Chapter 126

Ling Qingxiao heard the name without any visible reaction. He simply nodded. “Ling Qingxiao.”
She told him her name, and he returned his own, as if they hadn’t already known each other across lifetimes.
An awkward silence fell between them. Luo Han had once known how to act spoiled with him, how to tease, how to make him laugh, but now, with this version of Ling Qingxiao, she simply couldn’t do it.
And clearly, he had nothing more to say either. After delivering her to Chongguang Palace, he turned and left without another word. Luo Han stood alone in the vast palace, silently watching his retreating figure.
He had ruled for many years now, clothed in white imperial robes, silver crown on his head, jade belt around his waist. The ceremonial garments were grand and elaborate, but he wore them like a second skin, his aura solemn and commanding. Still handsome as ever, but cold as frost. One look, and anyone would know: this was no longer the boy she once knew.
He had changed. Every movement radiated the bearing of an Emperor. Not necessarily a bad thing, but he was so cold now. So distant, he barely seemed human.
He was like a monument carved from ice: flawless, unshakable, revered…but unreachable.
This was what people imagined when they thought of the Celestial Emperor: majestic, invincible, never wrong. But never warm.
Only one other person had ever given Luo Han this feeling, Nuwa. The goddess had been lofty, benevolent, divine. Before her, there was no distinction between human, beast, or plant. All were equal in her eyes.
Ling Qingxiao lacked Nuwa’s compassion, but the silence he exuded…was strikingly similar.
Godhood had overtaken his humanity. And reverence had replaced closeness. Luo Han suddenly found herself wondering, just what had he gone through all these years?
Maybe the impression she had from when she first arrived in this timeline had been too intense, leaving her with a deep-seated prejudice against this version of Ling Qingxiao. That bias had lingered, even coloring her view of the younger Ling Qingxiao…until they entered the Middle Era era. It was only then that she had finally let down her guard and treated him as a person, not a title.
Now, back at the beginning once more, Luo Han could instantly tell how different these two Ling Qingxiaos were. This one, the Emperor, seemed like a completely different person. And perhaps…that wasn't fair to him.
In this timeline, he had never met Luo Han. He hadn’t fought in the Great Middle Era War. He’d never had friends or elders to support him. He had never known what it meant to be trusted, or loved. Not even once had he been touched by warmth.
How could he not become a cold and distant monument? This was who Ling Qingxiao was meant to be.
“Ling Qingxiao,” she suddenly called out.
He stopped, turning slightly, assuming she had something else to say, only to see her smile gently and murmur, “Goodnight.”
Ling Qingxiao waited patiently for a follow-up. When none came, he frowned. “That’s it?”
“Of course,” Luo Han replied brightly. “Isn’t saying goodnight before bed part of one’s daily routine?”
Ling Qingxiao narrowed his eyes. She had stopped him just for…this? He studied her expression closely. She was being completely serious.
Where had this Heavenly Dao grown up? Of all the things to retain, she’d learned the pointless habits. Without a word, he turned and walked away from Chongguang Palace, his back as cold as his expression.
Luo Han had said goodnight with sincere goodwill, as if saying it to a lover. In return, all she received was a cold shoulder.
Still, she forced a smile, trying to console herself. It’s fine. He’s just like this. Give it time, and he’ll come around.
But she still made a mental note. Once I get back, I’ll settle this account with him properly.
With that thought, Luo Han went off to find a place to rest. Technically, she no longer needed to sleep, but the habit remained. People need breaks. Ling Qingxiao was probably the only one in the entire Celestial Realm who could operate tirelessly around the clock.
Yet tonight, no matter how long she lay in bed, sleep eluded her. The events of the day kept replaying in her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder, what was the other Ling Qingxiao doing right now?
She had vanished so suddenly. She hadn’t even left him a message. Would he be worried when he woke up and found her gone?
She shouldn't dwell on it. The more she thought, the worse she felt.
Eventually, Luo Han sat up and threw on a robe. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well go outside and get some air.
She wandered through the silent palace, her body here, but her heart already drifting back to the past. She had a feeling this time-travel was somehow linked to the upcoming war between celestials and demons. The ancient forbidden technique had been resolved in the other timeline, but here, it had not yet surfaced.
Maybe if she could resolve the crisis in this timeline, stop the war, return peace to the Six Realms then the way back would open again.
She had already left Ling Qingxiao behind once on the Middle Era battlefield. She couldn’t do it a second time. Unknowingly, her steps brought her to the very pavilion where she had disappeared.
She stepped up to the railing and peered down at the sea of clouds below. She remembered sitting here, watching the clouds, and then, just like that, she’d been pulled away.
Was there something strange about this place?
—
Back at Yuqing Palace, Ling Qingxiao was already back at work, immersed in official duties. As he approved another memorial, he sensed Luo Han leaving Chongguang Palace.
He didn’t stop her. He’d expected her to act sooner, honestly. Her patience was surprising. Though he remained seated, his spiritual awareness trailed her every move watching as she paced the palace, sighing to herself, troubled.
When she stepped onto the cloud pavilion and began gazing down, unmoving, he grew suspicious. That pose…Is she about to jump?
In the mortal world, jumping from a height was tragic. In the Celestial Realm? A joke. But this Heavenly Dao didn’t grow up in the Celestial Realm, did she?
Maybe I should at least check on her mental state. Ling Qingxiao set down his brush. With a flash of light, he vanished from Yuqing Palace.
—
Luo Han was slumped against the railing, lost in thought. She sensed the shift in spiritual energy behind her and turned, startled to find Ling Qingxiao standing there.
Her mood dropped even further. When she didn’t see him, she could at least lie to herself. But the moment he appeared, every breath, every gesture, reminded her she was no longer in that timeline.
She had vanished on him again, without warning. She couldn’t even bear to imagine what he must be feeling. Ling Qingxiao hadn’t intended to get involved. But since he had brought Heavenly Dao back, he couldn’t let anything happen to her under his watch.
As Emperor, he bore the responsibility.
“Has something happened?” he asked. “Why are you sighing so heavily?”
Luo Han whipped around, glaring. “Can you please stop calling me ‘Heavenly Dao’? Use my name!”
Ling Qingxiao paused. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like that. He was used to giving orders. Others obeyed. No one had the nerve to demand anything from him.
But given her apparent youth, he chose to overlook it. With what he thought was a very gentle tone, he said, “Very well. Are you having trouble adjusting to the residence?”
“No,” she muttered, sinking deeper into gloom. “Before I came here, I was staying in the Celestial Palace too. It’s the same place. But now...we’re separated by thousands of years.”
She turned to him, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to leave. I had promised someone I would stay and help him recover. Now...I’ve abandoned him again.”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t expect this conversation to turn emotional. He hesitated. “Is he your...Dao companion?”
Luo Han stiffened. “Why would you ask that?”
“It’s obvious,” he replied. “Your tone, your expression. Everything about how you speak of him confirms it.”
She grew quiet, then gave a soft sigh. “So it’s that obvious, huh? And for you, ‘Dao companion’ means…husband and wife?”
“Yes.” Ling Qingxiao rarely pried into others’ affairs, but for once, he added, “You seem young. Barely finished your studies. And already thinking of marriage? You weren’t…tricked, were you?”
Luo Han glanced back at him, looking as though she had something to say but stopped herself. Her expression was...odd. When Ling Qingxiao had said that just now, he probably hadn’t realized that so-called “scammer” he was warning her about…was actually himself.
Back in the Tianqi Era, this same man had done everything short of dragging her to the altar by force. Every day, he’d “accidentally” feed her wedding-related materials, all under the guise of casual conversation. And now? He stood before her, stone-faced, declaring without emotion that someone her age should be focused on studying, not getting married.
“Fine,” Luo Han nodded, her smile faint. “I’ll remember your advice. If I get the chance, I’ll be sure to pass it along to him.”
Ling Qingxiao had no interest in who this “he” might be. He raised his head to glance at the sky, just a brief conversation, and yet more of his time had been wasted. He asked, “Anything else?”
If not, she should return to sleep. He still had official matters to attend to.
But Luo Han seized the moment, asking, “I’ve just returned, and there’s a lot I don’t understand. You know who I am, so I won’t beat around the bush. I just want to ask, what’s happened these past few years? Why has the Ancient Forbidden Technique resurfaced?”
Ling Qingxiao was mildly surprised, he hadn’t expected her to ask about this. “It’s my problem,” he replied flatly. “You need not concern yourself.”
“I’m not saying I don’t trust you,” Luo Han said, her tone serious, “but I want to understand. I bear the title of Heavenly Dao. If I’m to carry this role, I have to fulfill its duties. Maintaining peace across the Six Realms isn’t just your burden, it’s mine too.”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t bother correcting her. Peace in the Six Realms had never been the Emperor’s duty, prosperity of the Celestial Realm, that was his true mandate. But there was no need to say that out loud.
“There’s no secret to it,” he said. “Everything is as it seems. The Celestials and the Demons have long held enmity. Now, their interests clash. The conflict was inevitable. This war...was always going to happen.”
“And what about you and Yun Menghan?”
That question made Ling Qingxiao pause.
Seeing his silence, Luo Han added, “I’m not accusing you or anything, okay, maybe a little. But I genuinely want to know, what’s going on between you, Yun Menghan, and Ye Zhongyu?”
She admitted to feeling a bit irritated. But she wrapped her private emotions in the cloak of righteous duty, saying solemnly, “I’m asking not for gossip, but for the sake of the greater good. A ruler must put all living beings first. He cannot let personal feelings cloud his judgment. If you’ve entangled emotions with them, then when the war comes…”
“There are no such entanglements,” Ling Qingxiao cut her off sharply. His voice, though calm, suddenly grew heavier. “I hold no affection for either of them. If there’s anything I feel, it is killing intent. Nothing more.”
For the first time, his emotionless mask cracked. Up until now, he had been cold and indifferent. But at the mention of Ye Zhongyu and Yun Menghan, his voice carried unmistakable human emotion.
This wasn’t the Ling Qingxiao she knew. Luo Han understood it was no longer her place to press further.
“Good,” she said instead. “If that’s the case, then things will be much simpler moving forward. I plan to eliminate the Forbidden Technique and return to my own time to find my...boyfriend. You need to drive out foreign threats and solidify your rule. Our goals align.”
Ling Qingxiao looked at her, then suddenly smiled—a rare thing.
“You’re right,” he said. “What do you propose?”
“We form an alliance,” Luo Han replied without hesitation. She stepped closer, meeting his gaze directly. “I am the Heavenly Dao. I may not command armies, but I can aid you in other ways. Once the crisis is resolved, we each go our own way and get what we came for. What do you say?”
He didn’t answer right away.
As Emperor, Ling Qingxiao had learned to be naturally suspicious. He had long since grown used to assuming the worst in others. Watching Luo Han, he asked instead, “And what is it you want?”
The Bodhi Tree, the Black Tortoise, all of them were clearly wary of him. If that was the case, why would she offer her help so readily?
Luo Han answered calmly, “Of course I have my reasons. If the Six Realms fall, I won’t escape unscathed. And more than that…”
Her voice suddenly grew firm, eyes burning with intensity. “Someone’s waiting for me. I need to get back to him as soon as possible.”
It was hardly the most rational motive. But looking at her expression, Ling Qingxiao believed her. Having help was better than opposition. His suspicion eased.
He nodded. “Heavenly Dao is truly mindful of the greater good. I thank you in advance.”
“Pleasure doing business,” Luo Han said. Then, unable to hold back, she clicked her tongue. “You really should call me by my name.”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t care for such trivialities.
Still, this had gone better than he expected. Luo Han didn’t try to jump from the clouds, didn’t throw a tantrum, and hadn’t caused him any trouble. She had even suggested a partnership on her own. That was enough for now.
“It’s already late,” he said. “You should rest.”
Luo Han had heard that line countless times. Her instincts kicked in and she responded automatically, only to freeze, realizing what she’d just done.
Ling Qingxiao saw the way she reacted and knew: her Dao companion must have said the same thing to her, often.
He had no interest in being anyone’s substitute. Without asking further, he raised a sleeve, and in a flash of silver light, they returned to Chongguang Palace.
“It’s late. Rest well, Heavenly Dao,” he said. “This Sovereign takes his leave.”
With that, he vanished. Luo Han let out a long breath.
It was such a strange feeling. Just not long ago, she had laughed and teased this very same man, touched him without reservation. And now? He felt like a stranger. Even their conversation felt…formal, distant.
She sighed. Still, it was a step forward. At least now they weren’t enemies. She had laid her cards on the table. It was a start.
Time reveals all. Eventually, he’ll understand. With that, she changed into sleeping robes and went to bed.
Not far away, in Yuqing Palace, Ling Qingxiao returned to the inner hall. Standing at the steps like a stone statue was the mythical beast Xiezhi. As Ling Qingxiao passed by, it suddenly spoke:
“She and you are bound by fate.”
“So what?” Ling Qingxiao didn’t pause. He strode into the main hall. “She has her attachments. I have my responsibilities. Time stretches long and wide—each of us keeping to our own corners. Isn’t that best?”
Xiezhi fell silent again, resuming its stone-like form. A long time passed before it asked quietly: “Will you regret it?”
Regret? Ling Qingxiao thought resolutely. No. He didn’t, he couldn’t harbor such a thing.
He returned to his desk, picked up the still-damp brush, and resumed writing the memorial he had left unfinished. After ascending the throne, he’d been buried under endless responsibilities, constantly torn between statecraft and cultivation. Time was a luxury he never had. To conserve it, he had long forsaken sleep altogether.
Yet tonight, for some inexplicable reason, he had only gotten through a few scrolls before an overwhelming drowsiness crept in.
He braced himself against the edge of the table and closed his eyes for a short rest. Half-asleep, half-aware, he found himself standing in a sea of blooming moon ephemeras, their delicate petals fluttering past like whispers. Behind him, a voice called softly
“Ling Qingxiao.”
He turned and suddenly, the scene shifted. Now he was seated at a desk, holding someone’s hand, guiding them as they drew on paper together.
Ling Qingxiao jolted awake. He was back in Yuqing Palace, holding a brush...but the document before him was not a painting. It was a memorial scroll.
The transition had been too seamless, too vivid. He was momentarily disoriented. And then came the strangest question of all: Who was that?
There was no reply. Yet somehow, he knew the answer. It was himself.
But he had never stood in a sea of moon ephemeras. He had never taught anyone how to paint. Whose memories had just passed through his mind?
And that woman...who was she?