her calmness reassured him. With so much blood tonic, a nosebleed was perhaps to be expected. He offered his arm, bracing himself for her to cut him. Bloodletting? Could that really treat years of hidden injuries? Still, he trusted Bai Shuxuan and had no better options.

He sat, heart pounding, almost able to hear his own pulse. Bai Shuxuan stood close, and the faint scent of flowers on her hair relaxed him. Then came a prick of pain—cold metal slicing his skin, opening a vein. Blood flowed, dripping into a jade basin prepared nearby. Each drop carried his pain and fear into the cold vessel.

As his blood drained, he felt his strength wane, but along with it came a strange sense of release, as if something his body had always rejected was leaving him. Soon, he breathed easier, the pain and illness fading with his blood. The medicine took effect; though much blood was lost, he felt no discomfort, only a growing clarity and strength.

With each cycle, his body seemed to be freed from heavy chains. He looked at Bai Shuxuan, his eyes full of gratitude—she had not deceived him. His chronic illness was being healed. Though still weak, his spirit was restored, as if life itself had started anew. With a few more sessions, his injuries would be gone, and he could train freely.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerity plain in his eyes. This gratitude was pure, untainted by infatuation. Bai Shuxuan was slightly surprised, but only smiled, then made another cut as the first began to clot.

Cheng Liunian watched the blood flow, the basin nearly full, and wondered aloud, “How much more do I need to lose?”

Bai Shuxuan replied calmly, “It will take a while—until your injuries are fully healed. If you feel weak, eat more blood tonic. Tonight’s treatment will last at least five hours. I’ll handle the medicine; Qingluan won’t notice. Stay in my room and don’t go anywhere.”

He was too grateful to object, and the look in his eyes grew even softer. “Thank you, Miss Bai…”

She smiled, her words meaningful: “There’s no need for thanks between us.”

Cheng Liunian took this for intimacy—after all, Bai Shuxuan was his fiancée, family, so why thank her? He beamed, wanting to converse further, but could think of nothing to say, so he simply watched her in silence.

She observed the blood in the basin. At first, it was a golden-red, but as time passed, the gold faded. When no gold remained, the treatment would be done. The color changed rapidly, but she decided to draw a little more, just in case. With so many blood tonics, he wouldn’t die.

Meanwhile, his appearance began to change. Initially, he was dirty, but his features were still those of a peerless young man, identical to the Young Master—handsome, refined, brows like distant mountains, eyes bright as morning stars. But as bloodletting continued, his face slowly transformed, losing its smooth porcelain texture for something rough, almost stone-like. His eyes dimmed, his nose flattened, his lips became dry and cracked, and all his former elegance vanished. His body shrank and hunched, shoulders slumped, hands rough and fingers thick, his skin lined and calloused.

He had become an utterly unremarkable man, a servant’s face—similar to Cheng Zhihai, but without his gentleness, more the look of a brash retainer. Without his identity, he would be all but invisible.

Bai Shuxuan was astonished at how unattractive his true features were. With Cheng Zhihai and Wu Yuemei’s genes, their child should be decent-looking, yet he was even less so than his father. Only her own Young Master was truly handsome. The thought made her long to return to him, despite his indifference or even the occasional kick to her face, which, oddly, sweetened her heart.

Suddenly, a rooster crowed outside—the night had passed unnoticed. Dawn was breaking, the first light creeping into the sky, golden clouds spreading across the fields, awakening the land. Grass stretched, birds sang, sunlight warmed every corner, and the farmers of White Deer Manor greeted a new day, their fatigue swept away.

At dawn, Cheng Liunian slipped out of Bai Shuxuan’s room. His injuries healed, but weak from blood loss despite the tonics, he staggered along, clutching the wall for support, lest he collapse.

He dreaded running into Lin Cheng at this hour, for surely another beating would follow. He knew when to keep his head down—though the roof was his by right, no one would recognize it.

Reaching the dog hole, he hesitated, reluctant to crawl through again, but the guards at the gate left him no choice. If discovered, he risked another savage beating. The only better option would be for Bai Shuxuan to escort him over the wall.

But if she asked how he got in, he’d have to admit to the dog hole, which would be mortifying. Determined to protect his dignity, he grit his teeth and got down to crawl through once more.

Just then, a slow-witted voice sounded behind him. “Hey! Who are you? What are you doing?!”

It was Lin Cheng. Cheng Liunian’s body tensed in terror; he turned with a forced smile, “Big brother, it’s me!”

He expected Lin Cheng to recognize him, at least as the beggar from yesterday, but Lin Cheng only eyed him with suspicion and hostility, fists clenched. “You look unfamiliar and ugly—definitely not one of the manor’s farmers. Who are you? Where did you come from? Assassin, or thief?”

Terrified, Cheng Liunian stammered, “It’s me! The beggar!”

Lin Cheng paused, scrutinizing him. “You’re that beggar…” he said doubtfully.

“Yes, yes, it’s me!” Cheng Liunian was on the verge of collapse, not caring about his dignity anymore—better to admit being a beggar than be pummeled again. He couldn’t believe Lin Cheng’s face-blindness: after spending all day together, Lin Cheng didn’t recognize him!

“I don’t believe it!” Lin Cheng declared, preparing to attack.

Desperate, Cheng Liunian dove for the dog hole. Lin Cheng was about to follow when he noticed something and looked up: Qingluan and Bai Shuxuan stood on the roof, watching with interest.

“Never mind, Lin Cheng,” Qingluan called, “he really is the beggar.”

Lin Cheng froze, confused. “Really? I thought he was a thief sneaking in to steal the Young Master’s medicine. But why does he keep changing faces? First like the Young Master, now like a servant. Is his face supposed to change?”

He gave up trying to understand. “Never mind, our task is done—let’s pack up and return to the capital. One day without seeing the Young Master and I already feel uneasy.”

After he left, Qingluan’s gaze lingered on Bai Shuxuan, her expression complex. She hadn’t expected Bai Shuxuan to be so crucial in winning Cheng Liunian’s trust and persuading him to accept the blood change. Without her, the plan would not have gone so smoothly.

Still, the Young Master had said not to kill Cheng Liunian yet; he might have some hidden means of survival, and a rash move could cause trouble. Qingluan had no plan for his death, but was certain the Young Master did. Unwittingly, she realized, she had come to trust Cheng Guang completely.

Turning to Bai Shuxuan, she asked, “Did you get it?”

Bai Shuxuan nodded and produced a jade stone from her sleeve. “This is the token Cheng Liunian used to contact the Wu family. If crushed in the capital, the Wu family will sense it. As for other means of survival, I don't know yet. If I ask, he may not answer.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Qingluan replied, watching Cheng Liunian’s staggering form. “Even if he reaches the capital, he can’t prove he is the Young Master. His royal bloodline is gone, replaced many times over—no one, not even the Duke, could recognize him now. Only by extracting his soul could the truth be known. Let him go; the Young Master will handle it.”

With that, she departed. Bai Shuxuan lingered briefly, then also lost interest. Though she was happy to serve Cheng Guang, what she truly desired was to be by his side. Now, she only wanted to hurry home.

…

Cheng Liunian, weak and exhausted, clung to the wall, inching along. After a night of bloodletting, he felt utterly spent, longing only to return to the stable and sleep. Even among the straw and filth, any place would do now. After some rest, once back at the Duke’s mansion, he would reclaim his identity and resume his training, never again to be so helpless.

But as he approached the stable, he suddenly stopped. His eyes, previously only bloodshot with fatigue, now widened in shock and confusion. He stared at a battered bronze mirror lying ahead, its surface tarnished and unclear, but still reflecting his image.

But it was not the face he knew.

Once, his hair had been jet-black, his eyes deep as lakes, his features as elegant as carved jade. Now, the face staring back at him was plain, even ugly: small eyes, a flat nose, thick lips—a farmer’s countenance. Yet, an inexplicable nobility lingered between his brows.

He looked down at his hands—tanned, rough, large, with thick, powerful fingers and veins like twisted tree roots. He stared at the mirror, stunned, waves of confusion and terror crashing in his heart. This change was not an illusion. This was truly his face!

He had always been called a handsome young lord—how could he now be so ugly? Question after question crowded his mind, threatening to burst his skull. The scene before him shattered his worldview.

What was happening? Who was he really? Whose face was his true face?

Furious, he tore at his hair, pounding the mirror until its shards cut his flesh and drew blood, cursing all the while. “Damn it! It’s all fake! I must be hallucinating!”

…

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[End of chapter.]