Chapter 42: It Feels Just Like an Arranged Marriage from the Mortal Realm…

Naturally, Fu Xi Palace held no authority to decide Zhao Lixuan’s marriage.

But given the current dire situation, even the usually outspoken Shen Fengyu knew better than to spout untimely nonsense like “taking advantage of someone’s misfortune.”

The brutal battle at Crimson Meteor Pass was still fresh in everyone’s minds.

Had Jiang Chen not single-handedly turned the tide, the Unstained Immortal Realm would already be a wasteland of charred lives and misery.

With merits like saving the world, forget someone like Zhao Lixuan who was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good—even if Jiang Chen had chosen any other person in that hall, who could have refused outright?

No matter how unwilling, duty demanded they accept without demur.

As the meeting dispersed, everyone watched wide-eyed as Jiang Chen’s fingers intertwined with Zhao Lixuan’s and refused to let go. They even saw him follow that figure like a persistent ghost into Pear Flower Courtyard.

“Sigh…”

“Li Xuan’s got it rough too. Drawing this kind of entanglement.”

Zhao Lixuan’s mood was indeed tangled like a knotted mess.

But these past days had brought one upheaval after another, piling on without respite, leaving no room to sort through the complexities. He’d barely stepped through the first courtyard gate when Jiang Chen silently pulled him into an embrace.

It was a hug like a weary bird returning to its nest, laced with an indescribable tenderness.

The courtyard happened to be filled with pear blossoms whiter than snow.

Pink-white petals blanketed the ground, while tufts of moss poked through the stone steps.

“…” Zhao Lixuan truly regretted that rainy night when he’d lost his mind to the demonic rain.

If that’s what caused Jiang Chen’s misunderstanding, leading to today’s actions, then he really had only himself to blame.

After a long while, Jiang Chen finally lifted his gaze to him.

Zhao Lixuan had changed out of his bloodied golden armor into everyday robes of scarlet embroidered with silver patterns—a riot of colors in his old style.

How could he not look good like this?

Jiang Chen thought this was how he should look.

Plain white only dulled Zhao Lixuan’s brilliance. This man was meant to be draped in rosy clouds, cut from mist—forever vivid and radiant.

His throat bobbed slightly. His gaze caught the faint scars on Zhao Lixuan’s cheek, and instinctively, a warm glow gathered at his fingertips. The marks faded away in the soft light.

Zhao Lixuan: “…Thanks, but really, it’s nothing. No need.”

It was almost laughable.

Overnight, Jiang Chen spoke fluently like before, while he was the one stumbling over words.

He simply didn’t know what to say.

In his memories, Jiang Chen had always been aloof and proud, fiercely independent—adept at turning and walking away, never one to seize by force in public.

But the Jiang Chen now couldn’t be judged by normal standards…

“Jiang Immortal Lord,” he finally asked, “what exactly… happened to you on Clear Heart Island?”

Those dark pupils were calm and profound, staring at him without the slightest change.

Yet Zhao Lixuan couldn’t pretend to ignore all these changes—

Jiang Chen no longer spoke haltingly, his body wasn’t cold anymore, and his cultivation had skyrocketed. He’d never seen anyone shed their old skin so completely in mere days.

If not for knowing this man’s fate had always been fraught with hardship, he’d almost think it was some storybook protagonist who’d stumbled onto heaven-defying fortune on Clear Heart Island.

But if he were truly heaven’s chosen…

Zhao Lixuan sighed inwardly. …why cling to me so obsessively, refusing to leave? And why make his first words—

“What I saw on the island. I’ll tell you in detail on our wedding night.”

“…”

Pear blossoms drifted down.

Shards of petals spun lazily in the morning light, silently carpeting the steps.

Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting trembling shadows on Zhao Lixuan’s downcast lashes.

“Jiang Chen,” he said after a silence that felt like an entire spring and autumn, his voice soft, “I really don’t like you anymore.”

He spoke slowly, each word hesitating on his tongue.

He knew full well this was the worst timing, with great enemies at the gates. He had no intent to play coy or hurt Jiang Chen deliberately.

But…

He had to tell him.

He could agree to the marriage, stay by his side, even strive to fulfill the duties of dao companions—if that was the price to stabilize the Immortal Realm, the exchange Jiang Chen demanded.

Just one thing.

He couldn’t give him false hope.

He couldn’t fake it.

Just as back then, when his love had burned too fiercely to hide; now his heart was a still ancient well, incapable of even a ripple.

It wasn’t unwillingness to try—it was simply impossible…

Twenty years of solitary clarity had made him forget how to love someone. Even forcing the act couldn’t replicate the blazing intensity Jiang Chen craved.

And Jiang Chen had seen what it looked like when he loved.

Seen him offer his scorching heart without reservation.

He could never return to that reckless youth. And retrieving the Primordial Blade would surely be perilous beyond measure—he didn’t want Jiang Chen to pour out everything, return triumphant, only to find his pursuit was a mirage on water, flowers in a mirror, gaining nothing.

He hated owing debts most, couldn’t bear such crushing disappointment.

…

Jiang Chen had imagined countless scenes of rejection.

Being accused of taking advantage of misfortune, Fu Xi Palace fighting tooth and nail, even warring with the entire Immortal Realm.

No matter—he was prepared to seize it all regardless. With his current power, nothing was beyond reach.

Yet he’d never anticipated Zhao Lixuan’s refusal would be so sincere, gentle, cruel, and straightforward.

His frame stiffened imperceptibly, swaying just a fraction.

The fragile hopes in his chest slowly froze. After an age, he found his voice: “Mm. I know.”

“I don’t care.”

Saying he didn’t care, his breathing grew heavy. He flung his arms out again, yanking the man close in a damp, clinging embrace.

“So be it if you don’t love me.”

He buried his face deep in that warm neck hollow, voice muffled and hoarse as he repeated, as if convincing himself: “So be it if you don’t love me. I just want to touch you again, be close to you. Want to stay by your side, properly and righteously… for a little while longer.”

Want to pretend, in this stolen time, that everything can start over.

At least make up, even slightly, for the gentleness he owed back then.

“Li Xuan, if only I’d been wiser back then… we might have…”

If he’d known to cherish it then, they might have long been dao companions in red robes under friends’ cheers. Zhao Lixuan had bought so many red outfits, tied the Marriage Contract in secret—he couldn’t believe he’d never dreamed of that day.

He didn’t want it anymore.

But that was fine. He tightened his arms, as if to meld the man into his bones: “Just indulge my obsession this once, alright?”

“Li Xuan, let me stay by your side.”

“I can’t take it anymore, really can’t… I can’t let go.”

“But I’ll try not to be too greedy… won’t do things you hate. I promise, okay?”

…

According to Clear Heart Island’s revelation, the Primordial Blade lay hidden in the Suspended Sun Stele Forest Miracle.

But before venturing to retrieve it, they first needed to channel the Nine Nether Spring to revive the Four Symbols Demon-Suppressing Tower. This required Immortal Emperor bloodline and priestly inheritance together, so Shen Fengyu and Yu Changxin accompanied him.

At the spring’s source, the Immortal Lords busied themselves probing the leylines.

Shen Fengyu, however, lounged idly against a ruined rampart, breeze in his hair, eyes on Jiang Chen’s brooding profile. He suddenly spoke:

“Seizing by force still needs the other party to be somewhat willing.”

His phoenix eyes narrowed, glancing meaningfully at his master’s stern face beside him. Yu Changxin turned away in disgust, fleeing as if to block his ears.

“Even if you take seven or eight parts, leaving them just two or three—well, there’s still two or three. Besides, some people are all talk but no show; the feelings in their hearts run far deeper than they let on.”

“But forcing it like you… takes away the meaning.”

“Twenty years, Jiang Chen. You think anyone can cling to old affections that long?”

“You know damn well Li Xuan’s moved on with a new life. You should understand ‘once bitten by a snake, forever wary of ropes.'”

“You know Immortal Lord Li Xuan’s reputation too—over these twenty years, admirers have come in an endless stream, like carp crossing the river, yet he’s always kept himself pure. Don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“He’s just had his heart worn down, afraid to love again. I heard Rumu say he admitted it himself: he doesn’t know how to love anymore.”

The words pierced like knives through his chest. Jiang Chen felt suffocated.

Dazed, he clutched the mottled stone beside him to stay upright.

Shen Fengyu’s eyes narrowed. He was one of the few, besides Yu Rumu, who knew Jiang Chen’s true physical state. He’d thought this return meant full recovery, given the power—but now it seemed otherwise?

That face was deathly pale, his form teetering.

Was all that thunderous display earlier just a final flicker, a spent force?

“Can Jiang Immortal Lord really go to the Divine Miracle like this to fetch the Primordial Blade?”

“…”

“I can.”

The Unstained Immortal Realm’s waters were all interconnected. Soon, the spring water flowed smoothly.

But daylight stabbed Jiang Chen’s eyes; the spring’s eerie glow reflected back, cold sweat beading silently on his brow, fingers trembling uncontrollably.

A violent dizziness hit, the world twisting and spinning, nearly toppling him.

Instinctively, he reached into his robes for medicine—only to grasp empty air.

Right—the Heart-Eater Pills had all been confiscated by Yu Rumu. Besides, he didn’t need them anymore. On Clear Heart Island, he’d staked everything to unseal his dusty bloodline; he wasn’t in that state now.

Should hold out a bit longer…

He didn’t even realize he’d dropped to one knee.

Shen Fengyu’s voice boomed, shrill in his ears: “Hey! You okay?”

“Don’t tell me my crow mouth jinxed it—you’re really gonna die here? Master, come quick!”

Shen Fengyu was genuinely pissed.

They’d only channeled half the Nine Nether Spring; the rest of the array depended on Jiang Chen’s guidance. What the hell?

Yu Changxin hurried over, gravely checking Jiang Chen’s wrist pulse. No healer, but as a Divine Temple priest with ages of experience, he knew plenty.

Shen Fengyu grumbled on. Just that morning on the battlefield, this man had descended like a god, spiritual power vast and pure, Heavenly Fire incinerating all evil unstoppable—even he, an Immortal Emperor, had been awed and humbled.

No sign of illness then.

But now Jiang Chen sweated like a flood, kneeling unable to rise, curling in on himself. Knuckles dug into the ground, a stifled groan escaping his throat—as if his body endured some savage tear from deep in his bloodline.

It matched Yu Rumu’s prior description of “lamp running dry.”

Luckily, after a moment, Yu Changxin’s immortal arts soothed it, the seizure easing.

Jiang Chen’s breathing steadied, as if the peril had been illusion. He straightened, composure returning, calmly directing the channeling as if nothing happened.

Yu Changxin asked gravely: “Does Li Xuan know of your condition?”

“No.”

He lowered his eyes, hiding the turmoil: “Don’t tell him.”

Shen Fengyu sneered: “Who are you to tell my master what to do? I’ll tell him right now.”

Jiang Chen met his gaze, eyes dead calm: “Oh? Wasn’t it someone who once warned me—since I’m dying anyway, I should know my place, find somewhere quiet to end it without dying in front of him and being an eyesore?”

Shen Fengyu choked.

…

Jiang Chen truly didn’t want Zhao Lixuan to know.

He didn’t want him anymore; he’d said it clearly. Forcing this scrap of warmth with such ugly means was enough.

He didn’t want to see pity or charity in those eyes—that would hurt worse than hatred.

Sometimes he thought: Li Xuan really suffered enough meeting me twenty years ago.

Good thing he’s wise now.

Twenty years later, no matter how he begged, he’d get nothing more.

Perfect. Even if he died, Li Xuan wouldn’t grieve—still the free-spirited Immortal Lord Li Xuan.

Perfect.

He should have gone far away long ago.

True love for Li Xuan meant he shouldn’t press him so relentlessly, knowing full well it was just lingering on in a dying state, yet still greedily clinging to this final wisp of mirage-like warmth.

But there was no helping it—he was just that greedy.

He would find some deserted place to quietly end it all, but until then—let him indulge in this last stretch of time.

The Nine Nether Spring’s waters had been successfully channeled that night, and he was setting off for the Suspended Sun Stele Forest to seek the Primordial Blade.

“Send me off,” he said.

It was laughable, really. Though it was all a fleeting illusion, Zhao Lixuan always managed to give him a flicker of hope, casting starlit sparks into his heart.

He no longer loved him, yet he didn’t hate him either.

Not loving, not hating—that was the true desolation, and Jiang Chen knew it all too well.

But who could blame him when Zhao Lixuan treated people with such gentleness when he wasn’t harboring hatred? Even without him asking, Zhao Lixuan had already prepared his travel gear. He’d even packed a storage ring neatly with spiritual medicines, rations, clean clothes, and protective artifacts.

Meticulous, just like a mortal wife packing for her husband setting off on a long journey.

At this moment, he was seeing him off at the courtyard gate.

Twilight draped like a thin veil, distant mountains cradling the last blush of sunset, the evening breeze carrying a lazy warmth as it quietly brushed past the still-lit lanterns under the corridor.

It was laughable, really.

Jiang Chen suddenly felt they truly resembled those ordinary mortal couples from the Mortal Realm—strangers thrown together by an arranged marriage.

Not all that familiar with each other, yet stumbling into cohabitation all the same. Of course, Immortal Lord Li Xuan clearly hadn’t adjusted to this sudden relationship yet.

So even walking him a few steps felt awkward, his hands and feet getting in each other’s way.

And dressed so flamboyantly too—flustered and utterly adorable.

Jiang Chen’s heart filled with a bittersweet tenderness. By rights, this trip was to seek an ancient divine artifact, far more perilous than before; he ought to entrust him with some vital matters.

But what he said was: “When I get back, I’ll make you pepper-salt shortbread.”

Zhao Lixuan: “…”

“Pepper-salt… shortbread?”

Jiang Chen gazed at him, a rare warmth rippling in his eyes.

Li Xuan didn’t know that he’d waited for him in the Mortal Realm for over a decade. In all that endless time, living alone in his little courtyard, thinking of him constantly, he’d quietly learned to make all sorts of things.

His cooking was decent; he could already whip up all kinds of savory pastries.

“Yeah, and crab shell yellow pancakes, ham puffs, salted egg yolk rice cakes, fresh meat shaomai…”

“…”

“Li Xuan.”

“Hm?”

Perhaps it was the way he looked so stunned and dazed that was just too endearing, or maybe it was the gentle evening breeze, with pear blossoms drifting like rain. The stream tinkled merrily, cranes cried out clear and high, twilight bathing all things in a soft glow.

The wind was gentle.

Slender fingers brushed his cheek, followed by a restrained yet cherished kiss, like a butterfly alighting on a flower, landing softly at the corner of his lips.

He says he doesn’t love me anymore.

Yet Jiang Chen could still clearly feel the instant scorching heat where fingertips had touched his cheek.

His heart swayed, impossible to hold back any longer.

Beneath the pear blossoms, the young man burned hot all over. He locked the person in his arms tightly and kissed him fiercely. Moonlight peeked out from behind the clouds, then shyly hid away again.

Zhao Lixuan was caught completely off guard.

The world spun, and he could hardly breathe.

They’d kissed before, hadn’t they? he wondered dizzily. Weren’t kisses always just a dragonfly skimming water? How could it possibly be this intense, like something straight out of a romance novel—nearly plundering.

Did Jiang Chen always kiss like this?

Where did he learn it?