Chapter 17

The boat passed the bridge and embankment, the bright moon hanging just right on the treetop.

Liu Shuang raised a cup of warm wine: “Shao You, tell me a story.”

He paused with his fingers: “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything” Liu Shuang said.

Her eyes had lost their sparkle and were no longer as captivating as before.

Her small face was buried in a fox fur coat.

Even though spring had arrived in the human world, she looked sickly.

Liu Shuang had lost her heart, but she still had her memories. Not knowing what to do, listening to Shao You tell stories seemed to be a long-held wish of hers.

This body was like a walking corpse, stiffly executing the obsessions in her memory.

Liu Shuang had been lonely for too long. Sometimes she would have the illusion that the path Shao You walked was the one she was supposed to walk too.

By the winding streams, reciting poems and singing in harmony, countless romantic tales of talented scholars and beautiful ladies in the human world.

The man before her was silent for a long time before he really started telling her a story. He didn’t tell it very well; it wasn’t novel or interesting, but Liu Shuang listened very intently.

When he finished, her long eyelashes had already closed.

‘Shao You’ suddenly grabbed her shoulder.

His hand was trembling, and the grip was so strong that it immediately made Liu Shuang open her eyes.

Seeing his expression, Liu Shuang softly said, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired. Shao You, keep talking; I’m listening.”

“Don’t sleep,” he said hoarsely.

“Don’t sleep.”

“But I’m so tired,” Liu Shuang said.

“I just need to rest for a bit, and I’ll be fine soon.”

Without her consent, she suddenly fell into a cold embrace. He held her so tightly that her already fragile body almost felt like it was about to break.

She felt the body holding her trembling faintly and wanted to see his face.

“Shao You, what’s wrong?”

He pressed her head down firmly, preventing her from seeing his expression.

Liu Shuang seemed to understand something: “Do you know I don’t have much time left?”

She chuckled lightly and raised her hand to touch his head: “It’s okay, Shao You, I’m not very scared. You don’t need to be afraid either. Why are you trembling so much?”

“I’m not,” he denied.

His words were fast and cold, suddenly reminding Liu Shuang of someone else. She paused for a long time and suddenly asked: “Shao You, the safety lock I entrusted to you a hundred years ago, can you give it back to me?”

He only hesitated for a moment before saying: “I lost it.”

Liu Shuang, in his arms, opened her tired eyes and said nothing more.

The faint gentleness that lingered around her was gone, replaced by a slight chill where he couldn’t see.

Liu Shuang had never entrusted anything to Shao You.

He wasn’t Shao You.

She recognized him, so the last breath hanging in her chest couldn’t be exhaled in his arms.

Although Liu Shuang had lost the ability to feel joy and sorrow, she wasn’t stupid. The two of them were so different; she should have noticed long ago that he was Yan Chaosheng.

But Liu Shuang didn’t expose him. She fought against her weakness and said to him: “Shao You, when it gets light, go to the street across and buy me a candied hawthorn. I haven’t had one in a long time.”

He didn’t speak.

“I won’t fall asleep. I’ll wait for you here.”

Only then did he say: “Alright.”

Liu Shuang indeed kept her word, stubbornly holding on to her breath and not falling asleep. The first ray of sunlight shone on her pale cheeks, and Yan Chaosheng set her down: “Wait for me. I’ll be back soon.”

Liu Shuang wanted to smile but found her cheeks stiff and couldn’t smile.

Trying to mimic it, she had already forgotten how to smile. She said: “Alright.”

He got off the boat and, afraid she would notice, didn’t use his ghostly power to teleport.

Liu Shuang slowly sat up and watched him walk away.

She then got off the boat and walked in the opposite direction.

Without his protection, the once clear sky vanished, with muffled thunder pressing down on Liu Shuang’s head, seemingly about to strike at any moment.

They had followed her for several days, and Liu Shuang had long known it was her bloodline tribulation, coming two months early.

Fortunately, without feeling fear, Liu Shuang removed the fox fur from her body, letting it slide off. She wore a bright red wedding dress, red as fire.

Liu Shuang knew she wouldn’t be able to wait for Shao You.

She didn’t know what Yan Chaosheng came for, and now she wouldn’t think deeply about it. Her memory told her to stay far away from Yan Chaosheng. She would rather die under the thunder tribulation than in his arms.

Liu Shuang looked at the dark clouds overhead and sighed wearily. Why did he have to come? What a bother, making her drag her tired body to leave.

With this thought, Liu Shuang was taken aback, vaguely recalling the past, the girl waiting day after day on Qingcang Mountain for him. If she saw him with Chi Yuan, she would be overjoyed.

But now that he reappeared by her side, she had only this thought left.

What a bother.

It turned out that the person she wanted to wait for and see was no longer Yan Chaosheng.

There were no candied hawthorns for sale on the other side of the bridge. In the end, Yan Chaosheng used his power to search the crowd but still couldn’t find any.

Frowning, he finally grabbed a vendor from a sweet soup stall, tossed over a spirit stone, and said, “Do as I say.”

After a long while, the vendor clumsily produced a skewer of candied hawthorn. Before he could offer to redo it, he looked up and found the man had disappeared, taking the unrefined candied hawthorn with him.

When Yan Chaosheng saw the small boat, he pressed his lips together for a long moment before going over and lifting the curtain, only to find it empty inside.

He lowered his eyelids and saw his reflection in the river water.

The candied hawthorn fell into the water, the river blurring his expression.

Yan Chaosheng sat at the bow of the boat, the faint trace of her cold fragrance still lingering in the air.

Yan Chaosheng knew that if he set out now, he could still catch up to her.

But he shouldn’t go.

He was the ruler of two realms, feared by the eight wilderness, his power immense and his methods ruthless. And she was just a little immortal grass that had lost even her heart.

He had already lost control last night.

He didn’t follow what he had told Wojiang—to absorb the last bit of  huiling energy from her.

Instead, he chose to embrace her.

The water’s ripples spread out in circles.

Yan Chaosheng recalled Wojiang’s words: the Kunlun Jimo clan’s divination rarely went wrong.

Old Wojiang had said that if he continued on this path, one day he would become the ruler of all eight wilderness. There was no need for him to chase a body that had no heart and was about to collapse.

No one would be so foolish as to not distinguish which was more advantageous.

Yan Chaosheng was very clear-minded. For seven hundred years, he always knew what he wanted and would pay any price to get it.

A mess awaited him in the ghost realm. Meng Ji was furious, the restless clan members; every moment he delayed was a waste of time.

Yan Chaosheng abruptly stood and left, walking dozens of steps, thunder roaring behind him.

Don’t look back; move forward. He heard a voice say this.

Don’t look back.

He never regretted, and he never looked back!

Since he had never cared for her, why bother seeking a broken shell?

Liu Shuang thought for a long time and finally returned to the Canglan Lake.

Using the last breath of immortal energy in her chest, she stumbled to the lakeside. The lake water reflected the image of a young girl; she saw her makeup was smudged and her hair disheveled.

Liu Shuang dipped her hand in the water, trying to make herself look presentable.

Tribulation thunder raged above, threatening her.

She hummed a song her mother taught her, embodying the phrase “heartless” to its extreme.

She truly had no heart, allowing her to calmly ignore her impending fate.

The Canglan Lake water was still not very clean. In her few days away, the desolate immortal land had not recovered, remaining a scene of desolation.

Liu Shuang was satisfied to see a beautiful woman reflected in the water, thinking, it would be nice if it rained.

If a clean, beautiful rain fell, perhaps in a few hundred years, the Canglan Lake would be full of little creatures again.

It seemed the gods of the eight wilderness heard her wish, and it really began to rain.

The rain soaked her thin clothes in an instant. Her wish fulfilled; she should have been happy, but no such emotion arose in her heart.

Raindrops fell into the lake.

Slowly, she moved to the place where she was born.

Liu Shuang remembered that Grandpa Tree’s body was nearby. When she was born, she was very weak, and all the creatures of the Canglan Lake did everything they could to take care of her.

Grandpa Tree had shielded her from the wind with his vast canopy, patiently covering her.

Unfortunately, now they were all gone.

The rain fell heavier and heavier.

This was spring rain that could bring life, but the tribulation thunder overhead grew more and more ferocious.

A few days ago, the bolts were only finger-thick; now, they were like giant pythons.

Liu Shuang knew better than anyone that she couldn’t survive this tribulation thunder. Even without it, she couldn’t live any longer; her spiritual consciousness had died the moment she lost her heart.

It was said that at the last moment, people like to recall the regrets of their lives. Liu Shuang thought for a long time and still didn’t know what her regrets were.

Maybe this life was full of regrets everywhere, with too many blanks in her life; she had never had time to do anything.

The torrential rain pounded her frail body. The first tribulation thunder, carrying immense power, struck down.

When the profound purple thunder hit Liu Shuang, her skin split open, and she gripped the soil tightly with her fingers and looked towards the Canglan Lake, a place where she had grown up.

In her eyes, this spring rain was extraordinarily beautiful.