The door closed behind him, shutting out the figures of Zhao Yanran and Yang Tianming.
Chen Yang stood alone in the room, the night breeze blowing through the window, carrying a hint of chill, yet unable to dispel the faint musk lingering in the air.
He stood there for a long time before slowly turning around and walking towards the bed that no longer belonged to him alone.
Lowering his head gently, the scene before him made his heart ache once more.
Scattered on the floor were torn pieces of fabric, faintly recognizable as the hem of Zhao Yanran's aqua-colored dress.
The wooden bed he had slept on for months had completely collapsed, the broken planks exposing rough wood splinters.
Most glaring were the distinct creases on the sheets and the increasingly intense scent in the air, a mix of Zhao Yanran's fragrance and the scent of an unfamiliar man.
Chen Yang closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to clean up the mess.
He first picked up the torn fabric, rolled it into a ball, planning to throw it away the next day.
Then he started clearing the collapsed bed, selecting the usable planks and stacking the broken ones aside for firewood.
After finishing these tasks, he fetched a cloth, dampened it, and knelt on the ground to wipe away the traces bit by bit.
The water quickly turned murky, and he changed basin after basin until the floor was spotless, with no stains visible.
However, no matter how much he scrubbed, the peculiar musk scent lingered, mixed with Zhao Yanran's unique osmanthus fragrance that only emerged when she perspired, constantly reminding him of what had just transpired here.
***
Late into the night, Chen Yang finally finished tidying up.
With his bed gone, he had no choice but to lay the bedding on the floor.
The quilt seemed to have been used by the two as well, carrying the same musk scent.
Chen Yang hesitated for a moment but eventually crawled into the bedding.
The night was cold and damp, and his first-level Qi refining cultivation was insufficient to completely ward off the chill.
Though the quilt was thin, it still provided some warmth.
Yet the lingering scent seeped into his nostrils, forcing him to imagine how, just a few hours ago, Zhao Yanran had entangled with another man under this very quilt.
Especially that osmanthus scent—Zhao Yanran's body fragrance.
In the past, he could only smell it when they were extremely close, a sign of her affection.
But tonight...
The fragrance filled the entire room, silently narrating the passion she had just experienced.
Chen Yang buried his face in the quilt, the scent even more intense.
He recalled how, in the past, when Zhao Yanran was moved, she would emit this fragrance, and he would always bury his head in her neck, intoxicated by the scent that belonged to him alone.
But tonight, this fragrance was released for another man.
Unbidden, images he dared not dwell on surfaced in his mind, one after another, refusing to fade, as if deeply rooted.
Chen Yang suddenly sat up, gasping for air, his chest heaving violently.
He couldn't think about it anymore; each thought made his heart feel like it was tearing apart.
He spent the latter half of the night almost entirely awake.
Every time he was about to fall asleep, the faint scent would wake him, reminding him of how Zhao Yanran had been with someone else on his bed.
It was only when dawn broke that Chen Yang managed to close his eyes.
***
However, it wasn't long before a rapid knocking on the door startled him awake.
He struggled to get up, his mind groggy as he opened the door.
In the morning light, Liu Yiyi stood outside, holding the herb basket he had forgotten in Butterfly Valley the previous day.
"Brother Chen, you left your basket at my place..." Liu Yiyi started, then suddenly stopped.
Her gaze moved past Chen Yang, taking in the mess inside the room.
The remnants of the bed not yet fully cleared, broken planks piled haphazardly in the corner, and the bedding obviously laid on the floor.
More noticeable was the morning breeze that blew from the room as she spoke, carrying the lingering, intense musk scent.
Liu Yiyi's expression became subtly complex.
She pursed her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed.
She was familiar with this scent from her frequent visits to places of romance.
It was the unique scent left after a night of passion between a man and a woman.
Her gaze shifted between Chen Yang's weary face and the disarray inside, and suddenly she chuckled, her eyes teasing:
"Brother Chen, no wonder you left in such a hurry yesterday. So it was because..." She deliberately drew out her words, lowering her voice, "Did you spend the night with some female cultivator? It was so intense the bed collapsed?"
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Chen Yang's face turned pale instantly.
He opened his mouth to explain, but found his throat seemed blocked, unable to utter a single word.
Seeing his reaction, Liu Yiyi thought she had guessed correctly and laughed even more: "Which peak's senior sister? Or a girl from the Servant Office? Brother Chen, you're quite something, just arrived and already..."
Her words abruptly stopped, noticing that Chen Yang's expression wasn't one of embarrassment from being teased, but rather one of deep pain and humiliation.
His fists were clenched tightly, knuckles white from the strain, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Liu Yiyi immediately realized things might not be as simple as she had imagined.
She put away her playful demeanor and cautiously asked, "Brother Chen, are you... are you okay?"
Chen Yang didn't answer, merely took the herb basket silently, his voice hoarse: "Thank you, Miss Liu, for returning the basket. If there's nothing else, I'd like to rest a bit more."
His words were a clear dismissal.
Though filled with curiosity, Liu Yiyi couldn't press further, so she nodded: "Then... I'll be going. Brother Chen, take care."
She turned to leave, glancing back every few steps, seeing Chen Yang still standing at the door, his figure looking particularly lonely and desolate in the morning light.
It wasn't until Liu Yiyi's figure disappeared at the end of the path that Chen Yang slowly closed the door.
He leaned against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor, burying his face in his knees.
In the air, the suffocating scent lingered, refusing to dissipate.
Proofreader & Editor: Peter Pan