Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Acting White Robe (Part 2)

“Who came? Why are you so tense?”

“Lord Si Kong’s distant cousin, Ruan Xing Xuan. She’s been admiring our lord for a long time. She drops by every few days. She doesn’t really disrupt his work—she just stays nearby and waits on him with ink and brush.”

“Isn’t that good? Why are you hiding?”

“Don’t even mention it. She’s all soft and delicate. She wants to serve our lord alone, but it takes ten people to serve her. Can you stand that? Our lord hates having idle people around, but she’s Lord Si Kong’s relative, so he gives her a bit of face. That’s all.”

Song Wei Chen honestly hadn’t expected that cold, scheming misogynist to have someone actively pining for him. It was… enlightening.

“So what does that young lady even see in him? His cold face and nasty temper? His black-bellied, unreasonable side? Or his violence and paranoia?”

Still grumbling as she walked, Song Wei Chen noticed Ding He Ran hadn’t caught up. She turned back, puzzled—and found him staring at her, anger drawn tight across his eyes.

“Our lord’s conduct is praised by everyone,” he said, voice clipped. “His strategy and martial skill have no equal. And it’s precisely because he stands guard that the Dream Realm remains at peace. If I didn’t respect you as the acting White Robe, those words alone would be enough for me to sever ties with you.”

Song Wei Chen blinked.

So he was that man’s little fanboy. Maybe even a hardcore stan. Fine—she could work with that. She definitely couldn’t afford to offend him.

“Ahem. Everyone knows our lord is noble and generous. He Ran, you’re so alike in character—surely you won’t take my little joke seriously, right? Our lord can take a joke!”

She poured it on until her tongue nearly tied itself into a bow. By the time she finished, Ding He Ran’s expression had finally eased.

In the Dust Warden Hall’s Council Hall, Mo Ting Feng had been holding a dossier for ages without absorbing a single word. His brow drew tighter and tighter, yet he forced himself to stay silent. The grievance-breakers around him sat with eyes lowered, barely breathing, as if they’d turned to stone.

Beside him stood a young lady in a pink gauze skirt. Her slender fingers ground ink, but she made the task look like an exhausting ordeal. Now and then she lifted a hand to her forehead as if wiping sweat, and conveniently smeared a streak of ink along her cheek.

The maid spotted it at once and hurried over to dab at her face. As she fussed, the two exchanged a quick, practiced glance.

With a soft cry, the young lady covered her cheek. “Ah…”

“Gently,” she murmured. “You’re hurting me.”

“Forgive me, Miss,” the maid said at once, all contrition. “This servant girl is clumsy. With skin this delicate, we must be careful not to leave a mark.” As she spoke, she leaned in as if to inspect it again.

“I don’t trust you anymore,” the young lady pouted. Then she turned and leaned toward Mo Ting Feng. “Brother Ting Feng, will you look for me?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mo Ting Feng said without lifting his gaze.

“Brother Ting Feng, you didn’t even look at me.”

He flicked her a perfunctory glance. “It’s late. Go back. I have matters to attend to.”

“You always rush to send me away.” Her voice softened into a coy complaint. “I learned a new piece. When will you have time to listen?”

Ruan Xing Xuan’s guqin playing was famously exquisite. In the past, she’d even taught the Realm Lord’s eldest princess for a time. Doted on by her entire clan since childhood, she’d never been denied anything.

In her world, how could anyone refuse to hear her play? How could any man refuse her? Yet Mo Ting Feng was like oil and salt that would never take—completely unmoved. The more indifferent he was, the more it stoked her stubborn pride.

Besides, the Dust Warden Official had power, status, and a future without limits. He was capable, decisive, and impressive—exactly the kind of husband her mother had drilled into her head since she was small.

Men like that were rare even in the entire Dream Realm. If her cousin hadn’t gone astray, he might count as one. Gu Cang Yue, unpredictable as he was, barely counted as another. Rumor also claimed that in Deep Dreamlands there had emerged a merchant with hands that reached everywhere, a tycoon beyond imagining. But compared to them all, the man before her was the best—steady in temperament, outstanding in every way. That was why she returned again and again to show goodwill.

Sadly, she had a heart—and he had none.

For a long time, no matter what she tried, Mo Ting Feng never yielded. Not only did his expression remain unchanged, even inside he didn’t stir with the slightest he dong.

In other words, if he ever wanted to, he wouldn’t even need to fear a restriction’s backlash. He could do anything. A thousand flowers could brush his sleeve, and he could take the body while leaving the heart untouched.

But he wasn’t that kind of man.

So why, of all people, did he keep having he dong toward that rude, unknown little girl?

He didn’t understand.

That little liar… The first time she’d appeared in a skirt, something about the sight had struck him like a blade—so like the heartless woman from a thousand years ago.

And that woman—setting everything else aside and speaking only of guqin—let alone Ruan Xing Xuan’s level… who in the world could compare?

For a moment, it was as if ancient music echoed at his ear, and Mo Ting Feng’s mind drifted.

“Brother Ting Feng,” Ruan Xing Xuan coaxed, “stay with me a while…”

Her voice yanked him back.

“I’m busy,” he said, patience thinning to a thread. “Go back. See her out.”

He’d made it explicit. A dismissal.

Ruan Xing Xuan left, unwilling, her lips pressed into a pout. She’d wasted far too much of his time today. Next time, she would speak properly with her cousin—make sure that annoying person didn’t keep coming here to squander his hours.

Mo Ting Feng closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing the shadow of that woman out of his mind. Then he picked up the dossier again.

Outside in the garden, Ding He Ran’s “Dust Warden 101” lesson continued.

“This White Robe disappearance has been elevated to an A-grade major case in the Dream Realm,” he said. “And the operation to capture that escaped chaos wraith has also been upgraded. It now requires the Three Bureaus to coordinate.”

The more Song Wei Chen learned, the more miserable she felt.

“Got it. So my job is master-difficulty hell mode—custom-built to grind elite mobs. But I’m just a mortal. I can’t use spells like you. My HP bar is paper-thin, and I don’t even have a mana bar! I could drop dead any second. Can I resign?”

“Brother Wei,” Ding He Ran said, smiling like he wanted to cry, “you understood it… and now I don’t understand you.”

She fell silent. Of course she knew he couldn’t decide staffing. Besides, she was still “under punishment.” She needed this post to survive in the Dream Realm—and she needed to catch the real culprit to clear her name.

But then another thought sparked.

If the work was this dangerous, couldn’t she switch to something safer?

Her eyes brightened. She grabbed Ding He Ran’s sleeve. “Can I stop being White Robe and switch to another job?”

“You don’t know how lucky you are.” Ding He Ran shook his head. “I already told you—artifacts choose their masters. I want to be White Robe, but I can’t.”

Song Wei Chen’s heart turned to ash. So the robe really had chosen her to die.

Seeing her slump, Ding He Ran’s worry deepened. “It’s true you must be careful. You can’t use spells, and White Robe changing hands will draw every faction’s attention. In the past, he was infamous for ruthless methods in capturing hunters. There will be people who hate him and seek revenge.”

Song Wei Chen’s head nearly split. “Is that reasonable? Grudges should be paid to the one who owes them! They should go after the former guy. Coming after me—the backup—makes no sense!”

“The world only recognizes White Robe.” Ding He Ran’s voice turned grave. “To the dark forces, killing the Dust Warden Manor’s White Robe is the highest honor.”

She went weak. With a long sigh, she squatted down on the grass. “What kind of fate is this… I thought the robe was a buff. Turns out it’s a debuff. And they call it an artifact choosing you like you’re the chosen one. Please. I’m just the chosen sucker.”

She puffed her cheeks and started plucking tufts of grass, flicking pebbles as if that could vent her rage.

Ding He Ran watched her sulk and mutter, and that strange feeling rose again in his chest. He couldn’t connect this person—this odd, soft, complaining person—with the four words White Robe Venerable no matter how hard he tried. She spoke in nonsense he couldn’t understand, acted in ways that were outright bizarre. Not like a great master at all.

More like a spoiled young lady throwing a tantrum.

Pity pricked at him. He lowered himself to squat beside her, eyes clear, expression earnest.

“I’ll protect you,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. I may not be one ten-thousandth as capable as the Dust Warden Official, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe while we work the case.”

The sun was sliding toward the horizon. Light filtered through the branches and gilded Ding He Ran in warm orange. For an instant, he looked gentle as a holy messenger.

Song Wei Chen’s eyes stung. “He Ran… you’re really good. Handsome, warm—back where I’m from, you’d have young ladies lining up to fall for you.” She patted his shoulder with wholehearted approval. “And don’t say you’re not as good as the Dust Warden Official. He’s a block of ice frozen for a thousand years. You’re like sunlight on a quilt on a winter morning. You’re not even the same species.”

Ding He Ran’s face contorted—half like he wanted to laugh, half like he wanted to cry, with something like fear underneath.

Song Wei Chen frowned. What was wrong with him? Criticize someone and he changed expression. Praise him and he changed expression too.

Then a voice, cold as steel, came from behind her.

“Who are you calling a thousand-year block of ice?”

Song Wei Chen jolted so hard her soul nearly left her body. She hissed at Ding He Ran, voice low. “He’s here—why didn’t you warn me?”

“I… I only just saw him,” Ding He Ran whispered back, in a voice so small it barely existed.

It was uncanny. Every time she talked smack behind someone’s back, the person always appeared. Instant karma.

“Dust Warden Official!” Ding He Ran sprang up and saluted, sweating. “Y-you… why are you here?”

“If I didn’t come,” Mo Ting Feng said flatly, “how would I catch the fine show of sunlight drying quilts?”

Ding He Ran’s sweat practically poured. He kept his head down, not daring to meet Mo Ting Feng’s eyes. “M-my lord, I was only briefing the venerable on the Dust Division’s situation, and reminding him to be mindful of his safety. White Robe changing hands is no small matter.”

Mo Ting Feng said nothing.

From Song Wei Chen’s angle, Ding He Ran’s calves were trembling.

“Yes, yes, exactly!” Song Wei Chen latched onto the explanation at once, turning toward Mo Ting Feng with frantic sincerity. “He Ran was just worried about my sa—”

Her vision went black.

Her body went soft.