Zhao Lixuan regretted slamming the door that night, just a little.
In truth, there was no need to let his temper flare and dredge up old matters, making things so awkward…
Times had changed—what was the point?
That night, he slept restlessly, as if haunted by nightmares, but upon waking, he couldn’t recall them clearly. The next day, as he straightened his robes before the mirror, the reflection showed a face as composed as ever, no trace of last night’s chaotic dreams twisting it into something hideous.
After a simple tidy-up, Immortal Lord Li Xuan pushed open the door and stepped out.
The Autumn Evening Festival was approaching, and Fu Xi Palace from top to bottom still needed him to oversee the preparations—endless mundane tasks piled up…
But as he looked up, he ran straight into Jiang Chen.
Zhao Lixuan: “…………”
In that moment, he sincerely thought Fu Xi Palace should adopt some Mortal Realm customs: station guards outside the Immortal Lords’ residences to keep out idle busybodies.
Unfortunately, in their realm, only Immortal Leader Xia Yunjie’s dwelling had confidential defenses due to its sensitive nature. The other Immortal Lords all preferred tranquility. Yu Rumu’s place had no guards either, nor had Senior Sister Lu or Senior Brother Yin’s when they’d lived here before!
At that moment, in the faint morning light, the man stood under the pear tree, still clad in a dark red robe much like the one from last night.
Who knew if he’d truly stood there all night without returning, or just changed into a similar one? In any case, he held a bag from Cloudgazing Town packed with steaming-hot crab roe buns, along with a crystal-clear rabbit sugar painting.
Zhao Lixuan had no intention of acknowledging him.
After all, he’d only just threatened yesterday to report him to the Immortal Court if he didn’t leave today. Even one extra word now would be indulgence.
He strode straight outward.
“Lixuan…”
His sleeve was gently tugged, that voice hoarse and strained to the extreme: “You haven’t… had breakfast yet.”
Zhao Lixuan turned to look, only to see the other’s face etched with exhaustion, dark circles heavy under his eyes, lips pale as paper. But when a person no longer loved another, their heart truly turned cruel—utterly hard. Even seeing him in such a state only sparked thoughts of trouble, not the slightest pity.
Zhao Lixuan yanked his sleeve free from Jiang Chen’s grasp. Jiang Chen grabbed it again.
The warm crab roe bun was stuffed into his hands: “Eat it… and I’ll leave.”
The morning mist hadn’t fully dispersed; pear blossom petals, dusted with dew, rustled down in the utter silence.
“If I eat it, you’ll head straight back to the Mortal Realm?”
He met the other’s gaze directly, his tone flat and emotionless: “If eating it means you’ll go, I’ll eat it right now.”
Silence from the other side.
Jiang Chen’s throat bobbed with difficulty. In the end, he just turned his head away, jaw clenched tight.
“Jiang Immortal Lord, I made it clear yesterday—if you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to request the Immortal Court deport you. You’re the Sword-Wielding Immortal Lord of Liao Yuan Court, after all—why force things to such an ugly end?”
Jiang Chen slowly released his hand. Something seemed to shatter bit by bit in those always-calm black eyes. His figure swayed faintly as he stared at the scattered petals on the ground, his voice so soft it was as if he feared startling the morning dew:
“Lixuan, I’m not…”
“Not trying to… rekindle things.”
“Nor asking you to… treat me like before.”
“You can ignore me, despise me.”
“I just want… to stay near you… a little longer. Nothing else… no other hopes.”
His words stumbled, insincere even to his own ears—but what more could he say?
He no longer dared entertain presumptuous thoughts, knowing full well a broken mirror couldn’t be mended. But with his remaining years so few, if he asked for no more love, just to stand where he could see Lixuan and steal a few more years—what harm in that?
Even if he got nothing else, wanted nothing else.
At least before I die, let me watch over you. I don’t want you looking at anyone else… is even this selfish wish too much?
Zhao Lixuan frowned slightly.
He truly couldn’t comprehend it—not seeking to rekindle, just wanting to linger nearby? What kind of request was that!
He’d never heard anything like it. Besides, he wasn’t short on friends or acquaintances—his side had no need for an extra troublesome old acquaintance!
Suffocating silence fell once more.
Zhao Lixuan glanced down at the food box in his hand, then abruptly let his wrist go slack, letting it crash heavily to the ground. The crab roe buns stayed safe in the bag, but the crystal rabbit sugar painting shattered on impact, its fragments glinting harshly in the morning light.
“…” But he had no choice.
These sweet little trifles were innocent, but he had to make Jiang Chen face reality squarely—really, before things spiral beyond saving, just go! Leave each other some final dignity, isn’t that better?
Zhao Lixuan walked away without looking back.
He simply didn’t want to see Jiang Chen’s expression right now, much less his pathetic figure bent over picking up the pieces.
He figured, with Jiang Chen’s pride, he’d finally sweep away this time, right?
…
In past years, Fu Xi Palace’s Autumn Evening events had always been planned by Zhao Lixuan and Yu Rumu together.
This year was no exception. After discussing the details, it was already mealtime. Sitting side by side in the dining hall, Yu Rumu asked softly, “Jiang Immortal Lord still hasn’t left?”
Zhao Lixuan could only sigh.
“Actually,” Yu Rumu cradled his soup bowl, gaze falling to the bluestone floor, “before Chu Immortal Lord left, he entrusted me with something…”
“He said that though he might not fully understand Jiang Immortal Lord, there are some things you ought to know.”
Zhao Lixuan listened quietly.
He’d never been the type to plug his ears and shout “I can’t hear you.” Even in his bratty youth, he’d always made a habit of hearing people out fully before letting it go in one ear and out the other. That was why most senior brothers and sisters in Fu Xi Palace—including his own brother Zhao Lanze Immortal Lord—had long assumed “little Lixuan is fairly obedient and listens well.”
He always welcomed advice with open arms and feigned humility, only to stubbornly refuse any change in private.
“Chu Immortal Lord said that back at Xiao Xue Tower… he’d watched Jiang Immortal Lord every step of the way with his own eyes.”
“He said when Jiang Immortal Lord first arrived at the academy, his temperament was aloof and stubborn, covered in thorns, clashing with everyone around him. Even after he revealed his talents—excelling in both letters and arms, drawing plenty of admirers—he treated those who showed interest in him… alas.”
“In short, if you think that back then, when you chased after him in broad daylight, his ignoring you and cold attitude meant nothing…”
“Chu Immortal Lord’s exact words were… that’s just because you never saw how he treated others. Back then, the way he treated you was already remarkably different—helpless indulgence mixed with something unclear. All his classmates at the time were quite shocked.”
“Much less later, when he moved into your home—that was unprecedented, shocking everyone.”
“Chu Immortal Lord also said that after years of working together, he knew Jiang Immortal Lord kept a thousand worries buried in his heart, unwilling to share with anyone. So he’s worried you don’t know… but these past twenty years… he’s actually been waiting for you all along.”
“He even repeatedly ventured into ancient god relics for opportunities to come to the Unstained Immortal Realm, suffering severe injuries and brushes with death multiple times. But he never breathed a word of it to you.”
The soup in his bowl had long gone cold.
Zhao Lixuan had countless retorts bubbling up midway, but in the end, they struck him as absurd; the words reached his lips only to be swallowed back.
What “different”? That counted as indulgence? And twenty years of waiting? He finally just tugged at his lips, replying absentmindedly without conviction: “Yeah, yeah, sure—he’s got his reasons, of course.”
“…”
“Rumu Shixiong, it’s been twenty years. Be honest—do you still like that A’Tu girl?”
Yu Rumu paused for a beat, then slowly, firmly shook his head.
“I don’t.”
…He could never like her again. Even if the past hadn’t turned to bone-deep hatred, to still harbor lingering feelings for that Demon Clan woman—what right would he have? To his master’s spirit in the heavens? What face to show standing beside Zhao Lixuan?
“See, I don’t like him anymore either,” Zhao Lixuan said softly, “but it’s not quite the same as with you.”
There was no blood feud between him and Jiang Chen.
“It’s just purely…” he murmured, as if to himself, “time passed, feelings faded. It’s all in the past.”
So, I don’t like him anymore.
…
Jiang Chen fell ill again, vomiting up quite a bit of blood.
His health had deteriorated steadily these past two years; he couldn’t be bothered to care. He even begged the worried Rumu Immortal Lord not to tell Zhao Lixuan. And so he lay in Maple Vine Courtyard for two days, lying right past the deadline Zhao Lixuan had threatened to send people after him.
No one came for him.
Jiang Chen felt a slight relief in his heart, though he knew there was nothing to celebrate. Zhao Lixuan not sending men to drag him away wasn’t reluctance—it was just not wanting to go too far.
Over these two months, the Unstained Immortal Realm had shifted from summer to autumn, and his temporary abode in Maple Vine Courtyard was ablaze with crimson.
Jiang Chen didn’t know what fate this was—he’d lived in Shen Fengyan’s old residence in Drunk Moon City of the Demon Bright, and now the courtyard sheltering him in Fu Xi Palace was still this Immortal Lord’s former home.
Pear Flower Water Pavilion had been Zhao Lanze Immortal Lord’s old residence.
Once he could barely stand, Jiang Chen changed into fine robes and headed back to Pear Flower Water Pavilion. His shoes crunched softly over the carpet of golden leaves.
Zhao Lixuan actually knew he was quite ill.
Two days later, as Yu Rumu sipped tea in his courtyard and finally couldn’t hold back from mentioning it, he deliberately raised his voice in a cold laugh: “No need to say more—I absolutely won’t go visit him. Not deporting him while he’s sick is already the utmost benevolence.”
“Who knows what this Jiang Immortal Lord is thinking.”
“I’ve said the past is the past—his endless entanglement is truly annoying. And he’s always falling ill to boot.”
“It’d be best if he just died.”
Yu Rumu froze at his words: “Lixuan, that…”
Zhao Lixuan turned calmly, flashing a faint smile at the bloodless, breath-stilled figure behind him: “You heard that, huh?”
“If you’ve heard, why aren’t you leaving? How much plainer do I have to spell it out before you’ll go, Jiang Immortal Lord?”
“…”
Oftentimes, people saw echoes of their old selves in others.
Like right now.
Zhao Lixuan looked at Jiang Chen and seemed to see his younger self from back then—pouring out fervent passion under everyone’s gaze, heedlessly chasing after someone utterly indifferent. Now the tables had turned; he finally understood the other side’s mindset.
It wasn’t deliberate malice.
He believed now that perhaps back then, Jiang Chen hadn’t meant to slight or hurt him. He’d just found it annoying, hoping the pursuer would leave soon—out of sight, out of mind. It was human nature, and he completely got it now—as long as, years later, the guy didn’t suddenly claim he wanted to stay by his side. Everything would really be fine.
They could have coexisted peacefully.
He could accept it if Jiang Chen had never liked him at all.
But if there had ever been a spark of feeling, then all these years of wasted time, and every past heartache, heartbreak, regret, and grievance in his heart—it would all be too absurd, too laughable. He couldn’t understand it at all.
“I’m not,” Jiang Chen said, eyes downcast, his post-illness voice even hoarser than before, “I didn’t mean to… eavesdrop. The maple leaves… blocked it.”
“I thought you were inside. Didn’t know… you were out here.”
“…”
Zhao Lixuan had no idea why he was explaining this, but Yu Rumu quickly rose with some excuse to take his leave.
Dusk deepened; lamps flickered to life one by one across Fu Xi Palace.
Zhao Lixuan moved to head back to his room—and sure enough, his sleeve hem was caught again.
He’d planned to snap impatiently, but silver ginkgo leaves fluttered down one by one onto Jiang Chen’s shoulders, weaving a desolate, poignantly beautiful tableau.
Autumn Evening approached; that was when they’d parted years ago, just before the Mortal Realm’s festival.
Back then, he’d had no inkling of the impending separation, excitedly planning to view the ginkgo and maple reds together—while Jiang Chen had always been listless. He’d treated him so well then, and Jiang Chen hadn’t cared; now he’d just said “best if you die,” and yet he clung on!
It was utterly ridiculous, proof of how diametrically mismatched they were! How had he not realized sooner back then?
“Jiang Chen, what exactly do you want?”
“Can’t we part on good terms? Or does Jiang Immortal Lord insist on paying back every bit of my past clinging—twice over?”
“I was wrong back then, shouldn’t have clung to you—I’m apologizing, okay? Can you please just stop appearing in front of me? Seeing you now only annoys me—don’t come bothering me anymore!”
The doors of Pear Flower Water Pavilion slammed shut with a heavy boom, sealing Jiang Chen out in the night.
The night wind was bitterly cold and piercing. With no one watching, he finally hunched over, shivering. Pain and chill roiled through him like shards of ice in his blood, forcing a groan from his lips.
The Unstained Immortal Realm’s nights were so dark.
Looking back on those twenty years, they felt like one long, endless night—vast, hazy, without end.
But.
But still, he couldn’t let go.
“Li Xuan.”
A sharp pain stabbed at his chest, numbing his expression, yet he stubbornly knocked lightly on the door once more.
“Li Xuan, hear me out.”
“I don’t want anything else. Nothing at all.”
“Why… don’t be afraid. I really don’t covet anything.”
Over these years, he’d read countless books. The more he read, the more shocked he became, realizing just how foolish he’d been. After devouring thousands of volumes, he discovered he lacked the talent to draw inferences from one instance. The protagonists in those books made mistakes too, and sought redemption—he tried to imitate them.
But the people in the books had never committed his kind of wrongs. He scoured every tome, yet found no answers.
It was as if he were born missing something that others had.
He picked up scholarly arts and martial skills effortlessly, but other things that people grasped intuitively without guidance eluded him entirely. He could never quite get a handle on them, no matter how he tried.
All he could do was let his emotions gnaw at him over and over—lost, anxious, chest aching unbearably—until the moment they spiraled completely out of control.
It was only in those instants, time and again, that he suddenly understood some vague truth.
He finally grasped exactly where he’d gone wrong, and how it all should have been.
It should have been so simple.
It should have flowed naturally, happiness coming effortlessly.
…
So in truth, Jiang Chen didn’t mind if Zhao Lixuan wounded him with sharp words or treated him with icy indifference.
On the contrary, those barbs reassured him. Over the years, only this piercing pain had let him gradually comprehend precisely where he’d gone wrong back then—
It wasn’t just that he didn’t understand, didn’t know how.
He didn’t know how to love while being exceptionally skilled at wounding others coldly. Zhao Lixuan had loved him deeply back then, offering up a heart burning hot, brimming with unspoken affections from those late forest nights, holding nothing back—only for him to push it away, trample it time and again, until it was forced to withdraw, covered in scars.
And eventually, that heart had gone completely cold.
Now, if he wanted to carefully pick it back up, to warm it again and beg for even a shred of mercy toward him… it was impossible.
“Li Xuan, I just… I just want to stay by your side a few more days.”
“It won’t be long.”
“Li Xuan, all these years, haven’t you been…”
“…gathering Lan Ze Immortal Lord’s soul fragments, and searching for Immortal Lord Shen’s whereabouts?”
“I can help you.”
“When I was in the Demon Bright, I visited an ancient divine site.”
“I can still go.”
“I can still… go there.”
…
He could still go.
Even though every divine site brimmed with lethal dangers, where countless mighty immortals had perished. He’d exhausted half his vital blood in the Guixu Realm at the North Sea’s depths, beneath a ten-thousand-zhang abyss, to shatter the barrier—enduring the agony of his meridians rupturing just to touch the core.
And the price he could pay had nearly been spent. Even if he found the next site, what then?
But he still had his soul.
Though his soul was far less precious than Lan Ze Immortal Lord’s.
But if he added something else—fortunately, he had something else left. It should be enough to exchange for Lan Ze Immortal Lord, right?
Would Li Xuan be happy then?
Maybe then… he could forgive him.
