Chapter 22: The Severed Path and an Unseen Gaze

They were filming the first installment of *Nine Provinces*.

This first part of *Nine Provinces* chronicled the male protagonist’s initial entry into the immortal sect and the female protagonist’s quest for enlightenment.

The male protagonist, an orphan, awoke within a spring-fed cave. Beside him lay the hilt of a broken sword, inscribed with the characters “Jian Jia.” He remained trapped there for years, neither hungry nor thirsty, aging into an old man with white hair, only to die and then reawaken once more as a youth.

This cycle continued until the cave housing the male protagonist was cleaved open by a single sword strike. He escaped amidst the chaos but collapsed, wounded by the sword.

He was eventually rescued by the female protagonist, who had descended the mountain to seek her own enlightenment. Noticing the broken sword he clutched, named Jian Jia—meaning reeds and sedges, with reeds being white—she bestowed upon him the name Bai Di.

The female protagonist had embarked on this journey down the mountain specifically to achieve enlightenment.

Her immortal sect possessed a celestial tome, *The Book of Dao Inquiry*, which contained the secrets to enlightenment for every cultivator, much like an answer key for an examination. However, only a select few individuals each year were granted the privilege to open *The Book of Dao Inquiry*.

This year, the female protagonist was one of the chosen.

Her path to enlightenment was revealed to be ‘Severing Emotions’.

Once *The Book of Dao Inquiry* was opened, one formally entered their path. Knowing one’s Dao was crucial; failure to achieve enlightenment ultimately led to the loss of one’s Dao Heart.

A cultivator who lost their Dao Heart was destined for death.

But where could the female protagonist find emotions to sever? Her parents had long passed, she had no siblings, and her sole attachment was to her master.

However, her master, aware of this predicament, had already taken their own life before she descended the mountain, sacrificing themselves to aid her enlightenment. They left behind only a sundial-like magical artifact.

Tragically, the female protagonist still failed to achieve enlightenment. She continued her search for the emotions she needed to sever, yet felt like a rootless, drifting duckweed, utterly alone.

As she succumbed further to inner demons, feeling her death was imminent, she, in her loneliness and despair, took in Bai Di, whose plight mirrored her own, to spend her final days together.

But during their time together, the female protagonist developed feelings for Bai Di. Slowly, she began to understand what emotions she truly needed to sever.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Bai Di was her family, her friend, even her lover—her only connection in the world. She had even carved the characters ‘Jian Jia’ onto her own cherished sword, a testament to the depth of her affection.

Unable to act, she was on the verge of succumbing to her inner demons and exploding. Her master, who would rather die than see her fail, had clutched her hand before their death, urging her not to fear, promising a lifeline if she reached a dead end, a chance to start anew.

In her desperation, the female protagonist remembered the sundial-like artifact her master had left her. As she manipulated the device, time itself seemed to spin, transporting her through the ages.

She arrived at a point before she and Bai Di had ever met, finding him still trapped within the cave.

At the peak of her inner turmoil, the female protagonist thought, ‘If only I could strike down this Bai Di, who I haven’t yet met…’

‘Then we would never meet. No meeting, no feelings. No feelings, nothing to sever. With this one strike, all past grievances would be erased.’

With a furious cry, the female protagonist swung her cherished sword, Jian Jia, cleaving open the cave. Bai Di stumbled out, collapsing unconscious on the ground.

The female protagonist’s sword hovered, trembling, over the chest of the unconscious Bai Di. One hand gripped the sword, while the other clenched the blade so tightly that blood seeped from her palm as tears streamed from her eyes.

A single tear fell onto the sword, mixing with her blood, before splattering onto Bai Di’s chest.

She still couldn’t do it.

With a swift backhand, the female protagonist struck the sundial. Jian Jia shattered, becoming a broken sword, and the sundial, now slightly damaged, slowly vanished, reappearing beside the male protagonist at the very beginning of his story.

The female protagonist clutched the remaining broken sword tip and plunged it into her own chest. With a smile playing on her blood-stained lips, she died, fading into nothingness.

Simultaneously, a new female protagonist sensed a ripple in her spiritual energy and arrived.

Confused, she discovered the gravely wounded Bai Di lying on the ground and rescued him.

And with that, the female protagonist died, concluding the first part of *Nine Provinces*. Su Xuan had felt his scalp tingle when he read about her suicide, unwilling to believe she wouldn’t be resurrected. Yet, the author was decisive: she would not return. From then on, the male protagonist, clutching the broken Jian Jia, embarked on a journey to find her.

‘Isn’t this a cruel trick? The female protagonist vanished from the timeline! How could Bai Di ever find her?’ Su Xuan repeatedly pondered the plot in his mind.

Shen Chao and Song Xiao, now in costume, walked ahead, whispering as they discussed the script.

Shen Chao, with his high ponytail and tight black attire, cut a striking figure. His expression was focused and earnest, and in his hand, he held the Jian Jia broken sword, its blade somewhat rusted and corroded by blood. He perfectly embodied the pure, aloof, and unyielding sword cultivator from the book.

Su Xuan recalled the original author’s only complaint about Shen Chao’s portrayal of Bai Di: Shen Chao was simply too handsome. Looking at Shen Chao now, Su Xuan had to concede the author was right.

A gust of wind swept a strand of hair across Shen Chao’s temple. He seemed to sense someone watching him, raising his eyes to scan behind them. Su Xuan, flustered yet composed, averted his gaze, only to see Song Xiao, with a pout of playful resentment, tugging on Shen Chao’s sleeve to pull his attention back.

Earlier in the car, Song Xiao had jokingly declared she had no connection to Shen Chao, stating he was single and open to pursuit, all while continuously glancing at Su Xuan, which made him feel a little strange.

With a sweet, coquettish smile, Song Xiao pulled down Shen Chao’s sleeve and whispered, gritting her teeth, into his ear: “Shen Chao, what’s wrong with you? You’re completely out of it. We’re about to start filming. Why aren’t you rehearsing lines with me? What are you looking at behind us? How many times have you turned around? If you make me mess up the opening scene and get an ‘NG,’ I’ll kill you!”

Song Xiao knew how to joke, but she was incredibly serious when it came to work. Shen Chao was even more so, which made Song Xiao genuinely puzzled.

They were about to film the scene where Bai Di awakens in the cave. Shen Chao kept glancing back inadvertently, as if distracted—though Song Xiao found it unlikely he’d lose focus during work, it just felt like…

Song Xiao frowned and looked back herself: “Are you secretly watching someone?”

Her ‘CP brain’ aside, Shen Chao had said he and Su Xuan were just regular colleagues. Shen Chao rarely spoke carelessly, so if he said it, it was usually true. If he said they were colleagues, then that’s what they were. Song Xiao naturally confined her ‘shipping’ to the shadows, never letting it escalate to real-life expectations.

She hadn’t even considered that Shen Chao might be looking back at Su Xuan. That idea was too ‘CP brain’ for her; Song Xiao was self-aware enough about her ‘CP filter’ not to indulge such a thought.

However, Song Xiao and Shen Chao were at the very front, with someone holding an umbrella behind them, followed by a huge crowd. Song Xiao, lacking Shen Chao’s height advantage, couldn’t see anything, nor did she know who Shen Chao kept searching for in the throng.

Shen Chao lowered his gaze: “I’m not looking at anyone.”

After the traditional set blessing, Hua Na announced loudly before the clapperboard snapped: “Only by breaking through the Nine Streams can one achieve the Grand Dao. I hope this drama brings new insights and elevates everyone to the next level!”

The clapperboard snapped crisply. Su Xuan and Shen Chao stood at opposite ends, quite a distance apart, with many people between them. Concealed by the moving crowd, Su Xuan, as if possessed, stole a glance at Shen Chao. He saw Shen Chao standing beside Song Xiao, who appeared to be speaking to him.

Yet, Shen Chao was looking up, his gaze sweeping past the bustling crowd, fixed intently on Su Xuan. It was as if Shen Chao, like Su Xuan, had waited a long time for this moment, seizing the opportunity to openly gaze at Su Xuan under the cover of the crowd.

Su Xuan froze, momentarily forgetting to avert his eyes, staring blankly back at Shen Chao. Shen Chao, too, held his gaze, silently and calmly observing him.

The film crew bustled around them. The female protagonist, Song Xiao, stood between the two men, who seemed to be exchanging secret glances, their eyes locked on each other, impervious to even the director’s call.

Hua Na boomed: “*Nine Provinces*, filming starts today!”

Su Xuan was the first to surrender in this prolonged staring contest. He suddenly turned his head, blinking, his heart pounding wildly, his palms growing numb and sweaty under Shen Chao’s intense gaze.

Song Xiao, confused, stood on her tiptoes, peering around the crowd. She playfully slapped Shen Chao’s back, both curious and annoyed: “Shen Chao, you’ve been looking around this whole time! What exactly are you looking at? I want to see too!”

Shen Chao paused: “My second male lead.”

Song Xiao’s heart soared, screaming with delight. She frantically told herself not to let her ‘CP brain’ run wild, that Shen Chao’s words probably held no deeper meaning, just a simple statement. Forcing herself to calm down, Song Xiao joked with Shen Chao: “Well, I’m your female lead, why don’t you look at me more?”

Shen Chao merely gave Song Xiao a faint glance: “You die in the script, so you can’t be considered my female lead.”

Song Xiao: “…….”

No sooner had Su Xuan joined the web drama *Nine Streams* than Wang Muzhe delivered concrete news to Liu Pangpang.

The arrangements were finalized. If Su Xuan’s schedule could be adjusted effectively, he could film both projects simultaneously without delaying either production.

Liu Pangpang grinned from ear to ear, repeatedly thanking Wang Muzhe over the phone, addressing him as ‘Great Film Emperor.’ Wang Muzhe merely offered a polite laugh, saying it was no trouble at all. He and Su Xuan shared a bond as fellow disciples, so these matters were inconsequential.

After hanging up, Liu Pangpang fell into thought.

There was no such thing as a free lunch. Film Emperor Wang had extended such a perfectly timed favor, yet didn’t seem to expect anything in return for now….

What exactly was Wang Muzhe planning?

But with Su Xuan now officially in the cast, the matter was settled. Liu Pangpang filed away the favor for later, choosing not to press the issue for the time being.

More importantly, there was *Courtyard*! *Courtyard*’s box office had surpassed the two-billion mark and was now racing towards three billion!

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