Duan Xu, however, seemed to have regained his spirits. A bit of life returned to his weary face. He patted the spot beside his bed and said to Hejia Fengyi, “Your Eminence, why don’t you sit down for a chat?”
Hejia Fengyi watched Duan Xu warily, then hesitantly sat down on the edge of his bed.
For over a year, He Simu had always stayed by Duan Xu’s side. Although she did not sleep at night, she would never leave. When the fighting had settled down some time ago, Duan Xu grew curious about what He Simu did while he was asleep. After feigning sleep for a few days, he discovered that once he drifted off, He Simu would begin writing in her journal.
She was using the same notebook he had mentioned to Hejia Fengyi, the one that had been left untouched for three hundred years. He didn't know when she had started again, but just like before, she was recording the trivial matters of daily life. Within the lines of those ordinary, fragmented details, she carefully sketched out every little thing about the person named “Duan Xu.”
“She wants to remember me,” Duan Xu said, telling Hejia Fengyi about it. He frowned slightly and spoke with frankness, “I also know my body is in a very bad state. I can’t go anywhere, and I’ll probably have to spend my days lying in bed from now on. If that’s the case, what can she even write about each day? I hope that notebook can be filled with more beautiful memories. This world was a gift to me, and I want to pass this gift on to her.”
Hejia Fengyi looked at Duan Xu in silence, thinking to himself that this was truly a restless master who would keep stirring up trouble until the very last moment of his life.
But if he weren't such a person, how could he have turned the Ancestor’s stagnant, death-like days completely upside down?
“You don’t have much time left as it is. If you really transfer all five of your senses to Simu at once, even for just an hour, it’s hard to say if you’ll even last a day after it’s done.”
Duan Xu nodded as if he had expected this. “I know.”
“It can be done, but it requires the Ancestor’s consent. General Duan, you may die without regrets, but I still have to live,” Hejia Fengyi said bluntly, spreading his hands.
Duan Xu smiled, his eyes curving with a hint of cunning. “Alright, I’ll persuade Simu. She’s been growing more and more indulgent with me lately. She’ll agree.”
Hejia Fengyi squinted at Duan Xu. Back in the Southern Capital, Duan Xu had been the one suffering from unrequited love. Now, he had the Ancestor completely figured out.
“Duan Shunxi, you’re about to die and leave the Ancestor. Aren’t you sad?”
A flicker of light passed through Duan Xu’s eyes, and his smile faded. “In my entire life, from the moment I fell in love until my death, she is the only girl I have ever loved. I feel very lucky. At this point, I don’t want my final days to be filled with sadness.”
“But perhaps, when I finally die, I’ll cling to her and cry.”
The rain pattered on. Duan Xu was like a flower about to be swept away by the wind and rain. Even at a moment like this, he was still that lighthearted, smiling youth.
Hejia Fengyi closed the door to the room and looked at Ziji, who was waiting outside. Ziji stood quietly, holding an umbrella. When she saw him emerge, she lifted her deep, ink-black eyes, silently walked toward him, and opened the umbrella over his head.
Hejia Fengyi turned and descended the steps into the cool, spring-rain-filled courtyard, the umbrella in Ziji’s hand held steadily above him.
His cane made crisp tapping sounds on the ground, like a careless heartbeat. Feng Yi suddenly turned his head to look at Ziji beside him.
“When I die, will you be sad? Will you cling to me and cry too?”
Ziji froze, biting her lip gently as if unwilling to answer.
Hejia Fengyi couldn’t help but let out a derisive snort. So many years had passed, yet she always avoided talking about his death. It was truly absurd.
“What are you running from? Weren’t you the ones who orchestrated the short-lived fate of the Mars Calamity Star clan?”
After a pause, he said, “My dear god.”
Ziji’s steps faltered.
The lineage of the Mars Calamity Star was inherently rebellious and naturally gifted, and Hejia Fengyi had been even more defiant in his youth. Plagued by illness from a young age and haunted by the prophecy of an early death, at fifteen, he used his Mars Calamity bloodline and ancestral arts to force open the gates of heaven and see the gods.
He had pointed at the gods who established the world’s various orders and cursed them out, saying that since they never came to the mortal realm and knew nothing of human suffering, they were unfit to rule it. He had gone with the intention of dying, but to his surprise, after he finished his tirade, a voice from within the dazzling white light had actually said it would descend to the mortal realm with him to experience human emotions.
Now, as Hejia Fengyi looked at the taciturn beauty before him, whose eyes were like the deep, dark night sky, he could almost see the day she had walked out of that light.
He said, “Do you think you were wrong?”
Ziji stepped over the threshold and took Feng Yi’s arm to support him. She raised her eyes to look at him. “Gods are never wrong. The very concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ in the mortal realm was also established by the gods.”
Feng Yi also crossed the threshold. He chuckled softly. “Yes, how wonderful. Then what was your original intention for creating this system of order?”
“For the stable operation of the world, and for the happiness of the majority.”
“So you exploit our kindness? Ziji, we have protected the happiness of the majority, yet we have no choice but to be miserable for it. Don’t you think it’s far too arrogant of you to torture us under such a righteous guise?”
Ziji looked at him earnestly and said calmly, “That is the reason I am here.”
Hejia Fengyi stared at her for a moment, then gave a noncommittal smile. “If you’ve never felt you did anything wrong, then why don’t you go back? To be honest, Ziji, I’ve grown tired of this game.”
He suddenly stepped out from under the umbrella and into the drizzling rain. His hair and clothes were quickly soaked, clinging to his thin, perennially ill frame and making him look even more gaunt.
Ziji’s calm expression turned to panic. “You… you’ll get sick like this!”
She took a few steps forward, but Hejia Fengyi stopped her with a raised hand. He smiled, backing away step by step. Behind him, at the end of the stone steps, was a cliff.
“Ziji, you arranged for me to die young, arranged for my life to be entangled in sickness and pain, with no escape. Well, I’ll die today. Falling from a cliff like this shouldn’t be too painful.”
Hejia Fengyi was already standing at the very edge of the cliff. The ground was slick with moss. He stumbled, and Ziji immediately dropped the umbrella, about to rush toward him.
“Ziji!” Hejia Fengyi shouted, stopping her. His gaze burned as he pointed at her. “You are a god. You are the divine supervisor of this millennium. The policies of the mortal realm are created and monitored by you. You need to think clearly. If you interfere in mortal affairs, there is no turning back. If you save me now, you are admitting that you were wrong.”
Ziji’s steps halted. She stood her ground and said angrily, “Hejia Fengyi, stop fooling around!”
Hejia Fengyi looked at Ziji’s expression and suddenly burst into loud laughter. “Lord Supervisor, so you can get angry too. I thought that after you people ascended to godhood, you no longer had human hearts.”
“But I am a person, Lord Supervisor. I am not your order. I breathe, I have a heartbeat, I can be happy, and I can be sad. I am human. Look at me. I am alive.”
Hejia Fengyi took another half step back, practically hanging over the edge of the cliff. The hand he had been pointing at Ziji slowly relaxed, palm turning upward as if reaching out for her to take it.
“Ten years together, leading to this day. Lord Supervisor, will you save me?”
Ziji stood where she was, her fists clenched. The rain soaked her beautiful features and her dress. Amidst the damp, swirling mist, she said in a low voice, “Stop fooling around.”
It was almost a plea.
Hejia Fengyi smiled. “Can you not bear to part with a single, insignificant nail in your perfect order? Ziji?”
He saw her pupils constrict when he called out that name, “Ziji.” Hejia Fengyi smiled, closed his eyes, and leaned backward. In the rain that rushed to meet his face, he felt the freedom of his body, no longer in his control, about to fall.
The freedom of finally being released from a life trapped in the cage of painful illness and the prophecy of an early death.
Then, his hand was caught.
The hand that grabbed his was trembling, its grip incredibly tight. In an instant, his body was pulled back, crashing into an embrace that smelled of lilac blossoms. The person held the back of his head and said furiously, “Hejia Fengyi! You… don’t force me.”
Hejia Fengyi looked up. Rainwater streamed into his eyes, but he stared at Ziji without blinking. “But you’ve already caught me.”
Ziji’s lips trembled. It had probably been too long since she had experienced such turbulent emotions, and she was unable to express them. She said, “The one who caught you… is Ziji.”
It was the humanity she had gradually recovered, the part of her that existed before she became a god.
Hejia Fengyi caressed her cheek and said leisurely, “Isn’t Ziji the Lord Supervisor?”
Ziji blinked, and raindrops trickled down her cheeks.
She finally lowered her head and admitted, “Yes… first Ziji, and then, a god.”
Duan Xu and He Simu had a huge fight over the matter of transferring the five senses. Hejia Fengyi could guess the grand scale of it just from listening to his disciples’ discussions. But seven days later, He Simu still agreed.
Hejia Fengyi thought to himself that this young general had truly never lost a battle in his life.
On the day they transferred the senses, at Duan Xu’s request, He Simu brought him to the Southern Capital. They sat together on the roof of Yù Zǎo Tower. He Simu had wrapped him in a thick cape, and Duan Xu held her hand, their fingers intertwined.
The sun rose from the edge of the horizon, and in that instant, the entire world came alive in He Simu’s eyes.
She saw the color of the sun, the color called orange-red, like a fire that wouldn’t burn, warm and bright. Everything was draped in its light, as if gently growing a golden down. Even the pavilions and towers seemed to breathe.
The person beside her was very warm. The fluff of the cape brushed against her face, a slightly hot tickle. The tiles beneath her were hard and cold, but they were gradually being warmed by her rising body temperature.
The boisterous sounds of guests drifted up from Yù Zǎo Tower. Sounds as crisp as falling pearls and sounds as mellow as aged wine mingled together in a lively chorus.
“What are those sounds?” He Simu asked.
“In the morning, it’s usually the pipa, guzheng, and dizi. If you wait a bit longer, Qiu Chi will come out to sing,” Duan Xu said with a smile, leaning against her shoulder.
Sure enough, a graceful and gentle female voice rose from downstairs, humming an indistinct tune. It was so tender and lingering it felt as if it could melt one’s very organs.
The aroma of food wafted up. He Simu slowly tried to distinguish them: which was Dongpo pork, which was lamb soup, which was beggar’s chicken. Countless wonderful scents intertwined in the air. Perhaps one could get full just by smelling them.
“Want a drink?” Duan Xu took out a flask of wine from his robes. His fingers were pale and slender, marked with dark wounds, but they too were dyed gold by the sunlight.
He Simu took the wine from his hand and took a sip. The spicy, fragrant aroma filled her lungs.
This was the world of the living.
How marvelous and unique each of their days must be. To live such a life, even for a hundred years, would be happiness.
He Simu’s eyes trembled as she slowly turned to look at Duan Xu.
Her young General Duan, her Duan the Fox, had the most handsome skull in the world. His features were picturesque, especially his eyes, which were as clean and clear as a piece of watery jade, always holding a smile.
Sunlight illuminated the side of his face, tracing the bridge of his nose and dividing light from shadow. He slowly kissed her. It was a very gentle, warm kiss. She tasted the bitterness in his mouth but didn’t find it unpleasant.
Any sensation gained from him, even bitterness, was precious.
“Simu, what do you think of this world?” he asked.
He Simu nuzzled his forehead. “It’s wonderful. Like home.”
Even in her youth, she had considered the four seas her home. After entering the Ghost Realm, the concept of home became even more distant. But at this moment, as such a splendid and magnificent world appeared before her, she suddenly felt like someone who had been away for many years and had suddenly seen home.
“Duan Xu, Duan Shunxi, you… please don’t go, alright?”
She finally said it.
Such a ridiculous and illogical thing to say. The Ghost King, who had lived for four hundred years and was accustomed to life and death, could actually say such words.
But Duan Xu didn’t answer. He leaned against her shoulder and fell into a deep sleep, and she didn’t know if he would ever wake up again.
She held onto Duan Xu’s shoulders, buried her head in the crook of his neck, and trembled minutely.
“Duan Xu… Duan Xu… Duan Shunxi… Duan Shunxi… Duan Shunxi!” He Simu clutched his shoulders, calling his name, her voice moving from tentative to terrified, then to anger and grief.
In her entire life, she had never cried out loud, never shouted a person’s name until she was hoarse. She didn’t know how to make him stay, nor did she know what she could hold onto. She had never been able to hold onto anything.
“…He Simu.”
Duan Xu’s voice sounded by her ear. He Simu froze. She looked up and met a pair of bright eyes.
It seemed like a trick of her mind, but he didn't look so pale anymore. Some color had returned to his face, just like before.
Duan Xu’s eyes widened. He reached out and brushed her face with the back of his fingers, murmuring, “He Simu, you… you’re crying.”
Only then did He Simu realize her face was covered in tears. She was actually crying.
Evil Ghosts never had tears. How could she be crying?
“You’re… warm. I can feel it…” Duan Xu said in a daze, caressing her face.
The scent of lilac drifted over, and a purple figure appeared beside them. He Simu turned her head and was surprised to see the ever-silent and mysterious Ziji.
Ziji beckoned to He Simu, and the Ghost King Lamp at her waist flew into Ziji’s hand. As the blue Ghost Fire flickered, He Simu’s soul fragment was separated from the lamp and returned to her body.
This was something that no Evil Ghost, including He Simu herself, could do easily, yet Ziji accomplished it effortlessly.
“From now on, you are no longer the Ghost King, but a mortal,” Ziji said to He Simu, then turned to Duan Xu and stated calmly, “And your date of death is not today.”
She put away the Ghost King Lamp, then looked down at them and said slowly, “In the name of the gods, I grant you a new destiny. I hope you will cherish it.”
He Simu was stunned. Her gaze went past Ziji to a distant figure behind her. The man was dressed in the green robes of the palace, embroidered with an exquisite Twenty-Eight Constellations Diagram, and he was waving at her with a brilliant smile.
Just like when he was a child and she went to the Star Clarity Palace to pick him up. Back then, he would often ask her, Ancestor, why must you die so alone? Ancestor, can we have a new destiny?
On that rainy day, after Ziji had pulled Hejia Fengyi back, they had a long talk.
—Ziji, look, things in this world that come in pairs should be neat and tidy. Remember when the city gates weren’t the same height, and they had to tear down bricks from the east wall to patch up the west wall?
—What are you trying to say?
—Make He Simu human. Shorten her long life and piece it onto Duan Xu’s, so they can live out their days together as mortals. Shouldn’t the order of the gods show mercy to those who sacrificed themselves to save the world?
In the end, He Simu remained in the world.
And Duan Xu became the first person in her life she was able to hold onto.
Two years later.
“Duan Shunxi! Duan Xu!”
A shout echoed through the summer woods, but looking around, one could only see the dense green trees. The voice was heard, but the person was not seen—because the person had fallen into a pit.
He Simu stood at the bottom of the pit, looking up at the high opening. She tried jumping twice but failed, then crossed her arms with a frown.
Although she had adapted well to mortal life over the past two years, at times like this, she still missed her Magical Power. If she still had it, getting out of this pit would be effortless—in fact, she wouldn’t have fallen in in the first place.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Duan Xu’s figure appeared at the edge of the pit. He crouched down to check on He Simu’s condition. He had now returned to his agile, healthy, and robust self. Dressed in a blue, cuffed, round-collared robe, he looked no different from the young general she had first met in Liangzhou Prefecture.
He Simu held out her hand. “Hurry and pull me up.”
Duan Xu saw that the pit wasn’t too deep and its bottom was lined with straw, so he knew He Simu was likely uninjured.
When she was an Evil Ghost, she had often possessed people and was fairly familiar with mortal matters, but she had no awareness when it came to getting hurt. She still thought she was invincible, only to end up covered in scrapes and bruises, sometimes too proud to even mention it.
Seeing she was fine, Duan Xu smiled leisurely and, still crouching at the edge, said, “If you want me to pull you up, first call me ‘husband’ and let me hear it.”
He Simu raised an eyebrow and, retracting her hand, smiled. “What did you say?”
Duan Xu rested his arms on his knees and sighed. “You promised to let me marry into your He family, but to this day, I’ve seen no three letters and six etiquettes, no matchmakers and formal rites, no eight-bearer sedan chair, and no ten-li red dowry procession. We’re heading into our tenth year together next year. I can’t just keep on like this without a proper title, can I?”
As he spoke, he even managed to sound quite wronged.
He Simu smiled languidly. “You certainly want a lot. Unfortunately, I’m not the Ghost King anymore. I don’t have that kind of family fortune.”
“But the Ghost Realm is still your maiden home. The acting Ghost King is your aunt, and the crown prince is your god-brother. How can you say you have no family fortune?” Duan Xu said with a grin. “Besides, a single painting by Simu is worth a thousand gold pieces. That’s enough to welcome me. Are you planning on welcoming someone else instead?”
“The famous Jade-Faced Yama, the former Marshal Duan, is your asking price that cheap?”
“That depends on the person. For anyone else, the price is sky-high. But if it’s Simu, I can offer a discount.” Duan Xu smiled slightly and held out his hand to her.
“Time is of the essence. If you take my hand, we have a deal.”
He Simu looked up at him for a long while. The sun poured down from behind him, vibrant and fervent. She let out a soft laugh, reached out to take his hand, and called, “Deal, husband.”
“Alright, my lady wife.”
He pulled her out of the pit with that warm, strong hand. As the sunlight hit her face, she remembered a New Year’s Eve many, many years ago, when she had pulled him up from the ground.
Now, she could finally say to him, I love you.
I will always love you. I will spend my entire life loving you, and I will never forget.
The End
OpenNovel