Chapter 91

The thug had taken off the moment he'd been let go, legs pumping like a wild animal fleeing a forest fire. He might not be literate, but life had taught him well. He had a sixth sense for danger—and those two soft-spoken, well-dressed nobles? Absolutely not to be provoked.
Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao had concealed their power so well that the thug's instincts had failed him...until it was too late.
He had never run so fast in his life. Panting, he finally slowed down and glanced behind—pitch-black alleys, not a soul in sight.
He exhaled in relief. They’re not following me.
Just as he turned back around—he nearly slammed into a sword.
The thug froze in place, blood draining from his face. His legs shook violently, and he looked up in terror—only to meet the eyes of the white-robed immortal, cold and sharp as the sword tip pointed at his throat.
“Immortal—please, I gave you everything! I swear I won’t do it again! I really don’t have anything left!”
Until now, he hadn’t actually seen Ling Qingxiao act—so he hadn’t been all that afraid. But now, with a sword at his throat, he knew.
He hadn’t just offended someone dangerous. He had provoked something beyond comprehension.
He didn’t know what lay beyond the Lower Heaven, but at that moment, he was certain: this man was not from here.
Ling Qingxiao’s sword—Jiuxiao—was thin and razor-sharp, nearly translucent. It looked delicate, but no one would ever want to test it. He held the blade steady in one hand, not even a tremble. With his other, he opened his palm, revealing a crimson cord.
“These red strings. Where did they come from?”
The thug looked down, confused. “Red strings?”
Ling Qingxiao pressed the blade closer. The man began to sob.
“Please don’t kill me! I’ll remember—I promise! Give me a second!”
His eyes rolled as he wracked his brain. At last, some blurry memory surfaced.
“I...I picked them up! A few days ago, I went home and found them lying on the road...just picked them up for no reason…”
“Picked it up?”
A second voice suddenly rang out in the pitch-black alley. The thug shuddered in fear and nearly impaled himself on the sword.
Luo Han had somehow appeared beside them without a sound. Her voice was calm, but her words were sharp:
“Picking up a single red string, sure, that’s plausible. But how exactly did you pick up several that were exactly the same?”
The thug kept edging away from the blade, too terrified to even raise his voice, as though a breath too loud might cost him his throat.
“That night, I was out late with some friends, and on my way home, I saw someone tying red strings in an alleyway. Immortal Sirs and Madams might not know this, but it's a local custom here in Jiuren City. Doesn’t matter if you’re male or female—if you like someone but don’t have the courage to confess, during the Xuan Nu Festival, you tie a red string outside their door. Once the Goddess senses it, she’ll bless the two of you with a destined bond. So naturally, during the festival, there’s also a bit of competition—whoever ends up with the most red strings at their door becomes the talk of the town…”
The vendor they’d met a few days earlier had said something similar. That gave Luo Han reason to believe this thug wasn’t lying.
She pressed, “And then?”
“Well, I just happened to see it. If he’d tied one door, I wouldn’t have cared, but he was going from house to house, tying red strings on multiple doors. I couldn’t stand it, so after he left, I went back and ripped them all down. After that, I kind of forgot about it. Those strings must’ve gotten shoved into my pouch by accident. If you hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t have remembered.”
When he finished, the thug peeked up cautiously. “Immortal Lady, is there something wrong with those strings? I know it was kinda petty, but come on—what kind of guy hits on half a street of girls at once?”
Luo Han mulled it over. Given the circumstances, the story made sense—an accidental discovery, a petty grudge, and no real reason to lie. It checked out.
Jiuren’s red string custom was more playful than serious. A red string outside your door meant someone admired you. Whether the person inside wanted marriage or not, they’d usually take the string and tie it around their wrist. That silent gesture was a subtle acceptance—and that way, the one who tied the string would know who was open to their advances.
But if those strings were tampered with...and carried demonic energy…
Then the demon clan would have total control over who got marked, and could track their movements with ease. These targets were destined to end up alone at some point—away from crowds, easy to ambush. There’d be no warning at all.
Luo Han had already pieced together most of it. She exchanged a glance with Ling Qingxiao. With a cold ring, he sheathed his sword.
The thug blinked in disbelief. “That’s...it? I’m free?”
“Not so fast.” Luo Han halted him just as he turned to sneak away. “One more thing. What did that man look like? Height, build—anything.”
The thug scratched his head, visibly distressed. He struggled to recall, then offered uncertainly:
“Only saw his back. Pretty sure it was a man—dark clothes, really broad shoulders. Looked strong. That’s why I figured it was a guy. But it was late, real dark. I couldn’t see much else.”
It had been days ago—no surprise his memory was fuzzy. Not much useful in what he said, but it helped confirm one thing: the man tying the strings was likely a demon.
Only demons had that kind of bulk—barrel-chested and built like bears. In contrast, cultivation using spiritual Qi tended to refine the body, making immortals tall, lean, and graceful. Demonic Qi, on the other hand, made people irritable, aggressive, and physically transformed—into hulking brutes.
Luo Han had her answer. “Alright. You can go.”
The thug stared, suspicious. He shuffled a few steps to the side. When Luo Han didn’t stop him, he bolted like a rabbit.
Luo Han walked back to Ling Qingxiao. “The missing people across the Lower Heaven...could it be the work of the demon clan?”
“Too little to go on,” Ling Qingxiao said, shaking his head. “We can’t jump to conclusions yet. But we’ll focus our efforts on investigating them. Even if a demon hides their aura, they can’t perfectly mimic spiritual energy. There will be flaws. If we find one and follow them back to their den, we may find answers.”
Luo Han nodded. “Makes sense. And with the Xuan Nu Festival just around the corner, if they’re using red strings to select targets, they’ll act again soon.”
“Don’t rush. These things take time.”
Night wind rustled around them as Ling Qingxiao gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. “It’s already late. Let’s go back to the inn. We’ll plan carefully from here on out.”
Luo Han nodded absently, her thoughts elsewhere.
—
Three days later, the Xuan Nu Festival arrived.
It was Jiuren City’s biggest celebration. At the crack of dawn, the entire city burst into life. Dancers performed openly in the streets, inns and teahouses laid out tables filled with seasonal pastries, and hawkers shouted from every corner, trying to sell red strings, parchment notes, fresh flowers, and other festival goods.
As Luo Han wandered through the streets, she felt immersed in something she hadn’t experienced in ages—true mortal bustle. It reminded her of the human world.
The Ten Thousand Demons Festival in Da Ming City had been lively too, but that liveliness had always felt foreign—exotic, otherworldly, more like a spectacle than a celebration. There was no sense of belonging.
But Jiuren was different. Though it belonged to the heavens, it carried the flavor of a mortal kingdom. It shimmered with immortal charm, yet pulsed with human warmth—a kind of joy not found even in the grandest cities of the Upper Heavens. Walking its streets, it was easy to forget one’s burdens.
“This is what it means to see the world,” Luo Han murmured. “No wonder they say, ‘Read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles.’ If you never leave your little corner of the world, how can you ever know what the heavens are truly like?”
Ling Qingxiao silently agreed.
In Zhongshan, he’d seen cold indifference and survival of the fittest.
In the Central Realm, it had been bloodshed and brutality—life as cheap as weeds.
In the Upper Heavens, everything gleamed with imperial splendor—power absolute, emotions extinguished.
Each place revealed one aspect of the celestial realm—but none captured it entirely.
The heavens weren’t just solemn palaces or brutal battlefields. They also held marketplaces and laughter, gods and mortals, love and longing.
And beyond the heavenly river, even more realms awaited—demon lands, beast tribes, ghostly underworlds.
The world was vast. The self? So very small.
Only by stepping beyond your own circle could you realize how wide the sky truly was—how many brilliant souls there were, walking different paths. The schemes and grudges you obsessed over suddenly seemed...small.
Only with a heart open and unclouded could one continue to grow.
Otherwise, you’d stay trapped in your own little world—arrogant, stagnant, blind.
Caught up in petty matters for too long, and soon, your eyes could see nothing else.
Ling Qingxiao felt a subtle shift within his heart—his state of mind had reached a new threshold. For the first time in ages, he sensed a faint response from his long-slumbering tribulation—his path to Ascension might finally be within reach.
Luo Han was pointing at a passing flower float, trying to show him something. When she realized she’d received no reply, she turned back to find Ling Qingxiao lost in thought, his gaze distant. The surrounding spiritual energy stirred restlessly, drawn toward him as if pulled by an unseen force.
“You’re about to trigger your Ascension Tribulation?” she asked, startled.
“Not quite,” Ling Qingxiao withdrew his aura in an instant, and the surrounding Qi calmed down as if nothing had happened. “I merely sensed the edge of it. The real tribulation is still far off.”
“Well, that’s scary enough,” Luo Han muttered. “The hardest part is always taking the first step. Once you've done that, the rest is halfway done.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Still—congratulations.”
The so-called Celestial Emperor bowed to none. There was nothing he couldn’t do—only things he hadn’t chosen to yet.
Ling Qingxiao gave a rare, amused laugh. “What’s there to congratulate? It’s far from over.”
Though he brushed it off, his entire demeanor had eased. He usually looked distant and aloof, his presence unapproachable. But now, that cold exterior seemed to thaw just a little. The faint curve of his lips held a warmth like early spring melting frost—subtle, lethal charm.
They stood on the roadside, a natural half-circle of space forming around them. With their striking looks and Ling Qingxiao’s rare smile, they drew every eye in sight—it was as if the two of them glowed amidst the crowd.
The flower float rolled past. The performers dressed as the Xuan Nu goddess and her celestial maidens caught sight of them and couldn’t help staring. Petals, like falling snow, fluttered through the air toward them.
Luo Han instinctively stepped back—and bumped straight into Ling Qingxiao.
He reached out to steady her. With a lift of his hand, all the flower petals suspended midair. Frost quickly spread over their delicate colors, weighing them down until they dropped harmlessly to the ground—not a single petal touching Luo Han.
She hadn’t expected to be standing this close to him...or for him to allow it. One hand rested gently on her arm, the other extended in front of her, shielding her from the flurry of petals. Her back pressed lightly against his chest, his cool, calm breath surrounding her.
Frozen petals shimmered under the sunlight, scattering faint rainbow light. For a moment, it was utterly dazzling.
Luo Han blinked, dazed by the scene. When she found her voice again, she asked, “Didn’t you say you hate physical contact?”
“I did.” Ling Qingxiao calmly withdrew his hand, his long sleeve brushing against the hem of her dress as though the two were made from the same cloth. “That’s why you need to stay closer. It’s too crowded here. If you’re too far, I may not reach you in time.”
He disliked being touched or touching others, that was true—but apparently, Luo Han didn’t count as ‘others.’
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a teasing smile. “That logic doesn’t make any sense. If you don’t like being touched, shouldn’t I stay farther away?”
“If logic doesn’t apply, then we don’t need logic,” he said lightly. Then added, even softer, “Besides...you’re not ‘others.’”
You're one of mine.
Luo Han didn’t answer, as if she hadn’t heard, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
The flower float moved on. The crowd chased after it, leaving the area around them open. Luo Han let out a quiet breath and subtly stepped away from Ling Qingxiao.
Just now...it had felt as though she’d been standing in his arms.
Ling Qingxiao pretended not to notice. Things needed to progress gradually. He was carefully testing her boundaries—and today’s result was satisfying. He could plan the next step now.
Just then, a middle-aged uncle passing by noticed them and walked over with a grin. “Why aren’t you two watching the flower floats? It’s the Xuan Nu Festival! Catch a petal and you’ll have good luck for the whole year.”
“We didn’t want to squeeze through the crowd,” Luo Han replied. “What about you, Uncle?”
“I’m old now, not going to push in with the young folks,” the man said cheerfully. “You two must be new to Jiuren, huh? You probably don’t know the customs here. The more petals you catch, the better your luck. Same goes for flower wreaths and garlands—whoever receives the most is the most popular.”
He chuckled and added, “There’s a local legend: long ago, a gentleman was traveling and passed by a girl he admired. He had nothing on him, so he picked a flower from the roadside and wove it into a garland as a token of affection. Flowers mean life, and the circle means completeness. The girl was moved and accepted. The man settled there, and they married and had children. That’s how Jiuren City began—so the story goes.”
True or not, traditions didn’t need to be accurate—as long as they brought joy, they’d be passed down.
The man continued, “That’s why we have the custom of confessing with flowers. Especially today, if a man likes someone, he’ll give her a flower garland. If she accepts, it means she agrees to the match. Though these days, the young people are too bold. See someone pretty? They toss flowers without a second thought. The meaning’s almost lost now.”
Luo Han made a small noise of acknowledgment. No wonder people had looked at her oddly when she avoided the falling petals—she hadn’t known it was a thing.
Just as the uncle finished speaking, a group of rowdy youths passed by. One of them whistled when he saw Luo Han. The tallest among them raised his arm and threw a flower wreath her way.
Luo Han thought, Great timing. Jiuren’s youth really were something else.
Before she could even react, the wreath did a strange arc in the air...and flew right back into the tall boy’s hand.
He caught it and immediately realized he’d messed with the wrong person. He glanced at Ling Qingxiao, face darkening, then turned and stalked off with his friends.
At the corner, some of them glanced back and made faces, muttering insults under their breath.
The uncle beside them clicked his tongue in disapproval. Luo Han tried her best to keep a straight face, until Ling Qingxiao murmured, “Don’t take things from strangers.”
She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile.
Just then, a scrawny boy of around twelve or thirteen passed by. The uncle called him over, “Hey, little guy! Why haven’t you sold your flowers yet?”
The boy’s expression visibly dimmed when he saw the uncle. The older man sighed deeply, his own heart heavy. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “The heavens protect the kind-hearted. Your grandmother will pull through.”
The boy nodded, then lowered his head and ran off.
Luo Han watched the child’s retreating figure and asked softly, “What happened to him?”
The uncle, clearly someone who liked to talk, didn’t need much prompting before launching into a long explanation. “That child’s had it rough. Lost his parents a few years ago in an accident—he was there when it happened. Got trapped with the bodies for days. When they finally rescued him, he had stopped speaking. Now it’s just him and his elderly grandmother. She earns a little by doing handcrafts, and they barely scrape by. But as if life hadn’t already been cruel enough, she fell ill recently.”
The man shook his head. “He’s just a kid. No skills, nothing to rely on. All he can do is try to sell flowers. But he can’t speak, so it’s hard to attract customers. It’s already been half the day, and he hasn’t sold a single stem.”
Luo Han felt a wave of sadness as she listened. Ling Qingxiao glanced in the direction the child had gone, then turned to Luo Han and said, “Wait here for a moment.”
Before she could even ask what he was doing, Ling Qingxiao had already crossed the street.
From across the road, Luo Han watched as he approached the boy and exchanged a few words. The child could only nod or shake his head in response. Then, Ling Qingxiao picked out a few delicate white blossoms from the basket.
The boy was quiet and reserved, and the flowers he had gathered reflected that—simple, pale-hued blossoms, clipped with precision, their stems still glistening with dew. When Ling Qingxiao took the branch in his fingers, the cool green stem made his fair skin seem even more jade-like.
He glanced sideways, observing how a neighboring vendor wove their wreaths. Before he had even watched long, he looked away and lowered his gaze.
By the time Luo Han blinked, he was already done.
Had he...just made that by watching once?
She hadn’t even recovered from the shock that Ling Qingxiao knew how to do crafts when he suddenly appeared in front of her. Without a word, he raised his hand and placed something on her head.
Startled, Luo Han reached up to remove it.
“Don’t move,” he said, pressing her hand down gently. “It’ll get crooked.”
In truth, the wreath hadn’t moved at all. But under the guise of adjusting it, Ling Qingxiao lowered his lashes slightly, quietly watching Luo Han’s expression. Seeing no signs of rejection, he let out a silent sigh of relief.
Good. Another step successful. Time to proceed to the next phase.
His inner checklist moved forward once more, unseen and relentless.
The wreath was understated, its clean green stems still beaded with moisture, interwoven with small white blossoms. Pure and elegant, it had an air of sacred refinement. On Luo Han, it looked...perfect.
Luo Han stood stiffly, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not a child anymore. Isn’t this a little too childish for someone my age?”
“What’s childish about it?” Ling Qingxiao replied. “When one meets beauty on the road, one gifts flowers. That earlier one was too ugly. This one’s far more pleasing.”
She suddenly realized—he’d been watching her.
He rarely bothered with pleasantries, but that didn’t mean he was unaware of them. In fact, he was incredibly perceptive, always attuned to what others wanted to hear or needed to say. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak sweet words—he simply chose not to.
Feeling a little indignant, Luo Han said, “Didn’t you say we shouldn’t accept things from strangers?”
“Theirs are strangers. Mine aren’t,” he replied. Seeing how tense she was, his lips curled slightly. “When one meets someone they like, they gift a flower wreath. It’s tradition. We should respect the local customs.”
That last line—respect the customs—was clearly a double entendre.
The little boy, still hiding in a nearby alley, peeked out from behind the wall. He saw the aloof immortal who had just bought flowers from him now placing a wreath on the head of a serene and graceful young immortal woman. He even helped brush back a few loose strands of hair near her temple.
The man was unmatched in elegance; the woman, pure as snow. Together, they looked like they’d stepped out of a painting.
The boy stared, eyes wide with envy. He watched for a long while before finally looking away and walking toward the alley behind him.
He followed the long, narrow path toward home. Just as he was about to reach it, a pair of hands suddenly reached out from a side alley and clamped down over his mouth.
He struggled instinctively, but he couldn’t scream. He was too small, too weak. After barely resisting for a moment, a sweet-smelling drug overwhelmed his senses, and his consciousness faded.
As he blacked out, the last thing he saw was the world spinning upside down, his home just steps away—and impossibly far.
Then a pair of enormous black boots stopped before his eyes.
That was the last thing he saw.

He awoke to the sound of muffled sobs.
When he groggily opened his eyes, he saw that he was surrounded by other boys and girls, all crammed into a cold iron cage. Everyone was weeping quietly.
Cage?
Panic shot through him.
Where was he? Why was he locked in a cage? Dozens of them had been corralled together—what were these people planning?
His heart pounded in fear. Whether from the drug or the terror, his thoughts were a haze. Amidst the confusion, he heard a man’s voice outside: “My Lord, the goods are inside.”
Goods?
Terror clawed at his throat. He hadn’t even decided whether to feign unconsciousness before the two men entered the space.
One of them wore a mask and was completely cloaked in black. His figure and appearance were entirely obscured. The other…
The boy’s eyes widened in horror.
He recognized that man.
It hadn’t been long ago—he had bought flowers from the boy and asked about his grandmother. Before leaving, he had even handed him a red thread.
Something about that man’s presence had made the boy uneasy, so he had never worn the red thread.
But now he turned to look—and every single person in the cage, whether timid or defiant, grieving or angry, had one thing in common:
A red string tied around their wrist.
The boy understood instantly.
It was the red thread.
Even though he had avoided it, they had still come for him.
The masked man glanced at the group of captives and said coldly, “Is this all? So few?”
"My Lord," the man said hurriedly, "lately, more and more people refuse to leave their homes after dark. It's getting harder to catch the goods. This batch may be small, but the quality is just as fine as before. Please see for yourself."
The masked man’s voice was muffled and strange, clearly altered by some magical means. "Fine," he said. "Take them. If we delay any longer, the Sovereign will grow impatient."
The subordinate was visibly pleased. He bowed low. "Yes, My Lord!"
As he spoke, he pulled out a gourd shrouded in dark mist, ominous and suffocating just to look at. The boy instantly understood—he must not get pulled into that gourd. If he was taken in, he might never come out again.
He was the last to be thrown into the cage, and now, he was the first to be dragged out. Desperately, he fought back with every ounce of strength he had. In a final act of desperation, he bit down hard on the captor’s thumb joint.
But the man’s hand was like iron—unyielding and immovable. The bite had no effect, and instead, it only served to infuriate him.
"You little runt, you dare bite your elder? Looks like you’re due for a good beating!" the man growled.
The captor was thick-limbed and broad-shouldered, while the child was frail, his waist not even as wide as the man's forearm. The man raised a palm the size of a fan, swinging it back with full force. If that slap landed, the boy would be lucky to survive with half his life intact.
The others in the cage stared in horror. Some couldn't bear to look and shut their eyes tightly.
But the expected smack never came.
After a long moment of silence, someone cautiously peeked—and gasped.
The burly man lay motionless on the ground. Not far from him lay half of his severed arm.
It was the same hand he had raised to strike the boy.
The captives stared in shock. The boy sat frozen on the ground, eyes wide, unable to process what had happened.
Then a deafening crash erupted above their heads. Dust rained from the ceiling, and brilliant white light poured in from the gaping hole above. The boy shielded his eyes, blinking into the glare—and saw two figures in white, descending like divine spirits, cloaked in light.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding. No wonder you evaded us for so long.”