Chapter 119

Yun Menghan remembered falling from the Heaven-Slaying Platform. Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she heard someone calling her name—but the sound quickly faded into nothing.
She plummeted for what felt like an eternity, her body crashing against jagged rocks and branches. Then, with a splash, she hit the river, the icy water biting into her battered flesh like knives.
Her body was already pushed to the brink—just days post-miscarriage, four days hung from a tower without food or water. If not for her self-healing constitution and the last threads of true essence patching her wounds, she would have died long ago.
The raging current swept her away. The freezing pain blurred the line between consciousness and oblivion. In her half-dreaming state, she thought she saw a child floating on the water, bobbing up and down in the current, as if about to be swallowed by the river at any moment.
“My...child…”
She thought of the baby she’d never met. The child whose existence she had only just discovered—only for him to be torn away.
She would never forget the moment she hung from the city wall, a dull ache twisting in her womb. Before she could make sense of it, part of her—her child—became a trail of blood, slipping from her body, leaving her forever.
But now, here he was again. Unable to let go, returning to her.
With every ounce of strength she had left, she lunged toward the child, desperate to save him. But the river was fierce, the current relentless, and the hidden rocks beneath the surface battered her further. Again and again, she was thrown back, unable to grasp him.
Then, as the child was about to be swept over a cliff’s edge, Yun Menghan caught the edge of the wooden basin he floated in.
And in that moment, she lost her balance—both of them were dragged down the falls.
Before the darkness claimed her, she used her last shred of essence to shield the child in a barrier, binding him to her chest with every ounce of life she had left.
Then—nothing.

She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. In the haze, she vaguely sensed someone checking her pulse, sighing, and feeding her something bitter. The medicine was thick and acrid—like the darkness that weighed on her soul.
Part of her wished she could just sleep like this forever. If she never woke again, she would never have to face the pain.
Still, something in the void kept calling her back—wake up, wake up.
When she finally opened her eyes, daylight flooded the room. Above her was a simple wooden ceiling. She sat up, her body heavy, wrapped in a coarse blanket of handwoven hemp. The bed beneath her was unpolished wood, without any ornamentation.
Where...was she?
No one in the Celestial Realm used such rough cloth anymore. This place felt ancient. Then it hit her—she was no longer in the Celestial Realm.
She had been expelled from Zhongshan. She could never return. And the Demon Realm...had never been her home. In all the vastness of the Six Realms, there was nowhere for her to belong.
At the sound of movement, someone hurried in, lifting the curtain. “You’re awake?”
Yun Menghan looked up. A girl of about fifteen or sixteen stood before her, her hair in twin buns. Yun Menghan tried to sit up. “You saved me? My child…?”
“Don’t move!” The girl quickly supported her, then shouted over her shoulder, “Grandma! She’s awake!”
An old woman entered, carrying a swaddled bundle. Seeing Yun Menghan awake, she murmured a long prayer over her heart. “Thank the Lady Nuwa. She’s finally awake.”
The girl beamed. “We were fishing by the river when we found you. We’ve never seen anyone from outside before, so we brought you back. The High Priest said if you hadn’t woken soon, your sea of consciousness would’ve collapsed and you’d be as good as dead. It’s lucky you woke up today.”
Yun Menghan accepted the child from the old woman’s arms. The girl’s words struck her.
“…High Priest?”
“Yeah!” the girl chattered cheerfully. “The High Priest is the most powerful spirit speaker in our village. Whenever someone falls ill, we go to the Priest. You’ve been unconscious for days, and she’s been treating you the whole time.”
Then, without warning, the girl blurted, “Auntie, how did you and your baby end up in the river? Where’s your husband?”
Yun Menghan lowered her head, silent for a long time.
The old woman shot the girl a warning look. Realizing her mistake, the girl stuck out her tongue and quickly added, “It’s okay. Now that you’re here, just rest. Everyone in the village is really kind. The medicine and rice porridge for your baby—all of it came from the neighbors.”
Yun Menghan gradually realized—this village was unlike anything she’d known. The people here lived in a way that felt ancient, even primitive: they wove their own coarse hemp cloth, built their homes and furniture from raw timber, and still had figures like high priests. Their way of life didn’t resemble the celestial realm at all, but rather a secluded tribe from a forgotten era.
Yet no matter how isolated a village might be, it shouldn't be this cut off from the world. It was as if time had stood still for them—untouched by centuries of change.
With quiet caution, Yun Menghan asked, “Where...exactly is this place? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.”
The young girl opened her mouth to answer, but her grandmother quickly interrupted, shooting her a warning look. “This is just an ordinary mountain village,” the old woman said mildly. “We’ve been out of contact with the outside world for a long time—it’s no surprise you wouldn’t have heard of us. Now that you’re awake, the child is yours again. Xiaoli, go tell the High Priest that the lady has awakened.”
Xiaoli stuck out her tongue and scampered off. Yun Menghan picked up on the deliberate avoidance in the old woman’s tone and tactfully didn’t press further. She lowered her head and gently tried to soothe the baby in her arms.
Back in the river, her senses had been dulled—she hadn’t even seen the child’s face clearly. She’d saved him purely on instinct, as if something unseen had drawn her to him, commanded her to act. Now, at last, she looked at the child she’d nearly died to protect.
The infant’s skin was pale, eyes closed in slumber. His features were sharp, even delicate, with high-angled brows and lips thin and defined. Strangely...he looked cunning, almost sinister. It was an odd thing to think of a baby, but there was something undeniably unnatural about him.
Questions she hadn’t thought to ask began surfacing one by one. Whose child was this? Why was he floating alone in the river below a demon-realm cliff? She’d barely survived the current—how had a helpless baby managed to drift unharmed?
Just then, the child stirred, kicking lightly against the swaddle. His tiny face scrunched up, as though in discomfort.
The oddity of his appearance was temporarily forgotten. The old woman, fond of children in this village where they were few and far between, quickly said, “Maybe he’s hungry? I’ll get him some rice gruel.”
“Thank you,” Yun Menghan replied softly.
She didn’t have any experience caring for a baby and was clumsy with the feeding. After just one spoonful, the child turned his head and refused to eat. “He’s not eating...what should I do?” she asked, a little panicked.
Even the old woman was stumped. Fortunately, the baby soon settled down, lying still. Yun Menghan, unsure what else to do, set the bowl aside. So long as he wasn’t crying, she assumed everything was fine.
And then...it hit her. “Wait...why isn’t he crying?”
—
Half a month passed.
Yun Menghan had recovered considerably and, in the meantime, picked up scattered bits of information about this place.
It was a completely secluded mountain village, cut off from the outside world. According to Xiaoli, no one could leave, and no one from outside could enter. Everything was done by hand—cloth was woven, wood was chopped, crops were grown. The villagers called themselves the Wu Clan. Xiaoli and her grandmother survived mostly by fishing, as neither of them was strong enough to farm.
Yun Menghan couldn’t continue accepting their hospitality for free. Though still healing, she helped where she could. Her original body was a spiritual herb, and she had a vast knowledge of plants and medicines. She would often forage for herbs in the woods, contributing small but meaningful things to the household.
Her ability to self-heal hadn’t vanished, but it had weakened considerably. Since the miscarriage and the river fall, her recovery had slowed. Even a small cut on her hand now took hours to mend—where once, even a stab wound would vanish in seconds.
She grew closer to Xiaoli. The girl, having never met an outsider, was endlessly curious. Every day, she bombarded Yun Menghan with questions.
One evening, while gathering herbs together in the yard, Xiaoli exclaimed, “Sister Yun, you know so much! You recognize all these herbs!”
Yun Menghan paused. A familiar figure surfaced in her mind, unbidden. She shook her head, smiling faintly. “It’s just basic knowledge. I know someone far more learned than me—he never forgets anything he reads and understands the ancient and the obscure alike.”
“Really?” Xiaoli asked, skeptical. “Who is he? Is he your husband?”
Yun Menghan froze, then quickly denied it. “No. No, he’s...just my senior brother.”
“Oh.” Xiaoli nodded, then tilted her head again. “So...do you like him?”
She was innocent and blunt, saying whatever came to mind. Yun Menghan wanted to deny it but the words caught in her throat.
After a long pause, she gave a bitter smile. “What’s the point of talking about that now? I’m already married. All I want now is to raise this child safely.”
Xiaoli sensed her sadness and didn’t press further. Every time the topic of Yun Menghan’s husband came up, her mood would sink.
Trying to cheer her up, Xiaoli grinned and said, “Then stay in our village! Everyone here is nice, no one will bully you again. Even the High Priest has been visiting you a lot lately. If you don’t like your husband, you can like him instead!”
Yun Menghan blushed with embarrassment. “Don’t say that, Xiaoli. The High Priest is young and accomplished. I’m already a married woman—I’m not worthy of him.”
Xiaoli pouted. “Why not? You have arms and legs, you’re not lazy, you’re not ugly—why wouldn’t you be worthy?”
Yun Menghan couldn’t explain the difference between a maiden and a married woman to a child. She only said vaguely, “You’ll understand when you grow up.”
They carried the dried herbs into the house. On the bed, the baby lay quietly, staring at the wooden ceiling. He didn’t cry. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even move. The stillness was eerie.
Yun Menghan spoke with quiet concern, “Something’s not right. He never cries. I may not have given birth before, but even I know that newborns aren’t supposed to be this quiet.”
The infant seemed to glance at her—his dark, round eyes glinting with something akin to disdain. Yun Menghan froze. Had she lost her mind? How could she possibly see an emotion like contempt in the eyes of a baby?
Xiaoli didn’t notice the tension between the two. She leaned closer, then suddenly reached out and grabbed the baby’s wrist. The infant tensed, and Yun Menghan felt her own chest tighten. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Xiaoli let go quickly and said, “There’s a silver vessel inside his body. His soul seems to be sealed. Yun-jiejie, did you offend anyone? Why would someone cast such a heavy curse on your child?”
Yun Menghan’s fingers curled reflexively. This wasn’t her child—her baby had died. And yet, looking into those dark, curious eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.
“Maybe,” she replied vaguely. “I...don’t know.”
Xiaoli waved her hand nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, Yun-jiejie. I may not be able to help you with other things, but this—I can handle. Wait here, I’ll get a needle.”
Alarmed, Yun Menghan stepped protectively in front of the baby. “What are you going to do?”
“Shh!” Xiaoli held a finger to her lips, her tone mischievous. “It’s a secret—don’t tell my grandma!”
She returned shortly, holding a needle. Pricking her fingertip, a bead of blood welled up. Yun Menghan thought she saw it glint faintly with gold—but perhaps she was imagining it.
Xiaoli pressed her hands together, her fingers weaving rapidly through an intricate sequence of mudras. Then, with a sharp command, she pointed to the child. “In the name of faith, I break the seal upon this child. Unbind!”
The golden-tinged droplet darted into the child’s forehead before Yun Menghan could stop it.
Holding her breath, Yun Menghan waited. Nothing happened. The baby remained just as he was—small, quiet, and unmoving.
Xiaoli tilted her head in confusion. “That’s strange...Did I mess it up?”
She tried again, using another drop of blood. Still, there was no change. Yun Menghan’s heart slowly returned to her chest.
“Maybe we were wrong,” she said softly. “He’s just a normal baby. If there’s no seal, of course nothing will happen.”
Xiaoli looked uncertain. “I guess...maybe I made a mistake.”
Later that night, Xiaoli returned to bed, and Yun Menghan saw the baby lying quietly, blinking up at the ceiling with innocent curiosity. Just a normal infant, she told herself. Xiaoli was young, what would she know about soul seals?
The next morning, Yun Menghan was hanging herbs to dry when Xiaoli came bounding up to her.
“Yun-jiejie!” she shouted, grabbing her hand. “I asked our teacher! He said that identifying seals is one of our clan’s innate abilities—we can’t be wrong. If my blood didn’t work, it must mean the seal is too strong! Come on, let’s go ask the High Priest for help!”
Yun Menghan froze. Her mind didn’t even have time to react—her mouth refused on instinct. “No need. It’s nothing serious…”
“His soul is sealed! How can that not be serious?” Xiaoli was earnest and unrelenting. “My grandma’s gone fishing today. Let’s go now while we can sneak out. We’ll be back before she knows!”
Before Yun Menghan could stop her, Xiaoli had already dashed inside to grab the baby.
“Xiaoli!” Yun Menghan called, chasing after her.
But Xiaoli was raised in the mountains, young and nimble. Yun Menghan, still weak from her miscarriage, struggled to catch up. She didn’t catch Xiaoli until the girl reached the village crossroads.
“Stop this nonsense!” Yun Menghan scolded, snatching the baby back. “He doesn’t need to see the High Priest. I’m taking him home.”
Caught off guard, Xiaoli stumbled, nearly falling. She looked up, confused. “Why don’t you want him to see the High Priest?”
The truth was, the High Priest had only ever treated her. He hadn’t examined the child. Yun Menghan didn’t even know what she was afraid of—only that she didn’t want the High Priest to find out.
She knew Xiaoli meant well. She had pushed too hard just now, and was about to apologize when commotion broke out near the village entrance.
People were running past. Xiaoli grabbed someone and asked, “What’s going on?”
“They found the Dark River! Someone followed it here!” the woman answered breathlessly. “Your grandma’s been sent home. You should go too—don’t go near the entrance! The High Priest is handling it.”
Then she ran off. Xiaoli, naturally defiant, was already itching to go look.
Yun Menghan’s thoughts were in chaos. The Dark River...Could it be the one I fell into? Could someone have come after me? Ye Zhongyu?
Suddenly, she couldn’t stay put. She had to see for herself. But she still held the child—she couldn’t let the High Priest see him.
Sensing Yun Menghan’s struggle, Xiaoli quickly knocked on a neighbor’s door and left the baby in their care. In this close-knit village, everyone helped each other—they often watched over each other’s children and homes. Xiaoli was at ease. Yun Menghan, too, finally breathed easier.
Together, they ran toward the village entrance.
By the time they arrived, a crowd had already gathered. Yun Menghan squeezed forward cautiously. And when she looked up, she froze.
So did Xiaoli beside her. Eyes wide, she whispered in awe, “Who are they? Why are they so good-looking?”
The man at the head of the group wore robes whiter than snow, his bearing as elegant as carved jade. Even among all the men Xiaoli had seen in her life, none could compare. Standing beside him was a woman in white as well—at a single glance, Xiaoli was reminded of the goddess Nuwa they paid homage to during the sacrificial rites.
Though the woman’s features were not the same as the statue, the aura she exuded was strikingly similar.
Around them stood others: a man in red robes with exquisite features, a stately woman in courtly attire, and a broad-shouldered man with bold brows and a commanding presence. Each of them had their own unique bearing, yet all were impossibly beautiful, their presence alone a scene that stole the breath from onlookers.
The white-robed man stepped forward and spoke, his voice steady and clear. “I am Ling Qingxiao, head of the Zhongshan clan. We mean no disrespect to your sacred land. However, a dangerous seal has recently entered your village. We only wish to retrieve it—once that’s done, we’ll leave immediately.”
At the edge of the village, a barrier shimmered faintly in the air, enclosing the entire mountain settlement. The High Priest stood guarded before it. This formation, left behind by Nuwa herself, was impervious to outside assault unless willingly opened from within.
The High Priest’s expression remained guarded. “So, a dragon has come. Forgive us for not extending a proper welcome. But the Wu tribe has never had dealings with the dragons. Whoever you seek, I fear we do not have them.”
Luo Han understood the priest’s wariness. The Wu tribe—descendants of Nuwa—had long kept themselves hidden in these remote mountains, unseen and untouched by the world beyond. She knew her intentions were pure, but to the villagers, she and her companions were nothing more than potential threats.
“We admit our arrival was abrupt,” Luo Han said calmly, “but the matter is truly urgent. We have no need to enter the village. If you can simply hand the person over to us at the barrier, we’ll be on our way. This isn’t speculation. High Priest, please consider: has someone from the outside entered your village recently? And did you sense a trace of demonic energy around them?”
Seeing the priest’s hesitation, Luo Han added, “This concerns not only your village, but the fate of your entire tribe. Please, be vigilant. Miss even one outsider, and the consequences could be grave.”
The High Priest’s eyes narrowed. He had been prepared to reject everything they said—but Luo Han’s words struck a chord. Just last night, during a divination ritual, the hexagram he drew foretold overwhelming misfortune.
One act of kindness will invite ruin upon the Wu clan. Could these strangers be telling the truth? Uncertainty clouded the High Priest’s mind.
Luo Han scanned the gathered crowd casually—until her gaze landed on a familiar face.
“Yun Menghan?”