Jiang Chen awoke on the fifth day of his coma.
His life was no longer in danger, but his injuries were severe, and he still needed rest.
“Waking up is good. Rumu Shixiong arrived yesterday too. With him looking after you, rest easy, take your medicine, and you’ll recover soon.”
Sunlight filtered through the lattice windows of the immortal palace, casting dappled patterns on Jiang Chen’s profile.
Zhao Lixuan always felt that after waking this time, he was even more silent than before—strange, somehow.
With his ink-black hair disheveled, eyes downcast as he sat on the bed, his face looked even paler, as if he might vanish at any moment.
But he probably wouldn’t vanish.
Yu Rumu had said his body was severely depleted, but the injury wasn’t fatal.
That was enough; Zhao Lixuan had no time for anything else.
After all, the Immortal Capital lay in ruins, waiting to be rebuilt. The Demon Clan had retreated for now but still held the southern cities. The top priority was organizing a counterattack to reclaim lost territory and secure the defenses.
These days, Zhao Lixuan had been endlessly advising on strategy, deploying troops, and gathering supplies—he was beyond busy.
On top of that, elites from every immortal sect had gathered in the capital. Sects from the Unstained Immortal Realm had sent their best, including old friends Zhao Lixuan hadn’t seen in years.
Demon Immortals from the Mortal Realm had come to aid them too. Though Lu Ziyuan held the line at the Liao Yuan Court on the Mortal Realm front, Chu Fusheng, Bitao Fairy, and others had arrived. The sheer scale dwarfed even the Moon Hunt, making coordination a nightmare.
The southern terrain of the Unstained Immortal Realm was treacherously rugged, so the final plan was to divide into three armies.
Zhao Lixuan, thanks to years overseeing the Azure Cloud Pass fortifications, his dual feats in the Moon Hunt, and his sharp detection of the Demon Clan’s plot this time—holding the Core Mechanism Grand Array at all costs—had unmatched prestige among the sects.
Though his seniority was shallow, he was elected Immortal Lord of the Eastern Army, overseeing all strategy on the eastern front.
In his scant free moments, he still visited Jiang Immortal Lord often.
Beyond delivering medicine and well-wishes, he brought jade slips on Demon Clan movements and terrain in the eastern war zone. Demon Immortals were highly effective against demonic beasts; Jiang Immortal Lord was indispensable for this campaign.
Jiang Chen’s injuries healed with his usual speed.
In just a few days, his nearly shattered meridians had stabilized, and his horrific external wounds had mostly closed.
Zhao Lixuan was mildly surprised—but then again, how else could he earn the title of Mortal Realm War God?
Then he spun like a top for several more days.
One day, after handling hours of military affairs, he rubbed his throbbing temples and suddenly realized what was off about Jiang Immortal Lord!
It was his eyes.
Lately, Zhao Lixuan had grown used to those bottomless black eyes shadowing him everywhere.
From their reunion’s cold, gloomy scrutiny to the later stubborn, relentless pursuit, that gaze had always fixed on him.
But after recovering this time, Jiang Chen’s eyes no longer lingered.
When their gazes met by chance, he’d purse his bloodless lips, lower his lashes, and avert them in panicked guilt, like a child caught doing wrong.
Zhao Lixuan didn’t understand.
Hadn’t Jiang Chen just been the hero who guarded the Core Mechanism Grand Array? What did he have to feel guilty about?
…
Yet when Zhao Lixuan deliberately avoided looking, he still felt that gaze on him; turning to leave, he sensed it lingering on his back, unyielding.
…
Pressing military matters took precedence; Zhao Lixuan had no time to puzzle over such subtleties.
The counterattack loomed, and troop deployments needed finalizing. The three armies would form pincer jaws to encircle the southern Demon Clan, each balanced with Human Immortals and Demon Immortals to counter different foes.
Especially the summoned demonic beasts, endlessly spawning—Demon Immortals were essential.
Zhao Lixuan had it all planned.
The central front was the most perilous—not just facing the Demon Clan main force and Tu Ji’s elites, but squeezed through the narrowest pass. It needed someone like Jiang Chen, who could turn the tide alone.
The only issue: he worried Jiang Immortal Lord might refuse.
But he had to try.
So Zhao Lixuan brewed a pot of Serenity Immortal Tea and came to the Immortal Court’s western warm chamber where Jiang Chen was staying.
The maple reds in the courtyard had faded, leaving skeletal branches stretching in the twilight. Jiang Chen sat quietly on a stone bench in a dark outer robe, lost in thought at a cluster of withered Forget-Sorrow Grass in the corner.
Hearing familiar footsteps, his frame stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Jiang Immortal Lord’s complexion looks better today.” Zhao Lixuan sat across from him, expertly scalding cups and brewing tea. “The counterattack is near; the three armies are set.”
Warm tea mist softened his refined features as he pushed a cup toward Jiang Chen. “I’m leading the eastern assault. Xia Immortal Lord and Yin Immortal Lord command the west. I came today to ask your preference.”
“Could Jiang Immortal Lord join Rumu Immortal Lord, Chu Immortal Lord, and a few elites to hold the central road alone? It’s the riskiest line, but your Fleeting Ember Karmic Fire counters demonic beasts perfectly—irreplaceable there, for maximum impact.”
Tea fragrance curled between them.
…
Twilight filtered through bare branches in mottled shadows. Jiang Chen stared at the floating leaves in his cup, his gaze involuntarily tracing the other’s fingers on the pot, his slender wrist.
Finally lingering at the slightly open collar—but never meeting those eyes.
He still didn’t understand.
Why… had he personally wounded Li Xuan with the Nine Luminaries Sword Array, yet remembered nothing?
Why couldn’t he remember?
How could he forget?
But whatever the reason, it was his doing. He had to bear the bitter fruit.
His fingertips paled from gripping too hard; the cup’s warmth burned his chest.
“I…” His voice was hoarse and halting. “Do as you arrange.”
Zhao Lixuan blinked, surprise breaking through: “Really?”
He knew it sounded foolish, but he’d never expected such easy agreement. To prevent backing out, he produced a Gilded Immortal Contract: “Then, sign it.”
Jiang Chen finally met his eyes.
The night was still and windless, tea scent mild. The man across smiled warmly, looking at him without a trace of grudge.
Yet for the first time, Jiang Chen truly felt it… windless, eventless, resentment-free, just being gazed at so guilelessly—his heart slowly devoured, pierced through.
His mind buzzed as he took the brush and signed.
No strength to dwell on how trust in him had thinned to needing a contract. It didn’t matter. None of it did.
Suddenly, he felt like a moth drawn to the flame.
That cluster of firelight still warm and bright, yet forever barred by a glass dome. Visible, but eternally untouchable.
White jasmine floated in the clear tea.
…
He’d badly hurt him, yet shamelessly drawn near again and again.
Jiang Chen dared not recall how every approach, every entanglement must have annoyed Li Xuan.
He really shouldn’t cling anymore.
Not even let his gaze linger.
Any overstep would only deepen the disgust. He had no right anymore, to crave even a shred of kindness.
He understood it all now.
…
Can’t approach. Can’t touch.
Unworthy to even look.
Jiang Chen felt a quiet urge to drown himself, sinking into lightless depths where only icy silence reigned, all noise and brightness sealed far above the surface.
Falling further, air crushed from his lungs bit by bit, consciousness blurring in oxygen’s absence.
Better to sink like this, decay in unknown depths with unspoken regrets.
When his wounds nearly healed, Jiang Chen silently packed for the march.
Zhao Lixuan did the same a few days later, as the eastern army departed first. With his many friends—Fu Xi Palace sectmates, sect reps, Demon Immortals—the send-off crowd bustled.
“Li Xuan Immortal Lord, beware the demon armies en route.”
“May you triumph swiftly, purge the demonic miasma, and return victorious!”
“May pure qi endure, protect our immortal paths, and bring you home safe!”
“Yeah, take care, everyone!”
Zhao Lixuan bade them farewell. As he turned, his gaze pierced the throng to the lonely figure at the end.
Jiang Chen wore vivid red today, gold-embroidered patterns shimmering in morning light, ornate accessories gleaming.
Through the noisy crowd, their eyes met briefly.
That instant stretched eternally, piercing all their shared years—from first sight’s captivation, to Luo State courtyard days; from parting, to reunion.
Memories surged like a raging river, halting as Zhao Lixuan smiled faintly at him across the masses.
It etched clearly in his eyes.
Then Immortal Sovereign Shen Fengyu tugged his sleeve, pulling him into the marching troops.
Jiang Chen stood rooted, watching that white-clad back vanish into dawn light and rising dust.
…
Days later, the central army marched.
The battles were brutally fierce—demonic beasts like tides, fearless in death; Tu Ji’s tactics elusive and unpredictable.
Jiang Chen led his forces, seizing cities and camps, often camping rough amid blood-soaked robes. Two months flew by.
The Moon Hunt had been two months too.
But compared to this, those had been a gentle dream.
In brief lulls amid the frenzy, Jiang Chen slept armored, vigilant, dreaming the same scene.
Zhao Lixuan gazing calmly across armies and dust, twilight glow—from nowhere—bathing his white robes in warm gold. His eyes serene yet distant, like viewing a long-lost friend… or a stranger.
