"That's naturally impossible."
After the old man finished speaking, Ye Lin put on a solemn expression.
What a joke—improper intentions?
If he had been interested in that sort of thing, with his current cultivation... never mind.
A moment later, the doors of the main hall opened once more. The middle-aged man from before slowly entered, pushing a woman in a wheelchair.
The woman's face was pale as snow, her brows faintly furrowed as though burdened by sorrows that could not be dispelled.
Her long hair cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulders, yet her unhealed injuries left it disheveled and limp. Her plain garments were dotted with clusters of blood-red stains, making her appear all the more fragile.
She sat quietly in the wheelchair, her eyes deep as autumn waters, carrying traces of exhaustion and resilience. Like a winter plum weathered by wind and frost, though withered, she had not lost her proud bones.
Especially the faint, otherworldly aura emanating from her body—it lent several more shades of color to her beauty.
"Qingyi, how are you feeling today?"
The moment he saw the woman, the old man beside Ye Lin wore a doting expression. He quickly descended the steps and asked with concern.
"Thank you for your concern, Third Grandfather. I'm still the same as always, though the pain has lessened somewhat."
The woman spoke, her face and even her lips utterly pale, as though each word required all the strength in her body.
"Don't be afraid, Qingyi. Third Grandfather won't let you die. Look, I've found someone who can take care of you."
"It's that lad. He's a fine-looking talent, his cultivation is passable, and his aptitude isn't bad either."
"Tomorrow, the two of you will hold your wedding. Then let that lad take care of you from now