Fucang’s body trembled slightly, and hazy points of light slowly overflowed from between his brows. However, he didn’t fall into unconsciousness like Yan Xia had last time—those deep, dark eyes merely gazed fixedly at her.

Their gazes intertwined in silent stillness.

Was this the divine lord from heaven? Or the youth from the mortal realm? Xuan Yi didn’t know, nor did she wish to think about this question. Whoever he was, she would simply watch him quietly like this until everything ended.

After a long while, those focused eyes finally closed, and he slowly went limp.

Xuan Yi touched his face. He seemed to have fallen asleep, his expression peaceful.

He wouldn’t have nightmares anymore, would he?

The Chief Supervising Officer landed and probed Fucang’s chest: “This body is dead. It must be because the karmic ties were resolved, causing spiritual vibrations. To catch this moment so precisely really wasn’t easy.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a thin thread of light shot out from the top of Fucang’s head, severed completely, and dispersed into countless points of light. Good—the thread of destiny had also been cut. This mission of escorting Divine Lord Fucang to the mortal realm had finally reached its end.

The Supervising Officers gathered around with relief on their faces. This karmic connection had finally been smoothly resolved, and everyone was very pleased. They had thought this willful princess would grow tired of the trouble halfway through and run off, but unexpectedly she had personally seen it through to this extent.

The Chief Officer saw Xuan Yi standing silently at the cliff’s edge, her expression extremely calm. Unable to discern her thoughts for a moment, he gently consoled her: “Princess, after Divine Lord Fucang returns to the upper realm, he should remember this experience…”

Remember he would, but whether he’d regard it as a past karmic obstacle floating by like clouds, who could say? Unwilling to voice this, he said instead: “You two might be able to reconcile.”

Xuan Yi said flatly: “I understand. You all may leave. Don’t disturb me.”

The Chief Officer could only nod, then said gently: “We must return Divine Lord Fucang’s mortal corpse to the Qing Di Temple. Princess…”

She didn’t answer, merely turned her body away.

The Supervising Officers lifted the still-warm corpse with wind and clouds. His arm hung down limply, and suddenly something gleaming with golden light fell from his sleeve onto the ground. The Chief Officer hurriedly picked it up—it was a golden hairpin, its surface covered with thousands of intertwining golden threads, dotted with rice-grain-sized peonies, both luxurious and exquisite.

“Is this the Princess’s golden hairpin?” He handed it over.

Xuan Yi silently held the hairpin in her palm. That scoundrel had secretly hidden away her hairpin—was he afraid she would suddenly disappear?

But this time, she truly didn’t want to disappear or leave. Right here in this illusory mortal realm like a bubble, she had wanted to spend a period of time with him.

She turned away again, gazing at the half-city surrounded by greenery below the mountain.

The turbid wind was like the paste he once used for sticking talismans, wrapping strand by strand around her body and hair. Previously, Xuan Yi had greatly disliked this feeling, but during these days in the mortal realm, she seemed to have gradually grown accustomed to it.

She should return to the upper realm. She had done everything she needed to do—let everything that went awry return to its original state. Their karmic bond would end here.

But she still didn’t want to leave. If she left, it would truly mean parting from him. She didn’t want to leave him. She was always this willful.

If only hearts could be like white snow—freeze it into the hardest form, and none of this would have happened. Those wishes boiling and churning at the bottom of her heart, which could never possibly be spoken aloud, wouldn’t exist either.

If… if she kept waiting here, would he…

She didn’t dare think it. Her heart wasn’t as cold and hard as she had imagined. She had opened her eyes, steeled her resolve, and jumped down to directly face those feelings she viewed as dangerous floods and fierce beasts. She had originally thought she could handle it beautifully and coldly—clap her hands and return to the upper realm, severing ties completely from then on and becoming strangers. She and the ice-like loneliness would return to Zhongshan forever, for ten million years if need be.

But those words “I like you” had used her heart. Once spoken, she could only let herself be at his mercy. He had taken her heart away.

Xuan Yi didn’t remember how long she stood at the cliff’s edge. The small sun appeared at the zenith for a while, then turned into a small moon, repeating several times until finally there was nothing—dark clouds covered the mountaintop, and pattering autumn rain soaked the leaves of the empress mulberry trees. The low, rustling sounds were like suppressed crying. After he left, they would start emerging again.

She suddenly turned and leaped into the sea of clouds. She wouldn’t let them emerge again. She was different from Mother. She absolutely wouldn’t become like Mother. Absolutely not.

When she returned to Qing Di Temple, the clamor brought by Fucang’s sudden death in this life had completely dissipated. Everything had returned to tranquility.

Xuan Yi walked into the small courtyard where he had lived for seventeen years. The leaves on that pear tree had already yellowed—never again would there be a youth doing strange and peculiar morning exercises beneath the tree.

She pushed open the door. Inside the room everything remained as it was. The Peach Tree Earth Immortal had even carefully tidied up, keeping the place clean. The dark green robe he often wore was casually draped over the bedding. At the head of the bed was that book of Yin Yun’s novels containing the story of Zi Lu killing a tiger. The white paper on which they had both written the character for “dragon” still lay spread on the desk, the ink in the inkstone already dried.

She carefully folded that piece of white paper and placed it in her sleeve. With a wave of her hand, an entire row of small white snow figurines from the bookshelf all flew into her embrace. After a moment’s hesitation, she finally hardened her heart, turned around, and floated out through the moon window.

The Peach Tree Earth Immortal told her that Fucang’s mortal corpse had been returned to the imperial family. It seemed that because of his connection with the immortals, everyone knew he probably wouldn’t live long, so they had prepared a burial site for him early on. He was lavishly buried on a solitary mountain peak within the imperial mausoleum.

Xuan Yi made a special trip to look at him. Actually, she didn’t understand what a burial site was. So after mortals died, they still had to build a tomb to house the corpse—better than the celestial gods. When they perished, nothing would be left behind—they would only transform into pure energy and return to the divine realm.

As the Seventh Imperial Prince in this life, Fucang’s tomb was massive and imposing. Before the tomb stood a stone sculpture of Bi Xi carrying a huge stone tablet, which reminded her of the Bi Xi in Qingqiu.

Xuan Yi reached out and patted the stone Bi Xi’s head.

Stop sleeping. Get up.

…Of course no one would get up.

Xuan Yi sighed and sat on Bi Xi’s back, looking up at the vast night sky. The dark clouds had dispersed, revealing the sky full of stars and moon. The moon in the mortal realm was truly small, small and dim. The most beautiful moonlit scene she had ever seen was on the nanmu corridor by Chengjiang Lake at Qing Di Palace.

She took out the small white snow figurines from her embrace one by one and arranged them before his tomb, slowly moving them about with her fingers.

She suddenly felt that these figurines she had made were really too crude. The Jiutou Shi’s nine heads should all have facial features. The gemstone on Chun Jun sword’s hilt was azure blue. The swaying peonies should be even larger. The golden carp’s scales should be more numerous. The loach’s dragon horns on its head, tiny as rice grains, also needed to be pinched out.

Xuan Yi began re-carving with her fingernails. She filled in the details very slowly and very carefully. Never in her life had she been this meticulous when making these small figurines. She held her breath, her spirit focused, as if doing the most momentous and important thing since her birth.

It seemed a bit hard to breathe. Since arriving in the mortal realm, there had always been a fuzzy mass lodged in her throat, constantly making her uncomfortable. Now it had probably burrowed into her chest cavity, extending along her meridians to all four limbs and hundred bones. Her whole body was beginning to feel awkward—she really wanted to pull it out.

She coughed forcefully once, then suddenly discovered that at some unknown point, dense snowflakes had begun falling from the void, submerging the entire mountaintop.

Wind whirled and snow danced, falling thick and fast. These snowflakes were especially large and especially dense. This was the first time she realized she could make snow this heavy—even larger than Qing Yan’s snowflakes. The heavy snow covered half the city. Qi Nan really should come see this. He always said she was useless, wasting the talent of growing a human form at two hundred years old. Turns out she could be this impressively powerful. When she became formidable, even she herself was frightened.

Oh right, Qi Nan. He must be happy this time. He wouldn’t ignore her for half a year again. The Huaxu Clan and Zhuyin Clan wouldn’t bear grudges—they hadn’t gained another enemy. She had never asked—what exactly had he said to Qing Di at the palace that day? Could he have vigorously recommended her to Qing Di? He always hoped she and Fucang would be together, and she always did the opposite of what he wanted. Now she had finally gotten what she wished for.

Qing Yan might be a bit disappointed. She understood what he meant when he left—he told her to keep entangled with Fucang so she wouldn’t be lonely. He was afraid she’d be all alone. Too bad she had let down her elder brother’s good intentions.