The Yuan family’s only son had suddenly awakened—completely awakened. Overnight he’d transformed from an imbecile who couldn’t get out of bed or feed and dress himself into an extraordinarily intelligent, refined gentleman.
All of Jiaxing was in an uproar. Busybodies who’d climbed the Yuan family’s surrounding wall to peek inside had seen the legendary appearance of Young Master Yuan—actually three parts more beautiful than the painting.
For a time, families with daughters all wrung their hands in regret, lamenting they hadn’t known better earlier. If only they hadn’t avoided his family like scorpions and snakes—their own daughters could have already achieved a perfect match.
The Yuan family people were also wringing their hands. If only they’d known their son would wake up so quickly as if possessed by a celestial deity, when that old Daoist from the Hu family came requesting to break the engagement, they shouldn’t have stubbornly refused to relent. Now look what happened—the doors didn’t match, the households didn’t match—they had to marry a daughter from a small household as daughter-in-law. They’d heard that young lady had even disappeared for a period of time—who knew what romantic affairs she’d had outside? Where would the Yuan family’s face go?
Regrets aside, that precious son who’d awakened had himself run to the Hu family to propose. The Hu family, seeing him possess such heavenly grace, how could they let go? They hastily agreed to the marriage.
Whether willing or not, the marriage had to proceed.
In fact, after Young Master Yuan went to Hu Sha’s home to propose, that very night Hu Sha crept to Young Master Yuan’s bedchamber.
For a moment she dared not enter, only squatting by the door, staring blankly at the swaying candlelight on the window, afraid the afternoon had merely been her own hallucination—like the elusive lamplight before her eyes that might extinguish the next moment.
Not knowing how long she’d squatted there, the window suddenly creaked open from inside.
Young Master Yuan’s appearance indicated preparation for sleep—hair hanging loose down his back, wrapped in a loose silk-cotton ivory-white robe, leaning against the windowsill with a half-smile watching the “little thief” below the window.
Hu Sha murmured softly, “Master…”
That face, that expression, those eyes… If someone said he wasn’t Fang Zhun, you could beat Hu Sha to death and she wouldn’t believe it.
He patted the windowsill. “Come in to talk.” His voice was low and soft, different from Fang Zhun’s slightly youthful voice.
Actually, looking carefully, though he looked exactly identical to Fang Zhun, but… how to put it—he looked more like Fang Zhun after growing up.
Originally Fang Zhun’s appearance had always remained at seventeen. Though his temperament was transcendent and refined, it inevitably carried some childishness. This Young Master Yuan was a youth in his twenties. That thread of childishness was completely gone, like freshly polished supreme white jade, making one unable to look away.
Hu Sha somehow climbed through the window, feeling somewhat awkward after landing. Placing her hand by her lips, she coughed once, still not quite certain. “Master?”
He smiled slightly. “Much has changed—no wonder you’re doubtful.”
After speaking, he turned to pour tea for her, first rinsing the teacup with boiling water, pouring it into the tea tray. This small gesture was Fang Zhun’s habit—before brewing tea, he liked to first scald the cup with boiling water.
Her heart stirred. Her vision slowly blurred. Walking over, she grabbed his sleeve, gripping it death-tight, as if afraid he would scatter again immediately.
He stroked her head, just about to speak when he suddenly heard her say softly, “This isn’t a dream, right? Truly not a dream? Master, you… are still alive?”
Two large tears hung on her lower lashes, not daring to roll down, only spinning there. Same as their first meeting this afternoon—her face showing heartbroken yet disbelieving expression—Fang Zhun opened both arms and held her tightly in his embrace.
“Aren’t I already standing before you now? Silly child.” He spoke in a low voice, sweeping the long hair by her ear behind it, then grabbing his sleeve to wipe her tears.
Hu Sha clung to him desperately. Both arms had already begun aching from excessive force.
This pain reminded her—the person before her was real. He hadn’t died. He’d truly lived, coming to her world, becoming a mortal.
Hu Sha rubbed her eyes. Teardrops still hung on her cheeks, yet the corners of her lips had already smiled open. Carrying a trace of nasal tone, she asked him, “You… how did you become the Yuan family’s young master? Does Grand Master… and Senior Martial Brothers know you came here? How did you come back to life? Your body in Zhiyan Studio…”
She asked a whole string of questions. Fang Zhun simply pressed one finger against her lips, suppressing her bellyful of questions, laughing lightly. “Slowly, slowly. We have plenty of time still.”
This Young Master Yuan had been born an imbecile—couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just lying in bed like this for over twenty years. Apart from having breath, he was no different from a dead person.
He was also the only son. Master Yuan later married several concubines, but remained extremely thin in descendants, unable to produce more children. Therefore this incompetent imbecile remained the pain in their hearts.
If not for this, with their kind of household and their son born so handsome, how would they form marriage ties with a Fire-Dwelling Daoist?
Hu Sha’s father had also been foolish, seeing only the portrait and feeling extremely pleased. Actually that portrait had been painted at great cost by a hired artist. Young Master Yuan had never awakened. Naturally the artist could only add his own imagination, outlining features to paint him as a peerless beauty.
If not for this, when Hu Sha first saw Fang Zhun at Qingyuan, she would have recognized immediately he was precisely that husband in the painting.
This matter must be told starting from when Fang Zhun became an immortal.
He’d achieved immortality at one hundred years old, passing heavenly tribulation, shedding his mortal flesh body, ascending to an immortal body. But the physical body didn’t separate cleanly—one soul remnant remained in the mortal flesh, actually reincarnating to become Young Master Yuan. Also because only one soul remnant existed within the body, for over twenty years he could only live like an imbecile.
That day when Feng Yi planted the Shared Destruction seal in his heart, draining all his body’s blood, the immortal body couldn’t survive. His soul should have returned to the underworld for another reincarnation. Unfortunately, with three ethereal souls and six corporeal souls lacking one soul, he wandered in the netherworld for a long time, automatically running to find the remaining soul. When he opened his eyes again, he’d already become Young Master Yuan.
“After I awakened, I immediately discovered this body was the mortal flesh separated before achieving immortality. Never imagined—after circling around for so long, in the end I’d still have to become a mortal again, to accompany you together.”
He smiled, gemstone-like eyes gazing at her tenderly, gently squeezing her hand.
Hu Sha couldn’t help remembering at Five-Color Stream, facing the magnificent peach blossoms, he’d said he wanted to be a mortal together with her. That time and this time—states of mind already different. No more anxious gains and losses—her heart only felt happiness and joy.
“We can cultivate together, become immortals together.” She ultimately didn’t wish him to give up immortal status for her sake.
But he shook his head, saying softly, “After three hundred years as an immortal, I’m already tired. Limited life is what’s worth cherishing. Otherwise when you and I later become old husband and old wife, we’d truly grow sick of each other.”
Another not-at-all-funny cold joke.
Hu Sha looked at him helplessly. After a while, both smiled.
“Tell me about you—how did you return?” Fang Zhun held her hand, asking gently. “After I awakened, I heard my family was in complete chaos over engagement matters. So I requested to see the portrait scroll—it was actually you. Learning you’d already returned, I truly couldn’t believe it. I immediately went to find you. Didn’t frighten your family, did I?”
Hu Sha froze for a moment, slowly recounting how she went to find Qingling Zhenjun, how she sealed him in ice, how she destroyed the divine artifacts.
“I also don’t know how I suddenly returned. Could it be celestial deities learned of this matter and therefore specially sent me back?”
Fang Zhun’s brows furrowed slightly, saying in a low voice, “Unlikely. The gods of the Nine Heavens—most are willful. That thunder bolt truly came to strike you for destroying the divine artifacts. Your return was probably because Qingling Zhenjun died. Since he was the one who pulled you to the Ten Islands Within the Seas, once he lost his life, you’d naturally also be sent back.”
Hu Sha shook her head, suddenly remembering that phrase Feng Yi said before death: “Heaven is unjust.”
Many people died. In the end, even Qingling Zhenjun who worked for celestial deities died. Yet the Nine Heavens Above had no reaction whatsoever—not asking, not caring, always silently and proudly watching everything in the mortal realm.
Only poor Moony died so inexplicably and absurdly.
Even more pitiful was Feng Yi, tortured into madness, scattered to ash, never even to have reincarnation again.
All these grievances—to whom could they be told? Who would understand?
The lives of the lowly were perhaps meant to be trampled.
Hu Sha closed her eyes. Before her seemed to float Feng Yi’s smiling-yet-not-smiling face—brows and eyes like a painting, that expression cold and vicious together, as if saying: I’ll watch how you “happily” live on from now.
She opened her eyes, closed them again, then slowly opened them. Feng Yi’s shadow disappeared.
No matter what, she still had to live on. She inhaled deeply, only feeling her shoulders and heart heavy, as if pressed by something, extremely weary.
Fang Zhun brought tea to her lips, laughing lightly. “Don’t frown anymore. In a few days you and I will have our great wedding. Thinking back, when you got drunk before, you only called me ‘husband’—turns out it wasn’t without reason after all.”
Hu Sha choked on a mouthful of tea in her throat, coughing until heaven and earth darkened, face flushing bright red. Her trembling finger pointed toward him, yet she couldn’t speak.
Fang Zhun pushed the wooden carved window open wider. In the courtyard stood a pear tree—ice-pure and jade-clean, with buds about to bloom, subtle fragrance faintly exhaling, white as snow.
He suddenly said, “Hu Sha, let’s go on together—just being the most humble, most joyful mortals. The two of us together.”
After speaking, he turned back, smiling as he gazed at her. Lamplight flickered. His face was like jade crown, both eyes like water.
Hu Sha couldn’t help herself. The teacup in her hand tipped over onto the table.