Impervious to Reason

"Hey! Did you hear what I said!"

Ning Rongrong's voice had risen to a distinctly impolite pitch.

She stood three steps behind Yang Xing, her chest heaving violently, her almond-shaped eyes wide, and her delicate little face flushed red.

Since signing the contract just now, she had shouted "Terminate the contract" at the back of Yang Xing's head no fewer than ten times.

Not once had she received a response.

Not even once.

This man was like a deaf person, standing there without moving, facing south toward the city, like a wooden post planted by the roadside.

Ning Rongrong had never been ignored like this before.

Never.

In the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, if she said a single word, thirty servants would scramble to answer. In Heaven Dou City, if she so much as frowned, those around her would practically kneel and ask where she felt unwell.

And now?

A roadside fortune-teller had tricked her into signing a contract, then turned around and—treated her like air?

Where was her dignity? In front of all these people? She, the eldest young lady of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, had shouted at someone's back more than ten times, and no one answered her?

The gazes cast by the surrounding bystanders watching the show pricked her back like needles.

Ning Rongrong took a deep breath.

No more.

She could not take it anymore.

Her ladylike image could wait. Right now, she was going to go over and grab this swindler by the—

She took a step forward.

Then stopped.

Because she saw something.

Yang Xing's shoulders were trembling.

Not the kind of trembling that came from anger. It was more like... he was holding something back.

Ning Rongrong tilted her head and suspiciously circled to his side, wanting to see his expression clearly.

Then she froze completely.

Yang Xing was crying.

Not sobbing loudly, but crying silently, with two streams of tears running down his cheeks. His eyes gazed into the distance, unfocused as though he were looking at something very, very far away. His lips were pressed into a line, and his entire expression seemed to spell out four words—

Wanting to cry, but no tears coming.

The kind of extreme grief one would feel if their treasure had been stolen, their family heirloom lost, or their wife had run off with someone else.

Ning Rongrong's feet seemed nailed to the ground.

She opened her mouth, but the fury in her stomach was thoroughly choked off by the sight before her.

The feeling was complicated.

It was like when you were rolling up your sleeves, ready to beat someone senseless, only to turn around and find them shedding tears.

You could neither keep your fist raised nor put it down.

"...Hey."

Ning Rongrong's tone unconsciously softened by several degrees, though it still carried plenty of confusion and a measure of annoyance.

"Why are you crying?"

She crossed her arms, slightly raising her chin, her voice wrapped in an indescribable awkwardness.

"I was tricked by you, a swindler, and I'm not even crying. You're the one who took such enormous advantage of me... so why are you crying?"

Yang Xing finally reacted.

He slowly turned his head.

Two tear tracks hung on his cheeks, glinting faintly in the afternoon sunlight. Paired with a face that was not exceptionally handsome but had a certain refined charm, it somehow gave rise to a... strangely mournful air.

"It's nothing."

His voice was hoarse, as though squeezed out from the depths of his throat.

"I just remembered... my wife is at home, pregnant and about to give birth."

Ning Rongrong blinked.

"I can't make it back to take care of her." Yang Xing wiped his face, his voice muffled. "So I got sad."

Three seconds of silence.

"Whoosh—"

Ning Rongrong sprang backward like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, nearly tripping over her own skirt.

Her face was filled with suspicion as her gaze slid from Yang Xing's face to his feet, then back to his face. She looked him over several times from top to bottom.

"Wait."

She held out one hand, palm facing Yang Xing, her voice full of disbelief.

"Swindler, you don't look that old... You already have a wife and child?"

Yang Xing lifted his eyelids and glanced at her without speaking.

Ning Rongrong's mind began spinning rapidly.

No, no, no.

She began shaking her head like a rattle drum, muttering to herself.

"No, no... You already have a wife and child. If I really become your disciple, wouldn't that mean I'd suddenly have a master's wife over my head? Maybe even a junior disciple?"

The more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.

The dignified eldest young lady of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had taken a roadside fortune-telling swindler as her master, and when she turned around, there would be a pregnant master's wife at his home waiting for her to address her properly?

Then, in a few months, a little junior disciple would pop out?

Did Ning Rongrong have any face left at all?

Once that thought arose, Ning Rongrong's gaze changed.

She briskly stepped in front of Yang Xing. Because of the difference in height, she had to tilt up her face—then she reached up with one hand and fiercely grabbed Yang Xing by the collar.

"Give me the contract."

Her voice was imperious, each word popping out one by one, her tone so certain that it allowed no argument.

"Terminate it. Now. Immediately. This instant."

Yang Xing looked down at the fair little hand clutching his collar.

Then something very miraculous happened.

The tears on his face vanished just like that.

As if performing a magic trick, he casually wiped his face with one hand, and not even a tear stain remained. One second ago, he had looked as grief-stricken as if his father had died. The next second, the expression on his face—

Flattened.

Completely flattened.

It was not inscrutable depth, nor was it feigned nonchalance. It was the kind of wooden numbness that revealed absolutely no emotion.

His half-open eyes looked down at Ning Rongrong, and his lips moved once.

"No."

Two words.

Like they had popped out of a tree hollow.

Dry and flat, without the slightest warmth or room for negotiation.

Ning Rongrong was thrown off by the speed of his change in expression and froze for a fraction of a second.

"Rejected," Yang Xing added.

Then his expression remained exactly the same—his features sat properly on his face, but together they radiated the feeling of, "Nothing you say will work. I've already shut down."

The corners of his mouth neither rose nor fell.

His eyes were open neither too wide nor too narrow.

Like a statue placed by the roadside, with facial features but no soul.

Ning Rongrong's temple twitched.

"The contract between Miss Ning and me has already taken effect." Yang Xing's tone was as flat as if he were reading a menu. "If Miss Ning wants to know how to turn the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda into the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda, I can calculate it for you right now."

Ning Rongrong's eyes flickered.

Seven Treasures becoming Nine Treasures.

Those four words were like a hook, accurately catching onto some string deep in her heart.

For one fleeting moment, she was tempted.

Truly, only for a moment.

But immediately afterward, she clenched her teeth and forcibly swallowed that wavering back down.

"No!" She shook her head with absolute determination. "I don't want any Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda! I want you to terminate the Master-Disciple Contract with me!"

Yang Xing looked at her.

Then shook his head.

Ning Rongrong's eyes widened.

"You have to agree." She lowered her voice, her tone carrying a threat.

Yang Xing shook his head again.

The same expression, the same motion, the same wooden numbness.

Like a machine that could only execute the command "shake head."

Ning Rongrong felt as though a ball of fire had been stuffed into her chest, burning so fiercely that her insides hurt.

"Do you know who I am?!"

He shook his head.

"I can beat you up right now, believe it or not?!"

He shook his head.

"I'm going home right now! I'm not even going to the academy! I'll have Sword Grandpa and Bone Grandpa come beat you up!"