Chapter 39

Fu Yun’s first step past the doorway landed on a soft, woven carpet underfoot.
He found himself in a refined study. By the window, a grand huanghuali wood desk, with an inkstone from the Tao River, calligraphy brushes from Lake Shanlian. The walls hung with mystical paintings by Wu Daoxuan and wild calligraphy by Huai Su.
This was the sort of place ordinary people could never dream of living in, yet it was achingly familiar to Fu Yun, he’d spent nearly all his childhood here.
A palace maid entered carrying a wash basin. She startled and dropped it with a clatter, then dropped to her knees, face alight with joy. “Your Highness! When did you come back?”
…
The news spread through the seaside nation’s palace like wildfire: the emperor’s eldest son, gone for years cultivating on the Celestial Mountain, had suddenly returned.
Now, clad in plain robes with cloud patterns and his hair in a cultivator’s bun, Fu Yun sat quietly in his chambers.
He crossed his knees and formed a mudra in front of him.
This was the pose most familiar to him since childhood, yet here, in his own home, calm kept slipping through his fingers.
He was just back for a family visit. So why did this gnawing anxiety refuse to let go?
Still, self-discipline was in his bones. Even with restless thoughts churning, he forced himself to breathe, to enter stillness and focus.
From that trance-like state, his spiritual sense went drifting outward, subconsciously searching for the root of his unrest.
His consciousness spread like a tide. Down the corridor, two maids carried food boxes, chatting in whispers. “How could anyone like His Highness even exist? Just one look and I felt tipsy. You think he’s staying this time? Not going back to the mountain?”
Farther away, in his younger brother Fu Zhen’s palace, two senior attendants spoke in low, worried tones.
“Find out why the eldest prince returned so suddenly. Is he planning to stay for good?”
“He’s always been outstanding, scholarly, a natural at arms, even blessed by the immortals. The officials hold him in the highest esteem. If he sets his sights on the Eastern Palace, His Highness is in trouble.”
“Send more people over. We need to watch their every move.”
Elsewhere in the palace, Fu Zhen lounged at his mother’s side begging for a favorite trinket.
“Sit up straight. How old are you, acting like this?” The Empress brushed him aside, half-scolding, half-doting. “Your brother’s home again. Learn from him! If only you had half his focus, I could stop worrying.”
But Fu Zhen just chuckled, all sunshine. “No way, Mother! Brother’s destined for godhood. How could I compare? I’m just a little monkey here to make you smile. That’s enough for me.”
His mother fondly tapped his forehead with a finger. “You little rascal.”
Meanwhile, over in the palace school, an elderly tutor blew his beard out in exasperation at a row of fidgety children who kept forgetting their essays. “Back when the eldest prince studied here, there wasn’t a single piece he couldn’t recite! Never made his teacher fret like this. You all should look up to him!”
The recently-disciplined little princes and princesses mumbled among themselves,
“Big brother, big brother, he really is the standard. I’ve heard that since I was born. But do you really think he never got his hand smacked by the teacher? Not even once?”
“He’s practically an immortal, doesn’t need to sleep, probably learned three times faster than us.”
“My nanny said he’d finished all four Confucian classics by age seven.”
“I heard immortals never eat or use the toilet, so they get to read all day. No wonder the teacher never lost his temper at him. I just needed to pee in class and the teacher yelled at me again.”
“Honestly, immortals don’t sound so cool after all.”
Fu Yun pulled his senses back in. Still no peace, if anything, the feeling of suffocation only tightened around him.
“Master, what’s happening to me?” Seated in the spiritual sea of his Spirit Chamber, he reached out in his mind to his own teacher, and, more deeply, to himself.
The Spirit Chamber scenery shifted and blurred. Suddenly, he was back atop Xiaoyao Peak, where wild grass grew lush and free.
His master appeared in a wash of green robes, faint and gentle, letting out a sigh. “Yun’er, you’re exceptional in every way, except you tie yourself in too many knots. It’s alright to relax. You don’t have to work so hard every single day. Go outside, have some fun with your fellow disciples. As for that inner sect competition, it doesn’t really matter if Xiaoyao Peak wins first place.”
But Fu Yun didn’t understand. Ever since he was little, he’d been taught to devote himself to training, to repay his master’s kindness by winning the top prize, wasn’t that what a true disciple should do?
His master smiled. “What I cherish is you, just you, Yun’er. Not your titles or achievements. Even if you never win first, you’ll always be my pride.”
Then, perched up in the tree branches nearby, a girl with a face smudged black by ash bit into an apple. “Why so stubborn at your age? I’m your senior sister here, so you, little junior brother, should just enjoy yourself.”
Fu Yun’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her soot-streaked face.
Before his eyes, in a pool of still water, an iron door rose, thick chains crisscrossed tight around it.
Fu Yun drew a deep breath, reached out, and broke the heavy shackles, then pushed open the door and walked resolutely through.
....
Mu Xue sat at her familiar workbench, busily absorbed in her craft.
Pale silver moonlight poured in through the window, washing over the towering piles of puppets, large and small, stacked in the corners.
She had no idea how long she’d been working here. Her Master’s orders still felt unfinished, and so she kept forging, on and on, as if there were no end.
And yet, none of it ever made her irritable or tired. In this quiet solitude, surrounded by creations that would never, ever harm her, Mu Xue found a rare sense of safety and happiness.
She didn’t have to deal with her greedy, temperamental Master, or the twisted faces of those seething with jealousy, or put her life at risk fighting horrifying monsters and demons.
No. She just had to patiently, peacefully, quietly make the things she loved best.
No one was here to interrupt her. No one would hurt her.
She could bask in this lonely, eternal tranquility, forever.
Focused and steady, she slipped a spirit stone into the chest of a tiny puppet, just like inserting a beating heart.
Done.
Mu Xue let go. The puppet blinked open its blue eyes, twisting its little body in the moonlight as if stretching after a long sleep.
The window now seemed wider than ever, letting in a torrent of moonbeams that dusted her messy desk with silver.
“Thank you, master.” The little puppet clasped its hands in salute, bowing gracefully to Mu Xue. Then it stretched out, inviting her to take its hand.
Mu Xue caught the puppet’s tiny arm, and suddenly she felt herself float gently up from the ground. Pulled along, she followed the tiny puppet right out the window.
All the hundreds of puppets she’d poured her soul into, her companions through endless years, stirred to life behind them, forming a grand, rolling procession that soared up after her into the moonlit night.
The flickers of human life on the ground fell away, growing smaller and smaller. The stars themselves now almost within reach.
The puppets all joined hands, gathering together and together, until they shimmered into a winding crimson dragon. Its roar rang through the sky as it twisted nimbly, Mu Xue now riding on its back, sailing through silvery clouds, lifting her ever upward into the heart of the glittering stars above.
“What’s happening to me?” Mu Xue asked, amazed.
The little puppet pulled her on, eyes blue as constellation-lit mist. “You’ve become one with your art and touched the realm of Heaven’s Demon. Your form embraces the cosmos, you wield yin and yang itself. You’ve escaped suffering and confusion, you’ll never again be shackled by mortal pain.”
“Really? I’ve reached the realm of Heaven’s Demon?” Mu Xue felt her long-cherished dream had finally, truly come true. She couldn’t help but smile.
Below, the crimson puppet-dragon began to chant a song, its melody woven by countless children’s voices, echoing across the boundless night.
“Heaven’s life is fleeting, earth’s age has bounds. Mountains may tumble, seas may dry. But Heaven’s Demon stands forever free, one with the endless void, unconstrained by all things. Riding the crimson dragon, we roam the universe. Heaven’s laws cannot bind us, and our joy knows no end. Nowhere in the world could there be greater bliss.”
A cool, gentle wind brushed her cheeks, the distant song carrying her ever farther, earth dropping away beneath them.
Mu Xue’s chest lightened; warmth flowed through her every limb and bone. Her boundaries faded, she flew free among the radiant stars, unburdened and at peace.
She stretched her arms wide within the vast emptiness, watching the blue glow of the earth swirl far below, her own body dissolving into pure consciousness, merging with all things.
Down on earth, she saw a tiny ant labor to haul food several times its weight, rushing toward its nest, only to find a monumental chasm open before it.
Countless companions gathered behind.
“Cross it.”
“Cross it!”
Their voices rose, cheering together.
In the jungle, a tiger brought down a fleeing deer, its teeth clamped tight on the soft neck. Warm, sweet blood filled its empty belly. When at last the deer fell still, the tiger dragged its prize home. Wide-eyed cubs tumbled out of the den to welcome their mother, thrilled at her return with food.
Elsewhere, a hunter slipped back the veil of his bride, his heart overflowing as he kissed the strong brown skin of his new wife. In that tiny cottage, the great destiny of continuing their line was about to be fulfilled.
In a gold-lit palace, an old queen had just died. The young heir wept aloud, bending to kiss his mother’s wrinkled brow for the very last time.
It all flickered by in a heartbeat, yet drifting in the void, Mu Xue felt every surge of joy and sorrow in all living things. Their happiness became hers. She understood their longings, their love and desire.
It was like nothing she’d ever known before. No words could describe it.
Transformed into Heaven’s Demon, she was beyond the Six Paths, long past any narrow self.
And yet... somewhere deep in her heart, she still felt a thread tugging, soft and persistent, stretching all the way back to a distant corner of the mortal world.
Mu Xue opened her eyes again. The infinite universe shimmered before her. But her heart was still anchored to that slender glowing line.
The small puppet hovered nearby. “Let it go! The Dao is your true pursuit. Wouldn’t you rather stay here, where happiness has no limits?”
Mu Xue looked down at the glowing thread twined around her heart.
The puppet’s eyes sparkled. “Break it. Snap that useless thing. Then we’ll finally be free, happy and carefree here, forever.”
Mu Xue took hold of the line. Speaking both to the puppet and to herself, she said,
“We are born human. We walk the human path. If I truly gave up everything mortal, if I stopped being human, then I’d never, ever reach true Dao. I could never ascend to Immortal or Demon.”
The puppet fell silent, its eyes full of regret. The red dragon twisted restlessly, unwilling to let go, then nuzzled Mu Xue’s cheek before dissolving, glimmer by glimmer, into a haze of disappearing red light.
Mu Xue floated back to earth, landing at the threshold of a great white-lit door. She stepped through without looking back.
......
Cen Qianshan found himself standing in the mud-soaked streets of the city market.
Brilliant colored lanterns glowed overhead, their reflections trembling in filthy puddles along the street. A boy blazed past on a four-wheeled artifact, splashing mud everywhere and drawing a storm of curses from bystanders as he sped across the dirty water.
“Honestly, look at you, now you’re a mess.” The person beside him pulled out a handkerchief, gently guiding his face and wiping the mud from his cheeks.
Cen Qianshan stared, dazed, at the figure dressed in a sweep of crimson, at that dazzling, crooked smile beneath arched brows.
“What are you spacing out for? Don’t tell me you can’t recognize your own Master now?” She smiled, waving a teasing hand his way.
“Hey now, newlyweds! Sweet enough to rot my teeth, can you two not show off in public?” Auntie Niu, selling noodles nearby, rolled up her sleeves as she set down a steaming tray of fresh buns, grinning at them with open mischief.
Cen Qianshan choked, his face turning beet red from chin to hairline in a single instant.
Auntie Niu’s son, Niu Dashuai, pushed aside the beaded curtain and walked out.
This was the same neighbor’s boy Cen Qianshan had been roughhousing with since they were kids, yet now he slung an arm over Cen’s shoulder, all chummy. “Look who’s blushing now! Remind me, who was it that made such a scandal, stubborn as a mule, insisting on marrying into the sect?”
Instead of arguing against such nonsense, his Master just chuckled, turning back to take his hand, leading him away. “Don’t bother with them. Let’s go home.”
Her fingers were a little cold, callused at the tips, but she held his palm firmly and gave it a gentle squeeze.
That subtle pressure felt as if it wrapped around his heart, catching the softest part of him, pulling him helplessly to follow her forward.
As they walked, snow began to fall, pristine, gentle, blanketing the world in a hush.
On the snowy road, only one couple remained, hand in hand, strolling slowly ahead.
Ahead, a familiar courtyard glowed warmly in the yellow lamplight.
But a thick, heavy iron chain locked the front gate tight.
His Master stopped at the door, her red robe aglow, her features almost painted in their perfection.
She reached up, caressing along her own hairline and down, trailing her arm softly. “Hurry up, open it for me. I want to go inside.”
She stood so close, eyes alight, her earlobes gleaming, lips parted ever so slightly, her breath filled with fragrance brushing warmly against his neck.
Cen Qianshan’s throat bobbed as he reached for the iron chain, but then his hand wavered in the air, tightening and… stopping.
“You’ve waited for me such a long time,” his Master whispered softly near his ear, her hand stroking the back of his neck, voice melting with a hint of temptation, “and now I’m right here in front of you. Break these shackles, carry me inside, make me yours, from now on.”
Cen Qianshan stared at her, chest heaving, lips pressed tight, refusing to say a word.
“Don’t be like this, Xiao Shan, just a little reckless, let go of your chains, and you’ll have me, and a happiness you’ve never even dreamed of.”
He closed his hand around her wrist where she looped around his neck, slowly moving it away, his gaze unwilling but resolute.
“Master,” he spoke softly, “the difference between humans and demons is sometimes nothing but a single line, a boundary left in the heart. Especially for someone like me… If I let everything go, I have no idea what kind of monster would walk out through that door.”
Firmly, steadily, he lowered her hand.
“I’ll wait for you. For the true you, the one willing to stand before this door with me. Open it for me, show me what lies locked inside.”
Cen Qianshan felt a small, soft hand tug him out of a world of white light.
Snapping out of it, he found himself already inside the gates of the Dongyue Temple. A little girl held his hand, looking up at him and giggling, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight.
Somewhere deep in the hall, a low, drawn-out sigh echoed softly.