Chapter 20

“Ouch—who threw that at me?!”

I was dumbfounded as the “body,” which had been lying still moments before, suddenly sprang up on the spot—a perfect case of feigning death. He clutched the mask on his face, glaring angrily around.

A half-bitten fruit rolled to my feet. When I looked up again, there was no pitiful woman pleading to sell herself to bury her brother. Instead, two figures stood before me: one wearing a crying mask, the other smiling. Their snow-white mourning robes fluttered in the wind. Zou Yan pushed a wheelchair to block my way and whispered, “…Lord Impermanence.”

I was stunned. This—this was a revered sorcerer of the demonic sect?! How did they end up here?

Another fruit was thrown, hitting the crying mask squarely on the head. I heard a soft chuckle and looked toward the sound. Sitting lazily in a tree ahead was a man clad in black, reclining as if just waking from sleep. He wore no crown, a golden belt encircled his waist, his fingers long and clean. Hanging at his side was a wine gourd. His brows bore a hint of carefree arrogance, as if indifferent to the world’s affairs.

He opened his bleary eyes, “Why so noisy...?”

Lord No-Sorrow shouted, “It was you who hit me?!”

Li Zheguang hiccupped, opened the wine gourd, and attempted to pour himself a drink but only managed a few drops. He clicked his tongue regretfully and smiled, “Got any wine?”

Of course, there was no wine. He then looked toward us. I was hiding my face behind Zou Yan, while Bai Wei glanced curiously between him and the two Lords Impermanence. Li Zheguang jumped down from the tree, clapped his hands, and struck a pose. Every time I met him, he seemed less than sober, and this time was no exception.

The Lords Impermanence spoke in unison, “Who goes there?”

Li Zheguang laughed heartily, “No name change, no false title—call me Li Quansheng.”

I was speechless.

“Li Quansheng!” the Lords Impermanence shouted, “Prepare to die!”

It was my first time seeing a living sorcerer of the demonic sect, and I nervously prepared for battle. Who would win—the hero or the villain? Usually, the hero wins… Though, are these two even villains? Somehow, compared to my father, they felt a bit inferior.

Then, wide-eyed, I saw the two retreat quickly, hurling threats as they went. Whether it was my imagination or not, they seemed to glance toward me several times, intentionally or not.

Lord No-Sorrow said, “No-Joy, there are too many of them. A true hero does not suffer losses in front of his eyes. Let’s go!”

Lord No-Joy giggled, “Hee-hee, we’ll come back to play next time.”

The Lords Impermanence scattered in chaos, leaving us staring at each other. Li Zheguang held his chin and muttered to himself, “Am I really that scary?”

Zou Yan turned the wheelchair around, raising an eyebrow. “Li Quansheng?”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Bai Wei, seeing me, joined in. Li Zheguang cheekily chatted with us, “I’m Li Zheguang, but you can call me Li Quansheng. Fellow cultivators, shall we get acquainted?”

Zou Yan cleared his throat and stood in front of us, “Thank you for your assistance, Daoist Li.”

I wasn’t eager to get to know Li Zheguang. Ever since I came to this world, I’d been keeping an eye on him, but our identities made any true connection impossible. He was the hero; I was the villain’s daughter. If we got close, the danger would be his.

For your own safety, better stay away from me, hometown boy.

I pressed my lips tightly, avoiding Li Zheguang’s gaze, nodding coldly. Zou Yan shifted sideways toward me and smiled, “Shall we keep exploring?”

Bai Wei’s eyes sparkled, “Yes!”

I pushed Zou Yan’s wheelchair with one hand and held Bai Wei’s hand with the other. Li Zheguang hiccupped again. Even from a distance, I could smell the strong scent of alcohol on him. He squinted at me for a long moment. I grew nervous, fearing he might recognize me. Our first encounter had hardly been pleasant—I had pushed this hero into the water. Thankfully, his memory seemed poor; I hoped he bore no grudges.

After some hesitation, I pulled a wine gourd from my storage pouch—a private brew secretly given to me by Senior Sister Yingzhen, barely touched. I swiftly handed it to Li Zheguang, lowering my voice, “A token of thanks.”

He held the new wine gourd silently for a long moment. I dared not look back, afraid he might remember something. I quickly pulled Bai Wei away.

Only after putting some distance between us did I relax. Behind me, Zou Yan’s slow voice came, “You seem to know him?”

His tone was certain. I turned and found the cripple had not lost track of us. No matter what, I wouldn’t admit it. Firmly, I denied, “No, I don’t.”

Zou Yan smiled quietly, saying nothing.

Suddenly, I stopped, hesitating as I glanced down at my chest. There was a faintly warm object there. I took it out—it was my longevity lock—and it had quieted. I scanned the area but saw no one. I heard Zou Yan’s surprised voice:

“Blessed union?”

W-what?

I spun around sharply, my face flushing with a mix of urgency and agitation. “Do you know where my ‘bond’ is?”

Zou Yan beckoned me over. I hurried to stand before him. He gently grasped the longevity lock, tracing it with his fingers, inspecting every corner. I noticed his fingers were as pale as a corpse’s, and in fact, he was entirely pale—lifeless, looking even more doomed than me. After a long moment, he returned the longevity lock.

“...Bond?” He gave a strange smile. “Where did this longevity lock come from?”

I told him it was a gift from the Fate Master when I was young. His expression grew even stranger. “Impressive. Throughout history, how many ‘blessed unions’ have there been? Even the Yellow Emperor and Leizu barely count as half. Yours, though...”

He chuckled, an amused look on his face. “I’m curious about your ‘bond’ as well... Want me to divine it?”

I’d heard from my father that the various philosophical schools each had their strengths: Confucianism excelled in moral persuasion, the School of Names in debate, Taoism in natural methods, Buddhism in cause and effect and reincarnation, and the Yin-Yang school specialized in miscellaneous arts. Since the Warring States period, the Yin-Yang school had secluded itself in the sanctum of the Boundless Star Sea, founded by Zouzi, who developed the theory of “Yin-Yang and the Five Elements,” which had evolved into countless forms.

Father had described the Yin-Yang lineage as “Respecting and obeying the Great Heaven, observing the sun, moon, and stars.” I thought that description was quite accurate. Zou Yan, during his days on the mountain, spent time tending flowers and grass. When bored, he’d arrange tortoise shells and coins. Sometimes, he’d play little guessing games with me—guessing what I ate or whom I met that day. He always guessed right. Later, he told me it was a form of divination requiring natural aptitude. Even later, he said it was because he could smell the scent of my food.

Zou Yan pulled out a few bamboo sticks and a clay jar from his sleeve. He shook the sticks inside the jar, then handed it to me. I eagerly reached in and drew a stick. Zou Yan took it, suddenly pressing his forehead and sighing.

Curious, I asked, “Mr. Zou, what did you divinate?”

He lowered his head; golden specks shimmered through the white gauze on his face in the sunlight. “Your future... Ah, forget it.”

I was speechless.

Say it! You can’t just say half and hide the rest—that’s a surefire way to get beaten!

Zou Yan sighed again. Under my impatient gaze, he finally spoke:

“Golden wind and jade dew’s fate, a bond like wings joined and branches entwined.”

My face slowly flushed. Isn’t that a good thing?

He chuckled softly. “A blessed union indeed. It’s the first time I’ve seen one.”

He handed me the clay jar and asked if I wanted to continue. I hesitated and asked if he could reveal details about my “bond.” He only smiled without answering.

I drew another stick. Zou Yan asked me to extend my hand, then said, “Excuse me,” before tracing something along my palm’s lines. I instinctively pulled back, but this pale man was surprisingly strong; I couldn’t break free.

Zou Yan released my hand. “You have a long-standing connection with him.”

I clutched my hand, pressing for more details. “And? What does he look like? What's his name? Mortal or cultivator? Where’s his home? What’s his nature?”

“Well...” Zou Yan teased, smiling warmly, “He rose to fame young, gifted beyond compare, his appearance suits you well. His family background is slightly inferior to yours. His parents are no longer alive, and you share a deep bond.”

I fell silent. Zou Yan continued, “Your path of love will encounter hardships, but in the end, you will reconcile.”

“Who is he, really...” I murmured. Scanning the men around me, none fit this description. He must not be someone near me; otherwise, the longevity lock would have reacted.

Bai Wei, full of energy and curiosity, slipped into a teahouse while we weren’t paying attention. Inside, a stage was set for an opera. On stage, performers wore flowing sleeves and cloud-like garments, their movements graceful, their voices heart-wrenchingly melodic. Bai Wei was mesmerized; I stayed by her side.

“Clear and pure as jade, lingering in the clouds and beams,” I heard a gentle voice. Turning, I saw a plain-looking man in blue robes. Yet his aura was lofty, like a mountain spring. His gestures were unworldly.

He shook a folding fan, a smile playing on his lips, nodding kindly to us. After his initial remark, he remained silent.

We watched the opera for a while until Bai Wei yawned. I asked if she was tired. She nodded. Time had passed; it was time to return.

I held Bai Wei’s hand and headed up the mountain. Zou Yan pushed the wheelchair slowly behind us. Back on the mountain, I felt a bit listless. I had grown accustomed to this frail body; everything had limits. Over the years, I clung to the mindset that every extra day was a gift. Only by maintaining a good attitude could I live freely.

To my surprise, I saw Fenghuang. He had been sent out by my father a few days ago; I didn’t know for what purpose. He looked at me as if to say something, but I made a funny face and ran off.

Fenghuang coldly pushed open his master’s door. He had just returned today and learned of Xiwei’s near harm at the hands of the Forgetting River. Many emotions welled up inside, but he kept them bottled. His master handed him a pot of flowers.

“Escort the Forgetting River flower to the Medicine King Valley.”

He bore no fondness for the Forgetting River flower that had almost harmed Xiwei, but orders were orders. The Medicine King Valley was the secluded abode of the Sage of Medicine. Legend said the Divine Farmer had once tested herbs there. His master commanded him to deliver the flower to the Sage, likely for medicinal use.

The Ninefold Mountains had maintained good relations with the Medicine King Valley, partly thanks to Xiwei. She had lived there as a child and taken most of her medicine prescribed by the Sage. The Sage was a disciple of the Divine Farmer’s lineage; if even he couldn’t cure her, then there was no hope.

Thinking of Xiwei’s condition, his expression darkened. On the surface, she seemed fine, but they all knew her inner vitality had long since faded. Could the Sage truly heal her?

Fenghuang took the Forgetting River flower but froze.

The scene before his eyes shifted rapidly. He saw the Ninefold Mountains engulfed in flames and countless sword graves. Finally, the vision settled on a lakeside pavilion where someone sat. Fenghuang focused and recognized a figure both familiar and strange.

It was... Xiwei?

Since when had she ever sat so upright?

Still appearing youthful, she wore a red palace gown, her hair coiled like clouds with phoenix hairpins, her posture exquisite. Her features were cold, brows faintly furrowed with sorrow. A snowy white fur coat draped her shoulders, her waist slender, her glossy black hair trailing to the ground. Her skirt bloomed like a flower—so stunning it was breathtaking, so beautiful it was dizzying.

She was like a lotus trapped in a pond, silently blooming—pure yet decadent, drawing countless moths to the flame. Her roots were already rotten, but from the mud blossomed the world’s most beautiful flower. Even if she had committed wrongs, one could not bear to blame her. Even her fall was surely someone else’s fault.

Fenghuang was almost pierced by her beauty. He stepped forward, instinctively reaching out to touch her. She lowered her head slightly. A hand rested on her shoulder—bony, sinewy, strong, with a jade finger ring on the thumb. That hand silently claimed her.

An arrow whistled through the air, landing near his feet. An angry shout rang out:

“Stop right there!”

A boy sat in a tree—a delicate, handsome youth with a red forehead band. His hair and beard were streaked with white, suggesting premature graying. His figure was light and slender, eyes slightly round, glaring fiercely.

“Qi Fengjun, go back to your Phoenix Tree Palace. You’re not welcome here.”

The commotion reached the pavilion. She lifted her head gently, but her gaze was blocked by another presence. Fenghuang stared fixedly. The figure wore a complex yellow robe, a purple-gold sash at the waist, and a mysterious crown. His presence was imposing, as if divine power protected him. Every blade of grass and tree obeyed his command.

A royal mandate embodied, blessed by heaven.

The round-eyed boy glared coldly, snorting disdainfully—a sound that shook Fenghuang’s soul.

“Hmph, servant of three surnames.”

Suddenly, he awoke. There was no pavilion before him, only a strange flower. His master gazed at him sternly:

“…What did you see just now?”

Fenghuang bowed his head respectfully, “Master, I saw nothing.”

His master waved a hand, dismissing him.

＊

The opera continued in the teahouse. The man in blue robes listened alone in a private room. The door opened; a figure wearing a ghost mask and black clothes entered, his middle finger wrapped in red thread. He glanced casually at the performers, offering no comment on the blue-robed man’s taste.

Night Owl asked, “Why did you let those two go?”

The blue-robed man sighed, “One is an apprentice, the other the embodiment of a Dao fruit. Killing either wouldn’t bring favor.”

Night Owl thought his tone resembled singing. He poured himself tea and asked, “The Witch King failed to get it. What’s your next move?”

The blue-robed man, Tian Zhu Jun, lifted his gaze toward the stage. “The Hundred Yue fell to a Gu clan. The future will be chaotic, with three sects warring. Can you subdue them?”

“No.” Night Owl replied decisively. “I’m alone. I don’t have three thousand avatars.”

Tian Zhu Jun smiled softly, not pressing, though what he said next made Night Owl feel it would have been easier to duel the Hundred Yue single-handedly.

“I need you to investigate someone.”

“Who?”

“The Supreme Heavenly Venerable of Taiyan.”

“...”

Night Owl calmly sipped tea. The blue-robed man listened intently to the opera below. “Do you know, over the years, the human race has produced many peerless prodigies? Each Swordmaster was a gifted genius touched by fate. Yet why does only he hold the top seat firmly?”

Night Owl said, “Because he’s powerful.”

Tian Zhu Jun smiled gently. “Since the former saint retired, only one remains the best. But before that? Why did figures like the Empress Nuwa, the Divine Farmer, and the Five Emperors allow him to become number one?”

“Do you know his name, origin, if his parents are alive, or where he trained before enlightenment?”

Night Owl said, “I suspect his parents are no longer alive.”

Tian Zhu Jun flicked a black serpent bracelet on his wrist and shifted the topic. “Twenty years ago, the Southern Swordmaster Shi Beifeng challenged me.”

Night Owl’s brow twitched but said nothing.

Tian Zhu Jun’s expression grew mournful. “At that time, he was already resigned to death, intending to perish with me.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I do not kill those who seek death.”

The black serpent climbed to his shoulder, rubbing affectionately. He said, “Li Zhu is a demonic sword. Shi Beifeng, having mistakenly killed his wife and children, was engulfed in despair and madness. He slaughtered wildly and died three days after our duel.”

Night Owl twitched his finger slightly, asking, “If you didn’t kill him, how did he die?”

Tian Zhu Jun sighed. “Northern Immortal Sword, Southern Demonic Sword. Shi Beifeng died by his own sword. This is a curse every Li Zhu Swordmaster cannot escape: the demon sword kills its master, bloodshed must be quenched.”

Night Owl didn’t understand why he was told this but remained still, waiting for him to continue.

“I left a heart demon in him.” Tian Zhu Jun smiled gently, a smile layered with meaning. “The heart demon hides in his Dao heart. Once he dies, it will automatically transfer ownership. And who was the last person Shi Beifeng saw before death?”

That heart demon now lies in the safest place in the world, waiting for the moment to sprout.