The oppressive presence of the Purple Mansion was not something a few words could explain. It had been woven into the very environment in which Shang Qingzheng grew up.
The upheaval of her childhood, everything she had absorbed in her youth, the people and events she encountered, and the imposing dignity of her master—all had left their mark.
To her, divine powers held extraordinary significance in every respect. For a long time, Purple Mansion True Persons had even been unknown, inhuman beings possessed of an innate divinity.
Frankly, when Shang Qingzheng first saw Jiang Yang again, her delight had been tinged with fear and unfamiliarity.
Since ancient times, many who attained divine powers had undergone drastic changes in temperament.
She feared that Jiang Yang had changed; she was not resisting intimacy.
Naturally, Jiang Yang could sense the discord in her emotions. His sudden closeness and affection were meant more to soothe her unease, to tell her he had not changed.
This was a knot buried deep in her heart, difficult to put into words. Perhaps even Shang Qingzheng could not explain it clearly herself, but that was precisely what made fate divine power so terrifying.
It was an instinct that provided feedback of its own accord, allowing him to subtly grasp people's hearts. That was why Jiang Yang deliberately restrained it, unwilling to address every problem with the answer already in hand.
A simple sentence had made Shang Qingzheng happy. Her taut body gradually relaxed, and she leaned gently against Jiang Yang's shoulder, saying softly:
"You're different now. You ought to have some of a True Person's dignity."
Shang Qingzheng was still taking the sect's True Persons as her examples. She thought Jiang Yang should transition into his new standing and change to become more like them.
Yet Jiang Yang