The sky gradually darkened. Several masses of dark clouds swallowed the zenith, and soon, the rustling autumn rain drenched the leaves of the osmanthus trees.
The dragon princess in his arms kept her head lowered in silence, her hands persistently braced against his chest as if insisting on something.
Her hair had also been drenched. A few crystal-clear water drops ran down her neck into her collar. Fucang couldn’t help but gently wipe them away with his fingers. He could have raised a barrier, but at this moment he didn’t really want to block out the rain. Her pristine white garments were drenched halfway through, clinging to her shoulders, with dripping wet strands of hair tangled all over them. He helped brush them aside, flicking away the water drops from the ends of her hair.
She stirred slightly, and he held her even tighter. Her head practically seemed ready to droop down to her knees, her soft voice seeming to tremble: “I… my clothes are wet. I want to go change.”
Fucang looked for a moment at her flushed nape, then finally slowly released his hands. Xuan Yi kept her head lowered as she stood in place adjusting her drenched long robes. Without a word, she turned and walked back to the bedchamber, the ears visible through the gaps in her hair also red.
The gauze curtains of the bedchamber were all drawn down. Xuan Yi stood in a daze for a moment, then suddenly pulled open the moon window on the other side and without hesitation flipped over and jumped out.
At this point she couldn’t worry about her aching feet. She had never in her life run so wildly with such disregard for appearances—barefoot, stepping in mud, with every celestial deity she passed staring dumbstruck.
She had to return to Zhongshan. She absolutely must go back.
Actually, these years she’d lived quite well. She had reconciled with loneliness, peaceful and at ease. Qi Nan never mentioned Fucang’s name in front of her again, and the clothes and blank paper placed in the deepest part of the drawer, she hadn’t taken them out to look at for many years. If she had recognized earlier that eternal solitude was the best destination, then none of these vexing matters would have happened.
She had once so ruthlessly and courageously severed all their shared past. When he was a mortal harmed by her Zhuyin Clan’s cold divine power, she had already secretly sworn never to repeat the same mistake.
Don’t let her willfulness raise its head and run wild. Her love always walked hand in hand with harm. He couldn’t endure a third time being hurt, and her heart, which wasn’t that cold and hard, also couldn’t endure being tormented again.
Don’t break this layer of calm, alright?
If she indulged her willfulness any further… Sigh, sometimes when she turned bad even she herself was frightened—it was quite detestable. Like now, he really had no eye for judgment, still wanting to fall for her a third time.
Back to Zhongshan! Raise the barrier again—ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years were all just the blink of an eye. She was no longer that little princess who found a thousand years unbearably long.
Her foot slipped into emptiness as she stepped into a small puddle, splashing herself with mud and water all over. Xuan Yi stopped, panting, and disgustedly brushed off her soaking wet skirt. As she looked around, Yuhua Palace was ridiculously large, and the realm of divine beings had restrictions against riding clouds or controlling wind. She… seemed not to know where she had run to.
How embarrassing. The first time in her life getting lost.
A white stone flowerpot sat beside the path. Her feet hurt terribly, so she simply sat on it to rest. In any case, everyone ran on two legs. Even she herself didn’t know where she’d run to, so Fucang definitely wouldn’t know either.
The rain grew heavier and heavier, washing the mud from her feet completely clean. After Xuan Yi had rested for half a day, the corner of her eye suddenly caught sight of a white-robed figure in the distance. She couldn’t help but jump up at once, but the person in white robes turned out to be a passing goddess.
She herself found it amusing. She recited an incantation to raise a barrier, flicked her finger over her clothes, and the wet rainwater was immediately flicked away, her whole body returning to refreshing dryness.
Fool—why would a goddess need to change when her clothes got wet? Sigh.
Putting on shoes made of ice and snow, Xuan Yi looked around in all directions again, basically confirming the direction of the back gate. She turned and limped slowly up the corridor. After walking just a few steps, she suddenly heard some commotion from the distant main gate—the sound of the Transmitting Voice Technique. Giant bells rang for a while, followed by footsteps and shouting in various chaos. The divine beings from nearby courtyards also ran out one after another, their expressions all quite grave.
“Another gravely injured and critical battle general has been sent back to the upper realm,” several passing celestial deities discussed in low voices. “Being able to be sent back in time so they can perish here is better than perishing in the lower realm.”
As Xuan Yi slowly walked forward, she stretched her ears to listen to their conversation.
Before long, several more divine beings came running frantically, calling out loudly: “It’s a battle general from the Bingchen Division! A divine official has already been dispatched to Huahuang Immortal Island to inform Hua Huang.”
Bingchen Division? Huahuang Immortal Island? Xuan Yi stopped in her tracks at once. If she remembered correctly, that day Zhi Xi had said that Gu Ting and Yan Xia were in the Bingchen Division, right?
She couldn’t help but draw in a cold breath. Was Gu Ting about to perish?
Her expression complex, she stood in a daze for a long while, then continued walking forward. Having reached the end of the corridor with great difficulty, she suddenly gritted her teeth and turned back, grabbing a passing battle general and asking with complete seriousness: “Where is the battle general sent back from the Bingchen Division?”
*
The Zhengze Courtyard of Yuhua Palace was the place in the entire divine realm most abundant with pure qi, planted full of fire-element parasol trees. Before the calamity of the Sea of Parting Hatred ran rampant, this place often served as where battle generals broke through to the Myriad-Year Dream realm. Now it had become a recovery place for gravely injured and critical battle generals. Battle generals infected with turbid qi couldn’t use any techniques to heal their wounds completely. They could only wait until the turbid qi in their wounds was expelled before healing. For celestial deities unaccustomed to enduring pain, this process was truly extremely agonizing.
Xuan Yi struggled all the way to Zhengze Courtyard. Under the fire-element parasol trees already stood battle generals from the Bingchen Division with grave expressions. Yan Xia, whom she hadn’t seen in a long while, was squatting by the doorway crying. Upon seeing Xuan Yi, she first froze, then came up and helplessly grabbed her arm, choking with difficulty: “Junior Martial Sister, Senior Martial Brother Gu Ting is gravely injured!”
This little princess of Chi Di still had that problem of easily panicking when something happened. She only focused on crying and couldn’t explain the situation clearly no matter what. A battle general from the Bingchen Division at the side explained: “We don’t know what happened with Shenjun Gu Ting. He got into a conflict with the third prince of Great Lord Sui Hu. His back was torn open with a huge hole, infected by turbid qi. Fortunately we arrived in time and sent him back.”
When did Gu Ting’s courage grow so bold?
Xuan Yi quietly walked into Zhengze Courtyard and listened carefully for a while, then leaned against a moon window, pulling open a crack to look inside. She saw that in the hall, Emperor Qingyuan and several Bingchen Division battle generals were gathered around Gu Ting on the soft couch. He lay face down, motionless, his back drenched in blood, pitch-black turbid qi coiling relentlessly. His breath was already like gossamer.
Fucang bent down before the couch, carefully examining his injuries.
The dijun who appeared to be the Bingchen Division main general kept sighing: “This injury… I’m afraid it will take over half a year before the turbid qi can be completely expelled. I don’t know if he can hold on.”
Xuan Yi couldn’t help but sigh silently. It seemed she couldn’t be as unfeeling as before. The fact that Gu Ting might perish actually made her feel sad.
She quite liked him. Although she very much disliked his All-Nourishing Tonic Soup, she didn’t want him to perish.
Fucang in the hall seemed to suddenly sense something. He looked up and accurately captured her hiding beneath the moon window, gazing at her quietly for a while. He walked toward the window.
“Gu Ting’s injury is very severe. Don’t look.” He used his body to block her line of sight.
She indeed didn’t really want to see such a ghastly wound. She lowered her head, grasped her sleeve and pinched it for a while, only feeling there was nothing to say.
“I was just waiting at the gate of Yuhua Palace. You seemed to be lost,” his voice was very faint.
That’s right, lost. And then that little bit of conscience she had left made her grit her teeth and walk right into the trap. Xuan Yi could only respond with silence.
“Stay here. Don’t leave.”
He turned to go back. Xuan Yi couldn’t help but say softly: “Will Senior Martial Brother Gu Ting…”
Fucang didn’t speak. He couldn’t tell her with certainty that he wouldn’t perish. No one knew the outcome.
He returned to the hall and continued examining Gu Ting’s wound. The Bingchen Division generally handled aftermath work—none of them were first-rate battle generals in terms of combat power, and the probability of directly facing demon clans wasn’t high. How exactly had Gu Ting collided with Great Lord Sui Hu’s third prince? When the incident occurred, only Yan Xia had been with him, but she was badly frightened, only focused on crying. No one could get the details out of her.
Gu Ting’s right hand was clenched tightly the entire time, with some crumpled white petals showing through the gaps between his fingers. Fucang pried his fingers open. In his palm lay a crushed lily-of-the-valley waist ornament. His brows couldn’t help but furrow.