Chapter 37: All of It Can Be Given to Him Part 1

Zhao Lixuan had simply switched to new clothes because his old ones were torn.

Not to mention, that previous white robe had been fine for putting on airs at Fu Xi Palace, but on a real battlefield thick with the stench of blood, it was far too impractical—too prone to getting filthy.

He might as well change into something more fitting, which also lent him a sharper edge for the sands of war.

These months of grueling battles had truly worn him down, body and soul.

Zhao Lixuan’s experience was still shallow, after all, and his strength far from sufficient to handle a conflict of this scale with ease. Thrust suddenly into a high position bearing the weight of the entire campaign, pressure shadowed his every step. Each day felt like walking on thin ice, terrified of a single misstep.

Fortunately, things had gone smoothly so far, without a hitch.

He thanked the heavens and earth for that.

And if there was any relief amid these suffocating days, it had to be Shen Fengyu’s daily, unmissable performance of his “overbearing immortal emperor forced love” routine.

Shen Fengyu this person… Though he was twins with Shen Fengyan, their temperaments couldn’t have been more different.

After racking his brains, Zhao Lixuan still felt that “capricious” best described the Shen family little brother—nothing fit better.

Fortunately, this capriciousness was something he picked and chose, depending on the person.

Toward him, he was always pleasant and smiling. As for certain others… well.

The high priest Yu Changxin, for one, hadn’t been so lucky.

Priest Yu Office was the one on the receiving end of this forced love, day in and day out, unable to escape the immortal emperor’s endless parade of “dear master” and “righteous father” endearments, along with skin-crawlingly long titles and lavish gifts.

In recent days, Zhao Lixuan had often caught glimpses of Yu Changxin’s utterly dead-inside expression.

But in Yu Changxin’s own words, it was all “you’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it.”

“Blame me from back then… Sigh, one wrong step led to a lifetime of regret…”

Yu Changxin never shied away from admitting he wasn’t some good guy.

Back then, when the prophecy of the immortal emperor’s fated heir fell on the twins, all the major powers had stirred into action, each scheming to seize control of that “fate” for themselves.

Yu Changxin had been one of those formidable forces.

He’d approached it with the pure mindset of an ambitious schemer, aiming to use the emperor to command the vassals.

After getting his hands on the young Shen Fengyu, he’d ensured the boy lacked for nothing on the surface—no shortages of food or clothing, no starving or freezing.

But in the shadows, his methods had been relentless.

Today it was verbal threats and intimidation; tomorrow, temptations and lures with promises of gain. He’d monitored the boy’s every move with airtight surveillance while forcing him to acknowledge that “righteous father” title.

He pulled out every trick in the book for control, manipulation, and breaking in, determined to grip this chess piece tight in his palm and turn him into a perfectly obedient puppet.

But alas, for all his schemes, he still fell one move short.

He couldn’t outmaneuver the other hungry wolves circling. Shen Fengyu was rescued by his older brother Shen Fengyan and ascended to the immortal emperor’s throne.

As for him, this once-mighty “righteous father” who manipulated from the shadows, he ended up a prisoner, watching his reign as a power-grabbing tyrant draw to a close.

Yet Shen Fengyu had come to the dungeon personally.

Yu Changxin had imagined countless ways the little puppet might take revenge—hateful spittle, icy accusations, even being hacked to pieces by his own hand.

But he never dreamed that Shen Fengyu would simply lean down, fingertip brushing his cheek ever so gently: “Righteous Father, after all these years of fuss…”

“You’re finally mine.”

Yu Changxin: “????”

In that moment, his ever-calculating mind went blank.

All his past knowledge, schemes, grasp of power and human hearts—they shattered before this utterly unforeseen turn.

And what followed in that dungeon… well, it was even more…!!!

What Yu Changxin could scarcely accept was that throughout the dungeon’s indescribable ordeal, Shen Fengyu wore an expression of utter bliss and satisfaction.

While he had that face on!

All those years interacting with Shen Fengyu, Yu Changxin had always worn the visage of a forty-something schemer, etched with the weathering of storms, ambition, and cunning—a true old fox.

It wasn’t that he lacked the ability to maintain a youthful look; if he wanted, he could be fresh-faced and handsome anytime.

But what he craved was power and dominance, the oppressive aura that made others quail on sight. His appearance had to match the role, so he’d chosen this sinister, ambitious guise.

And yet, after all his efforts to be the perfect, ruthless villain…

He’d been claimed by the very puppet emperor he’d raised!

Now, Yu Changxin had indeed gotten the supreme authority above all others, as he’d wished.

He was the high priest, grand state preceptor, regent king, Nine Heavens Patrol Envoy, bearer of titles so long you had to pause for breath midway, various exalted venerables whose names made your head spin, great guardians stacked atop one another.

Aside from being forced to share a bed with the immortal emperor every night, Shen Fengyu deferred to him almost entirely on matters of state. He’d achieved his lifelong grand ambitions.

But being clung to for sleep wasn’t what he wanted!!!

He didn’t want it.

Deep down, Yu Changxin was a lone wolf who’d sacrifice family, abandon friends, forsake pleasures, even crush his own humanity for power.

He had no room in his heart for romantic nonsense—what sleep?!

Yet Shen Fengyu utterly ignored his wishes.

Sleep after sleep.

Sleep, then sleep again.

Afterward, he’d pull him into his arms, fingertips idly twirling his graying strands: “Haven’t I given Righteous Father everything you wanted? Why the tears?”

“…”

In front of Zhao Lixuan, Shen Fengyu was utterly candid: “No helping it—that’s the family tradition passed down the line. My brother likes his master; I like mine.”

Zhao Lixuan: “…”

“Just like you and your brother—you both like that type too.”

Zhao Lixuan: “………”

Shen Fengyu: “But thanks to my brother’s example, I’m determined not to repeat the mistake.”

“Why hide and pine away, missing your chance? No, I’m expressing my love to Master every day—sweet as honey, making love like intimate dao companions every single day.”

Zhao Lixuan: “……………..”

He vaguely recalled some rumor he’d heard somewhere.

They said this generation’s immortal emperor situation with twin heirs stemmed from the previous emperor committing some sin in the Demon God’s resting place, angering the god and cursing the imperial bloodline.

Looking at it now, the Shen brothers’ quirks grew stranger with each one.

One had to admit, that curse rumor might not be baseless.

…

Zhao Lixuan never imagined he’d fall ill.

Perhaps after months of taut nerves, once the three armies finally merged smoothly and command passed to Xia Yunjie, the string in his heart snapped loose.

The energy he’d been forcing suddenly drained away. His head spun in waves, his steps felt unsteady beneath him.

At first, he paid it no mind.

The first night after merging forces, it was still his shift for night patrol—and alongside Jiang Chen, whom he hadn’t seen in three months.

At the time, he’d thought Jiang Chen looked far from well. Compared to three months prior, the Immortal Lord Jiang was even thinner, his face under the moonlight a nearly translucent pallor, exhaustion seeming to seep from his very bones.

Zhao Lixuan had just opened his mouth to ask if he was alright when a warmth bloomed at the back of his neck.

He shrank back instinctively, only to see Jiang Chen draping his own black cloak over his shoulders.

Winter nights in the Unstained Immortal Realm weren’t bitterly cold; faint insect chirps even rose sporadically from the grass. But the sudden added layer still brought a thick, comforting warmth.

Jiang Chen’s hand, through the fluffy soft wool, brushed ever so lightly against the nape of his neck before withdrawing: “Wind’s cold. Wear more.”

“…”

Moonlight flowed down like water.

Distant mountains and nearby tents blurred at the edges in this glow, serene and peaceful.

This time, he’s different from before… Zhao Lixuan thought silently.

This reunion with Jiang Chen—whether the closeness or the gaze upon him—felt exceptionally restrained, steady, perfectly “normal.”

They patrolled side by side, chatting occasionally about the battles, without any awkward stiffness.

For a moment, it was like returning to those brief yet profoundly gentle days during the Moon Hunt.

Those few days, they weren’t entangled ex-lovers anymore; they were more like old friends reuniting after years apart.

And so, under the soft moonlight, the two walked in lantern-lit silence, Jiang Chen carefully shielding him from the night breeze. A long-lost tranquility, soothing to the heart, wrapped around Zhao Lixuan.

Until the first half of the night shift ended, and Yu Rumu and Shen Fengyu arrived to take over.

Shen Fengyu: “Yo.”

Jiang Chen completely ignored his provocative glance, silently escorting Zhao Lixuan all the way back to his temporary courtyard in the city.

“Actually, Immortal Lord Jiang doesn’t need to see me back.”

Jiang Chen: “Mm.”

“We’re here.”

Jiang Chen: “Mm.”

Seeing him still standing there—not pressing close, but seemingly insistent on watching him enter safely—Zhao Lixuan could only nod and head inside.

But his head grew heavier, the courtyard’s flowers, trees, and plants twisting into bizarre shapes in his blurring vision. As he stepped onto the winding footbridge before the house, a fierce dizziness struck, and he pitched straight toward the pond below—

The expected icy water never came.

A strong arm caught him steadily, pulling him into an embrace carrying the faint chill of night dew.

Zhao Lixuan broke free almost immediately, his stomach churning beyond suppression.

He hadn’t eaten that evening due to discomfort, yet he still stumbled to a nearby tree, bent over, and retched violently.

Only sour bile came up. Dizziness and exhaustion wove together, reddening the corners of his eyes; it took everything to catch his breath.

A warm palm pressed gently to his back, a mild, profound demon power flowing in slowly. The warm current soothed his chilled spine and roiling guts.

The next moment, his body lightened—he’d been scooped up horizontally by Jiang Chen.

Carried wordlessly back into the house, Zhao Lixuan’s mind was already fogging over. The bed felt cold; he curled up instinctively.

But soon, the brazier in the corner was lit, orange firelight chasing away the chill.

A smooth warm jade was pressed into his hand, its heat seeping along his meridians to his limbs.

A damp, warm cloth meticulously wiped his mouth and face. Then he was carefully sat up, Jiang Chen holding warm water to his lips to rinse away the bitterness.

“…”

Jiang Chen knows how to take care of people?

When did he learn?

In his haze, Zhao Lixuan’s thoughts dragged sluggishly, left with vague questions. The spinning dizziness swallowed him; like a drowning man, he clutched instinctively for something.

Jiang Chen held him, using his own gentle demon power to dispel the chill, the warmth pulling him back bit by bit from the cold abyss’s edge.

He gasped raggedly. In his unconscious flailing, he bumped something cool. With his struggling motion, it slipped—”crack”—shattering on the floor.

Glistening jade shards scattered everywhere.

Zhao Lixuan stared blankly. It was the White Jade Flute Jiang Chen never parted with.

The flute body lay in pieces, but the plump, endearing white goose jade pendant at the end—thicker and sturdier—had survived, lying forlorn amid the fragments.