Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 151- Again left his Wives

The clearing was quiet.

Lianhua’s fox ears went sideways.

Zhen Ying pressed her lips together.

"’Fine,’" they said. Not together—staggered, the specific staggered quality of two women who have been performing a competition and have both independently decided, on a fractional delay, to cease performing it.

Chen Yun looked at this exchange with the flat attention of a sword cultivator cataloguing technique.

Wei Lingyue looked at Madam Lin with something that was close to recognition—the grey eyes reading a woman who had achieved authority through the oldest cultivation method, which was simply refusing to relinquish it.

"’She’s the actual First Wife,’" Wei Lingyue said. Very quietly. To Chen Yun.

"’I heard that,’" Zhen Ying said.

"’I know,’" Wei Lingyue said.

"I need to leave," Cang said.

The clearing did the thing it always did.

Song Mei’s breath caught audibly—the small involuntary sound of a woman who has been managing the anticipation of this since the moment he arrived and has now received its confirmation.

"’No,’" she said. Soft. The single word of honest response before the managed response.

"’You just got here,’" Zhang Yue said.

"’Last night,’" Xiao Hua said. "’You were here for one night.’"

"’We need—’" Lianhua started.

"I know what you need," he said. Not dismissive. The flat accuracy of a man who has been paying very close attention. "That’s why I’m going." He looked at the clearing—all of them, the full count of nine. "The rune site in the broken mountains. The realm seed from the Trial. I need three days to survey and activate. When I come back I have somewhere to take all of you that isn’t a single cave on a mountain that has an address."

"’An address,’" Zhen Ying said.

"Anyone with a navigation formation and sufficient motivation can find this location," he said. "Every cultivator from the Trial plateau who registered three Nascent Soul signatures knows the general direction. Every sect elder who has been tracking my absence from the Academy knows something has changed." He looked at Madam Lin specifically. "You’re twelve weeks pregnant. You’re mortal. You’re in a cave that a Core Formation Early Stage cultivator could locate on a motivated afternoon."

Madam Lin’s chin came up.

"’I’m aware,’" she said. "’I’ve been aware.’"

"Then you understand," he said, "why the three days matter."

The clearing processed this.

Liling was the first to nod—the composed, analytical nod of a merchant’s daughter who recognizes a logistics argument when she hears one and has no counter.

Then Suyin, the practical nod of a maid who manages households and understands the difference between adequate infrastructure and inadequate infrastructure.

Then Song Mei—reluctant, the soft eyes doing the thing where they tried to find an exception and found none—a slow nod.

"’Three days,’" Lianhua said.

"Three days," he confirmed.

"’And then you come back.’"

"Yes," he said.

"’And then you take us somewhere that isn’t a cave that has an address.’"

"Yes," he said.

Her silver eyes held his.

"’And then,’" she said—and the silver eyes had something in them that was not the territorial calibration and was not the competitive assessment and was the thing that had been underneath both of those since the beginning—"’you stay.’"

He looked at her.

"For a while," he said.

She pressed her lips together.

"’Fine,’" she said. The specific fine of a woman who has received an incomplete answer and has decided it is the best available version and she is going to take it.

Zhen Ying’s hand was at her abdomen—the automatic gesture, the specific warmth of someone who has stopped being surprised by their own body’s new center of gravity and has made peace with the surprise. She looked at him from across the fire with the silver eyes that read heat and intent.

"’Come back,’" she said. Not request. Not instruction. The flat statement of a First Wife issuing the only sentence that mattered.

"Yes," he said.

He stood.

The clearing watched him stand.

Chen Yun and Wei Lingyue rose with him—the demon sword back to its carry position, the crown catching the morning light, both women oriented toward departure.

"’You’re taking them,’" Lianhua said.

"Formation argument," Chen Yun said, to the clearing, with the flat economy of someone who has stated a case and is not reopening it. "’Grade 4 Spatial Expansion requires minimum three practitioners for stable activation. She’s a formation cultivator. I assist. He needs us there.’"

Lianhua looked at Chen Yun.

Chen Yun looked back.

"’She’s right,’" Wei Lingyue said.

"’I know she’s right,’" Lianhua said. "’That doesn’t mean I like it.’"

"’You don’t have to like it,’" Chen Yun said.

The two of them looked at each other with the specific quality of two women who are going to have an extended and ongoing relationship and are beginning to understand its character.

"’You’re going to be difficult,’" Lianhua said.

"’Yes,’" Chen Yun said.

Lianhua’s ears pressed flat.

Then came back up.

"’Fine,’" she said.

He looked at the clearing one last time.

Suyin was already writing something on her household tablet—the specific focused efficiency of a maid who is updating her operational notes because the principal is departing and she needs the new timeline recorded.

Xiao the maid had pressed both hands over her own mouth and was looking at him with the large eyes of someone who had not managed to say the thing she wanted to say before the moment passed and was now watching the moment pass.

Song Mei was not crying. This was clearly an active achievement on her part—both hands at her sides, the deliberate stillness of someone who has decided that not crying is what she is doing right now—and Xiao Hua’s arm was around her shoulder providing support.

Zhang Yue looked at him from across the clearing with her tea cup and the expression that was her specific version of ’I will be here when you return.’

"’Brother,’" she said.

"Zhang Yue," he said.

"’Come back intact,’" she said.

"Yes," he said.

He turned toward the portal formation at the village’s northern edge—the gate he had laid on the return, the stable departure point.

He walked.

Behind him: nine women, the fire, the morning. The specific ambient weight of a gathering that was not quite settled and was not going to be for some time and was his regardless.

He stepped through the portal.

The sound started approximately four seconds after the portal closed.

Lianhua’s voice: "’She was standing too close to him.’"

A pause.

Zhen Ying, even and precise: "’She was standing three steps behind him. She is always three steps behind him. That is not close.’"

"’That is her definition of close,’" Lianhua said. "’Or his.’"

"’Those are the same thing,’" Suyin said.

"’That’s the problem,’" Lianhua said.

Zhang Yue looked at her tea cup and said: "’I was gone for a month.’"

Song Mei pressed her hands back over her mouth.

Xiao Hua looked at Song Mei, then at Zhang Yue, then at the portal where Cang had been, and said: "’Should I start the morning herbs?’"

Madam Lin said: "’Yes,’" with the efficiency of a woman who has decided that domestic function is the most effective available response to whatever this is.

Lianhua clicked her tongue.

Zhen Ying looked at Lianhua.

Lianhua looked at Zhen Ying.

They both looked at the portal.

"’Fine,’" they said.