Impervious to Persuasion

"Hey! Did you hear what I said?!"

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

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

From the moment they signed the contract until 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 once.

This man acted as if he were deaf, 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 one word, thirty servants would rush to answer. In Heaven Dou City, if she so much as frowned, the people around her would practically kneel and ask where she felt unwell.

But 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 young lady of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, had shouted at someone's back over a dozen times, and he could not even be bothered to respond?

The gazes cast her way by the surrounding passersby watching the show pricked at her back like needles.

Ning Rongrong took a deep breath.

That was it.

She could not take it anymore.

Her ladylike image could wait. She was going to march over there and yank this swindler's—

She took a step forward.

Then stopped.

Because she saw something.

Yang Xing's shoulders were shaking.

Not the kind of shaking caused by anger. It was more like... the tremor of someone holding something back.

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

Then she froze.

Yang Xing was crying.

Not bawling, but crying silently, two clear streams of tears running down his cheeks. His eyes stared into the distance, their focus scattered 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 unable to.

The kind of devastating grief you felt when your treasure had been stolen, your family heirloom was gone, or your wife had run away with another man.

Ning Rongrong's feet seemed nailed to the ground.

She opened her mouth, but the scene before her tied every bit of anger in her stomach into a tight knot.

The feeling was complicated.

It was like rolling up your sleeves and preparing to beat someone senseless, only to turn around and find them crying.

Keeping your fist raised felt wrong, but lowering it felt wrong too.

"...Hey."

Ning Rongrong's tone unconsciously softened a little, though it still carried plenty of confusion and a measure of irritation.

"Why are you crying?"

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

"I got scammed by you 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 around.

Two tear tracks hung from his cheeks, glimmering under the afternoon sun. Combined with a face that was not exceptionally handsome but still somewhat refined, it somehow gave him a... strangely desolate air.

"It's nothing."

His voice was hoarse, as if forced 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 was 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 full of suspicion as her gaze slid from Yang Xing's face to his feet and back again, examining him up and down several times.

"Wait."

She raised 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 to glance at her but said nothing.

Ning Rongrong's mind began racing.

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 I suddenly have a master's wife over my head? And maybe even a junior disciple?"

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

The dignified 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, a few months later, a little junior disciple would pop out?

Did Ning Rongrong have any face left at all?

The moment that thought arose, Ning Rongrong's gaze changed.

She briskly strode several steps to Yang Xing's front. Because of their height difference, she had to tilt her face up—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 lowered his head to look at the fair, tender little hand clutching his collar.

Then something remarkable happened.

The tears on his face simply vanished.

Like a magic trick, he casually wiped his face with one hand, leaving not even a trace behind. One second ago, he had looked as grief-stricken as though his father had died; the next, the expression on his face—

Flattened.

Completely flattened.

It was not inscrutable depth or feigned nonchalance. It was the blankness of a wooden post, completely devoid of any readable emotion.

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

"No."

Two words.

As if they had popped out of a tree hollow.

Dry and lifeless, with neither warmth nor room for negotiation.

Ning Rongrong was so thrown by the speed of his change in expression that she blanked out for a fraction of a second.

"Rejected," Yang Xing added.

Then his expression remained the same—his features were properly arranged on his face, yet together they gave off the feeling of, "Whatever you say is useless. I've already shut down."

The corners of his mouth neither rose nor fell.

His eyes remained neither too wide nor too narrow.

He was like a statue placed by the roadside, with 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 from a menu. "If Miss Ning wishes 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 gaze flickered.

Seven Treasures becoming Nine Treasures.

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

For an instant, she was tempted.

Truly, only for an instant.

But then she clenched her molars and forcibly swallowed that wavering 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.

And shook his head.

Ning Rongrong's eyes widened.

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

Yang Xing shook his head again.

The same expression, the same motion, the same blankness.

Like a machine capable of executing only a single command: shake head.

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

"Do you know who I am?!"

Head shake.

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

Head shake.

"I'll go home immediately! I won't even attend the academy! I'll bring Grandpa Sword and Grandpa Bone here to beat you up!"