In fact, these past few short days had not been peaceful in the Nine Heavens of the Three Realms either.
One could even say that an event had occurred—no less monumental than the battle at Crimson Meteor Pass.
It was just that this calamity’s waves had not crashed upon the Unstained Immortal Realm, but rather in the Demon Bright and the Demon Realm.
The trigger stemmed from Chu Fusheng’s secret return to the Demon Bright alongside Mo Qing some days prior, where he successfully forged an alliance with Duan Shuheng’s Dawnbreaker Army.
The original plan had been to wait until the Immortal Clan’s allied forces fully reclaimed the Unstained Immortal Realm before launching a two-pronged assault to conquer the Demon Court together.
But unexpectedly, mere days after Chu Fusheng’s arrival in the Demon Bright, he uncovered a fatal weakness there.
It wasn’t merely the Demon Bright’s flaw, but a common ailment afflicting the Immortal, Demon, and Yao Clans alike.
They were all far too reliant on raw “power”—the Immortal Clan prided themselves on their legions of Immortal Lords capable of moving mountains and filling seas; the Demon Bright unleashed colossal rotten demon soldiers and mutated Demon Immortals upon the battlefield; while the Demon Clan wielded vile artifacts like the Soul-Summoning Banner to crush foes through sheer force.
As a result, all three clans were woefully crude and superficial in tactics, formations, and strategy—utterly incomparable to the cunning stratagems forged in the human realm’s millennia of ceaseless warfare.
Chu Fusheng, after all, was half-human, half-immortal.
Though he held position in the Liao Yuan Court, the myriad Demon Immortals of the human realm still nominally revered the Human Sovereign as their shared liege.
Thus, during his years studying in the human realm, Chu Fusheng had not only cultivated immortal arts but devoured vast tomes of knowledge, mastering the arts of diplomacy and intrigue.
Witnessing the Demon Bright’s laughably inept troop deployments…
He directly employed a common ambush tactic from the human realm’s wars: splitting the Dawnbreaker Army into two forces—one disguised as Demon Clan troops, the other masquerading as Demon Immortals—to launch hit-and-run raids on both Demon Clan and Yao Clan positions, vanishing before reinforcements could arrive.
His intent had only been to harass and probe their defenses.
Never did he imagine that the Demon Clan forces and Demon Immortals already harbored mutual suspicions and deep-seated grudges. His ploy ignited like a spark falling into dry grassland, instantly setting ablaze long-smoldering resentments, and war erupted in a thunderous blaze!
To make matters worse, the commanders on both sides happened to be major figures—the Prince Ji You wielding the Soul Suppressing Banner on one flank, and the Xue Ying Princess commanding the Soul-Slaying Bell on the other.
The two had old grudges between them and both sought to eliminate the other once and for all. They flew into a bloodthirsty frenzy.
Word was that the battle’s ferocity was breathtaking.
Demonic flames and demonic lights rent the skies asunder, turning mountains and rivers ashen, blotting out sun and moon.
And just as the front lines bogged down in deadlock, with each side’s main forces locked in stalemate, the Demon Sovereign and Demon Clan venerables in the rear—thinking alike—both conceived the notion of striking at the weakness, cutting off the roots—
Thus, Demon Clan iron cavalry charged straight into the Demon Bright’s vital heartlands, while Yao Clan elites simultaneously ravaged the Demon Realm’s core strongholds.
This created the awkward spectacle of mutual raids on each other’s homelands, plunging both rears into crisis and utter chaos.
How could Xia Yunjie miss such a heaven-sent opportunity?
He swiftly orchestrated the big picture, capitalizing on the turmoil to swoop in and reap the fisherman’s profits, precisely severing both armies’ critical supply lines.
This root-cutting stroke threw the frontline Demon Clan into immediate disarray.
Prince Ji You of the Demon Clan, beset on all sides, panicked as the tide turned against him. Seeing the battle lost, he hastily dispatched envoys offering peace talks, pledging a full withdrawal from the Unstained Immortal Realm within days—the sole condition being that the allies refrain from pursuit during the retreat.
Of course, this capitulation wasn’t solely due to the battlefield reverses.
There were deeper reasons—
Tu Ji had long harbored suspicions over the Demon Sovereign’s sudden death. Though previously imprisoned by Prince Ji You, she had somehow escaped back to the Demon Realm, exposed his murder of the Sovereign, and brazenly declared herself ruler over the Demon Realm’s unconquered territories.
Rumors swirled that she had unleashed some ancient forbidden art even more potent than the Soul Suppressing Banner, capable of reanimating the fallen corpses of immortals, demons, and even yao beasts from the battlefield into undead minions under her command.
Of course, the truth of these rumors remained unverified.
Even if true, it had been forced upon her by the invading Azure Flame Commander, Yan Su.
In mere days of rampaging through the Demon Realm, Yan Su had orchestrated several massacres leaving not even dogs or chickens alive—his ruthlessness so extreme that even the ferocious Demon Clan trembled in fear.
When these tidings reached his ears, Zhao Lixuan paused in momentary self-doubt.
Senior Brother Shen… would he truly commit such slaughter?
The answer was: he didn’t know.
Didn’t know—not wouldn’t.
He didn’t understand Senior Brother Shen as deeply as he did his other senior brothers.
Yet regardless of how the Demon Bright and Demon Realm clashed like snipe and clam, and no matter the veracity of those horrifying rumors, the Unstained Immortal Realm had at least emerged from this turmoil with its flames of war temporarily extinguished, its barriers restored to radiance, escaping the brink of total collapse.
With the external tempests subsided for now, Zhao Lixuan’s most pressing concern was to take the still-recovering Jiang Chen somewhere safe for a proper meal.
Though the Immortal Clan could subsist on wind and dew without mortal grains, for one freshly healed from grave wounds, nothing nourished the meridians or restored vital energy like a feast of spirit-infused delicacies.
Moonlight flowed like water, pear blossoms drifted like snow, silently settling in the courtyard ahead.
Zhao Lixuan sat across from him, watching him eat.
In the past, when he’d loved him, he’d known all his tastes and preferences intimately. Now, after the long years, he only vaguely recalled his sweet tooth and fondness for lily buds.
Observing today, he learned anew: he relished the juicy water sand fruits, the translucent crystal dumplings; he’d take extra bites of the soft, sweet osmanthus sugar lotus root, and polish off every last bit of the silky almond tofu.
He committed them all to memory, one by one.
Since he’d already pledged a marriage contract, he wanted to… bit by bit, relearn him, try to love him again.
He wouldn’t admit it was spinelessness.
He just… just felt that since fate had reunited them thus, if there was even a sliver of happiness possible, why not try once more?
He thought: the passionate, fearless Zhao Lixuan of twenty years ago would surely wish for him to fall for little Jiang again.
After all, that version of him from twenty years back had cherished little Jiang so dearly.
He could never have dreamed that the precious little sweet ginger he’d cradled in his palm, fearing it might melt, would one day lie before him broken and wretched, choking out amid searing pain and grievance, “You don’t want me anymore.”
The Zhao Lixuan of twenty would have gone mad with heartache at such a sight.
And though he was no longer that blazingly sincere youth, the years hadn’t left only coldness and scars.
He was more mature now, more resilient and serene. No longer fearing repeated heartbreak, nor shrinking back from considerations.
The failed romance of youth had been a crushing blow to the then-smooth-sailing, untried boy Zhao Lixuan. But Immortal Lord Li Xuan’s life had since been tempered by trials. He could now bear failure, the world’s impermanence, joys and sorrows.
So, he was willing to give Jiang Chen a chance.
And to give his dust-sealed self a chance to start anew.
The evening breeze was gentle, stirring the wind chimes beneath the corridor.
A few fireflies drifted in from nowhere, circling the pear tree in the courtyard, trailing faint glows like scattered stars.
The soft halos played across Jiang Chen’s profile, outlining his sharp, refined contours.
The way he ate was both amusing and captivating.
As Zhao Lixuan watched him now, the blurred silhouette from twenty years past grew ever clearer in his heart—stroke by stroke, vivid once more.
Jiang Chen wasn’t just strikingly handsome; his bearing was exceptional. At rest, he resembled a figure from an ink wash painting; in motion, he exuded effortless grace. Even eating, he did so with leisurely poise, radiating innate elegance.
Because of this aura, back at Xiao Xue Tower, people had gossiped behind his back that he was “putting on airs”—mocking how an orphaned nobody dared posture like some aloof noble scion. Ridiculous.
Back then, Zhao Lixuan had quietly disciplined those loose-tongued fools under some pretext.
If he heard it now, he’d have plenty to retort—
Our little Jiang bears the Divine Temple’s certified extraordinary bloodline, his character innate and unparalleled. Why would he need to pretend?
Of course, this innately noble Young Master Jiang remained as picky an eater as ever. After all this time, he’d only touched the sweets, ignoring the savory pastries entirely.
Why bother learning to make pepper-salt crisps or crab-yolk pot helmets? He doesn’t even like them himself…
…
After the meal, since Jiang Chen was still recovering from severe wounds and needed rest, Zhao Lixuan urged him back to his room.
But once back in the room…
When Zhao Lixuan snapped back to himself, he was horrified to realize that he’d somehow slipped into Jiang Chen’s bed beside him with effortless, seamless naturalness?!
This, this was…
Heat surged to his earlobes. This is truly awful!!!
It was as if some bloodline dormant for twenty years had suddenly awakened.
When had Zhao Lixuan become such a… frivolous, impulsive rogue?
But on second thought, hadn’t he been exactly this way twenty years ago?
Truly awful. This realization left him drained, though thankfully he hadn’t done anything more outrageous.
He’d merely climbed beside Jiang Chen, propping his chin on his hand, gazing at him unblinkingly.
Help.
Even he himself felt that his current behavior inexplicably mirrored that reckless playboy from twenty years past!
Especially under the deep night, at such close quarters, staring just like this. In Jiang Chen’s eyes, did he not seem identical to those obsessive days in the Loofah Courtyard?
Otherwise, why else would Jiang Chen, under his gaze, tense up ever so slightly, hold his breath in rapt focus, not daring to move an inch?
“…”
“…”
Absurd!
Back then, at least, he’d been driven by pure, heartfelt affection in his foolishness. What was this now?
He didn’t know.
Utterly irrational.
Yet absurdly, he just wanted to stay like this—no urge to embrace or kiss, but equally unwilling to regain his senses, withdraw with propriety, and leave the bed.
“What a sin!”
And so they remained—one lying quietly, one lounging lazily.
Sharing the same brocade quilt, separated by mere inches of charged space, they locked eyes in a staring contest for a good while.
Zhao Lixuan: “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“What would it take for you to sleep?”
In the room, the night pearl cast a warm, luminous glow.
These past few days, Jiang Chen had lingered in a dazed, incredulous haze—whether from Zhao Lixuan’s talk of taking him home, or waking to find him sleeping by his side… it all felt unreal.
But here he was, undeniably real beside him.
Never leaving his side, silently soothing the heart that had wandered anxious and lost for twenty years.
…Lixuan is truly kind. Truly good.
With this thought, he hesitated, tentatively slipping a hand beneath the quilt amid a flutter of presumptuous trepidation, gently tugging Zhao Lixuan’s sleeve to draw him closer into his embrace.
After that, it felt like a dream again.
He didn’t dare hold tight, only loosely encircling the person in his arms—like cradling a fragile cloud or a dream he feared to shatter.
Yet even this restrained embrace sufficed to fill the void in his heart after twenty empty years, slowly warming it with a profound sense of fullness.
He tried his best to quietly suppress the surging flutter and ache in his chest.
Zhao Lixuan in his arms, by contrast, was far more relaxed.
He had always been this way—if unwilling, he yielded not an inch; but once committed, he fretted no more.
Even so, the twenty years between them lent their intimacy a layer of awkward tentativeness. In the dim uncertainty, both probed cautiously, unsure how to properly respond to each other’s subtle gestures.
Zhao Lixuan shifted in his embrace, finding a comfier position: “If you’re not sleepy, tell me… what happened to you on Clear Heart Island before.”
“If you’re too tired, just a little is fine.”
“…”
The night deepened thickly, yet the embrace was warm.
Faint pear blossom scent curled at his nose—this had once been an unreachable dream, yet now it lay truly, tangibly in his arms.
The faint scent of pear blossoms from Zhao Lixuan’s body lingered at the tip of his nose. That distant dream from another lifetime was now held securely in his arms.
Jiang Chen imperceptibly tightened his hold, drawing that warmth even closer.
…Humans are truly selfish.
He knew it all too well—
He understood that Li Xuan’s feelings toward him now… could hardly be called love. He was merely trying to accept him, striving to treat him well.
He knew this kind of relationship.
In the mortal realm, there were many such couples—strangers before marriage, respectful companions afterward. No earth-shattering love, no heart-fluttering moments, yet they walked through life hand in hand, treating each other with utmost respect like honored guests, living in peaceful harmony until the end.
This was probably what Li Xuan offered him now.
Fine by him.
After so many years, to receive such treatment from Li Xuan’s side was already the mercy of fate.
He was content.
It was best for both of them if Li Xuan didn’t love him.
But why…
When Zhao Lixuan asked about everything he’d seen on Clear Heart Island, a nearly despicable impulse seized his heart.
He could barely control the urge to rip open those deeply buried, blood-soaked wounds from his past—to lay bare all the pain and ugliness that no one needed to know, and show it all to him.
He wanted to tell him about the unbearable agony of being torn apart and remade; how his current form was the result of so much helplessness and cruel twists of fate…
He wanted to paint himself as utterly wretched and innocent.
Would that earn him a shred of pity? Forgiveness for all his past wrongs?
Even… rekindle a flicker of love, however faint as dust?
The thought was like a seductive poison.
—But he shouldn’t.
All the backlash and costs had left him with only this broken shell of a body. He couldn’t stay with him much longer, had no right to crave even a moment’s warmth.
So… it was better if he didn’t love him.
They should keep this perfect distance, savoring the gentle respect of honored companions. That way, when he inevitably had to leave, Zhao Lixuan wouldn’t grieve too deeply. Perhaps a moment of regret and melancholy, then he could continue his splendid, unclouded immortal life.
This was the best arrangement for Li Xuan.
“Mm… There, I saw the previous Immortal Emperor and the Demon King.”
He paused. “And my own origins.”
