Chapter 42

Before descending to the Dongyue Temple, Uncle Nian had concocted some effective medicine for Cen Qianshan. Thanks to it, both his wounds and Fu Yun’s finally stopped worsening.
Mu Xue dug through the bottles and jars, recognizing more than a few goodies from her own stash.
Restoration Pills, Detox Powder, Hundred-Flower Tranquility Elixirs, Golden Regrowth Balm, these were all top-shelf pills you couldn’t just buy at any market.
“Not bad. Grumpy old man actually came through this time,” Mu Xue muttered under her breath.
She immediately realized she’d let that slip. In a panic, she snuck a wary glance at Cen Qianshan.
Xiao Shan was sitting not far away, laser-focused on the black lotus in his hands, eyebrows perfectly unmoved. Guess he hadn’t heard her muttering.
Mu Xue exhaled in relief, crisis averted.
"This black lotus, I got it for the Yan family. They paid a fee; I took the job," Cen Qianshan said, glancing over at the monument in the heart of the pool. "What about the white one? Not taking it back?"
This was a rare spirit plant from the Dongyue Temple. The Yan family paid a truly eye-watering price, one Biluochi Black Lotus for a hundred thousand spirit stones and a high-grade artifact on top.
Mu Xue’s gaze followed his to the tombstone in the pond, and to the man forever bound within it.
She’d cut out Wuchang’s heart. She’d watched the last spark fade from his eyes as his head fell. And in that moment, a sharp pang of pity pierced her.
She’d spent so much of her life among these puppet constructs, from her earliest, clumsy tin men to the lifelike Qianji she’d built later. All those years, all her blood, sweat, and spirit had gone into breathing life into machines, enough that she’d found her path to the Dao through it.
Anyone who loved the art of artifact refinement would be heartbroken to see such a beautiful, sentient puppet fade to dust.
And, well… she couldn’t help herself. The opportunity was too good, to test out the divine technique she’d glimpsed in her near-delirium.
Maybe Wuchang himself had sown this seed of karma. When he guided Mu Xue through the illusion at the front gates of the temple, she’d briefly glimpsed the edge of a god’s domain, riding dragons through the sky, watching the cycle of life and death as the truths of the world flashed before her eyes.
With this wordless realization simmering inside her, she’d stretched out her hand, focused, and planted that Biluochi White Lotus in the chest left vacant by Wuchang’s ripped-out heart. As her spiritual power guided the living lotus to fuse with those mechanical ‘veins,’ Mu Xue felt as though she’d forged life itself, a taste of divine power at her fingertips.
The man trapped in the monument still hung his head, eyes closed tight. But Mu Xue could sense it, already, vibrant life was winding through his veins, the lotus blooming on his chest.
Legends said that gods of old could build bodies as easily as they could cultivate lotus roots.
Mu Xue could only hope this flower would bring a trace of life back for Wuchang, even if just a sliver.
"I just… couldn’t stand it. Wanted to help him, that’s all." Mu Xue scratched her head, a little embarrassed as she tried to explain herself to Cen Qianshan. "I’m not normally this soft, seriously."
In the Demon Spirit Realm, “soft” was a dirty word. Even if she looked like a little kid, Mu Xue absolutely refused to let Xiao Shan see her as a pushover.
Ignoring her protests, Cen Qianshan, still nursing his wounds, forced himself to carry the unconscious Fu Yun out.
Mu Xue felt terrible about it, but honestly, with her height and strength right now, there was no way she could haul her senior brother out of there by herself. Not without help from Xiao Shan, anyway.
Xiao Shan was in pretty bad shape himself. After a few steps, sweat was already rolling down the side of his face.
"Are you sure? You okay to walk? Seriously, don’t push it!" Mu Xue kept at his heels, her worry relentless.
Cen Qianshan looked sidelong at her. Deep in his gaze, a hint of a smile flickered.
You’re soft-hearted by nature. Is there anyone in this world more soft-hearted than you, Master?
As they reached the edge of the floating island and stepped onto the rain-lashed stone bridge, the black lotus in Mu Xue’s arms began to glow softly. Within the halo, the torrential rain couldn’t touch them.
Fu Yun woke once along the way, his first instinct was to look for Mu Xue.
“I’m right here! See, I kept it safe, hugging it tight the whole way! Don’t worry, senior brother!” Mu Xue immediately held up the water jar for him to see. “I even dug up a ton of Purpleheart Grass, stored it all away safe and sound.”
Fu Yun reached for her head, wanting to ruffle her hair. "Thank goodness we brought you along, little sister."
When they made it outside the temple’s gates, the group discovered, delighted, that Miao Hong’er had managed to shake off the petrification spell a little. Her fingertip, once gray and stony, now shimmered with color, her face lively as ever. She still couldn’t move the rest of her body, but her big doe eyes darted around, brimming with expression.
Mu Xue doused her with water from the Deathless Pool, and soon enough, wild, rambunctious senior sister was back in full force.
Miao Hong’er squeezed Mu Xue into a crushing hug, nuzzling her affectionately. "Haha! Good job, Xiao Xue. I knew you guys would come rescue me."
Only then did she notice Cen Qianshan and Fu Yun looking half-dead, battered and bloodied.
“Damn, you two really got messed up.” She sighed, reaching to take Fu Yun off Cen Qianshan’s back. “You’ve done enough, fellow Daoist, let me take it from here.”
Miao Hong’er toted Fu Yun as they slowly made their way home. “Honestly, I was terrified. I kept picturing myself stuck here forever, no good food, nothing. Xiao Xue, you’re the real hero.”
She glanced at the person resting on her shoulder and added, “You’ve worked hard, too.”
The only reply was a soft, quiet “Mm.”
The path inside the Dongyue Temple formed a strange circuit: fraught with danger on the way in, but strangely peaceful on the journey out.
Somehow, you could even skirt all those danger zones and make it straight back to the mortal world. After all, this was the realm of the gods, a place that proved divine compassion for humankind.
Yet Mu Xue retraced her steps, returning to the city. White-robed Wuchang already seemed to know everything, waiting for her in front of the gloomy black tower.
When the metallic heart was placed into his hollow chest, several crimson, vein-like tubes slithered over, hesitated briefly, then fused themselves to that heart.
The metal heart began to beat, soft, steady thuds echoing in the silence.
Mu Xue fulfilled another’s request, tending dutifully to his need. She threaded needle and stitch, carefully sealing the split in his chest.
A droplet splashed onto her hand, the one holding the needle.
Wuchang raised his pale arm, wiped the corner of his eye, and began to speak slowly. “In the very beginning, there was only my brother and me in the world. We depended on each other, connected heart-to-heart, living in a brilliant sea of fire. The god plucked us from those flames together, forging us into what we are now.”
“The god commanded my brother to guard the Deathless Pool, and me to forever watch over the Tower. We could no longer be side by side, but we could still hear each other’s voices and see the world reflected in each other’s eyes.” He lifted his hand, letting the slanting sunlight shine through to the watermark on his fingertip. “I've always envied my brother. He’s the one with a heart, I never had one. He knew what it meant to feel joy and pain. I would fight with him, day after day, demanding a heart of my own.”
Mu Xue blurted, “So that’s why he asked me to dig out his own heart and give it to you.”
“All my brother could ever see, in his eyes, was the endless, lifeless surface of the water. He often said he envied me, he said he suffered. But I had no heart, so I never understood what suffering was.” Wuchang pressed his palm to his chest. “Today, at last, I understand.”
Created with a purpose, the two of them had endured eons of confinement, faithful to the task their master left behind. So when he looked at mortal happiness and sorrow, all he could do was long for it.
And now, with even his one answer in the world, his brother, gone, he was probably more alone than ever.
He was a pain to deal with at first, but now… even she couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.
“Wait a while longer. Maybe your brother will break free from that pool, wake up again, and come back to talk with you.” Mu Xue tried to comfort him, though deep down, she doubted her own words.
“I saw everything that happened there.” White-robed Wuchang turned to Mu Xue. “Humans are truly strange things, so greedy, yet sometimes so pure.”
He turned his palm upward, and a vivid scarlet velvet flower bloomed from his skin.
Mu Xue knew that flower. It had once become a red rope, stringing Xiao Shan up and leaving him dangling right in front of her.
“You missed out on the Biluochi White Lotus, so let me give you this instead.” He waved his hand, and the red flower floated free, drifting gently over to Mu Xue.
“This is called, an Immortal-Binding Rope. Consider it my thanks. Take it back with you.”
Mu Xue reached for it, but before her fingers could close, the flower vanished into her skin. Where a tear had stained the back of her hand, a striking red floral pattern appeared. At her thought, she sensed a scarlet velvet blossom blooming inside her spiritual lake, at the edge of the Spirit Chamber.
Everywhere her mind’s eye roamed, the flower’s core transformed into a red cord, long or short, at her whim. It was surprisingly convenient and easy to use.
With a flick of his sleeve, Wuchang sent them all back onto the boat of the River of Forgetting.
Mu Xue leaned on the rail, watching that solitary white figure at the realm of the dead. She wanted to say something, but felt it’d just sound too sentimental.
The boat slipped from the shore, floating with the current along the River of Forgetting.
“Hey! I’m Miao Hong’er, a disciple of Xiaoyao Peak, Guiyuan Sect in the Immortal Spirit Realm!” Miao Hong’er waved at the white figure on the bank. “We fought before, but you’re not so bad after all. If you ever make it out, come hang out with us, okay?”
Fu Yun could barely manage words, his voice hoarse: “Xiaoyao Peak, Fu Yun.”
Mu Xue quickly followed, waving her pale little hand, now stamped with a vivid red mark. “Xiao Xue!”
Cen Qianshan raised his fist in salute. “Demon Spirit Realm, Fuwang City, Cen Qianshan. We’ve yet to settle things. We'll finish our battle next time.”
The white figure seemed to hear their words and looked up, taking a couple hesitant steps down the riverbank.
To find friends is joy, to part is pain.
All things pass, there’s sorrow and happiness, life and death. That's what it means to face Wuchang.
Life is impermanent, but every journey must end.
They’d won the Biluochi Black Lotus and the Purple Heart Grass, parting was now inevitable.
Senior Brother Fu and Senior Sister Miao each pulled Xiao Shan aside at the parting of the roads, packing in as many words as they could. Only Mu Xue stood there, tongue-tied and awkward, not knowing where to start.
Xiao Shan’s presence at her side, it was the norm, a comfort, a habit she never thought about. Only now, at this very moment, did she realize the pain of their impending separation, with no hint of when they would meet again.
“Is there… anything you want to say to me?” Cen Qianshan crouched in front of her, gazing into her eyes.
With the sunset at his back, golden dusk on his shoulders, his eyes shone with a tangle of thoughts she couldn’t name, and just a flicker of hope.
“Xiao… Qianshan, promise me you’ll stop getting hurt so badly, okay? Take care of yourself after you go back. Your Master will be happy if you do.”
Cen Qianshan’s lashes drooped, shadowing his eyes.
They each set off on their separate ways. Mu Xue followed her senior brother and sister, but couldn’t help turning back again and again.
That familiar silhouette stood frozen in the dusk’s shadow, watching them go, not moving for a very long time.