Chapter 37

At the very heart of the divine path lies the Blissful Garden, home to the ancient temple of the Ancient God Dongyue.
Legend has it that the place is filled with celestial herbs, treasures, and the legacy of the ancients. If you’re lucky enough to obtain even one, ascension is practically guaranteed.
Of course, that’s just the legend. Very few have ever made it in and out alive; what the garden truly holds is anyone’s guess.
It isn’t like the Sea of Desire or the Road of the Dead, where people can at least share rumors about the demons or spirits inside and strategies for dealing with them, giving you a fighting chance to prepare.
“I bet it’s a wondrous, fairyland sort of place, music wafting everywhere, too beautiful to leave.” Miao Hong’er mused as they walked.
“Judging by the name, it might be the kind of place that entraps your mind. We’ll need to stay sharp.” Fu Yun added.
Mu Xue asked, “What do you mean, ‘entrapping your mind’?”
“Once we’ve opened our Spirit Chamber,” Fu Yun explained patiently, “we gain a whole world inside ourselves. In that world, we can command the wind and rain, make the sun and moon dance. We’re practically gods, anything we wish appears with a thought.”
“As your cultivation deepens, that inner world becomes as real as the outside. Once inside, everything you desire can be yours, fulfillment with no limits, utter bliss. It’s all too easy to lose yourself in that false paradise and never come back. Some people actually choose to live there forever, refusing to wake up.”
Mu Xue: “Yikes.”
Miao Hong’er chimed in, “That’s why Master keeps warning us not to chase breakthroughs too hard. Tending to your heart comes first, the fear is, your cultivation advances but your mindset falls behind.”
She licked her lips. “Honestly, if I could do whatever I wanted in my Spirit Chamber… I’d just lie there all day while gourmet food floated to my mouth on repeat. Ha! I’d probably never come back to reality.”
“The delusions on the Road of the Dead worked kind of the same way. The difference is, there you see the worst, most miserable parts of yourself, it’s a little easier to break free from that.” Miao Hong’er suddenly perked up, looking at the group. “Hey, what did you all see in your nightmare delusions, anyway?”
Mu Xue gave a careful non-answer. “Just… some unhappy childhood memories, I guess.”
Fu Yun coughed, saying nothing.
Cen Qianshan raised a hand, covering his eyes, and looked away.
Miao Hong’er saw no one wanted to share, so she just threw up her hands. “Guess I was the worst off. I was slogging across a desert, thirsty, hungry, and dead tired.
Finally, after ages, I spotted a pool of gorgeous liquor, but no matter how I bent down, I couldn’t drink a drop. There was a round table piled with delicious food, but however I tried, I could never reach it. I actually cried myself awake.”
As they moved deeper down the divine path, signs of human habitation dwindled.
All that appeared now were relics, ancient altars for long-forgotten gods, massive, crumbling walls carved with faded, mysterious reliefs and primordial runes.
The cliffs around them were pocked with caves, inside which strange murals and demonic figures had been painted, eerie statues carved into the rock face everywhere you looked.
Even the ghosts and spirits that had only been misty shadows before were now solid, their bodies taking shape as the group drew nearer the heart of the path.
They still wore those empty, eerily beautiful faces, drifting lazily across the wilderness.
But you had to be very careful to keep your distance, if you wandered into their range, those vacant faces would instantly twist into rage, charging at you in a frenzy.
And then there was the giant, headless figure, tall as a mountain, whose every step made the ground quake as he approached from afar.
A huge, thunderous crash echoed across the empty wilderness, sending startled beasts fleeing in every direction.
Everyone huddled behind the altar’s stone wall, holding their breath as the headless god’s enormous foot lifted high and crashed down, flattening whole swathes of forest and leaving behind crater-sized footprints. The giant lumbered slowly away, oblivious.
Mu Xue waited anxiously until the colossal demon god was far enough not to notice them, then let out a sigh of relief and stepped out from behind the wall.
But right then, from the other side of the wall, a pale, unnerving face turned toward her.
She and Mu Xue were suddenly nose-to-nose.
She was strikingly beautiful, delicate features, slim brows, dressed in rainbow-colored robes, feet drifting atop clouds, and holding a golden, radiant flower basket. She looked like a goddess who’d flown straight off an ancient mural and into the world.
But her skin had a cold, porcelain sheen; her expression was stiff; her eyes were vacant and obsidian-black, not alive, more a clay statue from a temple than a real person.
The bizarre woman tilted her head in midair, studying Mu Xue with a curious little sound.
Cen Qianshan instantly shoved Mu Xue behind him and drew his blade, advancing on the intruder.
His blade glimmered with icy frost, and a streak of blood-red glinted along its edge. He swung, crescent-shaped arcs flashing through the air, the blade’s shadow slicing toward the strange enemy like blood-tipped new moons.
She flung an arm up to block, but Cen Qianshan’s blade cleaved straight through it. No blood spilled from the wound, just the same flawless, pearly-white underside.
Her expression didn’t change at all. Drifting backward on a cloud, she coolly lifted her flower basket, now single-armed.
Golden lights shot out from the basket, tiny, dazzling, deadly. Where they struck stone or earth, they bored deep, finger-thick holes as if nothing could resist them. If one landed on a person? They’d be left with gaping holes, no question.
Miao Hong’er quickly rolled Mu Xue aside, taking a few bloody scratches to her own face and hands. Even so, her first move was to check that Mu Xue was unharmed.
It wasn’t the first time, a bunch of battles had broken out along the way, and every single time, Mu Xue found herself shielded by everyone else before she could even blink, let alone contribute. She couldn’t help but feel like extra baggage and nothing more.
Her only option was to keep some water and medicine at the ready, playing the role of support after everything settled down.
Thanks to Cen Qianshan’s and Fu Yun’s teamwork, the fight ended fast. The strange goddess was chopped into several pieces, bits of her scattered across the grass. Even her shattered face stared up at the sky from the weeds, eyes still open and blinking.
It wouldn’t be long, though, before the pieces would start crawling back together, forming that same eerie whole again.
Cen Qianshan stomped on the flower basket and broke it into shards that would be much harder to reassemble, then sheathed his blade. When he looked up, he spotted Mu Xue tending to her senior sister’s wounds.
Mu Xue’s head was lowered, her attention focused and gentle. Concern softened her young face as her hands worked quickly and skillfully to clean and stop the bleeding.
Miao Hong’er admired her freshly bandaged arm and exclaimed, “Little Xue, you’re so capable! For someone your age, you handle everything perfectly, even bandaging wounds, you could give a pro a run for their money.”
Mu Xue blushed and gave a shy smile.
She’s nothing like Master, Cen Qianshan thought, feeling a touch put out. When has Master ever been gentle with anyone else?
Master’s passion was always reserved for artifact refinement, with any stray kindness saved only for her, and her alone.
Later, while making camp, Mu Xue and Miao Hong’er set up their stove by the water, while Cen Qianshan and Fu Yun waded in the stream catching fish.
Sunset painted the stream crimson, the water sparkling as fish darted about beneath the surface.
Standing knee-deep, Cen Qianshan gripped a sharpened bamboo spear and watched the fish. Glancing at Fu Yun, he said offhandedly, “Where I’m from, no one would ever take in such a young disciple unless she was an orphan. Someone like Xiao Xue wouldn’t be chosen otherwise.”
Fu Yun caught a squirming fish and flicked it out of the water. “Not here in the Immortal Spirit Realm,” he replied casually. “Any kid over six with talent could be noticed by a sect. Xiao Xue’s parents are alive and well, even come to visit her in the sect sometimes.”
Cen Qianshan’s eyes narrowed; with a swift motion, he skewered a large fish in one go.
She’d come back from the brink of death, sobbing that she’d just seen her deceased mother…but her parents were still alive.
“So… Xiao Xue hasn’t been in your Guiyuan Sect all that long, then?”
“Not long at all, just a couple months. She wasn’t supposed to come along for this trip either. Kid’s stubborn, though, snuck off after us anyway.”
A couple months? It was just two months ago that the Summoning Chime with the purple-gold dragon pattern called back Master’s spirit.
So that’s it.
It really is you. It’s you.
Cen Qianshan stood still, white-bandaged arm holding tight to the wildly flopping black fish, ignoring the water it sprayed onto her face and clothes.
Back onshore, Mu Xue finished lighting the fire and looked up to see Senior Sister Miao Hong’er lounging against a tree stump, reading a paperback.
“Tsk tsk, I know there are demon cultivators out there with a sense of loyalty, but most of them? Forget it, heartless as they come.” Miao Hong’er muttered as she read. “Use someone up, ruin her reputation, then just walk away? That’s some top-tier scumbaggery.”
Mu Xue blinked. “What are you reading, sis?”
Miao Hong’er snapped the book shut, revealing a cover that looked oddly familiar to Mu Xue.
“Found it under the bed in our last place, no clue who left it.” She smiled sheepishly at Mu Xue, “This isn’t for you yet. It’s about some demonic cultivator named Mu Xue, running a one-girl harem, can’t keep her hands or her eyes to herself.”
“Know what that means?” Miao Hong’er spun the book in a circle for emphasis. “Picture a table with a platter of spicy lobster balls, not enough to go around. Someone’s already got a piping hot one in their bowl, but instead of eating it, they take a nibble and set it aside, still ogling the rest in the pot. How rotten is that?”
Mu Xue covered her face. “Honestly, whoever that is really is the worst.”
A faint ripple disturbed the cool, clear creek. Cen Qianshan and Fu Yun exchanged a glance.
Sure enough, moments later, several massive fish monsters burst from the water, gaping jaws packed with razor teeth, lunging straight for the two standing at the edge of the stream.
A slash of frosted steel, a blade's arc flashed, two crescent wind blades crisscrossing as they sliced through the bellies of the fish.
At that very instant, the fanged jaws of another beast were almost upon them. Cen Qianshan, who should have easily dodged, stopped for reasons unknown, simply watching as the sharp teeth tore into his arm.
The fight by the creek was over almost too quickly. In no time, the bank was piled with hulking fish corpses.
Cen Qianshan walked back to the campfire and sat down in silence, blood streaming from his arm, which he left plainly resting atop his knees, hard for anyone to miss.
Mu Xue came over, clutching a medicine kit. “How did you get this careless? Let me patch that up for you, okay?”
Qiaoshan stayed quiet, but at least he didn’t yank his hand away like last time. He sat quietly and, after a hesitant movement, lifted his bleeding arm to her of his own accord.
The slender, blood-streaked fingers trembled ever so slightly as Mu Xue touched them.
She took his hand, unwrapping the old bandages coiled around his arm, revealing skin crisscrossed with pale scars, so many, all shaped like small crosses.
Mu Xue grimaced, unable to hide her frown. As she cleaned the wound, she asked, “How did you get all these scars?”
“My Master once told me: if you keep a memory only in your mind, it fades with time, and eventually, you forget. But if you want to truly remember something, you have to mark it somewhere else.” He didn’t look at her, gaze fixed on his toes.
“Every time I tried to piece together Master’s soul, I left another mark on my arm. No matter how much time passes, I’ll never forget.”
Her hands froze mid-bandage.
Cen Qianshan turned to her, leaning in. His face was barely a breath away, amber eyes luminous, half-drowned in some autumnal light, brimming, shimmering.
Looking into those clear eyes, it felt like she could see right through him, and feel every ripple in her own heart reflected back.
“You... is all this really worth it?” Mu Xue tried not to meet the eyes that threatened to unravel every thought she had.
“Of course it’s worth it,” Cen Qianshan replied softly. “Because if she ever happens to see, maybe, just maybe, she’ll feel a little moved, and glance at me, instead of those perfect ‘big brothers’ she likes so much.”
Maybe he didn’t even realize: the way he looked, paired with that low, intimate voice right in someone’s ear, was dangerously irresistible.
Mu Xue’s mind began to wander. Besides Xiao Shan, had she really had entanglements with any other men? Images floated up of the book her senior sister had been waving, a copy of "Master Mu’s Handbook of Disciplinary Heartbreak," which catalogued supposed conquests in encyclopedic detail. The pampered young lord from the Yan family, the second son of the Lius, you name it, she apparently had it.
Thinking back, she could no longer even picture the face of that Yan boy the family head kept pushing at her.
Just a gentle, delicate young master, so fragile she could never get used to his cloyingly soft manner. She’d dodged out of there before meeting him twice.
Of course she’d been courteous: he was good-looking and refined, so she’d at least kept it polite.
As for the Liu second son, don’t even mention him. The guy embodied every underhanded family tradition. Mu Xue had walked out of that banquet in two seconds flat; there hadn't been time for anything to happen.
So all these so-called ‘big brothers’, where exactly did Xiao Shan get them from?
Did she actually have a past she’d managed to entirely forget? Her head ached just thinking about it.
Even with his injury, Xiao Shan still whipped up a fragrant, melt-in-your-mouth fish soup for everyone. Once full, they set off on the road again.
Traveling the divine path wasn’t always easy, there were jagged cliffs and dizzying mountain trails everywhere. Every time they reached a precarious spot, Fu Yun always swept six-year-old Mu Xue into his arms and carried her across, no discussion allowed.
Miao Hong’er, nursing her wounds, trailed along at the back.
Cen Qianshan led from the front, wordless, not even glancing back once.
For some reason, after a while, Fu Yun’s face had turned a bit pale, he could feel his stomach getting queasy. They’d all eaten the same fish soup at lunch, so why was he the only one feeling sick?
It wasn’t serious, but coming from a noble and rule-following family, he was too embarrassed to mention it in front of everyone.
So he just said, “You all go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The path down the mountain was steep, very steep. When Cen Qianshan, already at the bottom, looked back and held up his arm, it was obvious:
Did... he want to carry her down?
Her senior brothers and sisters always insisted on carrying her, which, though awkward, she’d grown used to over the years.
But if it was Xiao Shan carrying her... that just felt weird.
Still, there was such bright, unsuppressed expectation in his eyes, almost giddy, though his fingers, held out to her, trembled slightly with nerves.
White bandages circled round and round his hand.
Mu Xue’s heart just melted on the spot.
Fine. He doesn’t know who I am, anyway.
Shutting her eyes, she simply let Cen Qianshan scoop her up into his arms.
His scent was instantly familiar. The lingering traces of iron, fire, and old tools, anchored and warm, a perfume belonging only to those who spent years in an artifact refiner’s workshop. It felt, impossibly, like home, curling around her senses.
Mu Xue’s little hands looped around Qianshan’s neck, her cheek pressed to his shoulder as she gazed behind them.
She remembered, years ago, carrying this same skinny, fragile Xiao Shan in her arms, trekking home through a blizzard.
Now his shoulders were broad and steady, each stride firm. Only... for some reason, a pink flush crept up the side of his neck.
Rocked gently in his arms, drowsiness washed over Mu Xue. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift into sleep. In her dreams, time rewound, she heard Qianshan, soft as falling snow, whisper “Master” by her ear.
When Fu Yun finally caught up, he reached out, intending to take Mu Xue from Cen Qianshan’s arms.
“Since you’re still recovering, Brother Fu, I really don’t mind helping out a little.” Cen Qianshan smoothly dodged his hand, but his gaze burned with a strange, unexplained anger when it lingered on Fu Yun.
“She’s already asleep. Let her rest; there’s no need to wake her.”
Demonic cultivators, moody as the weather, truly impossible to predict.
Fu Yun was utterly baffled.