He kept the smaller room for himself and left the larger room for Qinghua Xianzi, although Qinghua Xianzi had never once stayed in it.

Here, time seemed to flow slowly and gently, as if even after thousands of years, it would remain the same.

One day, torrential rain poured down, and the branches and leaves of the giant tree in the wilderness were blown to the ground. Qinghua Xianzi sat under the tree, drenched like a drowned rat.

Gu Caiyu poked his head out from the thatched cottage, calling to her from afar: “Fairy, come inside and sit!” Like an enthusiastic neighborhood aunt.

Qinghua Xianzi looked at that thatched cottage. Warm light glowed through the cottage’s windows, seeming capable of blocking out all cold and wind and rain.

She watched for a moment, finally stood up, and walked toward that lone bright spot in the wilderness.

Gu Caiyu warmly welcomed this precious guest.

He closed the door, shutting all the wind and rain outside, then lifted the steaming hot water from the stove to pour Qinghua Xianzi a cup. Placing the cup before Qinghua Xianzi, he said earnestly: “Fairy, look, I built this house pretty well, didn’t I?”

Qinghua Xianzi silently drank the water without saying a word.

He then showed off by trimming the wick in the oil lamp: “It’s just that there’s too little lamp grass, so the flame isn’t very bright. The wooden bed is also somewhat hard – it would be good if there were cotton. Right now, sleeping is too hard… Even a clever woman cannot cook without rice!”

White Cut Chicken clucked twice and strutted onto the table, only to be grabbed down by Gu Caiyu: “Little White, don’t make trouble.”

Qinghua Xianzi’s gaze caught sight of some paper and brushes placed on the table against the wall, and she couldn’t help but be startled. Gu Caiyu noticed her gaze and immediately stood up: “Those are my literary treasures. Would the fairy like to see them?”

Without waiting for Qinghua Xianzi to say “no,” this person had already quickly run into the room and brought out his “literary treasures.”

To be fair, the calligraphy was quite beautiful, elegant, and unrestrained, but what was written were all frivolous words about “beauties,” “goddesses,” “fairies,” and such.

Qinghua Xianzi looked at him coldly.

Gu Caiyu held the paper with poetry up to the dim oil lamp, looking left and right, extremely satisfied: “Ah, the characters are so beautiful, so elegant.”

“Where did you get the ink and brush?” Qinghua Xianzi asked.

Gu Caiyu patted his waist: “From my Qiankun Bag.”

Qinghua Xianzi frowned: “In your Qiankun Bag, instead of carrying useful talismans and spirit artifacts, you carry these boring things?”

Hearing this, Gu Caiyu put down his “literary treasures” and looked at the white-clothed woman: “Fairy, that’s not right to say. How can ink, brush, paper, and inkstone be called boring things?”

“It’s precisely because you only carry these boring things that you still can’t get out even now.”

Gu Caiyu clicked his tongue twice: “May I ask, fairy, your Qiankun Bag is filled with quite a few high-grade spirit artifacts, yet aren’t we still trapped here, helpless?”

Qinghua Xianzi was momentarily rendered speechless.

“People from your sect are always so boring.” He sat down in the chair, poured himself a cup of hot water, lifted it to sip, as if drinking some fine wine, sighed comfortably, then continued: “Cultivating immortality, cultivating immortality – there are those like you who stake their lives on cultivation and cultivate it into something utterly boring. And some cultivate like us, unrestrained, following our hearts’ desires. I cultivate immortality to be happy. I can’t get out, but here I have a house, I have a chicken, and I have hot water to drink – I’m happy. You brought so many spirit artifacts, but when it rains, can they warm you up?”

With a “snap,” Qinghua Xianzi slammed her cup on the table and stood up to leave.

Gu Caiyu grabbed her arm: “Hey, hey, hey, I was just speaking casually, why are you getting angry? But there’s one thing I’m curious about,” he asked: “Fairy, what is your purpose in cultivating immortality? Is it just to ascend and become immortal, to achieve eternal life?”

“Of course not.” Qinghua Xianzi immediately denied, paused, then said: “All living beings suffer. If one can cultivate to perfection and protect the peace of the three realms, that is the true destination for those who cultivate immortality.”

“Not bad,” Gu Caiyu clapped his hands: “Lofty aspirations, admirable.”

Qinghua Xianzi ignored his seemingly praising but mocking applause, only looked at him and asked: “Then why do you cultivate immortality?”

“Me?” Gu Caiyu reached out to hold White Cut Chicken in his arms, stroking White Cut Chicken’s bald tail while saying: “I told you, I do it to be happy. If I have wine and poetry, I’m happy. As for ascension and such, that’s just incidental. The immortal realm – everyone talks about it, making it sound so precious, but it might not even be as comfortable as my broken thatched cottage, don’t you think?”

Qinghua Xianzi turned her head away and mocked: “Overthinking.”

Zanxing also thought it was overthinking. This Gu Caiyu looked like nothing more than a rogue cultivator with low cultivation, spending his days raising chickens and building houses. His heart was quite big – if someone like this could ascend to immortality, the immortal realm would probably be overcrowded long ago.

That night, Qinghua Xianzi did not leave.

Like a guest staying overnight in the wilderness, she moved into the largest room in the thatched cottage. The room had only one wooden bed with roughly polished corners, no bedding, and no pillow. As she lay on the bed, “ping ping pang pang” sounds came from the other end – Gu Caiyu working on new carpentry, occasionally mixed with White Cut Chicken’s intermittent clucking, creating a jumbled symphony. Outside, the storm raged, rainwater dripping down from the thatched cottage’s eaves, soaking the mud in the courtyard.

Though it looked so unstable, as if a slightly stronger wind could blow the roof away, inside the house it wasn’t cold at all – it was very warm.

Qinghua Xianzi closed her eyes and, for the first time in all these days, fell peacefully asleep.

After this, the scenes became even more scattered.

Zanxing saw Qinghua Xianzi settle down in this thatched cottage, going to the stone mountain every day during daylight to attempt breaking through the barrier. Gu Caiyu remained as always, not attending to proper business, enthusiastic about decorating the thatched cottage to be more beautiful and fancy, as well as cooking.

In the wilderness, there were only edible wild grass and wild fruits, but fortunately, he carried seasonings with him and could make a table full of dishes with excellent color, aroma, and taste. Every time it approached noon, he would call out in the courtyard: “Fairy, the meal is ready!”

Qinghua Xianzi would then sheathe her sword and return to eat.

She remained cold as always, while Gu Caiyu continued his warm face against her cold attitude without getting annoyed. He made a stone flower vase, picked some foxtail grass to insert in it as decoration, or else wrote poetry.

He wrote poem after poem, the water in the blue stone vat in the courtyard was emptied and refilled, White Cut Chicken still hadn’t grown back its tail, but the giant tree in the wilderness had bloomed.

The flowers were like phoenixes about to take flight, or like clusters of fire burning passionately on the branches. Gu Caiyu pulled Qinghua Xianzi over to look, exclaiming in amazement: “Biyi flowers, they’re Biyi flowers!”

“Biyi flowers?” Qinghua Xianzi asked in confusion.