Chapter 103

After leaving the Heavenly Palace, Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao wandered without direction, choosing a path at random. Along the way, they came upon a picturesque little town and decided to stay there for a while.
Though small, the town was shrouded in mist and rain, painting a dreamlike landscape that felt far removed from the world. It had the serene charm of a hidden retreat. Seeing that Luo Han liked it, Ling Qingxiao went to find lodging.
Luo Han fretted inwardly over logistics: would they stay in one room or two? What if the inn only had a single room left—who would take the bed?
In the end, she realized that such problems didn’t exist for the wealthy.
Ling Qingxiao bought an entire residence on the spot. Calling it a “residence” was modest—it was practically a garden estate. Deep-set gates, expansive courtyards, and more rooms than they could ever use. They didn’t need to consider sharing; each could sleep in a different wing if they pleased. The property even had a lake that connected to the nearby river, offering a stunning view.
The estate was built around the water, its corridors winding gracefully over the rippling surface. Walking along the covered walkways, one could hear the soft gurgle of flowing streams below.
Lulled by the sound of water, Luo Han slept deeply that night. When she awoke the next morning, the sky was still overcast.
She changed into light, comfortable clothes and stepped out for a walk in the garden. The moment she emerged, she spotted Ling Qingxiao sitting at the lakeside pavilion. He seemed to have been there for quite some time.
His brows were slightly furrowed, his expression focused as he read and jotted notes on a sheet of paper. Luo Han slowed her steps, careful not to make noise, but he still noticed her.
Ling Qingxiao glanced up. Seeing it was her, he naturally shifted his materials to one side of the table. “You’re awake.”
Luo Han sat down across from him and saw that the table was stacked neatly with maps, registries, and geographic records. She sighed. “You’ve gone through all this already? It’s barely morning. Did you sleep at all?”
“It’s not much. Just some scattered documents,” Ling Qingxiao replied. “Sleep wastes time. Meditation can replace rest.”
Luo Han had no rebuttal. As expected—academic overachievers from student days always grew up to be tireless workaholics.
They had set out to relax and travel, but only she was actually relaxing. Ling Qingxiao hadn’t missed a single day of cultivation, reading, or handling official affairs.
She had long since accepted the fact that she was, in essence, a salted fish. Sprawled lazily over the table, she yawned and said, “Good thing I don’t have anything urgent going on. I can finally take a proper break.”
“You do, actually,” Ling Qingxiao reminded her, gently but mercilessly. “You haven’t finished reviewing yesterday’s prayer scrolls. If you don’t keep up, today’s will stack on top. Also, when you were meditating the other day, you said there was a technique you didn’t understand. Since we’re free today, we should look into it. And didn’t you also say you wanted to improve your calligraphy and painting? And exercise more…”
Luo Han’s expression gradually froze. She quickly raised her hand to stop him. “Enough, enough! I get it!”
She’d only said those things in passing, little throwaway comments to fill the time. Who would’ve thought Ling Qingxiao would remember every word and even turn them into an action plan?
Luo Han felt a deep pang of regret. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?
Ling Qingxiao returned to his letters. When he noticed Luo Han still hadn’t moved, he looked up and asked, “Why haven’t you started? Are you stuck?”
Luo Han shook her head, sighed, and steeled herself for a day of “self-improvement.”
She read diligently for half an hour, but her attention slowly began to drift. She shifted in her seat, leaned against the table, and found her thoughts wandering.
Outside, snow had begun to fall. Though this small town never froze over completely, the flakes dusted the shore, eaves, and treetops in a soft white layer. On the misty lake, the snow melted on contact, leaving only faint traces. The entire landscape looked like a brushstroke from an ink painting—graceful, fluid, and tranquil.
Snow gathered along the pavilion railings, reflecting a faint pale light. Ling Qingxiao sat amidst the cold whiteness, his black hair and white robes perfectly complementing the scenery. His features, luminous and serene, seemed almost otherworldly.
He remained deeply focused, writing, reading, reviewing reports—efficient as ever. From time to time, he paused, quill held still in thought, then resumed with steady precision.
His handwriting was elegant and restrained, neat as his personality, clean and balanced, perfectly aligned. Any one of his letters could be used as a model for students practicing calligraphy.
Luo Han stared, genuinely awed. How could he work for two or three hours straight without tiring? He transitioned from work to reading to cultivation without missing a beat, scheduling every minute down to the second. There was never a wasted moment.
…Well, maybe not never. She did, on occasion, interrupt him.
Luo Han felt a little guilty. She was probably the only person who disrupted Ling Qingxiao’s precious working hours. Like right now—she simply couldn’t sit still any longer. Trying not to sound too needy, she leaned over and asked, “Ling Qingxiao, aren’t you tired?”
He glanced at her. “If you’re tired, go ahead and rest for a bit. Or would you like to take a walk by the lake?”
He was already setting down his brush. Luo Han waved her hands quickly, not wanting to interrupt him again. “No, no. It’s still snowing outside. I’m fine here. What are you working on?”
“Geographical reports on You Mountain,” he said. “The administration there is a mess. I’m compiling their historical records to establish a new standardized system.”
Luo Han nodded slowly. She’d heard of You Mountain—wealthy, chaotic, and notoriously hard to govern. That the Celestial Emperor entrusted it to Ling Qingxiao showed just how highly he was regarded.
If his past assignments—to Da Ming City, Huaiyin Island, and even the Demon Realm—were tests of his combat skill and adaptability, then You Mountain was the true trial of his administrative prowess.
The former was a test of loyal officials; the latter...a quiet selection of a successor.
Luo Han knew that despite how leisurely and carefree Ling Qingxiao appeared—wandering aimlessly by her side—he was, in fact, extremely busy.
With no suitable heir to inherit Linshan, Lord Su had finally compromised. He ceded large tracts of land and key industries to Zhongshan, sacrificing territory in exchange for future stability. He had come to realize that his daughter was a lost cause. With Su Yinyue’s current reputation, forget political marriages—he’d be lucky to find someone in the Immortal Realm willing to take her hand at all.
Unwilling to see a lifetime of effort handed to someone else, Lord Su had made a decisive move—pledging allegiance to Ling Qingxiao.
With the blood of both the Azure Dragon and Yinglong clans, Ling Qingxiao was still a descendant of the Su family’s ancestral line. Now that Su Yinyue was out of the question, Ling Qingxiao became the most viable option. At the very least, by passing everything to Ling Qingxiao, Lord Su could enjoy a comfortable "retired sovereign" life in Linshan. If power ended up in the hands of some remote collateral branch...he and his wife would likely be discarded without a second thought.
In essence, Ling Qingxiao was now managing both Zhongshan and Linshan—consolidating resources and gaining loyalty was already enough to keep him busy for months. On top of that, he’d been handed the mess that was You Mountain. With so many eyes watching, he had no choice but to produce real results.
Luo Han sighed in admiration...and remained perfectly content to continue being a salted fish.
She leaned over to watch him write and suddenly had an idea. “Didn’t you say I should practice my calligraphy? I don’t like other people’s handwriting...what if I just copy yours?”
Ling QingXiaolifted his eyes, slightly surprised. Then he smiled. “I’d be honored.”
He spread out a fresh sheet of paper. “What would you like to copy?”
Luo Han blinked. This kind of coupley behavior was about the mood, not the content, right? “Anything’s fine,” she replied casually.
“Alright,” Ling Qingxiao said, dipping his brush into the ink. His strokes flowed fluidly across the page. “Then let’s do the Jiuhua Sutra. You haven’t memorized the last section yet—this will be a good review.”
Luo Han: “…”
He was serious? Did he not realize this was supposed to be romantic?
She watched in dismay as he wrote line after elegant line, then solemnly handed her the page. “It’s a bit long, so I only copied a portion. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”
Luo Han had no words. Staring down at the graceful, neat characters on the page, she once again cursed herself inwardly. Why did she have to open her mouth? Why couldn’t she just enjoy the peace? Now she had calligraphy homework for the next several days.
With great resignation, she picked up her brush and laid a fresh sheet of paper over his, carefully tracing stroke by stroke. Ling Qingxiao’s writing wasn’t just beautiful at a glance—up close, each individual character was still flawless.
She copied for a while before her patience began to fray. The Sutra was as dry as dust. Eventually, she gave up and began sketching idly instead.
Outside, the snow continued to fall. The scenery was stunning, and Luo Han had hoped to capture the elegant essence of a wintry lakeside pavilion. But the moment her brush touched the paper, the ink bled too heavily. She tried to dilute it with water, but the more she corrected, the worse it got—dark smudges spreading wider and deeper.
She stared at the black blob on her page, heart sinking. With a sigh, she lifted the paperweight, preparing to toss the failed painting.
Hearing the rustle, Ling Qingxiao looked up. “What’s wrong?”
Luo Han pouted. “I was trying to paint a pavilion. It’s ruined.”
Ling Qingxiao put down his brush and came over to take a look. After a moment, he said seriously, “It’s not ruined. It’s very good.”
“…” Luo Han replied dryly, “Please don’t lie just to make me feel better.”
He chuckled softly and sat beside her. It was a seat made for one, and with both of them on it, space became tight. Luo Han shifted to the side, but the two were still pressed close together.
Ling Qingxiao reached for a fresh brush, dipped it in ink, and added a few strokes to the blot. With deft movements, he transformed the smudge into a lively depiction of the Tun Yuan Beast.
Luo Han stared, wide-eyed, then sighed. “…I didn’t even think of that.”
Spiritual beasts should never go to waste. After adding the creature, Ling Qingxiao continued with a few more details, sketching the playful beast frolicking in the snow. The once-ruined snow scene suddenly came alive. He set down the brush. “There. Now we can keep going. You had a good base—would’ve been a shame to throw it away.”
Luo Han clutched her brush, unconvinced. The “base” was clearly drawn by him, not her.
She had been ready to discard it moments ago...but now, she really couldn’t bear to.
She stared at the paper, hesitating. “The Tun Yuan Beast looks amazing. If I ruin it with my part, won’t that be a crime?”
“It’s fine.” Ling Qingxiao extended his arm, gently wrapping it around her shoulder as he guided her hand. “Just paint however you like. It’s only a picture—what matters most is your joy.”
The bench was narrow, and with two people seated, their garments overlapped—her flowing skirts and his long robes layering together like drifting snow. His hand guided hers across the paper as they painted a tranquil snowy scene: sky, snowflakes, lake, pavilion—all unfolding gently beneath their brush.
His fingers rested coolly against the back of her hand, smooth and cold like polished jade. With his arm circling behind her, it felt almost like an embrace. Luo Han could even smell the faint, clean scent that always clung to him. Combined with the wintry air, it calmed her heart completely.
She couldn’t help thinking: Ling Qingxiao always seemed cold. His hands were cold. His voice was cold. Even his scent had a chill to it. She had never known him to feel warm.
Being next to him in summer...must be incredibly comfortable.
When he finished painting the pavilion, the ink in his brush ran dry. He set it down, and Luo Han remarked, “There are people in the pavilion now—you drew the Tun Yuan Beast, so why not draw me?”
Ling Qingxiao chuckled. He gave her a sidelong glance, eyes glinting with amusement. “As you wish.”
He ground fresh ink, then lightly sketched two figures into the pavilion. Their faces weren’t detailed, but the flowing lines and elegant posture made their silhouettes unmistakable—two graceful figures, refined and serene. Even without facial features, the composition spoke of beauty more vividly than any meticulous portrait.
Luo Han was immensely pleased. She held up the painting to blow the ink dry and immediately declared, “This painting is mine. You’re not allowed to fight me for it.”
Ling Qingxiao humored her without the slightest hesitation. “Alright.”
She continued to admire the ink painting, then turned her head slightly to glance at him. “You seem to agree with everything I say. Are you being sincere, or are you just placating me?”
“Of course I’m sincere,” Ling Qingxiao replied. “I would never lie to you. If it’s something you ask for—anything at all—I will agree.”
“Anything?” Luo Han thought for a moment, then asked teasingly, “What if I said I wanted to build the world’s tallest stag tower, so tall it touches the stars and captures the moon, just to feast and dance and live in eternal revelry?”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t even blink. “Then we’ll build it.”
“And if I said I wanted to light the beacon fires of Zhongshan just for fun, to watch the chaos unfold?”
“You can.”
“And if I said...I didn’t want to marry at all? That I just want to be free, wild, and unbound for the rest of my life?”
This time, Ling Qingxiao paused. But after a brief silence, he nodded. “Even that would be fine.”
Luo Han was genuinely surprised. For someone like Ling Qingxiao, who valued order and stability above all else, even her saying she didn’t want to marry didn’t rattle him? He really had no bottom line when it came to her. Emboldened, she pushed further: “Then what if I decided to leave the Tianqi era altogether and go to another realm, another timeline—”
“No.” Ling Qingxiao cut her off before she could finish. His tone was firm, absolute. “You can do anything you want, but leaving...is not allowed.”
She looked at him—and couldn’t help laughing.
By now, the ink on the painting had dried. Luo Han carefully put the scroll away, then wrapped her arms around Ling Qingxiao’s neck and said softly, “I was joking. I don’t want to build a tower or light beacons. You don’t have to worry.”
As she leaned into him, Ling Qingxiao naturally wrapped an arm around her waist. Luo Han remembered how, back in the Demon Realm, when she first hugged him, he had been so tense and unresponsive, like he didn’t know how to react. Now, in the exact same position, he’d clearly adapted.
His learning ability was...terrifyingly good.
Hearing her say that soothed something in Ling Qingxiao. He could accept the first three—extravagance, mischief, even her resistance to marriage—but the last one...that had struck at something deep. A line he couldn’t bear to see crossed.
Even with her in his arms now, Ling Qingxiao couldn’t shake the feeling that she might slip away. That if he held her just a little too loosely, she’d vanish. The thought sent a jolt through him, and he tightened his hold reflexively.
Luo Han noticed the sudden force around her waist and looked up, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
Without answering, Ling Qingxiao abruptly bent forward and hugged her tightly.
Before she could react, he was holding her as if she might disappear at any second.
He might look slender, but he wasn’t weak. His shoulders were broad, his limbs long and lean. When he pulled her into his arms, she could clearly feel the strength beneath his clothes—the lithe muscle, the tension in his frame.
She was completely enveloped within him. Everywhere she looked, everything she touched, was Ling Qingxiao. The arm encircling her waist looked slender, but Luo Han had seen that very hand wield a sword to slay demons and cut through legions.
He was beautiful, powerful, cold—and yet in some ways, deeply sensitive, fragile, plagued by fear and longing.
His childhood had made him wary of intimacy, taught him to isolate himself from others. But deep down, what he craved most was warmth and love. He distanced himself to avoid loss—but once someone made it through that barrier, he feared nothing more than losing them.
Luo Han realized she had said something wrong.
She had disappeared once before. Though she had always known she would find her way back, for Ling Qingxiao, that absence had been five hundred years of silence—five hundred years of no word, no sign, no hope. Her casual remark had, to him, been a thunderclap from a clear sky.
With a long, soft sigh, she let herself be held, not resisting.
In this position, she couldn’t support her own weight. Her entire balance rested in Ling Qingxiao’s arms. After a while, she relaxed, resting her head against the hollow of his neck and whispered, “I was only speaking without thinking. I won’t leave.”
Only when his hands touched her, when he could feel her breath against his skin, did Ling Qingxiao start to believe this was real. After a while, he murmured, “Alright. No matter what you say, I’ll believe you. You said you won’t leave.”
There was something ominous in the way he said it, and the chill in those words made Luo Han’s skin prickle. She shivered. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s stop talking about these bad luck topics. We’re on a trip—we should be enjoying ourselves. Worrying over something that hasn’t happened is just self-inflicted misery.”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t respond, so she took it as silent agreement.
She shifted, wanting to sit up properly, but he didn’t let go. After a bit of squirming, she reminded him, “You still have a stack of letters to finish. Shouldn’t you get back to work?”
After a moment’s pause, Ling Qingxiao finally let go.
Then, in rare self-reflection, he thought...was he always this much of a buzzkill when he urged people to study?
He allowed Luo Han to sit back up but didn’t return to his own seat. Instead, he remained right beside her, occupying her spot entirely. Not that it mattered—immortals didn’t need to physically reach for anything. Ling Qingxiao simply levitated the documents toward him, and after reviewing them, moved each completed scroll neatly to the finished pile. His speed didn’t slow in the slightest.
Luo Han tapped her tablet for a bit, and when her eyes began to ache, she leaned against his shoulder with a sigh. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to be productive anymore. Why do people even have to work? If only someone else could do all this for me.”
“Have a child,” Ling Qingxiao said calmly. “Then you can pass everything on to them.”
Luo Han went silent. For a moment, she couldn’t even believe those words came from him.
Eventually, she said in a wounded tone, “Shouldn’t this be the part where you say ‘You don’t need to worry—I’ll take care of everything’?”
“That wouldn’t be realistic,” Ling Qingxiao replied. “There are many things only you can do. I can’t shoulder your responsibilities. Not unless another god appears in this world—one who shares your divine authority. Only then could someone truly bear them in your place.”
It...made sense. Kind of. But it also felt wrong somehow.
So Luo Han changed the subject. “If only I had a bit more cultivation, then I could handle things faster.”
“Cultivation is a gradual process,” Ling Qingxiao said with his usual calm and solemn tone. “Sudden breakthroughs are highly unlikely—unless one practices dual cultivation.”
“…” Luo Han couldn’t take it anymore. She opened her eyes and glared at him. “Enough. That was way too blatant.”
“I merely stated a fact,” he replied, completely innocent in both expression and tone.
She stared at him for a long time, unable to find words. Luo Han thought to herself, Once upon a time, Ling Qingxiao was the picture of integrity and purity. And now...he’s saying things like this with a straight face.
They weren’t lying when they said men go bad the moment they get rich.
—
The secluded courtyard became their little world. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao spent the entire winter there, only setting off again once the weather began to warm.
Wandering aimlessly, they eventually found themselves within the territory of the bird clans. Though the heavens didn’t interfere with the internal affairs of each race, when it came to land distribution, species still preferred to keep among their own. In particular, birds—being social, territorial, and sensitive by nature—had long kept their distance from continent-based clans. Over time, their lands had become a distinct region.
In the southwest of the celestial realm lay an expanse of cloud sea: warm climate, lush vegetation, and the ideal environment for avian races. Vermilion Birds, Phoenixes, Celestial Cranes, and the mythic Chongming birds had all made their homes here.
As they entered this region, the mist thickened and the air grew damp. Luo Han asked, “Is Yunzhou somewhere around here?”
“This is Wuzhou,” Ling Qingxiao explained. “Phoenix territory. The Vermilion Birds aren’t based here, but it’s nearby. Yunzhou lies just southwest of here. If you want to visit, we can easily change course.”
Luo Han thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No need. I just saw Ye Zinan not long ago—it’d be a little much to go out of our way. Let fate decide. If we run into him, great. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be.”
Ling Qingxiao was relieved. He had no desire to add a third member to their party. In fact, if possible, he would’ve happily thrown the Devourer Beast out too.
It was simply too noisy.
Wuzhou had a completely different atmosphere from Zhongshan. Where Zhongshan was austere and competitive, Wuzhou was brimming with warmth and community.
Luo Han had heard that Wuzhou’s famed Liquan wine was worth a trip on its own, so she dragged Ling Qingxiao to a local tavern to try it. She ordered several of the regional dishes and two cups of wine, then eagerly pushed one toward him. “This is supposedly made with a secret Phoenix recipe—you can’t get it anywhere else. Try it!”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t care for alcohol. He lifted the cup, sniffed it briefly, and then set it back down.
Luo Han sipped hers and noticed his remained untouched. “What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”
If she remembered correctly, didn’t dragons have a natural tolerance for alcohol?
“I don’t drink,” he said flatly. “It neither strengthens cultivation nor satisfies hunger. It has no practical benefit and only dulls reflexes. Why do something that is both useless and detrimental?”
His tone was perfectly calm—not proud, not stubborn, just genuinely practical. Luo Han took another slow sip of wine, then remarked, “With that mindset, us chatting is even more useless. It doesn’t raise our cultivation, burns time and energy, and brings zero results. So why talk at all?”
“That’s different,” Ling Qingxiao replied without missing a beat.
“How?” she pressed, raising an eyebrow—but before he could answer, a sudden tremor rocked the world outside.
Both of them immediately stopped speaking and turned toward the disturbance.
It wasn’t just a ripple—it was a full-on quake. The shockwaves rolled outward, strong and continuous. Panic quickly swept through the streets as people poured out into the open. Not long after, rumors began to spread like wildfire.
A mirage had appeared outside Yunzhong City, right at the quake’s epicenter.
Within the shimmering illusion...was the outline of what looked like ancient ruins.