Except the prince fell in love with someone else.
I begged and lost, turned bitter and dark, hurt others and ended up destroying myself, my soul extinguished—a cautionary tale.
Ugh, this cursed life made me all tears.
It wasn’t until after I died and woke up inside the Celestial Dynasty that I realized I’d been nothing but a villainous side character in the novel Tyrant Prince’s Wild Love. The real heroine was that little budding Snow-Lotus from my family who’d just come into her shape.
Me: Ah—Fate, your other name is Cruelty.
But you have to live. And you have to live well.
With that thought, I spent twenty-plus years in the modern world, transforming from an immortal heiress into a grubby corporate drone.
One late night, exhausted from a 9-to-9 grind, I collapsed onto the couch and grabbed my phone to watch some cheesy videos for a little relief.
The instant I opened the phone, a strange sensation washed over me.
Like gentle hands soothing my soul, whispering, “Come home…”
My mind went fuzzy. Then a blinding white light slammed over me so strong I reflexively flung the phone and covered my eyes.
Me: “Ah! Is this Ultraman?!”
After all, I’d lived as an immortal—I figured Ultraman was reasonable.
But no one answered.
I eased my hands away and heard a rising clamor.
—Huh, it’s late; nobody should be home. What’s going on?
Panic spiked. I opened my eyes and froze. In front of me was a feast of goblets and gleaming immortals—an otherworldly banquet hall.
I was stunned. I’d actually been thrown back into a xianxia-CEO Mary Sue novel! Did this universe sell one-way portals?
I slumped there, unsure whether to be sad I’d just lost my mortgage-free city apartment or furious to be back at this miserable beginning.
How proud had I been—only to be utterly undone.
I glanced around; the scene snapped into crystalline reality. My two decades as a wage slave felt like a foggy dream.
At the head table stood Prince Julian, looking composed, eyes lowered—mysterious, unreadable, as if he wanted nothing.
Maybe he noticed me staring. He lifted his gaze and pinned me in place.
I froze. Of course—no matter how much time passed, whenever I saw Julian, I was always taken aback.
His looks were an intoxicating mix of striking and refined.
Delicately almost otherworldly, yet the weight of power softened the initial shock into a regal coolness.
In public he always wore that formal Obsidian Prince Regalia: crisp lines, intricate dark-gold cloud motifs—dazzling richness that can’t be described.
Though the tyrant-prince halo hung over him, there wasn’t a trace of frivolity—only innate nobility, untouchable grace.
Every inch of him was crafted by some deity’s idea of perfection.
Credit where it’s due: Julian was worth loving at first sight. Worth throwing yourself at.
But the wow faded fast—this beauty was a blade that cut deep.
Back then I chased him relentlessly, using every trick to win a smile—daily worship, endless persistence—only to be coldly rejected every time.
And as the ultimate simp, I loved even those rejections.
I was arrogant enough to keep other immortal maidens away from him, stuck to him like a barnacle.
Julian, mindful of decorum, could only ignore me.
What he didn’t know was his indifference was addictively intoxicating.
Ah, damn love.
Who chooses to be a simp unless they’re really in love?
I tore my gaze away and stared at the ornate, capitalist-trimmed desk—melancholy hit me.
I could hardly believe I was really back.
Everything here felt ancient and grand—celestial mansions, soaring pavilions, lilting purple clouds and streams spilling like colorful ribbons across the heavens. Immortal nobles cavorted, their sleeves billowing as they toasted and laughed.
The foggy mist made me suspect someone had put dry ice under the table.
I looked down at the floor-length green silk gown embroidered with lotuses that matched my hair—too much to unpack.
I forced myself to recall the hazy, painful memories.
At this point in time, Julian was soon to be wounded and would need our Springvale Manor’s ancestral Silverwood Tree to heal.
He’d fallen for the heroine at my place, quietly swept her aside in secret, and kicked me out.
The heroine was my little “Snow-Lotus” from the manor—Lily Summers.
Pure, beautiful, guileless. Kind, soft, loving. She rose unstained from the muck—the textbook heroine everyone adored.
I lost.
Completely and utterly.
Fine. I was tired.
If something you poured everything into slips through your fingers, just let it go.
As a hopeless simp, I made a plan: stop Julian from getting hurt, and hand Lily over to him—help them get together so they wouldn’t visit Springvale Manor at all.
A world where only I didn’t get hurt—what a noble, anonymous hero.
While I drifted in thought, someone sat down at my right.
I jerked up, startled, blinking at him. He blinked back at me, puzzled. “What’s wrong? You’ve been zoning out.”
He had those familiar green eyes—Marcus Hale’s—flickering with concern. He was so real, so alive, young and fierce.
I curled my lip, tears welling. Then, “wu—” I burst into sobs and dove into his arms. “Marcus! I’ve missed you!”
My dramatic hug drew glances from the room. People were curious why I’d suddenly gone hysterical.
Of course, Prince Julian looked over too.
He watched in silence, unreadable.
But I wasn’t thinking about anything else. I wanted to hug Marcus—my childhood friend with whom I’d grown up; in the novel, he’s the mournful soul who worships the Snow-Lotus and would die for her.
To my shock, Marcus—the stubborn straight-arrow—shoved me off and said, “Say what you need to say. Don’t get snot or tears on my clothes. This is a new robe woven by the Silkweaver of Winterridge. You can’t afford to pay me back if you soil it.”
My tears froze; my face went flat.
Me: “……”
If it weren’t for my thrift-worn shoes, I would’ve kicked him.
Marcus looked guilty, glanced around—the crowd had moved on—and lowered his voice. “What’s wrong with you? Didn’t we come together? How are you missing me again so fast?”
I slumped. “I’m a wild mare who doesn’t know the way home. But you’re a scoundrel I must eliminate.”
Marcus: “……”
He patted my head, murmuring in annoyance—what’s wrong with you, why are you acting stupid?
I slapped his hand away, understanding at last: he’s soft only for the Snow-Lotus. For brothers? He wouldn’t lift a finger. A cat of a man.
“Not a big deal,” I said crossly. “I just dreamed you were dead for decades.”
Marcus blinked in disbelief. “…???”
I tuned him out as he fussed at me and grabbed the Dream Spirit wine on the table.
Hot or cold wine, it hurts something either way. Don’t drink, and your heart aches. Only a long drink can drown a thousand sorrows.
And drink I did—until I felt wrong.
Dream Spirit wine is no joke. I kept drinking until the feast dispersed and I was drifting.
Marcus held me and shouted, “If you puke on me, I’ll skin you and make a mink coat!”
I smirked wickedly. “As long as Harbor City isn’t ruined, you won’t ruin. Don’t go head-to-head with me. I’m hurt; you’re risking your life. Remember this: the world is dazzling—without strength don’t play tough!”
Marcus: “…?”
Seeing I was unhinged, he tried to hurry me home. I, dazed, followed, spouting streetwise aphorisms.
Then I saw Julian walking past with a beautiful immortal at his side.
My eyes lit. I recognized her—Princess Vivian Hart, the fake rival I’d always kept beneath me.
Even drunk and directionless, I remembered her. I pushed past Marcus and swaggered up to Julian and Vivian.
I sized them up—no doubt to their eyes I looked like a blinking, swaying drunk.
Vivian glared at me, trying to grab Julian’s sleeve in protest. He dodged her, her face darkening.
Julian, calm and solemn, said, “Woman, what scheme are you up to now?”
My eyes flashed like lamps. Yes! The vibe! Even saying that line with Julian’s tragically handsome face was peak humiliation-enticing.
I grinned wickedly. “First, I’m not ‘woman.’ I’m Sable!”
“Second, one should be proud. But if you want my face, you gotta earn it. From now on, I’m done serving. Whoever wins, wins.”
Julian: “……?”
I took a couple of trembling steps, planted myself before Vivian, chin up. “Vivian, the road is long—don’t get arrogant. Life’s unpredictable; who will shine isn’t set!”
Vivian: “……?”
Their faces showed bafflement—“You’re off-script.” Me? I was internally cackling, “Yes! As long as I’m spirited, I’ll always be a force.”
Marcus looked helpless; he thought I’d lost my mind.
Only I knew I was simply drunk.
Later I blacked out and didn’t notice their reactions. When I came to, Marcus recapped the fallout: Julian’s gaze at me was still inscrutable and deep; Vivian’s look remained full of disdain.
Me: The joys and sorrows of immortals differ—mostly I just found you noisy.
Everything that could happen happened and everything that shouldn’t happen did too. I finally accepted the reality of being transported back here.
I slumped back, listening to Marcus Hale narrow those wicked green eyes and moralize about my social behavior. Having had my soul obliterated once already, I figured—what’s one more humiliation?
“Enough. I’m not mad you didn’t drag me out. Don’t gloat in front of me,” I said.
Marcus raised a brow, leaning against the table with one hand, casually rakish. “With your build and brute strength, how would I stop you? And I’m not touching you—smell of booze all over.” He even fanned the air in front of his nose like a drama queen.
You hear that? People talk, indeed.
I had to admit my temper was miraculously calm. Twenty years ago, I would’ve gladly put this little cat in a joint-lock and given him a lesson in reality. But I’m not who I used to be.
“If you’re done, go. I’ve got work to do,” I waved him off, trying to shoo Marcus away.
Now that I was sober, it was time to do what mattered. Heaven had thrown me back into the role of the ultimate white-robe beauty—there was no way I was going to let fate squander it again.
“You have work? Off to see Julian again?” Marcus’s green eyes glittered, as if hunting for trouble. “I thought when you said yesterday you were done serving, you meant it. Turns out you’re still pathetic.”
With that, he stood, shook his black robe woven by the Silkweaver of Winterridge, shot me a disdainful look, and turned away.
Me: “…”
Do I look like a walking, titanium-plated doormat?
I sighed and turned to Paige Ellis, one of my palace attendants, to get back to business. “Paige, do we have a little white-robe fairy named Lily Summers in Springvale Manor?”
Springvale Manor includes its own Silverwood Ridge full of sprites and minor godlings. I’d been chasing Julian for years; I didn’t know everyone personally. Paige was one of the manor’s reliable pillars.
Paige looked surprised. “Lady Claire Bennett, yes—there is indeed a lotus fairy named Lily Summers.”
Her expression shifted, and I asked casually, “How is she?”
Paige answered, calm and composed: “She’s a Moonwhite Lotus from Moonmere Lake—she only recently completed her coming-of-age. I was the first person she saw after transforming, so—well, we’re on good terms.”
My expression, usually blank, cracked like old porcelain. In my last life I never heard anything about this.
I stared at Paige. “Wait…Paige, you’re the Paige Ellis, right?”
Don’t you dare corner the male lead, you troublemaker.
Paige looked puzzled. “Yes—Paige Ellis.”
Something didn’t add up. In my previous life I hadn’t known Paige and Lily were close. I must’ve missed something.
“Bring Lily here,” I said, suddenly very interested.
Paige left to fetch her. I savored a sip of the Azure Spring Tea—after years as a corporate drone, I’d almost forgotten what top-tier celestial tea tasted like. It felt like coming home.
A short while later, Lily Summers arrived with Paige.
Her skin was porcelain, her cheeks a mist of soft pink, her clear eyes shining with warm light like the golden sun over Moonmere Lake. Her white-silk dress layered like lotus petals—delicate, graceful. She was textbook heroine: red lips, pearly teeth, brows like paint strokes, otherworldly aura.
In my past life I wanted to pluck Lily’s petals one by one and steep them into tea. Now I just wanted to seat her and pour her a cup.
Because the harsh truth was—she’s the heroine. The true winner. While I, the supposed golden thunder of my past, ended up dead, Lily could marry Prince Julian, live a life of luxury and worship, inherit my titles, and bathe in endless adoration. It made me tear up—jealousy, grief, the whole tragic package.
I hurriedly rose, glad-faced, and guided Lily to a seat beside me. I personally poured her a cup of Azure Spring Tea and wore my sweetest smile.
“You’re Lily Summers, right?” I put on my most accommodating, client-facing smile.
Lily looked shy and anxious, like she was afraid of me, Lady Claire Bennett of Springvale Manor. “Little fairy Lily Summers greets Lady Claire Bennett,” she said in a clear, gentle voice that felt like spring rain.
Being without bitterness around the heroine, I was thoroughly defeated.
Clearing my throat, I got to the point. “Lily, you know yesterday was the Prince’s birthday. I gave him a gift, but it felt insufficient. I noticed there’s a pond in Prince Julian’s Waverly Palace full of scarlet flame-lotus—beautiful. Since the Moonwhite Lotus is unique to Moonmere, and you’re the only little fairy who’s come-of-age recently, I’m sending you to Waverly Palace to tend the Prince’s lotus pool for a while. They won’t mistreat you.”
Cutting ties clean and quick—that’s how you keep distance from the male lead.
Lily, who’d been all gentle smiles, suddenly looked as if someone’d handed her the most shocking news. She hadn’t expected the goddess of Springvale Manor to be personally arranging her departure—especially to the Prince’s palace.
Her lips parted. Bright eyes filled with tears the size of little pearls, long lashes trembling. She looked like a weeping flower in the rain.
She pleaded, voice trembling: “Please, Lady Claire Bennett, don’t separate me from Paige! I don’t want to be apart from Paige!”
Me: “???”
Paige: “???”
I glared at Paige. Of all people—you, Paige, actually dared to steal the Prince’s spotlight?
Paige looked as stunned as I was and started to speak, but I cut her off before she could say anything that might dig us into a deeper grave.
In my last life, Julian and his harem would remove anyone in their path to protect their pet. If Lily had been seduced—well, carnage would follow.
I steadied myself and asked Lily, voice trembling: “What’s your relationship with Paige?”
Lily gazed at Paige through tear-bright eyes, full of loving certainty. “I love Paige. Paige loves me. We promised to be devoted to each other for life. She is my sunlight and my rain—my brightest blessing in a lonely life. Even if we are both goddesses—a love like ours may not be accepted by all—but the celestial path is long. Finding someone who truly loves you is the most important thing.”
She smiled at me, gentle conviction in every curve of her mouth: “Mountains crumble, heavens meet—only then would I forsake you.”
Me: “……???”
Isn’t that one of those old-fashioned lovers’ pledges? My innocent little Lily, where’d you learn to sound like a courtly heroine?
Paige: “……???”
Paige looked like she’d been struck by lightning. She’s plain, practical—simple moon-white robes, hair tied up with a single ribbon. She’d quietly kept Springvale running and tended the river of flowers I’d planted for Julian. She’s the kind who gets things done.
She started to explain, embarrassed and slightly flushed. “Lily, you must be joking. I could never accept such…affection.”
But Lily’s tears came faster. “How can you say that, Paige? Didn’t we promise to be each other’s light?”
Me: “……???”
Wait—repeat that? My dear pragmatic Paige, are you secretly from the ‘I Ruin Hearts’ clan? A heartbreaker of pale-lotus girls?
This is getting ridiculous. While they argued—Paige fumbling to reassure, Lily sobbing like a heartbroken poet—I realized Paige and Lily had never actually sworn eternal vows. Lily, for some reason after her coming-of-age, had decided Paige was hers and had been chasing her ever since. Paige hadn’t agreed, but Lily kept teasing and seducing her with sweet smiles and soulful glances until Paige nearly melted.
I couldn’t believe it: the seductress wasn’t Paige—the supposed ‘lotus’—but Lily herself. A deceptively sweet, cunning little thing with a dark heart for romance.
Watching Paige, utterly undone by Lily’s advances, the two of them—one crying, one cooing—somehow managed to be almost cozy. What a world.
When Lily finally stopped crying and smiled, Paige let out a relieved breath like she’d been released from a spell.
I, sensing the tide had turned, thought: Really? Paige has the nerve to claim she never consented? Give me a break. One little flirt and Lily’s got her wrapped around her finger. After my last life got me cuckolded with a lotus, is Julian this time going to end up with an orange hat because of a different kind of betrayal? This little Lily ought to open a shop selling heartcaps.
Although my gossip-meter was blazing, I stayed rational. Lily is the heroine—Julian’s destined partner. She cannot be whisked off by some moonlit affair with an attendant.
When Lily first met Julian, he’d practically snatched her away to Waverly Palace to keep her from me, even while he was still convalescing at my manor. That kind of instant chemistry says something.
I decided we needed to visit Waverly Palace—bring Lily there, test the spark with Julian, and gently persuade Paige that if the leads are meant to be, everyone else should accept their fate sooner rather than later. Better to face the truth early: supporting roles are cannon fodder.
I know firsthand how terrifying Julian’s wrath can be. I was once his glorious casualty—so I speak from experience.
With that excuse, I took Lily and Paige to Waverly Palace. I wanted to see if Julian and Lily would still ignite, and maybe warn Julian not to court death around my manor—I’ve only got so much room for a god.
At the palace gate I unexpectedly ran into Vivian Hart. Her face was shadowed and sour. I raised an eyebrow; she saw me and barreled over, blocking my way with a huff. “Prince Julian ordered—no one is to enter Waverly Palace,” she snapped.
I glanced at the palace attendants at the gate. They nodded rigidly, faces official and cold.
Me: “……”
Very bold—blocking the heroine from entry.
Vivian was still strutting, throwing my drunken words from yesterday back at me with thinly veiled contempt.
"Lady Claire Bennett should really keep her promise. Our noble and sacred Prince Julian only likes people who keep their word."
She gave the phoenix-feather hairpin on her head a little shake. "Lady Claire said yesterday she wouldn’t serve anymore, so she absolutely mustn’t serve anymore. How could Prince Julian’s precious lady stand to be tended by someone so lofty as you?"
I glanced at the little white-lotus in front of me—Lily Summers—whose face was still misty with confusion, and I straightened up.
What right does Vivian Hart think she has?
I might very well add the title of future princess-to-be to my household name. What can Vivian do about that?
Last life she was close to the grave—only a little more sensible than I was, so she got to keep one life.
I gave my collar a brisk shake. "Vivian, the whole Elysian Court knows to ask who your father is. I won’t make a fuss—but I’m telling you, don’t get too full of yourself. You might end up with a blade in you."
I sneered lightly and made a little slicing motion at my neck. Vivian went pale and her phoenix eyes widened.
I wasn’t exactly a saint back then. That little firebird I kept under wraps so she couldn’t get close to Julian.
I grabbed Lily and Paige and prepared to storm Waverly Palace.
Honestly, I used to barge into Waverly all the time; Julian never made much of it.
I’m still not out of favor—what are a few palace attendants going to do?
Years of being beleaguered in the city had mellowed me; my old swagger was a bit rusty. Being a celestial socialite at my level sure has its own tragic moments.
Sure enough, nobody put up a real fight, and I made it inside. I found Prince Julian in the garden—and Marcus Hale was there too.
They were playing a game of chess, which threw me off.
Marcus was the one who’d fallen apart when Lily’s soul suffered before. I only meant to see how the leads would play out—I didn’t want that dumb cat poking his nose in.
Prince Julian held the black pieces with regal composure. When he saw me enter he showed no expression, calmly placed a stone, and in an instant the board looked to be strangling Marcus’s position.
Marcus, holding the white pieces, let his move fall weakly.
I only had time to press Lily a little lower before I heard Marcus fling down his piece and say, pleasantly, "Claire, you really did come back."
I felt a little guilty. "…"
I was just delivering a bride to Julian, that’s all.
Marcus looked at me, then turned serious toward Julian. "Prince Julian, Claire has always liked you. I can’t stop her. But what do you actually want? How far do you want Claire to go before you’re satisfied?"
He knitted his brows, almost stern. "Your Highness, forgive me, but I cannot stand by and watch you make Claire miserable any longer."
I wiped my nose bleeding a bit inside—Marcus looked so handsome being so stubborn for me!
Julian raised one elegant brow, a thousand feelings hidden behind it.
A beauty like him was distant and unreadable. He took a sip of his Prince’s Reserve Cloud Tea, then said leisurely, "Marcus, your words are mistaken. Lady Claire forcibly entered Waverly Palace. No one here stopped her or hurt her—how could I be the one making her miserable?"
He turned to me, in a notably good mood. "Claire, tell me—do I?"
I froze. No.
It was all me, begging for it, a willing bootlicker.
So I didn’t hate Julian—he simply didn’t like me, that’s all, right?
Brothers, tears were welling up again.
Seeing Marcus so earnest on my side, I felt ashamed. "Marcus, believe me, I won’t be foolish again. That’s all in the past. Today I came with business for the Prince."
Marcus felt like I couldn’t be corrected. "Don’t say it! Business? This is the three hundred eighty-first time you’ve come to the Prince with ‘business.’"
Me: "………………"
Have I?
I used to kiss so much ass—so world-weary.jpg I pressed my hand to my forehead, headache blooming. "I swear this time it’s for real."
I glanced at the two little flowers—Lily and Paige—head bowed like frightened quails and decided I didn’t want Marcus to see Lily. Tentatively I offered, "Maybe…Marcus, could you step away for a bit? I’ll finish telling the Prince my business right away!"
Marcus looked hurt, incredulous. I widened my eyes and put my hands together like an earnest actress. "Just a little while! A teeny tiny while!"
Prince Julian—who was all inscrutable tea-sipping regality—looked down, set his cup of tea on the table. The cup clicked against the crystal-stone tabletop, a clear, pleasant ‘clack.’
He gave a faint smile. "If it’s important, say it in front of Marcus. If you won’t, then don’t say anything at all."
Even smiling, I felt a twinge of annoyance from him. Damn man—who cares if you feel annoyed!
Stuck where I was, squeezed between him and Marcus, I prepared to lead Lily away and come back another day.
Then Julian spoke again. "The lady in the white dress behind you seems new. Lift her chin. Let me look."
Lily, still not thinking much, blinked and raised her head. "Prince Julian."
She stood slender and poised, delicate and clear as a stream-side reed.
Me: "!"
Are you trying to kill me?
I’d been hiding half my face and now it was dug right up—Your Highness, you must be a dog, not a prince.
I dashed to Marcus, dragged him around, and clapped both hands over his eyes so he wouldn’t see Lily.
Marcus had his neck grabbed like a cat’s fate being throttled. "Mmm…"
I hissed, "Shh, don’t speak!" and successfully stilled his struggling.
I looked back at Julian and Lily for their reactions.
Lily and Paige watched me with worried faces. Julian—surprisingly—frowned slightly and stared at me as I clutched Marcus. "…"
Me: "?"
They didn’t react!
There was no thunderbolt of passion, no drama.
They even had leisure to watch me.
"What are you playing at, woman?" Julian leaned back, inscrutable.
I lost focus for a moment and Marcus slipped away from my hold. "What’s going on?" he asked, confused.
I took in the scene. Huh—seemed like nothing catastrophic was happening.
I arranged my face. "Ahem. Look at this flower. Pretty, isn’t it?"
Little flowers: "…"
Julian: "……"
Marcus: "………Just that?"
They looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I wasn’t embarrassed. If I wasn’t embarrassed, they were.
Same old mantra—no turning back. Grit your teeth.
Marcus didn’t press further; he’d thought I’d been off lately and just nodded. "Delicate and lovely."
Julian said nothing, kept his unread expression, and leisurely lifted his tea to drink again.
Drink, drink, drink!
Is sipping inexhaustible Prince’s Reserve Cloud Tea now the height of coolness?
Seeing nothing else, I switched to my important point. "Prince Julian, I heard you’re planning a trip to Hawthorne Reach?"
"Yes. Why?"
"You know Hawthorne Reach is extremely dangerous. Last night I observed the heavens and did the calculations—your journey may face bloodshed!"
I shook my head mournfully. "You really shouldn’t go."
Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!
If you go you’ll need an entire entourage to bring you to my house for healing.
"Oh? In that case, I won’t go."
Julian seemed oddly pleased.
Me: ?
Is he messing with me?
He continued: "Lady Claire, pick a day to prepare and send your Galebrand Knife artifact here. My trip is merely to obtain the Windsource. By fusing it with your Galebrand Knife, we can extract it."
Me: "Good luck—don’t let the door hit you on the way out~"
That son of a dog isn’t teasing me—he’s trying to trap me!
Please, have some shame. You have so many wonderful things—your tea-cup itself is an artifact—my family’s pitiful remnants are nothing, and you’re still coveting them?
I’m out here working and my boss covets my pay—capitalist behavior!
Since Lily now has someone she cares about, their sparks aren’t exploding like before. There’s no reason to use me as cannon fodder. If it’s just for healing, I can accept it.
Losing one artifact is cheaper than losing me—plus I get to see that jerk suffer a little. Small profit.
Once I’d decided, I felt much lighter—phase one accomplished; I could still be Elysian high-class.
"Come on, Marcus, Lily, Paige—we’re going home."
I took the two bewildered flowers and a solemn Marcus and bade Julian farewell.
He was still statuesque and imperious. His eyes tilted down, lashes like butterfly wings, brows sharp enough to cut; nose straight, lips thin; the embroidered black prince regalia was cold and high-class.
A warm mist hung in the air as he nodded slightly to my farewell and set his tea down.
I turned away and felt like something inside me had really been let go.
I remembered how in my past life I spent centuries lost, chasing and clinging, only to have everything turn to ridicule and sorrow at Julian and Lily’s lavish wedding.
Back then I told myself losing a man was nothing—I’d simply stop loving him!
But feelings are like water—the more you dam them, the more they flood.
Watching Julian’s tenderness toward Lily, seeing his expressions soften around her while he was always blunt with me—I felt as if I’d been dropped into a frying pan.
Jealousy ate at me; I did many cruel things, and each time they nearly succeeded.
When my schemes were revealed, more people began to hate me.
Even when Marcus once defended me while he still liked Lily, after my deeds piled up he mostly kept his silence at the trials where I was denounced.
I didn’t hate him. I hated myself more.
I hated that I’d sullied my hands, my heart, and the pristine furline of the Sable clan, stained with malice.
Although my Sable blood ultimately saved me once, I was sealed away in the Ten-Thousand-Demons’ Prison and perished there.
After dying, I transmigrated and ended up in the body of an orphan girl.
I was pathetic then—fighting for cold bread—no time to wallow in old grief.
Slowly, I stopped drowning in the past. Love and hatred dulled, blurred.
Only when I dreamt of Lily did guilt surface; dreams of Julian brought wistfulness. Most waking hours, they faded into a hazy fog.
Until I read that old, cheesy Mary-Sue novel, "The Domineering Prince of Elysium Falls Madly in Love"—then a lot suddenly made sense.
It turned out my tragic life had been nothing more than the laughably hateful arc of a villainess with barely any page time.
It turned out Julian and Lily really were true love.
It turned out Marcus, not long after I died, also shattered himself searching for medicine for Lily—he even left that wound on her… and my soul’s extinction wasn’t an accident at all. It was Prince Julian’s gentle admirer, Lord Morgan, who used a poison that kills without a trace.
What else was there to say?
Thank you, Mary Sue logic.
I can’t handle a Mary-Sue world where everyone’s the heroine’s harem—but if I were the Mary Sue, that’d be another story.
I’m not cut out for that. Tears.
I shook myself free of the memories as we stepped out of Waverly Palace gates.
I sent the two little flowers back to Springvale Manor, then took my time strolling behind Marcus, still not daring to leave them alone too long.
I tried a casual probe again: “That lotus in the white immortal gown—she and the little lily beside her, they’re clearly in love!”
Marcus looked perfectly calm. “Fine. But I want to ask you—when you said you no longer liked the prince, was that for real?”
I felt like there was nothing left to lose, so I relaxed for the first time. “Of course it’s true.
Good friends are rare, true love is harder to find. Don’t ask me whether I’m living well—just know that I keep running for the sake of living.
Remember this, buddy: leave the past behind, walk your own road alone.”
Marcus: “……”
Hopeless. 886. Turns out Marcus really hadn’t been struck by love at first sight for Lily like in the last life.
Everything from the last life felt like flower reflections in a spring pool—an illusion.
The heroine fell for a female immortal, the hero and the second lead seemed to have cooled toward the heroine, and I, the villainess, no longer liked the hero—every romance thread was tangled.
No more Mary Sue world?
Then does that mean the heavens will thunder and it’s my time to make a dazzling entrance?
The weight off my chest made me feel great, energized.
That black cat Marcus, busy as ever, hadn’t visited my manor. Lily and Paige’s romance was progressing smoothly, the whole manor full of PDA.
I’d been back in the Elysian Court for a long time. Immortals don’t need much food, but after decades as a regular person I still craved earthbound flavors—fussing over a heaven-version hotpot and trying to recreate dishes was one of life’s small pleasures.
It wasn’t until Julian’s soul was gravely injured and brought to my doorstep that I realized how much time had passed.
But when I opened the door, it wasn’t just Julian who was hurt—also that smiling tiger Lord Morgan who’d killed me last life, and the war god, Sir Kade.
I looked skyward: clear blue, still there. Good.
I put on a brave face and took in the parade of high-ranking immortals carrying the injured—felt like even the Emperor and Empress might show up.
“Lady Claire Bennett! Please, use the Silverwood Tree to heal the Prince and the two lords!”
The venerable elder leading them bowed shakily, tears of worry on his face.
I already knew Julian’s spirit was damaged, but what had happened to Morgan and Kade?!
The assembly of higher-ups looked at me with desperate eyes. I squared my shoulders and led the three pillars of the realm to the Silverwood Tree for nurturing.
Once the leaders left, only Elder Renzhai remained to explain everything.
“You know well how perilous Hawthorne Reach is. The Prince went to retrieve the Windsource and specifically brought Lord Kade and Lord Morgan. No one expected all three to be harmed—their souls gravely injured. It’s thanks to Lord Kade’s soul refinement that he managed to bring them back!” Elder Renzhai dabbed at his eyes, looking pitiful.
Elder Renzhai, I’m the one who deserves pity!
One is the ex who broke my heart, one is the smiling fox who secretly killed me, and one’s a cold-faced god of war who kills without blinking. I’m just a little unlucky pebble—I can’t handle this, boo-hoo.
After sending Elder Renzhai away I went limp.
Right now I really wanted to toss those dangerous men out the door and slam it shut so they could fend for themselves.
The hero and the second lead held a council—at my house?
Julian could walk out of things himself last life; why drag others in this time?
And he dragged in the one who killed me—should I save him or not?
Kade, the cold-faced war god, was like a block of ice.
Last life he pined silently for Lily, watering her affection without overstepping; then when autumn came, Julian reaped the harvest. He’d always targeted me, and he couldn’t be more infuriating.
But no matter how much I wanted to chuck them outside, their statuses mattered. Even with three balls of courage, I wouldn’t dare.
I kept telling myself: the best way to dispel fear is to smile at it.
Souls are governed by heavenly law—no ordinary immortal may meddle. The幻貂 (the ancestral magical sable) clan is the only one uniquely gifted with soul-cultivation. Even a falling-ice sword and world-crushing war god can’t compete with the sable in soul power.
The sable clan are masters of illusion; their prodigious souls are famed. They have guarded Silverwood Ridge for generations and nowhere else do they live. Small-headed, long-bodied, snow-white fur with miraculous warmth.
A sable can harness the Silverwood Tree to heal souls—the finest in the Elysian Court.
I dutifully poured my sable soul power into the tree to stimulate healing for the three.
Watching my handsome, earth-shattering nemeses from past lives lie there quietly, bathed in the tree’s milky glow, I was bored out of my skull. I had to stay in this forbidden place until they woke—what a punishment!
By the silvered stream within the forbidden grove I stared at my reflection and thought I was simply adorable.
I still didn’t know what Julian was thinking. I’d chased him wholeheartedly and he’d never stirred.
Isn’t “cute” supposed to be justice?
Apparently not in the Elysian Court.
This healing might take a while. I planned to shift to my original form and meditate. The ancestral tree summons and amplifies the sable—being close made me comfortable and my practice would be twice as effective.
Just then, a disturbance in the barrier—Marcus arrived.
His presence actually solved a major problem: at least someone could keep me company. Still, seeing those three quiet bodies made my chest tighten… I greeted him, and noticed the flamboyant green-eyed cat now wore a brand-new black-and-red robe, like a swirl of dark flame approaching.
I guessed he’d been to the Azure Weave Palace to ask the weaver for new clothes.
“I heard the Prince, the war god, and Lord Morgan are being treated at your manor?” Marcus complained, displeased. “The whole court knows. Princess Vivian is outside your estate making a fuss—she wants to see the Prince.”
I guided Marcus to the glass-blue stone table under the tree and sat. “Let her fuss. She can’t get in anyway.”
The protections around the tree made it forbidden; Vivian couldn’t barge in.
Marcus sat, eyes flicking to the three lying there, lips curling. “Claire, those three don’t look like good men. Don’t be stupid and get hurt.”
“Marcus, relax. I’ve seen the world. They can’t touch me.” I thumped my chest.
“You worry too much about this ungrateful girl who can’t resist a handsome face.” Marcus teased.
Me: Hey, don’t go too far—who are you calling a girl who loses her head around handsome men?
“Relax, Marcus. Other guys might be okay, but these three idiots? I wouldn’t even glance their way!” I pointed a finger at the three lying corpses.
Then one pair of ancient, unruffled eyes opened.
Me: “……”
Marcus: “……”
Kade, the war god: “……”
I twirled my finger in the air and flashed the cold-faced war god a brilliant smile. “Lovely weather today!”
I’d forgotten Kade wasn’t that badly hurt.
He was silent for a long moment. “……What do you mean by ‘idiot’?”
I put on my most adorable smile and sweetest voice. “My dear War God, ‘idiot’ means ‘handsome big brother.’”
Kade was clearly taken aback by my affectation; his sculpted brows knit tighter. “……”
Marcus chimed in coolly: “So fake. Huh.”
Me: “……?”
Marcus, did you want a beating? My soft, sweet voice isn’t yours to mock! If I’m cooing to flatter Kade, of course you can hear my gentle tone—don’t act like you don’t!
Kade didn’t answer Marcus. He still felt ‘idiot’ wasn’t the right translation.
But he politely said thank you anyway. “Thank you.”
See? Marcus—look! Even this handsome, formidable, stoic war god knows manners!
It reminded me that in the last life Kade had always behaved toward Lily with proper restraint—only watering her from a distance, never crossing the line, practically the shining second lead.
I watched Kade fold his legs and enter meditation. Pale, chiseled face; broad shoulders, slim waist, well-proportioned muscles; long hair falling over dark soft armor—he exuded ascetic coldness.
Looks impressive, but abstinence had left him inexperienced. Last life when he failed to court the girl, he was pitiful.
Out of the three male leads, he was the one whose clumsy tongue made everyone worry.
Reading the books, I wanted to go up and say: Big brother, this is a romance, a sweet, guilty-pleasure novel! No halo and no flirting skill means you’re destined to be a loser, okay?
Marcus, on the other hand, was the smooth talker—he’d whispered decadent lines to Lily and even died for love.
Why, when he’s around me, does his mouth turn into a harmless machine gun, saying things but not meaning to wound?
I leaned toward Marcus, who was sipping tea, and lowered my voice: “You can be proud, but have some face. Be fierce, but don’t flaunt it. I never fear anyone, but my temper’s short in this heat—don’t push me if I stop smiling.”
Marcus swallowed his tea. “……Alright, then. Let’s go check on them?”
Kade, overhearing: “……” Could Lady Claire be a fool?
Me: Tsk, feeling smug.
Bored, Marcus and I glanced at the three and started on gossip.
“Did you hear? A while back, Lord Tuen at Minshi Mountain publicly cheated on Lady Bi with Lady Yu. He betrayed Lady Yu, who’d stood by him for years—her family beat her so badly she barely survived. Lady Yu quickly found a pretty boy to replace him; now there’s talk of marriage. You should prepare a wedding gift.”
“What?!”
Wasn’t Lord Tui Yi a stand-up guy in his last life?
Back then, before Lily married Julian, Paige even held the title of the happiest married fairy in the Elysian Court for several terms!
Also—why am I still expected to bring a gift?
After living the corporate life, I finally understood how lovely money can be.
You have to know: I, once utterly heartbroken over love, fell so hard for that dear old fur-grandpa.
Too bad this love-struck flirt used the entire millennium savings of the Moonfur clan on presents and chasing men. The worst part? I was broke afterward and didn’t even get him.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?!
Nope. I refuse. Over.
We chatted a while longer. Julian and the other guy were still sleeping soundly. Marcus looked annoyed and clearly wanted to toss Julian out.
But when I saw Silas—mute, radiating cold air beside Julian—I and Paige quietly turned our heads up to the ceiling and hid our small plans.
Suddenly I remembered: I’d recently perfected a celestial hotpot. I loved the taste. Since nothing important was happening, I decided to take Marcus and Silas to try it.
“Hey! I made something new for you to try!”
Marcus brightened. “Yes.”
Silas opened his eyes and nodded coolly.
No more talk—action. I rushed to set up the hotpot, even doing a dual-flavor pot because I worried Marcus, the spirit-cat, might not handle spice.
All the ingredients were celestial plants and the tasty beast meats I’d tried in the Demon Wilds. Steam rose from the jade-table hotpot; red and clear broths simmered and swirled. The spread was fresh and ample, and my gloomy mood finally felt like it had found joy.
As expected—meat is power.
I invited the two to sit, poured them fine liquor, and gave myself a non-intoxicating spirit-fruit brew as a mocktail.
Clearing my throat, cup in hand, I gave a little pre-meal speech: “Think of people like a dish—delicious things make everyone reach for the chopsticks. Don’t expect endless care tomorrow, don’t expect someone to always be your anchor. Play at love for the joy of it. Tonight, no more drama—friends eat well and drink well, that’s all.”
Then I downed my drink.
Marcus: “…”
Worse. He was sick for real now.
Silas: “…”
This goddess talks weird… I was still basking in my own glow when a single phrase froze my smile.
Julian: “Oh—just for the thrill, huh? When did you two become friends, Silas?”
Me: “!”
How did he wake up so early? In my last life, he slept for two or three days!
Marcus put down his chopsticks. “…Your Highness.”
Silas, having swallowed a bite coolly, replied evenly, “Just now, Your Highness.”
I watched Julian get up, theatrically toss his robe, and stroll to the table. He sat very calmly in the only empty seat—directly opposite me.
Across the swirling steam, his features looked even colder, more regal.
Even newly awake, not a hair out of place—radiant and fearsome as ever.
He could inspire lines like “stone-polished as jade, pines arrayed like green”—truly worthy praise.
Too bad I still couldn’t warm to him; I wasn’t about to set out his bowl and chopsticks.
Marcus said nothing. Silas didn’t bother. The atmosphere chilled.
Then Julian waved casually—an elegant motion, like moonlight on a breeze. Suddenly, a set of bowls and chopsticks, matching his famous tea cup, materialized before him. He calmly dipped a slice of lamb…into the red broth.
I am floored. Brother, your household wealth is so obscene you eat with artifacts?
I stared, expression deadpan. After one bite, Julian nodded at me and seriously said, “Delicious. Thank you, Lady Claire, for the generous hospitality.”
Me: “hsjxiwndhak”
Which eye of yours saw me being hospitable?
I bit my tongue. He’s the prince. Once he’s fully healed he’ll leave. Tolerance for now—better to live and let others be.
I filled my cup. “Happy to see you awake, Your Highness. A toast from Claire.”
I tipped my head back and downed it—liquid courage, drown the worries.
Forget spirit-fruit brew—bring on the real stuff!
Hearts racing, hands shaking—if you don’t drink, you’re a buzz-kill.
For a moment the mood thawed.
Silas tried the red broth, choked, and went back to the clear one. Marcus and Julian kept picking the spicy red the whole time.
Especially Julian—his lips stained deep red. I had such an impulse to bite them.
Ha. Ten cups in and blackout Claire actually did it.
According to Marcus’s later retelling, the scene was chaos.
He said I stood up looking normal, cup in hand, and walked over to Julian for…who knew what.
All three men paused mid-bite to see what I’d do.
Slurring, I asked Julian, “Your Highness—does this taste good?”
Julian nodded with interest. “Very tasty.”
His red lips curved. My brain reduced to pigment; I stared at those thin, glossy lips, turned crimson by heat and spice.
Liquor emboldened me—I lunged to kiss him.
But Silas, watching my every move, was quicker. He grabbed the back of my collar. Divine Prince Julian was spared.
Guilty party confesses: I was drunk.
Julian hadn’t felt threatened; he was oddly amused: “Lady Claire, breaking your word?”
Last time you swore you wouldn’t be entangled with me again, didn’t you?
Back then I’d been straightforward. “Yes, I said I wouldn’t like you anymore. But you’re handsome. I can’t help it. I just wanted to tell you I could!”
At that, Julian’s cheerful face darkened. “Claire!”
Who gets to be handsome, huh?!
Marcus: “…”
Told you—this girl freezes at a pretty face.
Silas: “…”
Wow, the goddess is reckless.
Then I fully unmasked my drunk self.
I wrenched free of Silas and shouted, “Don’t love me—there’s no future. Unless your hands can wake me back to life.”
Then I proceeded to do a ridiculous, flirtatious little sway—like a barroom dance. After the wobble I hiccuped to Julian, “Reputation has ups and downs. Past is past, now is now. I stand here—do you think I’m the same as before?”
Julian: “……?”
I turned to Silas: “Call me ‘Brother Claire’—not humiliating, right? I gave you the chance, you useless thing!”
Silas: “……?”
Someone get her help.
I staggered to Marcus. “I’ve been tossed about in life. I won’t speak of society’s rules or eternity. No more grand vows—just one-woman rogue energy, capably rogue.”
Marcus: “……?”
Brother, use your tree to sob and reset.
Then I stumbled toward the still-sleeping Julian and, addressing him even as he dozed, wailed, “We used to walk separate paths—why make it mutual hatred now? I can save your face, or I can make you drop everything! I never hold grudges; I just repay them directly. Today, finally, you’re in my hands!”
Brazenly, I grabbed Julian’s face with both hands and pinched, squeezing out all the resentment I’d been bottling.
So I woke him up by twisting his cheek…while still drunk. Julian, Marcus, Silas were all stunned—so shocked they forgot to stop me.
When Marcus later reminded me of that moment, life felt bleak.
Julian certainly wasn’t gentle; I knew that from my last life. Pinching his face with both hands? I was basically signing my own death warrant.
But Marcus—reliable as ever—quickly stepped forward and pulled me off the alcohol-dulled face-pinning.
I didn’t want to let go; my hands kept moving forward, as if to demand a hug—but really trying to twist his cheeks some more.
Marcus, alarmed, bowed to the now-angry Julian. “Lord Julian, please forgive her!”
He hurriedly explained the situation and emphasized that I had healed Julian—pleading for leniency.
Julian, god of life in the Elysian Court, wasn’t someone a mere illusion-fur could keep pinched forever. Marcus, lower in court rank, could only beg.
The room froze.
My drunkenness peaked. I grabbed Julian’s robe and crooned miserably, “I’ll pluck your heart, try to melt it, see if I’m still flawless in you—leave my sorrow to me, let your beauty go with you—after this, I’ll have no more reasons for joy or sorrow—”
Julian, Silas, Marcus: “……….”
No one speak—family-only embarrassment.
Julian: “………?”
This goddess is odd—horribly tone-deaf, and insanely bold.
Julian finally covered my mouth.
He told the awakened Julian, “Enough. Don’t frighten people. Claire just drank too much…it was a mistake. Don’t make it a big issue.”
Silas agreed, “That’s right.”
The goddess’s head’s not right—be more forgiving with fools, apparently.
Julian softly rubbed his reddened cheek. Wine makes people rough, he thought, but also—these two male nobles begged on her behalf. Curious.
Since the prince and the war god had spoken, he couldn’t make a scene. He smiled gentle again. “Alright. Lady Claire did heal me, so I won’t pursue it.”
He paused. “But this fairy…seems a bit…too lively?”
Perfect timing—I broke free of Julian and belted out another drunken tune: “Alone I drink and get drunk, drunkenly pair lovers…eyes stay watchful, hoping one day we return as two…my fingers on the lute—mmm…”
Again—muffled.
This time I couldn’t break free. In the haze, the call of the ancestral tree overtook me, and on Julian’s hand I transformed into my true form.
Julian: “!”
The goddess’s true form was a tiny white moonfur?
A little white thing—no wonder Julian and Silas defended me. After all, how could they punish the little creature who’d once nipped them?
Julian has a weakness for fluff—he keeps an unusually pampered, big, placid white cat named Snow.
Julian looked at the small, warm bundle sleeping in his palm. He twitched his fingers; the soft weight felt like holding a little ember.
Silas was also a bit surprised by my original form.
Marcus quickly said to Julian, “Your Highness, Claire’s transformation might be due to the influence of the ancestral tree—please return her to me.”
Julian looked down at him, then without hesitation pulled his hand back and lifted me to press me against his chest. "Why would I give Sable back to you? She seems to like me better."
Marcus’s green eyes narrowed to slits. "Your Highness, show some restraint!"
The air went taut again.
But a drunk me never misses a dramatic moment.
I puked.
Right onto Prince Julian’s immaculate Obsidian Prince Regalia.
I’m dead. Over.
Well, not literally dead — but Julian did explode.
He immediately changed tactics and reached to hand the filthy, vomit-smeared me over to Marcus.
Who would’ve thought Marcus the peacock would object, saying his clothes were newly commissioned from the Weaver Maidens of the Celestial Pavilion, too precious to be sullied — and, more importantly, that Sable clearly preferred him, so "why don’t you just hold her, Your Highness?" or some such nonsense.
Friendship officially plastic. Solid proof.
Heroes have bad days too — watch me rise again!
Today you ignore me; tomorrow you won’t be able to reach me. Remember, friends: when I get back on my feet, I will not forget.
Ultimately, after being fought over and rejected by both sides, I ended up in the least judgmental hands: the war god, Silas.
Marcus later tried to explain that he hadn’t abandoned me entirely — he’d stayed long enough to cast ten cleansing charms on Silas for me before he left.
I lost my expression. "…"
Do I have to thank you for that?
Die, you thief. I’ll sell you to the widows later.
Silas hauled me by the tail of my robe and tossed me up into the ancestor tree, leaving the four men below staring at each other in stunned silence: drunk women are terrifying.
My face hit the trunk and I lay there, making a couple pitiful noises before falling quiet.
Family really does forgive you for anything.
Ancestor Tree: "…"
No, I didn’t—don’t say that.
After the commotion I dozed on the tree, blissfully unaware of the dangers the next day would bring.
When I woke, blurry-eyed, shifted back into human shape, and climbed down, I blinked at Julian’s statue-like grin and returned an awkward smile. "Prince, up so early? How was your dinner last night?"
He scoffed.
I turned and, oh—there was Rowan!
"Ah! Sir Rowan is awake too? How delightful!"
He smiled unusually gently. Why did I feel a chill down my spine? Must be post-murder trauma.
Marcus and Silas arrived fashionably late. Marcus, sensing the air was odd, dragged me over and quickly briefed me on my exploits from last night:
1) I pinched Rowan’s face hard with both hands.
2) I puked all over Julian.
Me: "……"
Are you joking?
I turned stiffly and met four stares that crawled under my skin.
Nope. Not joking.
My knees went weak and I almost dropped to my knees.
"Your Highness! Sir Rowan! Yesterday this little spirit was drunk and behaved shamefully, offending both of you. Please forgive me!"
The terror from my past life — all those times they’d wrung my spirit dry — hit, and every scrap of pride evaporated.
But I still didn’t kneel. A gentle strength from Julian held me up.
If his earlier mood was displeasure, I was almost certain now he teetered on the edge of fury.
Suppressing his anger with a wave, he said in a low voice, "What do you intend to do—kneel? In the past when you destroyed all the Jade Vivianne flowers in Waverly Palace’s gardens because their name resembled another, I didn’t hold you to account despite your arrogance. Why are you so timid now?"
Right, according to the timeline I had once destroyed all those precious Jade Vivianne flowers in Julian’s garden just because of the name similarity.
I had been fearless back then, reckless and brazen.
Now I wasn’t daring at all. I knew if I kept acting out, I might actually die… "How could I, a lowly spirit, be close to Your Highness? The destruction was a moment of madness. I will see to it within a month that the destroyed flowers are fully returned to you."
Head bowed, voice small.
Gods, those Jade Vivianne flowers contain divine essence — they’re priceless. Where was I supposed to find replacements? My wallet bled just thinking about it.
"Fine. Sable, you’re insufferable."
Julian’s fury cracked into laughter. He stood up fast and walked right up to me.
"Your Highness!"
Marcus tried to intercede, but Julian shot him a glare.
"Your Highness." Silas spoke up too — bullying a girl isn’t a pretty look, after all.
Rowan watched bemused, always soft and composed.
That man wore kindness like a mask; I saw straight through him. Poor naive sprites who fall for him—pfft.
Julian ignored everyone and stopped in front of me. A subtle, elegant scent wrapped around us like a valley of orchids.
He reached and hooked my chin, lifting my face.
Me: "!"
What a cliche, over-the-top romantic move.
"Give me back my flowers and be sane about it, Julian," I wanted to say.
He lived up to my expectations. "Woman, you have finally caught my attention."
Me: "?"
Whenever I typed "?" in my head, it wasn’t me with the problem. It was you.
Not only was I shocked; everyone else was too.
Marcus looked miserable, wondering if the prince’s mind had been damaged along with his soul. Silas remained frosty, though in his head the equivalent of ‘shocked!’ scrolled in all caps. Rowan’s fake smile widened—this was a delightful little drama to him.
How can Julian be so domineering and still keep a straight face saying such mortifying lines and gestures? Teach me, we’ll take notes.
I swallowed my urge to roast him and took a trembling step back, retracting my chin. Clearing my throat, I stammered, "You…you’ve noticed me. Who do you think you are?"
Yes — say the tough thing in the lamest voice possible. I felt unexpectedly proud.
"Everyone says don’t love me. There’s no future unless… unless the flowers sway me," I muttered, then added, "Can you make them sway for me?"
Julian: "…"
I was sure he looked contemptuous. He dared to look down on the noble art of flower-wielding.
Seeing me so stubbornly absurd, his anger strangely dissipated. Why bother argue with a woman in a tantrum?
As he sat back down at the rosy stone table, the tense mood loosened.
I exhaled, only to be pinched by Rowan’s faux-sweetness again. "Sable has offered to replace a thousand Jade Vivianne flowers. What compensation do you expect from me?"
He touched his cheek where I had pinched him.
Though Julian and Silas had agreed not to press charges, Rowan wanted some non-excessive interest for the face-pinching offense — and no one would stop him from asking.
Me: "…"
Who said a thousand?!
I don’t have a thousand! You sick man, do you want me to die again?
"What would you like, Sir Rowan?" I tried to sound gentle.
He produced a folding fan out of nowhere and fanned himself, all charm. "Your fur is quite glossy and soft… Why not gift me a cloak made from your phantom sable pelt?"
Julian said nothing, inscrutable, and sipped from his enchanted teacup.
Marcus and Silas were as quiet as hens.
Me: ?
You actually—want my fur coat? Are you speaking human words?
I was outraged. Unforgivable!
I couldn’t afford to replace a thousand flowers. But shaving myself all the time cost nothing. Giving him a little fur here and there would hurt less than bankrupting myself.
Tearfully grateful that this saved me money, I agreed under duress and humiliation. The matter was resolved: I paid the debt with my dignity — and a few tufts of fur.
Afterward, I felt hollowed out. The Celestial Realm was not worth it.
I smashed every bottle of alcohol in my house and threw them into the Illusion Brook. If anyone handed me another drink, I’d tear them apart. A few sips of booze, half my life gone.
No family should put someone through this. Even if they had a mine, this was excessive.
Dejected, I reverted and slumped on the tree, hoping these infuriating men would hurry up and leave my home.
They did not. They stayed.
Somehow they produced a pile of magical instruments — zithers and jade flutes — and I burned with envy.
Are you forming a Mary-Sue boyband? Want me to manage you? Pick me!
I watched them from the tree. In the bright sun, the dark green ancestor tree cast generous shade. The rosy stone table glittered. A black-armored war god sat there, quietly polishing his obsidian sword. Nearby, the Illusion Brook reflected the light; Prince Julian perched on a riverside boulder, plucking his zither like royalty. Rowan stood in white robes, eyes lowered, playing his flute. Marcus, in a red robe streaked with black, yawned like a cat in the breeze.
The music was deep, the flute mournful, the dance graceful — the whole forbidden valley seemed to shift with the melody.
I caught the scent of plum blossoms; the light felt intoxicating.
Ugh — not the liquor, people — they make the world drunk.
For the first time, maybe, I felt I could be at peace with them all in one place.
Past grievances drifted like mist. I wasn’t who I had been; they weren’t who they had been. Right now, none of us were killing, betraying, or hurting each other.
I shouldn’t let prejudice rule me.
I climbed down, reshaped, and sat beside Silas at the stone table, trying to brighten up.
Tears dampened my shoes. I zipped my bag shut and reminded myself I still had pride.
Wind blew my long hair across my face; I squinted and smoothed it back.
Silas sheathed his obsidian blade, the black scabbard tangled with ornate patterns and studded with a brilliant purple gem.
I looked at him with admiration. "War God Silas, your sword ‘Quiet Shadow’ lives up to its name."
Sen Baird’s face was pale to the point of seeming bloodless, his lips lightly colored, but the contrast of his thick brows, long lashes, and dark, heavy eyes made him look intensely severe and utterly indifferent.
He glanced up at me, then suddenly produced a black, filigreed jade pendant with cloud patterns and handed it to me. "A token of thanks. If you face mortal danger, crush it. I’ll come for you within ten breaths."
Me: "!"
Is this… really a thank-you gift for me?!
I could actually receive a token of thanks?
From a war god, pledging to rescue me within ten breaths?!
Am I dreaming?
I, ruined and extorted into poverty, can actually be given a gift?
I was so stunned I fumbled, not noticing the abruptly sharp notes of the qin.
"Lord Baird… I—it’s not right for me to accept this."
I stared at him with wide-eyed gratitude, offering a perfunctory refusal.
But inside I was thrilled.
I greedily stared at the pendant; the dark sleeve and the jade made his hand look luminous.
This might be the first gift a friend has ever given me in my two lives.
"No need for formalities. The Silverwood Tree has been good to me."
Baird replied coldly, setting the pendant directly on the stone table and returning to polishing his sword.
I nervously picked up the black pendant from the pale glass-pink tabletop and held it. Like him, the jade was threadingly cold.
I couldn’t help blurting out, "Lord Baird, if… if you ever need it, my tree is at your disposal! I can even teach you how to pick up women, show you my dating tricks!"
Baird: "?"
That wasn’t necessary. Don’t.
The war god truly was a good man!
I declared him officially under my protection—no matter what, I wasn’t going to let my big brother miss out on a wife this time!
There’s still true affection in the world; I’ll trade my sincerity for friendship!
Baird: "………"
Completely unnecessary.
"Why is the goddess so generous?"
Somewhere behind me, Julian Pierce—Prince Julian—finished a piece and sat back down beside me, his expression unreadable.
I jumped; he really was my nemesis.
"Prince Julian… this little goddess has always been generous," I bit back a retort.
I was about to return a thousand sprigs of emerald-bloom flowers—was I not being generous?
"My spirit needs the Silverwood Tree’s nurturing as well. Will you lend it to me permanently?" He fixed his gaze on me, pressing.
Heady. My temper flared.
I’d put up with him long enough; if I kept tolerating him I’d become a real long-suffering creature.
"Prince Julian, I think I’ve made myself clear. It was my mistake to have feelings for you. Now I see your world isn’t mine, and you no longer have the right to look into mine."
Got it?
I’m going to be the baddie!!!
Ha—stab the air, plant the flag: in this world, those who hesitate get trampled. There are millions of ambitious people; cowards are scum!
A breeze lifted a strand of his long hair. Julian narrowed his eyes, staring at me for a long moment without speaking.
The presence of someone above unfurled, crushing the air out of me.
Far off, the flute music of dusk wafted softly. Baird kept polishing his sword. Marcus Hale’s green catlike eyes widened, pupils narrowing into slits as he watched us.
Hesitation means defeat!
Feeling this awkward atmosphere, I clutched the black pendant and prepared to take my leave.
If I can’t handle him, can’t I at least hide?
I folded. I was going to be a coward!
Damn him—I was set on it!
Julian’s momentary loss of composure passed; instantly he was the aristocratic figure again.
"Lady Claire Bennett."
He called me softly. His voice sounded like chime-clear jade striking stone: elegant, poised, disdainfully graceful.
"This spirit-wound healed thanks to you, Fairy. Keep the emerald-bloom flowers."
I quickly performed a proper bow, all deference. "Thank you for your leniency, Your Highness. I am undeserving."
So extravagant. I’ll take it—and more!
"Then I am healed and will return to the Elysian Court. Lady Claire Bennett, will you see me off?"
He rose slowly, looking down with a cool disdain, golden-trimmed robe fluttering—aloof and proud.
He’s not happy. He hasn’t healed.
"Your Highness, you mustn’t be capricious."
Baird set down his sword and interrupted with an icy tone.
Julian brushed his sleeve and said, "It’s fine. My mind is made up."
Bro, a new version of a god appears each era. Don’t get drunk on the chaos; winners stay humble.
Show-offs don’t get a good end.
Julian’s decisions were immutable; in the end, he still chose to leave.
Marcus and Dusk (Mu Jin) came forward to escort the prince back. Dusk couldn’t stray far from the Silverwood Tree and so couldn’t walk much further; Baird planned to follow Julian straight back.
Baird was actually already healed, but one, the tree benefited his spirit; two, he stayed to prevent any mishap with the prince.
I walked Julian and Baird all the way to my manor gate. As I prepared to say goodbye, I saw Princess Vivian Hart standing guard by the doorway.
I don’t know how long Vivian had been waiting. When she saw Julian, a bright yet lonely smile bloomed across her face. She fluttered over like a flower-butterfly. "Prince Julian! Lord Baird!"
She stood before us, eyes shining at Julian—full of light.
Julian showed no response. Baird simply nodded coldly without speaking.
Vivian’s popularity seemed… limited this life.
A little awkward, I tried to be friendly. "Princess Vivian."
She instead lifted her chin and glanced at me with utter contempt.
Me: "………"
Fortunes turn. Who knows who gets knocked down next.
Little sister, adjust your attitude!
Her worshipful, arrogant look reminded me of the last life—she was more of a fanatic now than the cautious Vivian from before.
Something was off.
Seeing me zoning out, Julian snorted once—uncharacteristically—and strode off with his head held high.
His straight spine and glittering gold embroidery sustained an overwhelming air.
Baird nodded to me and followed, leaving Vivian flushed and annoyed, chasing after him with chirped pleas: "Prince Julian, wait for me!"
Watching Julian’s lonely retreat didn’t lift my mood.
Ah, life’s full of helplessness—nothing lasts forever.
Who would choose to play the villain unless they were wounded too deeply?
I slunk back to the forbidden grove, climbed the ancestral tree, and methodically plucked out the fur I’d been worrying away to stitch a cloak.
Dusk, following me, watched my meticulous work and smiled. "Goddess, that cloak will take a long time to make, won’t it?"
You have the nerve to ask that!
I rolled my eyes and nodded weakly.
He looked up at me with big earnest eyes; delicate light danced on his pure white robe—he was divinely gifted, breathtakingly graceful.
His kind gentleness made my heart flutter.
Just as I was half-convinced he might be a good man this life, I heard him say, "If you agree to be my pet until my spirit fully heals, you can keep the cloak."
Are you kidding me? You rotten old sly one!
Show some respect!
My ancient beast-heritage is a joke to you?!
Snowflakes fell all around. I—seven feet of blade at my side, a warhorse’s heart—am a true hero with a life of grand ambitions. I am bold, proud, world-weary!
Dumplings need vinegar; posture needs restraint. Know to put on socks before shoes, be the grandson before the grandfather!
I’d rather pluck myself bald than be your sycophantic pet!
…Saying fierce things is required—who can actually resist the "smell good" law?
Talk tough, but in truth I couldn’t stand the idea of plucking fur for years to make a cloak. Two days of being petted, though? That’s way better than going bald.
This world is complex; we must be bendable.
Courage to back down is the real heroism—refuse and you’ll bleed. Remember, times create heroes.
Marcus initially opposed: "With the Silverfur lineage, how can you stoop to be another’s pet?" he declared.
Until Dusk smiled and teased, "I heard black-moon cat fur is super soft. If you hand over a black-moon pelt or let me pet you, that works."
Then Marcus abandoned me entirely, saying, "Go ahead, pet away! Silverfur is just more precious; black-moon can’t compare."
Brothers—what are they for?
To betray.
Ugh!
When dusk fell and you weren’t there for me, who are you when the sun rises again?
Embarrassing to admit, but being petted was surprisingly comforting.
Dusk’s petting technique was uncanny. At first it felt humiliating; two seconds later I surrendered.
His long, even fingers scratched just right under my chin, making me squint with pleasure. His broad warm palms stroked from my head to the tip of my tail in circles, teasing my front paws with a hint of intimacy—my limbs went weak and my breathing quickened… FBI warning! Stop those wicked thoughts! Remember the authorities are watching!
No wonder they say surrendering to tenderness is a grave.
Days slid by in a loop of self-disgust—enjoyment—self-disgust—enjoyment until Dusk healed. My gains were obvious: one, no more plucking fur for a cloak; two, the shadow of Dusk’s past life—when he had been responsible for my death—was cured by his superb petting.
The second effect was remarkable. At first I was meek and soon I became arrogant.
If before Dusk had said, "Claire, if we have a chance in the future, let’s cooperate again," I’d fake obedience with "Yes, yes," and think, next time? Not a chance—goodbye.
Now when he said it as he left, I replied outright, "There won’t be a next time. Remember: don’t climb mountains that aren’t yours; don’t wait on people who aren’t yours."
Ha—after bowing to Guan Gong, now bow to the streetwise! Applause for the social survivor!
Dusk didn’t take offense at my swagger; his perfect smile stayed steady.
"Claire, if anything happens, the Celestial Archive is always open to you."
There was a hint of something unreadable in his mellow tone. His gentle smile carried a touch of mystery. He drifted away.
A chill ran down my spine. His words felt like an omen—like some prophet saying I’ll face bloodshed.
After sending that great god away, the tension I’d held finally eased.
Heroes meet a hundred graves; fearing death doesn’t keep you social.
I walked along the white marble path of Springvale Manor, drinking in the breathtaking scenery.
Immortal mist hung in the air. Snow capped the ridge for as long as memory, and the celestial court looked majestic and exquisite.
I passed the flower fields beside the Phantomford River that I had planted for Prince Julian and stopped at the Moon Pavilion by Moonmere Lake. Through the thin fog, the rows of snow-white moon lotuses floated like pure, quiet beauties.
This is my home. I have lived here for thousands of years.
I once fled to a strange time and place to make a life for myself, never thinking fate would loop back and bring me home.
I was born frail. After barely scraping through two hundred-some years, I should have died, and so I was placed in the Silverwood Tree to recover.
Among the younger generation of the Sable line, I was the only one left. For those two hundred-or-so years when I was a child, my only friend was Marcus Hale.
We promised each other that the moment I finished recovering I’d come find him. I never expected that when I truly healed, three thousand years would have passed.
When I opened my eyes and left the forbidden place, what greeted me was catastrophe: a thousand years earlier, the demon clans had rebelled. They defeated my father, Sable Mian, with forbidden techniques at the Dazzling Night Banquet; his soul was shattered in battle. My mother, Sun Ti, gave everything and fell as well.
That fairy-demon war was an upheaval for the Elysian Court. The celestial order shifted.
So many immortals died— even the previous Warlord, Lady Hart’s Yu Ling, perished.
It was at that moment that Sen Baird turned the tide. In the chaos he held the line as if one man could stop ten thousand, striking the demons hard and changing the course of the war.
My father and the Heavenly Emperor were once close friends. When I was left alone, the Emperor and Empress brought me into the court to raise and comfort me.
There I met Prince Julian and fell for him at first sight.
Technically Julian is younger than me, but I certainly don’t behave like the older sister type.
I poured myself some spirit-fruit wine and watched the sunset clouds set the sky ablaze, and a hollow feeling settled in my chest.
Time flies in the Elysian Court; before I knew it the Empress’s cloud gala had arrived.
The Empress dislikes fuss. Her birthday is celebrated once every thousand years, and the ceremony was held on the summit of the Satin Sea—a vertical, ice-blue cascade hanging like brocade in the heavens. At its crest lay a field of auspicious clouds, and the banquet took place there.
Come to think of it, the Windsource Prince’s Reserve that Julian had fetched last time was a gift prepared for this ceremony.
I thought, since I’m basically the wife of my father’s old friend and also his superior, I ought to bring a proper gift.
So I took my carefully chosen present into the ceremony. The hall swarmed with immortals; the spectacle was grand. This was elite society at its finest.
Putting on my professional smile, I exchanged polite greetings and made my way to my VIP seat.
To my surprise, my seat was right next to Prince Julian.
Of course—how could I forget that the Emperor and Empress so desperately want me as their daughter-in-law?
In my past life I messed up so badly I almost let the demon clans return—an error I could never atone for—yet the Emperor spared my life despite objections. For him and my father, his mercy was boundless.
At this moment there were no petty issues—the Emperor seriously shipped me with Julian.
I watched Princess Vivian sit behind us, her face a perfect mask of displeasure as she tried to look calm. This girl was trouble.
"Lady Claire Bennett, how have you been?" Vivian’s voice was syrupy, each lash batting like an accusation.
Me: "…"
Sister, just leave me alone.
"Princess Vivian, you look even more beautiful than before!" I couldn’t help myself. If you can’t beat flattery, at least try it.
Vivian’s smile widened and she smoothed a hand still glossed with red lacquer through her hair. "But Lady Claire, that dress of yours is…really ugly."
Me: "?"
What is this young punk trying to pull? She’s playing street thug now?
"Vivian." A low, cold voice cut through the air—Prince Julian intervened.
Vivian’s face changed in an instant. She trembled and bowed, tear-bright at her lashes, three degrees softer in that instant. "Your Highness, forgive me."
Conversations halted around the hall and many heads turned.
I was stunned. I hadn’t even spoken—what was Julian so worked up about? Does he look down on me or something?
Brother Sable tells you—don’t try to act cool in front of me, I will not tolerate it!
Julian’s gaze on me was chilly and unreadable.
On a day this important he wore something even more formal and striking. His obsidian regalia was embroidered with dark gold, noble and grand, his presence commanding.
I cleared my throat and said to him, "Your Highness, Vivian is so pretty. Don’t go making her sad."
Not the most thoughtful thing to say.
Julian looked me over once, expression unchanged, and eased his oppressive aura away.
With the mood lightening, he tossed Vivian an order: "Apologize to her." Then he turned back to sit upright in composure.
Vivian straightened slowly, bracing her face into a mask as she rose. She shot me a look of pure resentment and ground out, "Lady Claire Bennett, it was my rudeness. Please forgive me."
I answered gravely, "I’ve told you—don’t get cocky and you’ll avoid getting stabbed. Believe me now?"
Vivian: "…"
Ridiculous.
She stalked away, shooting me another glare. I returned it with one of my own. Whatever—who’s got the bigger eyes now?
After Vivian left, I grabbed fruit from the table and started stuffing them into my mouth, thinking about where Marcus was. When I went to see him earlier, his attendants had said he was off preparing congratulatory gifts.
Ever since I pushed Marcus away after promising Dusk I’d be his pet, I haven’t seen him much. We don’t meet and hug—it’s complicated.
Just then Dusk and Sen Baird arrived.
They arrived with flair. During the day a trail of golden light split the air, forming a dazzling path; in a blink they were in the court, the light trailing behind like falling stars.
Sen Baird and Dusk sat in the VIP section beside me.
I stared at their entrance, jealous—if you want that kind of presence, you need moves like that!
I turned to Sen Baird next to me. "You were so handsome coming in just now! How did you do that? Teach me!"
Sen Baird wore no armor today—plain, dark robes, austere. He glanced at me coolly. "You can’t learn it."
Me: "?"
Quite blunt.
That didn’t stop me. "How do you know I can’t? You haven’t even taught me yet."
He looked at me silently. If I’m reading him right, the look meant—this will be troublesome to teach.
Me: "?"
Last life I was hated, this life I’m being looked down on. Can’t anyone just have fun?
Then Prince Julian on my left suddenly said, "Woman, this skill I too am versed in."
I turned to him. He was still composed, unflappable and proud.
But I could’ve sworn his lashes fluttered a fraction and his mouth tightened in a way that screamed: please ask me to teach you. The mood practically begged for it.
I shrugged. "Oh."
When I praise you you’re a cup; when I drop you you’re glass shards—remember this: if I give you my whole heart and you refuse it, I’ll walk away with someone else.
Julian remained erect, but a subtle tremor in his lashes and the shadow that passed his features made me uneasy.
Why the sudden personality flip? A pity play? A honey trap?
Ha, I won’t fall for it. Among all stratagems, retreat is still the best. I excused myself and went down the steps to find Marcus.
Dusk’s smile looked gentle but a little sly as I passed.
I saw Marcus had already arrived and taken a seat. Because his rank isn’t high, he sat further back opposite the main hall—far from Prince Julian.
I dropped into the seat next to him—Marcus wore another new purple set today—and he shot me one emerald-green glance, his black vertical pupils wicked.
He said, "Claire, that dress of yours is ugly."
Me: "?"
Seriously—are you Vivian’s spy?
I seized Marcus’s dark purple sleeve—this fabric had crane patterns—and waved a tiny glow in front of his face, saying in a conspiratorial tone, "My dress is ugly? If you think mine’s ugly, don’t expect your outfit to look any better!"
When you’re surrounded by ghosts, you become the exorcist.
Marcus took a sip of Dreamspirit wine, studied my layered sea-green skirt I had paired with the Warlord’s black jade pendant, and said, "Hm. Not my type."
Low emotional intelligence: ugly. High emotional intelligence: not my type.
He’s got all kinds of tact.
Marcus’s green eyes glistened; the upturned corners of his eyes added a feline allure. "Claire, don’t you know what’s going to happen today?"
Me: "What?"
Isn’t it just the Empress’s birthday celebration? Where are the Emperor and Empress?
Leaning close, Marcus told me, "I think today the Emperor and Empress are going to build momentum around betrothing you to the Prince."
Me: "WTF?!"
Marcus furrowed his brow. "What?"
I kept a deadpan face. "Nothing. I’m thrilled."
"Where did you hear this?"
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been holed up these days relaxing and didn’t know anything.
"A few days ago, the Prince filled his Waverly Palace with cages of mist-flowers, saying he would accept your courtship."
Marcus fiddled with his sleeve, voice low.
Me: Get outta here!
Planting a whole house of rare mist-flowers like it’s nothing? Do I look like a kindergarten kid who melts over a labeled bloom?
"Why didn’t you tell me?" I demanded.
"I went to Ren Xu for clothes and only just arrived. We heard it from others once we got here."
Me: "Fine. Clothes and friends can’t both be had, right? You chose clothes."
Marcus’s green eyes had an innocent sheen. "I thought you knew."
I glared at Prince Julian and found he was watching me, composed and noble.
You’re finished, I thought.
I marched back to my seat. Julian and I exchanged a loaded gaze across the table—if he didn’t move, I wouldn’t either.
I sat, acting solemn. "I heard the Prince filled a whole palace with mist-flowers?"
Julian remained silent, then turned his head, glanced at the little crystal Dreamfruits on the table, and nodded once.
Me: "…"
What melancholy act are you putting on?
Heatstroke? Need a trip to the river to cool off and bake you a little in the sun.
"Prince Julian, I think I’ve made myself clear…"
"Why?
Why give up all of a sudden?"
Prince Julian’s voice was low and rough as he reached out a pale hand and plucked a milky, translucent Dreamfruit from the tray, holding it in his palm so its glow matched the bone-white sheen of his fingers.
I froze. …Why are you not asking what you meant to me?
Did you mean for me to reject you, to ignore you, to try to kill you…? He set the milky fruit back on the platter with gentle hands. "Don’t give up."
Me: "………"
You say it’s hard to pursue? Fine—I block you.
Before I could figure out what to say, the Emperor and Empress unexpectedly appeared.
They entered in ceremonial splendor; the whole courtyard resumed the ritual rejoicing, a jovial scene.
Before the banquet began, the Empress produced a windsource artifact that shimmered green and a teardrop-shaped blue jade.
The Windsource soothed the mind and could ward off attacks.
To the Empress, it was a pretty trinket—something she could casually offer to cool a breeze with a bit of Prince Julian’s favor attached.
But the deep-blue teardrop jade glued my eyes to it.
I’m not greedy, but that thing had a fatal pull on my spirit, like if I just looked at it or smelled it I’d roll on the ground with pleasure.
The Empress smiled, dignified like Prince Julian, and said something wildly inappropriate: "Lady Claire Bennett has performed great service in saving Prince Julian recently. Let this Hanstar Ice-Heart be yours—a token from the Prince and me."
Me: "?"
What token? I felt uneasy. I remembered what Marcus had said earlier about generating momentum for an engagement.
Seeing the Emperor and the surrounding immortals smiling ambiguously, I decided I had to refuse politely.
Just as I opened my mouth to decline, my body stopped obeying me.
I watched myself rise slowly, take the Hanstar Ice-Heart, and bow naturally, "Your humble servant thanks the Empress and Prince Julian for their gift."
Back at my seat, I gradually reclaimed control of my fingers and the rest of my body.
If a blade never sharpens, it rusts. If you stop eating meat, you get thin.
If someone wants to fight me in spirit-form, fine—I want to see which bastard’s that strong.
I turned my head—now moving freely—toward the still-imposing Prince Julian and gave him a cold smile. Julian, what are you still pretending for?
I was about to rip the Hanstar Ice-Heart from my throat and toss it at him when Sen Baird suddenly put a hand on me. The cool touch yanked me back from fury to reason.
"The Emperor and Empress are present."
I had accepted the gift in front of everyone; to openly hand it back now would be a slap to the Emperor and Empress.
Truly improper.
But holding it in made me even angrier. I felt like boiling.
I couldn’t start a scene with the royals here—the banquet would go on until moonrise, with song and discourse nonstop.
Prince Julian didn’t move at all; he looked stone-still. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to watch the dances in silence.
Finally the feast ended and the Emperor and Empress left arm-in-arm.
I couldn’t wait. At the cliff by the Satin Sea, I grabbed Prince Julian, intent on returning the Hanstar Ice-Heart. The moment I touched him, he fainted onto me.
I snapped to a salute out of reflex: "?"
Is he faking?!
Sen Baird, Dusk, and Marcus had seen everything clearly—I hadn’t touched him hard enough to make him faint!
His tall body collapsed against me. A dominant orchid scent swept me. The intricate embroidery on his robe brushed my palm, flushing my face red: Is this sexual assault?!
Who thinks Claire would—would be intimidated?!
Sen Baird stepped forward and lifted Prince Julian, addressing me in a low voice: "Take him to your mansion."
Me: Is it really okay to carry the Prince like that?
"Last time His Highness had not fully recovered. This time, for fear of aggravating his injuries further, we bring him under your protection."
Dusk spoke gently.
Me: "?"
Do you know how terrifyingly casual that sounds?
My legs went weak. I hurried with a few attendants back to my household.
Wasn’t I the angry one?
Why am I always the one doing the hard work?
No matter what I do, it’s never enough.
We returned to the Sacred Tree sanctuary: damn it—what a ridiculous twist of fate!
After settling Prince Julian, Marcus helped my shaky legs. I watched Sen Baird and Dusk for a moment, then spoke up: "Sirs, please explain. What’s really going on?"
Sen Baird: "As you have seen."
Me: Could you use a few more words without biting your tongue?
"Doe Doe—do you know how that Hanstar Ice-Heart came to rest on your throat?"
Dusk smiled, his voice warm as a spring breeze, yet the words chilled me.
Right—last life there was no Hanstar Ice-Heart; only Prince Julian was wounded.
"Before departing for Hawthorne Reach, the Prince had asked me to divinate and forewarned of bloodshed; he spoke of you.
Though I govern fate, secrets cannot all be revealed. I cannot perceive everything clearly.
But lately your destiny’s pattern shifted strangely. It transmitted, plainly, that your spirit faced annihilation even as the thread of your life remained."
I teared up. You have the nerve to say that? If my spirit nearly died, wasn’t that because of you lot?!
"The Prince intended to change his trip, but upon learning you might suffer spiritual disaster, he and Sen Baird sought the Hanstar Ice-Heart because it preserves the spirit.
Unfortunately it was guarded by a ten-thousand-year soul-beast. All three of us suffered grievous spirit injuries retrieving it."
Dusk finished and gracefully sat at the jade-stone table, sipping the cola I’d made earlier.
"Originally the Prince planned to give it to you in person, but seeing your changed attitude, he feared you’d refuse. So he bound his spirit to yours to force the contract."
Sen Baird sat cold and silent, expressionless, his dark robes making him look stern and immaculately pale.
The revelation stunned me into silence. I pinched the deep-blue teardrop at my chest and found, to my horror, it had indeed formed a bond with my spirit.
I stood there numb. The world had gone mad—mice acting as bridesmaids for cats.
Marcus stepped forward, lifted my face in his hands. I met his green catlike eyes, amused in the wrong moment, and heard him say, "Tsk. Our Claire did good. Not exactly gorgeous, but she actually subdued the Prince."
Me: "?"
Who are you calling not pretty?
Don’t think you can sneak insults in while I’m distracted.
Marcus’s barb sobered me up fast. What good is this Hanstar Ice-Heart now?
I’ve already felt the pain of spirit-destruction once—no one came to ease it.
I forced myself with brute strength to tear the bond between my spirit and the Hanstar Ice-Heart.
The agony was total. I clawed the pendant free from my throat and flung it at Dusk. "I don’t need this. Please stop deciding these shiny things for people."
I handle things head-on. I’m not a thing to be bound.
Dusk’s soft smile finally vanished. For once he was expressionless. "Claire."
Sen Baird stared at me, too.
My vision darkened. I didn’t hear what came next. I fainted, reverting to my original form in Marcus’s hands.
He wrapped me in his dark purple sleeves patterned with cranes, those green eyes naturally mischievous. "Sirs, Claire has said everything clearly. I think she truly doesn’t wish to be entangled with the Prince any further. Please inform him honestly."
Sen Baird’s hand tightened around the hilt of the Silent Shadow sword; his gaze sharpened. Marcus’s aura felt off—strangely sinister.
Marcus carried me up into the lush branches of the Silverwood Tree to heal, leaving Dusk and Sen Baird below guarding Prince Julian.
The spirit-rending had been severe. I stayed unconscious a long, long time.
In a haze I felt cradled in a warm embrace. The delicate orchid scent that enveloped me calmed my soul. I burrowed my head into that chest and sighed with relief.
Suddenly I opened my eyes wide—this scent wasn’t Marcus’s.
He wasn’t completely dead?
I scrambled up and peered: "………"
You’re so heavy on my tree—aren’t you afraid of breaking it? If you break it, can you pay for it?
Prince Julian gazed at me softly. I shrank back, intimidated. "Your Highness, why are you still here? Have I… been out long?"
"Long."
Me: Then why are you still in the way?
"Where is Marcus?"
I had been in Marcus’s arms. He wouldn’t have let Prince Julian climb my tree and cling to me.
"Why did you unbind the Hanstar Ice-Heart?"
He didn’t answer the question directly; his tone was flat.
Prince Julian lounged casually against a sturdy branch—still regal and imposing even in that careless posture.
He held the blue teardrop, the Hanstar Ice-Heart, in his fingertip, its radiance shifting, dazzling the mind.
I kept silent, afraid of this clearly unsettled Prince Julian.
Why unbind it?
I’ll build my own tower from the ground up. I’ll shine by myself!
"Your gift is far too precious; Claire is unworthy to receive it… I intended to go to Marcus. Prince Julian, do as you will."
I bolted—forget the sanctuary. If a terrifying prince insists on staying here, let him be!
I dropped down, shifting to human shape. I wore the dark-green embroidered Sea-Kamelia gown from the banquet, Sen Baird’s black cloud-patterned jade pendant hanging properly.
"Sen Baird’s pendant?"
His voice betrayed nothing.
My forehead chilled: this is bad.
Refusing the War God’s gift but not the Prince’s—that’s a slap in the face.
Best thing now: run. "If you have no business, Your Highness, I’ll be going."
Prince Julian didn’t stop me. He lowered his gaze.
He stared at the Hanstar Ice-Heart in his hand, thoughtful: if she could be endangered at any moment, perhaps the pendant might protect her for a time.
But the Hanstar Ice-Heart—he wouldn’t let her be willful with it.
He pinched the pendant and drifted down from the tree, his eyes on the Silverwood Tree sharp and resolute.
I left the sanctuary, glancing around. I hadn’t dared ask where Marcus was earlier.
Marcus must be in trouble if I got handed to Prince Julian. Dusk and Sen Baird were gone too—where had they gone?
I grabbed a little immortal by a moonlit pavilion and asked, "Do you know where Marcus is?"
"Just now I saw Marcus, Sen Baird, and Dusk head together to the North Lookout."
North Lookout?
They left together, leaving me alone with Prince Julian?
None of those three seemed the type to do such a thing.
"Alright, you go on. I’m done bothering you."
I turned my head and pinched my chin, trying to guess what they were up to.
When I couldn’t figure it out, I went straight to find them.
The forbidden area lies deep in Silverwood Ridge, while the Northlook Terrace sits on the ridge’s northern side, so it wasn’t a short walk.
By the time I arrived I could see Marcus, Sen, and Dusk standing on Northlook Terrace, facing each other in a tense silence from far away.
I called out, “Marcus, my lords! What are you three doing?”
Sen must have noticed me earlier—he turned to look without much surprise. Then again, there isn’t much that shifts his expression.
Strangely, Marcus didn’t speak either. He just stared straight at me, which made me uneasy.
Dusk was the only one to answer, but the warm smile I knew was gone. “Claire, you’re here,” he said.
“Where’s the prince?” he asked.
“Still at the Silverwood Tree, healing,” I replied.
Marcus and Sen looked at Dusk, and Dusk exchanged a solemn look with them.
They were clearly keeping something from me. I wanted to ask, “Is there a problem?”
They all turned to look at me: “………”
Me: “?”
Such riddles, how rude.
Sen and Dusk ended up saying nothing and rose to leave.
I asked, baffled, “Why are you leaving as soon as I get here?”
Sen glanced at me, then suddenly said, “Claire, the Sable clan of Silverwood thrived and perished by their spiritual core. You should take care of yourself.”
The mood had turned heavy without warning. “I will. Thank you, Lord Sen,” I said.
Sen, famed for his indifference, had just spoken at length to me. Had I scared him off with how fiercely I tore at that soul-contract the other day?
Am I that intense?
After seeing Sen and Dusk off, I turned back to Marcus, who still looked a little dazed. “Are you guys hiding something from me?”
Marcus blinked and gave me a small smile; his green eyes curved with amusement. “Why would we?”
But his emerald gaze was rigid, on alert.
I frowned hard; something was definitely off.
I couldn’t press too hard—after all, I had my own secrets too.
He hesitated, then said, “Your uncle and aunt—weren’t their spirits extinguished a thousand years ago in the war with the Demonkin…?”
Hearing him say that, I fell quiet and answered gloomily, “Yes. I was still nurturing in the Silverwood Tree then; I didn’t get to see Father and Mother one last time.”
Marcus sighed. “Do you hate the Demonkin because of that?”
“Of course,” I snapped. “I hate them enough to skin them and eat them.”
I actually muttered about wanting a bowl of their ashes with rice, and to dance on their graves.
Marcus didn’t reply. I noticed his charming upturned eyes had drooped; there was ink-dark depth in his green that hadn’t been there before.
“Alright. It’s in the past. The Demonkin are subdued in the Abyss of No Return now, and Father and Mother’s glory is part of that. Sorrow won’t change it,” I said, shifting the subject. I didn’t want to dwell on the grief.
Marcus came back to himself and smiled. Then he pulled a necklace from his pocket: a teal flame pendant with faint threads of violet woven through—understated and elegant.
“Sable, I think this necklace would go well with your outfit. It’s for you,” he said.
I flashed a wicked grin. “Yesterday you said it wasn’t your type.”
Cats really do play hard to get.
He grinned earnestly. “Today it looks better!”
I took the pendant. A cool warmth, like a pleasant flame, seemed to burn in my palm.
Practical as ever, I asked, “Is this expensive?”
His gentle face shifted to mock irritation. “Not expensive! I made it myself on a whim. Don’t like it, return it…”
Seeing him bristle, I hurried to soothe him. “No, it’s fine—Marcus, your thoughtfulness is the most precious thing.”
No picky princess here.
I tried to put the necklace on, but as I tested it over my chest a tremor ran through my core.
I fumbled and dropped the teal-and-violet pendant to the ground, but that cool, comforting warmth lingered in my spirit.
I stood there, stunned, feeling it sink deeper into my soul. Marcus’s expression suddenly changed—he looked alarmed.
“Mar—Marcus, what’s happening?” I whispered.
Marcus didn’t answer at once. He bent down, picked up the pendant, and spoke in a low voice: “I heard you had concerns with your spiritual core. I put protective soul-warding into this necklace—maybe it reacted because of that.”
A huge exhale escaped me; the strangeness eased.
I patted his back. “Good brother, don’t mind those fortune-tellers. I’m fine now.”
Marcus shrugged. “With your strength, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Me: “?”
This world’s deep and dangerous; if you have no power, keep your mouth shut.
Who are you calling strong—I’m a delicate fairy!
Marcus fastened the pendant around my neck. Cool comfort spread across my chest. He smiled a little, that lazy contentment curling his features.
I felt awkward and took a step back.
Marcus blinked and, as naturally as breathing, said, “Then I’ll return to the Solace Manor.”
Solace Manor—his home. I remembered his manor used to be called Joyful Wishes Manor. After the war and before I woke, its name had changed for reasons I didn’t know.
I didn’t want him leaving so soon, but it didn’t feel right to keep him. I nodded, “Okay. When I invent something delicious I’ll bring it to you.”
When Marcus left, I hummed happily. I’d checked: Prince Julian and the others weren’t in the forbidden area—they’d gone elsewhere.
But my glee didn’t last. I spotted Dusk standing at my Moonlit Pavilion, gazing out.
Me: “?”
Why wasn’t the prince’s personal mystic following the prince? Abandoned?
I straightened my spine and stalked over, planting myself beside Dusk.
I pretended to be deep: “What are you looking at, Lord Dusk?”
Abandoned?
He answered gently, “Watching young lovers.”
I did not expect that. My pupils nearly shattered. “What?!”
I followed his gaze—and saw Lily Summers and Paige Ellis in the distant flower fields by the Luming River, all lovey-dovey.
Is this era putting traps with puppies into people’s hearts?
In bright sunlight, Paige, wearing a moonwhite gown, had cut the finest Cerulean Roses from the field into a bouquet and nervously offered them to Lily.
“I’m sorry, Ly—please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to meet the Heartward Sage alone. The Lady Claire sent me to ask about cultivating the Jade-Vivian bloom,” Paige stammered.
Me: “?”
You pick my Cerulean Roses and then throw the blame at me?
A breeze lifted Lily’s soft white dress. Her eyes, wounded yet alluring, curved. “Paige, I’m not angry about you visiting the Heartward Sage. I just want to know—I want to be the only one in your heart…only I can make you care.”
She took the bouquet and, with tender skill, picked the most delicate rose and transformed it with magic into a tiny Cerulean Rose ring.
Lily slid the ring onto Paige’s ring finger with a radiant smile that seemed to steal the world’s color. “I only have you; only you make my heart stir. This ring will represent my eternal devotion and deep love.”
Me: “………”
I was so emotional I almost cried. Ugh, my sourness is incurable.
Lily could be sugar-sweet anywhere she went. And me? I’m stuck being the lone wolf.
Ha. Marcus has lived a wild life; love, please—what small temptation are you to me?
Lone wolf by pride.
As my feelings swirled, Dusk asked, suddenly quiet, “Do you think they suit each other?”
Me: “?”
They both clearly want it—why would you, a weirdo, oppose them?
“I think they’re perfect together. They’re both from my circle—I’m happy with them.” I said, sounding obedient while throwing a verbal uppercut inside.
Dusk stared at me. “But I think Marcus, Sen, and I would be a better match for her.”
Me: “?!!”
What does that even mean?!
Before my brain could process, he narrowed his eyes. Most of the light in them went shadowed, but his voice stayed calm and gentle. “Of course—the most suited for her should be Prince Julian.”
My heart dropped; I physically went weak-kneed and almost collapsed.
I wailed, “My lord! Please curse me! Don’t toy with me! I know my wrongs—I’ve changed! Look how good I am to Lily now. I even let her pull Cerulean Roses like she wants!”
When did you wake up, Dusk? How did you come to this conclusion?!
My hands trembled at the sight of my enemy nearby. I’m a disgrace to society.
A breeze passed and a soft sigh slipped away. Death felt near again.
After a long silence, Dusk stepped forward and lifted me to my feet.
He said, “Claire—what secret are you hiding from us?”
Me: “A secret…you don’t know?”
I met his look—knowing but not the fearful one in my own eyes. Secret—you don’t know!
What the—he tricked me.
I flared up, threw his hand off, and shouted, “Dusk, are you messing with me?!”
He smiled without care and returned to his seat. Handsome and composed like a cool moonlit breeze, but his presence was pressing.
“I only wanted to know whether your recent oddities are connected to some hidden link with these events,” he said calmly. “But your words just now make me want to know more: why are you so afraid of me? What have you done to Lily? What connection do you have with Lily—do I even know this Lily at all?”
Fear doused my anger. Sweat poured down my forehead.
Crap. My evil supporting-character brain isn’t sharp; dying once didn’t reset my CPU. I’m not any smarter than before.
I hesitated, then gave up and answered, “I don’t know.”
Terrible, clumsy, righteous-sounding—my hands sweating, acting like a thief.
But what else could I do?
I would never tell him that in my last life I was a stupid villain—one he’d personally snipped out of existence.
Fine. It’s raining, the ground’s slippery, I fell and I’ll get up.
Dusk looked at me and gave a soft laugh. His expression was calm; he didn’t look angry.
“Seems the Lady doesn’t want to speak?”
I didn’t dare take it lightly. “My lord Dusk, forgive me. I truly don’t know… I can’t say.”
He shifted tactics without missing a beat. “If you won’t say it, then I’ll say it.”
He shook his white sleeve, poured a cup of misty tea, and spoke slowly and deliberately. “If I’m not mistaken, Lady Claire might have had an interesting encounter not long ago.
Maybe in some hidden realm, maybe in a dream… there, Prince Julian, Sen Baird, Marcus Hale and I all fell for a little immortal named Lily Summers—her complicated, ethereal red thread, I checked it many times.”
“Combine that with what you said to Marcus at the Immortal Assembly: didn’t Marcus even fall because of it?”
“Prince Julian fell for Lily Summers, and I suppose you were very angry?
After all, not long ago you were obsessed with Prince Julian, so you targeted Lily… and tried to make amends for wronging her?”
“You pinched my face when we first met.”
He chuckled lightly at that, and I went pale.
He continued, “Now you fear me—perhaps because you offended me, one of the rival admirers then, and I punished you?”
“And in the end, the Prince and Lily ended up together, so you… rejected everything to do with the Prince?”
A chill crawled up my spine, making my whole body tremble and my brain freeze: what the hell did this guy become?
He guessed all of that? It wasn’t a punishment but a cut—exactly like the script?!
Did he actually get the script?
How else could someone from the same immortal circle suddenly be so unnaturally perceptive?
I felt insulted.
I swallowed and stammered, “Du—Dusk, you’re truly worthy of being the Keeper of Fate. You figured all that out… I’m genuinely impressed.”
He said nothing. The wind lifted his long hair; I felt the lonely, frost-bitten, imposing aura radiating from him.
Me: fine, you’re impressive.
Normal players hit a cheat; you don’t stick around. I wanted to slip away.
I thought for a bit and asked, “Lord Dusk, how did you learn what I said to Marcus at the Immortal Assembly? Did he find out…?”
He lifted his eyes to me. “I didn’t tell him. I merely probed a moment ago.”
“Did you and Sen Baird leave just to test this?”
“Not only that…”
He didn’t finish.
He changed the subject. “Claire, is one dream worth taking seriously?
Measuring real life against illusions is ridiculous.”
Ridiculous?
Which was the illusion? Which was the real thing?
Small talk was fine, but stop with the useless philosophy—don’t pull quantum mechanics on me.
I had truly suffered in hopeless love, felt the real pain of spirit’s extinguishing, yet here I was tasting a long-lost, unreal happiness—what’s real and what’s fake? I slept in pain; I dared not believe the joy was real.
You haven’t been hurt by what I was hurt by, you have no right to laugh at my scars. You haven’t eaten my bitterness, don’t tell me to be magnanimous.
“My lord…”
“Claire, you shouldn’t trap yourself.”
Me: “I’m not trapped.”
I just had PTSD from the Lily incident.
Dusk studied me. Seeing my resistance, he frowned faintly. “This is difficult. Seems I’ll have to break my promise to Prince Julian.”
“?”
Again with Julian?
He said, “Come with me to see Prince Julian.”
Me: Who asked to go with you to see Prince Julian?!
If you want to go, go yourself—why drag me in? I swear I’ll knock your jaw off, buddy!
“Lord Dusk, I don’t need to see the Prince.
This will settle itself eventually. Until then I’d rather not stir the wind.”
He seemed to expect my reply. “What if it never settles?
Will you watch the dust drift forever with no rest?”
I choked. Prince Julian and dust the same?
His grace was lofty, a dazzling jade mountain of a man. How could someone like me make him settle? What an absurd thought.
Am I worthy?
No.
What?
I worthy?
Not a chance.
Dusk poured another cup of mist tea with practiced elegance and motioned for me to sit and drink.
“Honestly, this doesn’t concern me much, but the Prince’s heart moved me… Don’t you want to know what the Prince did after you left?”
I said with righteous firmness, “No.”
Even though my heart was itching to know.
“You do want to know,” he answered.
He looked ethereal and noble as always, smiling with gentle manners, but to me he felt like a fox—luring me to break my choice.
So naturally I got talked into going to the Waverly Palace gate with him.
Standing before the palace’s grandeur, I nearly chickened out. Maybe—let it be. I’d done my refusals, had no regrets; whatever he did after was none of my business.
Dusk didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. He patted my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Just as I decided not to enter, I saw Vivian Hart’s phoenix-feathered gown blazing like a living fire—that was the ceremonial robe of House Hart’s ritual of rebirth.
Her proud, gorgeous face twitched with fury. Her eyes, usually fiercely red, brimmed with anger and jealousy.
The flames around her condensed into a tangible rage, and when she saw me the fire snapped and swelled, burning without restraint.
I didn’t want to tangle with a woman blinded by love. I didn’t expect Vivian to pursue me relentlessly.
She grabbed my arm, teeth bared. “Claire Bennett—you think you can marry Prince Julian? Don’t be delusional!”
I didn’t understand why she was so worked up, but she was annoying.
Dusk frowned and seemed about to act, but I stopped him.
Vivian’s provocation was aimed at me. This was petty; no need for a man to step forward.
I said almost calmly, “Vivian, I won’t stoop to argue. But I am descendant of an ancient divine beast. Even your father was polite to me. Who do you think you are, snarling in front of me?”
Vivian widened her sultry eyes; light danced in them. Her expression flickered.
She laughed madly. “Yes, Lady Claire is indeed descended from the Phantom Mink. I was reckless.
But so what if you’re from an ancient beast line? Those beasts are fading. Don’t expect to die a pretty death.”
Dusk’s face went dark. I froze.
She had a point: gods and beasts—what if they die ugly?
Broken divinity, ripped god-bone, severed god-vein, exiled to the land of ten thousand demons, spirit extinguished—how shameful.
I repeated her tone without thinking, “You’re right. A god dying might be even uglier.”
She heard that and her face contorted, almost twisted.
Seeing her madness sent a strange little thrill through me—familiarity like a memory. I felt a flash: that was me in my last life—wild and arrogant.
I narrowed my eyes, steadied my dizziness, and looked out until everything felt distant and unreal.
Then Vivian—like an arrow loosed—shot forward.
Her long, blood-red claws aimed for my throat, wrapped in phoenix fire. Even so, my scalp went cold.
Me: unfair fight!
Ambush me—an old, defenseless woman—what a trick!
I’d been idle for too long and wasn’t battle-ready. I froze.
Too slow to dodge, the fire licked my neck.
A fierce pain seared through me. I clapped my hand to it and felt scorched flesh.
Dusk’s reflexes were far sharper than mine. He waved, letting a surge of majestic energy roar out and smash into Vivian’s murderous phoenix gaze.
Vivian didn’t expect such force. She couldn’t defend in time and let out a miserable, piercing cry. She was slammed backward.
She hit the ground and spat blood spitting with phoenix flame, gasping and convulsing.
“How dare you, Vivian, assault someone in front of the Prince’s palace—what are your intentions?”
Dusk’s voice was still like clear chimes on stone, but the chill in it made me shiver.
Dusk was typically even-tempered; last time I grabbed his face and he stayed calm. He’d only been this furious once before—when I’d grievously harmed Lily Summers in the last life.
He tried to check my neck wound, but I refused. It was just a burn, not severe. Divine bones and veins mend themselves; this was nothing.
I watched Vivian on the ground, coughing blood, and felt a bitter sympathy rather than triumph.
It wasn’t mercy; it was sorrow for a creature of the same kind.
Vivian’s phoenix gown, stained with her blood, glowed bright and tragic as the flames faltered. Her gorgeous beauty looked fragile and exposed.
Her pitiful state reminded me eerily of how I’d been disciplined by Dusk last life—equally miserable.
I crouched beside her, more complex emotions than anger, and wiped the blood from her face.
Like wiping away the blood that had poured from my own god-bone being ripped and spirit drained.
I told her, frustrated, “What grudge made you go crazy? Snap out of it!
I honestly don’t like Prince Julian anymore—stop this.”
If someone had told me that back then, would I have snapped out of it? If someone had convinced me, would I have spared Lily?
Vivian, weak and hoarse, whispered through pain, “…Shut up.”
I thought I’d pissed her off.
But I still didn’t understand why she was so enraged. Was it Julian? Even now she defended him.
Love really makes everyone drunk.
Dusk hadn’t killed her. Vivian slowly recovered some strength. She pushed my hand away and struggled to her feet. The fury had gone; what remained in her eyes was a cold, loathing disdain that chilled me through and through.
Me: …still pretending?
If you’re gonna act classy, at least do it well.
Bro, pick your level before you posture!
Just then Sen Baird and Marcus Hale came out from Waverly Palace to check things—Prince Julian Pierce didn’t come out.
Marcus’s green eyes widened the moment he saw my sleeves stained with blood and the scorch mark at my neck.
He flew over, grabbed me, teeth clenched, and hissed, "How did you get here? And you’re hurt!"
I hunched my shoulders; the wound at my throat throbbed faintly. "Dusk brought me."
Did I even get to ask you how you went from saying you were going home to showing up at Waverly Palace? Do you have any right to question me?
You bumped into each other in the King’s Gorge after saying goodnight and didn’t think to explain?
Marcus shot a dark look at Dusk. Dusk didn’t seem bothered.
Dusk and Sen exchanged a glance. Sen spoke up to Princess Vivian Hart: "Princess Vivian, go to the Celestial Prison to accept your punishment."
Vivian swayed, looking around at the palace attendants—who’d been silent with fear since this all started—then slowly turned her head back toward the inner gate of Waverly Palace and let out a wild laugh that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Damn—this level of sick obsession is leagues worse than in my past life.
I tried to be kind. "Sis, stop laughing. You’re coughing up a lot of blood. You’re badly hurt—go heal yourself first."
Vivian: "………"
Her manic laughter finally died down and she steadied.
She lifted her chin slowly and looked at me with something complicated in her eyes I couldn’t read.
She was covered in blood and yet held herself like she’d won a cockfight—stiff and proud as she went to accept punishment in the Celestial Prison. If you didn’t know, you’d think she was off to war.
Marcus took a healing pill from Sen’s hand and shoved it into my mouth with a scowl. "Don’t say anything else. Your neck nearly got seared off—do you have time to worry about others?"
Me: "…"
Now I’m suddenly hungry.
Me: "It’s fine. It’s a small wound. It’ll heal on its own."
Just a lingering spook.
Soul cultivation and healing are my strengths, but after years of sleep my divine form is weak; my cultivation’s not deep. Someone like Vivian, who attacked me with everything she had, is dangerous.
My divine bones and veins can repair, but if she’d really had me in her grip moments ago, I might not have walked away so lucky.
Thinking of her makes my chest twinge—this damned sense of destiny.
My head was a jumble. Watching Vivian’s stiff, sorrowful back as she left made me feel like I was losing even more hair.
Tearful—keep it up and I could make Dusk a sable coat.
I asked Dusk, "What happened? She wouldn’t try to kill me just over the prince, would she?"
He looked at me and sighed. "Not because of the prince. It’s because of what you said—she must have thought of her brother, the Phoenix House’s War God, Yuling."
My pupils jolted. Finally I remembered that past—maybe not so distant, but one I’d slept through.
The War God is a guardian of the Elysian Court. Officially the War God is subordinate to the Celestial Throne, but in practice he can stand toe-to-toe with the throne.
Sen Baird, the War God, is actually a top-tier powerhouse who could be equal to Prince Julian’s father, the Celestial Emperor.
But Sen never sought power; he befriended Julian and kept peace with the throne.
You could say he was perfect—cold, but without flaw.
Sen wasn’t the first War God. Before him it was Yuling of House Phoenix.
Yuling and the Celestial Throne weren’t on good terms.
When he was alive he pushed House Phoenix’s power aggressively—so much that even now Phoenix House is one of the Elysian Court’s strongest clans. Because of that, Vivian—the third sister of Yuling—grew arrogant enough to clash with me over a man.
Lord Yuling once publicly told the Celestial Emperor, "Don’t be a lamb to be slaughtered; be the wildest wolf," trampling the throne’s dignity. Not long after, he fell in the great demon war.
Later in the war, the War God seat was vacant and the fight stalled. In those desperate times, Sen broke through and attained the War God’s godly status, leading the Elysian armies to crush the demon legions.
That chapter quieted; people rarely mentioned it.
I swallowed. "Then…you can’t blame Vivian."
When His Perfect Girl Walked Away
I hadn't meant to insult Yuling, but I could see why Vivian nearly killed me. If anyone insinuated before me that my father or mother gods "could die miserably," I'd react the same way.
Too bad no one would believe me—it's my personal experience, after all.
"Then don't punish her. Let her go back and recover; she looks badly hurt." I said, feeling guilty.
Dusk, unamused for once, replied, "Whether or not guilt falls on her, a princess who dares to attack people outside Waverly Palace has to be punished. Otherwise anyone could act up."
I nodded. True—if you mess up you stand at attention and take it. I used to get beat a lot when I did wrong.
I'll apologize next time I see her.
Sen hugged his sword in silence and came over. His eyes were icy but focused; he didn’t comment.
Marcus walked beside me without a word, emerald eyes half‑lidded, face set in a perpetual sulk.
I don't know why he's so moody—feels like he's been like that every day lately, like a deflated balloon.
I can handle it.
I patted his shoulder and sighed dramatically, giving him a look full of resolve.
Marcus: "?"
Don't worry. From now on I'm Hans Christian Andersen—if you want fairy tales, Daddy will work hard to give them to you.
Only when we reached the door of the prince's bedchamber did I realize I'd been brought here without noticing.
Me: …is it too late to leave this den of wolves?
Dusk grinned and baring teeth said, of course not, "Go in, Sasha."
I fixed my collar. "…"
Eh, we're already here.
The char on my neck had fallen away; with my divine veins and Sen's healing pill, the skin looked brand new.
Whatever Sen's pill was, it was powerful—scar-reducing too.
The Prince's bedchamber was majestic and wide but cold. Black-gold carvings declared the top-tier power of the court.
A pale misted spring flowed along the chamber's edge, and Waverly Palace's unique fire-lotus bloomed there; a pair of spirit carp flickered under their green leaves.
Further in, I saw the legendary mistsilk blossoms he'd planted for me.
Clusters of dark-green leaves framed heavy, milky white moon-flowers that seemed to wear a veil; even the stars and moon looked pale beside their chill. Pink-red sepals held half‑moon petals—mysterious, aloof, arrogant.
Such divine flowers are rare; here they clustered everywhere.
I looked away, thinking Julian was so childish.
"Quite the gesture, Your Highness," Marcus murmured, sounding like a farmer whose cabbage got pecked by swine.
I felt a pang and sneered, "You think rich people live the lives we imagine? No—rich people’s happiness is beyond our imagining."
Marcus: "………"
Point taken—I had no comeback.
Sen, in black laminar armor, led the way without reacting to our anti-rich commentary.
Dusk smiled and told me, "These were personally gathered by the prince from the Zen Realm. It wasn't an easy task."
The Zen Realm—a Buddhist secret realm. What you reap depends on fate.
Lucky level: max. It makes me resentful.
Behind an ancestral landscape screen the chamber opened to a secluded, colder world.
Julian reclined on a beauty divan in a loose white robe embroidered with stars and moons. His long black hair fell free, not bound by his usual black-gold crown.
His eyes were half-closed, lashes long. His face was pale and distant. His usually red lips were a softer blossom-pink. He still looked noble and formidable.
Julian was born precious; every gesture set the standard for gods. In all my time in the Elysian Court, I’d never seen him this relaxed.
As someone who lives for aesthetics, even here among divine beauties, I was stunned.
If a guy looks like this, one "are you there?" and I'd fall.
Julian opened his eyes slowly, like moonlight spreading and melting frost—dizzying.
For a moment there was a fragile, hazy look. Nope, I must've imagined it. The great male lead, Prince Julian, never shows weakness.
He rasped, "Woman, what are you doing here?"
Me: "………"
Dude—your whole vibe just collapsed in one line, you know that?
My high spirits tanked. He looked ill and still tried to do domineering boss-speak?
It was like a reclusive single man who’s mentally prepared his whole life for the perfect woman…only for her to speak in a peaky, gruff voice. Who can handle that?
Such a beautiful god—ruined by his mouth.
I answered coolly, "I came to pay respects to the prince. I followed Dusk here."
His hazy expression vanished at once; his eyes sharpened into an icy gaze fixed on Dusk.
See—silent Julian is the real alpha. Talking Julian is a cheap act.
Dusk, getting glared at, merely smiled lightly. No real worry. "Your Highness, calm yourself. Anger won't help your recovery."
I blurted, "Yes—drink more hot water."
When Julian heard that he snapped his eyes shut. A vein popped at his temple.
His lips tightened; his face was drained of color—like an ice sculpture.
I feared he might keel over from my insult.
Good thing he looked too weak to get up—otherwise I'd probably get slapped.
Julian paused, then opened his eyes slowly and, suppressing his anger, said coolly, "My body is fine."
I half-suspected it. "Your Highness should still take care."
He really did look like a full-course meal—eyes rolling back, cover pulled over, the whole realm waiting to be served.
Julian didn't know how wildly irreverent my thoughts were; he mistook me for sincere and smiled faintly.
He returned the favor, comforting me like a moonlit bloom: "I am indeed fine."
Me: Whatever makes you happy.
I said, a little helplessly, "Your soul doesn't seem recovered. Why don't you come recuperate at my place?"
Julian didn't answer. Dusk spoke first: "Sasha, it’s not about the soul anymore…"
I looked at Dusk, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
He only smiled like spring wind—gentle and oddly strange—but said nothing more.
I looked over at Prince Julian on the beauty couch; his face had gone deathly pale.
Even the pink of his lips had faded to white.
I’m extremely sensitive to soul-force. If I couldn’t tell that Prince Julian—propping himself up while ill—was forcing his soul-power to hold back Dusk from speaking, then I’d truly be an idiot.
He was this sick and still putting on a show. Childish doesn’t begin to cover it.
I snapped at him, not at all gentle: “What, does Lord Dusk have something he’s not allowed to say? I’m part of the Elysian Court—am I not entitled to know how the prince got hurt like this?”
Julian’s brow drew together. The people around us all looked like they already knew what had happened—playing innocent one by one.
His face and that oversized star-and-moon robe were both as pale as death, but he still forced himself to look composed.
He kept his face calm and said slowly, hoarse as if gravel were rubbing together, “Woman, you don’t need to know.”
That voice—this was not the perfect prince everyone talked about.
Me: …Okay, conversation’s dead.
Fine. Don’t blame me for being cold and ruthless.
“I considered that I and Prince Julian had nothing binding left between us—not much left to close out,” I said. “But Lord Dusk thinks otherwise; he says I owe you. I don’t like owing people. Since you invited me, I came to repay what I owe. If you insist on not telling me, then consider it repaid—I owe you nothing, and don’t dredge this up again.”
In the end, whether it was Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly—he was the prince, he was the storm.
Dusk’s face went colder than when I pinched him earlier.
Julian’s starry, deep eyes churned like a brewing storm, as though a huge gale was about to break loose. He struggled to stand, hair at his temples disheveled—his beauty in disarray.
Sen Baird snapped at him to stay still.
Crimson bled from the corner of Julian’s perfect lips, like a blazing lotus blooming in Waverly Palace.
He gasped, “No. We have not ended—nor do I agree to end.”
Me: …Oh no, the prince’s going to be pissed dumb.
He said that with such force, then fainted.
Me: …Are you bribing people now?
Bribery’s useless—sure, you can manipulate someone into not using the start-of-things right, but you don’t get to take away the ending.
Sen rummaged through his things with a face of stone and began feeding Julian his best healing pills and holy waters.
Luckily it was more like a panic reaction—shouldn’t be too serious.
Marcus and I exchanged looks. I slunk over to him like a coward.
Marcus, surprised, sent a private thought: You actually knocked Prince Julian out? He only woke a little while ago.
He sounded a little gleeful.
I felt guilty: Who knew he was so fragile? I didn’t even say anything extreme. Just the plain truth.
Marcus’s green eyes glittered mischievously: I know what you meant by “trash woman.”
I sighed sadly. Me? A trash woman? Other people’s trash women run harems and ocean-sized ponds.
I only chased one man—now I can’t even escape him.
I’m embarrassing the trash-woman community.
After my lament, Marcus’s reaction hit me and I asked, “Do you know what the prince did?”
He raised an eyebrow, his catlike green eyes wicked: Yep.
Me, puzzled: Then why didn’t you tell me?
He pretended innocence: You didn’t ask. Besides, it’s nothing—just almost killed yourself for you.
I was shocked: What does that have to do with me?!
Marcus frowned: Young lady, don’t use dirty words.
Me: Oh, screw you!
“Lady Claire Bennett—”
Dusk suddenly cut off our whispering, his voice rare and icy.
I snapped to attention, barely holding back a yes, sir.
My mind figured he was about to scold me; maybe I should slink out now.
Out of nowhere, trouble falls into your lap.
“Lord Dusk!” I stood properly, posture straight.
Sometimes you admit when you’re intimidated—attitude earns points.
Dusk sounded a little regretful: “You’ve seen the prince’s condition. I didn’t expect you to be so heartless.”
Me: “?”
When he accused me of being cruel, no one had ever said the prince acted overly much!
Dusk continued: “It’s my fault. I calculated your soul-silencing fate and told the prince, which made him worry. He ended up using his own heart-blood to refine the Hánxing Ice Soul, fused it into the Silverwood Tree at the root and used that to enter your soul.”
Me: “?”
What an odd approach.
Even if I sold off my organs, it wouldn’t be worth a drop of an ancient divine lineage’s heart-blood, right?
Dusk: “The prince didn’t want to tell you—”
Oh. So Marcus and the others at the North Lookout were there to lure me over; Marcus promised to help hide what they’d done by offering the pendant. Dusk switched sides at the last minute.
So it was a group plan to hoodwink me.
Is the Elysian Court just that peaceful? Everyone—Fate, the War God, the prince—do they have no other business than scheming about love?
I was icily blunt with Dusk, without a shred of my former fear or respect: “Yes, you’re to blame.”
Dusk froze.
I smiled briefly. “Let me analyze your move, Lord Dusk—use my high-school-trained reading comprehension: The prince’s hurt himself for me, so I’m supposed to kowtow, cry with gratitude, throw myself at him, and then go back to being his pathetic sycophant?”
Dusk was stunned. The statement was true, but harsh to hear.
I added calmly: “I already broke the soul-contract with the Hánxing Ice Soul—I don’t want any more ties with him. He bound it to me again so I couldn’t break free—does that force me to be responsible for him?”
I looked at Dusk, genuinely asking: “On what basis? Some moral blackmail?”
I laughed: “Too bad—I don’t have morals to be blackmailed with.”
You think I’m still the naive romantic from before who believes every love novel? Surprise—I studied reading comprehension in high school. I don’t fall for your shtick.
When I finished, Marcus and Dusk both looked shocked.
Only Sen Baird remained unmoved—icy, expressionless, his dark eyes a bottomless chill. The man lived up to his fearsome reputation.
Over the years, Marcus had watched me stubbornly chase Julian. Subconsciously he assumed my loyalty would be touched by the prince’s sacrifice.
And Dusk—no matter his scripted role, he’s one of those atop-the-hierarchy people who looks down with pity and charity. Lions don’t play with dogs. That’s the rule. So last life he could kill me without remorse.
This life he knows I’m scarred by Julian, yet he insisted on revealing what Julian wanted hidden, sure I’d melt with gratitude. Dusk’s mind is rotten with the court’s feudal rot.
For a moment Dusk lost composure and opened his mouth, but he only gave a wry half-smile and shook his head.
Humph. That shake deserved to be filmed for some social-media trend.
At that moment Julian, who’d fainted, fluttered his lashes and opened his eyes.
His voice was low: “No.”
There was a nasal edge, a faint tone of woundedness: “I never intended to bind you.”
I blinked: “…You were faking?”
Were they running a double-trick on me with mutual martyrdom?
I scanned the faces of innocent-looking Dusk and Sen—couldn’t predict anything.
Julian stiffened for a second, then eased back into it.
He shed the weak note and said with firm resolve, “I truly fainted.”
Not the earlier plaintive protest—now his tone was inscrutable, deep and reined-in.
I had nothing to say: “…”
If I play faint convincingly enough, will they forget I was pretending?
I studied him. Pale skin made his brows and eyes look darker and more sculpted; he lay on the couch, hair scattered, a reddening at the corner of his eyes. His color had returned somewhat; from that forbidding reserve something sinful and alluring peeked through.
Me: A beauty trap?
Nope.
Julian looked straight at me and asked, “Woman, how could you be… so cruel?”
Still so high-and-mighty, like a rebuke.
I rubbed my philtrum in frustration: …If I were truly cruel, I’d punch you right now.
His tactic of accusing me first was audacious.
I drew a breath and slid over to sit by him with casual flair, planning to snap this man out of his dominating-script fantasy.
“Prince Julian, you go around with the War God and Fate doing these dramatic stunts—is the Elysian Court falling apart?”
Julian tilted his head slightly. A curtain of dark hair brushed my hand as it moved—a cool, silvery touch like mountain spring water.
He frowned, asking calmly with not a shred of shame, "Helping me bring back the crown princess— isn't that a very important thing?"
I flung back, dramatic: "Three hundred years, I've chased you for three hundred years and you never once gave me any reply. My feelings wore out. What are you even whining about now?"
I looked hollow. Nobody can keep giving forever. Back then my old man only smoked the finest brand; nowadays I haven't been a simp for years.
Prince Julian's lashes fluttered; his obsidian eyes unreadable. He said, "Is it really only because I didn't respond these three hundred years?" But weren't you all fired up not long ago?
How can you flip and be so heartless so fast?
Guiltily I glanced aside. It wasn't just the cold shoulder over three hundred years—mostly it was the centuries of melodramatic misery from my past life piling up.
I figure if it weren't for all that disaster with Lily, I could've kept simping for another three thousand years without blinking… But if you really beat your head bloody against a wall, who wouldn't finally walk away?
I didn't know how to explain. I pulled my hand back—the one that had been touching Prince Julian's hair—and composed myself. "Yes. It's exactly because I'm tired after these three hundred years."
He pressed his pale thin lips together and looked down; thick lashes hid whatever he felt. "I… never meant to wound you so deeply. This was not my intention."
My eyes went wide.
I couldn't believe the great male lead, the ever-aloof Prince, had just said that.
Was he… bowing his head?!
So the noble Prince Julian was actually capable of compromise?
Bitter filled my mouth.
Old reflexes of the simp left me a little disoriented.
By all rights, a man like Prince Julian—forget the title, just the face and that aura—was the kind every immortal wanted to win, even to the point of giving up everything.
Three hundred years of cold shoulders would still have a queue of immortals lining up, let alone three thousand.
If not for leeching off my father's name, I wouldn’t even have been the top pick for crown princess.
And if this were my old self, there’s no way I'd let him bow his head in apology; if he dared to lower himself, I'd straighten his noble head with my own hands.
Lower his head? That would be an insult to my professional simping ethic, thank you very much.
If he even had a scrap of willingness to do right by me—forget going out to fetch some celestial cure for me, or offering his own lifeblood—I would have spared him the trouble and dramatically killed myself. Don’t question how over-the-top my past-life simping was.
But now everything was different.
I lowered my gaze and said coolly, "Your Highness, I understand now. When there's no love, nothing you do can move the heart."
"Your Highness, you should let go like me. Sand you can't hold—let it go. People you can't win—just don't have them."
"Finally, I wish you freedom from this emotional trial, and an endless life."
Prince Julian stared at me in disbelief. He'd bowed his head—so why was I still refusing to look back?
His voice was hoarse with barely contained anger. "Woman! For three hundred years you forced your way into my heart, and now you want to refuse responsibility with a single line about fate? I will not agree!"
He reached out with a hand like white porcelain, delicate as carved jade, and grabbed me. Born in the land of ten thousand demons, I reflexively jerked away.
Awkward silence stretched.
He blinked and took my hand again, slow and resolute: "I will never let go."
Me: "?"
We hadn't even held hands before—how could he say he wouldn't let go?
When lonely I learned to smoke; when lonely I learned to drink. Take my advice, brother: love can ruin everything. Before seeking love, secure your life. If it isn't yours, don't fight for it—wine wrecks your stomach, smoke wrecks your lungs, and what you claw for will make you suffer.
I added a little divine force and shook his hand off. Suddenly I understood something of how he must have felt when I chased him earlier. Irritated, I said, "Fine. Do as you please."
I intended to go into seclusion and recuperation; no one could find me then.
My push was light, but it made him flinch. He rubbed his wrist and coughed.
Prince Julian's face darkened; his pressure felt even more oppressive. "Sasha, my wrist hurts."
Doesn't he mean his chest should hurt?
Me: "You stabbed your chest, you should feel pain there, not your wrist, dummy. Stop pretending."
Julian: "……?"
I caught myself looking at him oddly. Was he acting cute?
A domineering prince acting cute—where did he get off thinking that suited him? Know yourself: you're only good at being cold and splashing money.
But honestly, a simp does get weird when his former idol acts sweet. I was at a loss and loudly called those others in.
Sen Baird still came in like a living death god, expressionless and radiating cold; he didn't avert his eyes from me as he passed. Dusk and Marcus Hale came in chatting and smiling, their grins official and a little sarcastic.
Who knew what they'd been saying outside—the air among them felt off.
In front of them I cleared my throat. "Your Highness, you lost your lifeblood for me this time. I can't repay gratitude with betrayal. I'll give you a satisfactory compensation… and after that, we go our separate ways."
Divine lifeblood damages a godly meridian badly. If I couldn't repay it, that drop of blood would be a tie binding us forever.
I looked at Prince Julian. He was pale as he stared back, amusement in his tone. "No more entanglement? Bridges as bridges, roads as roads?"
He thought: why can you entangle me when you want, but when you're tired and run you demand I not tangle you? Woman, have you no heart?
Seeing the hurt in his eyes, I felt like some rich jerk handing over a check to buy off a lovesick mistress—"Here's thirty million, stop pestering me."
He forced down his anger. "How will you compensate?"
Heavenly bureaucracy didn't pay better than mortal workplaces. I'm a poor goddess now; any ancestral wealth my family had was frittered away by my exes. But I said loudly, "I know where the Spirit-Subduing Herb grows."
Silence fell.
Marcus's pupils tightened for a moment, then he returned to normal. Dusk, knowing I'd had odd encounters before, held his tongue. Sen Baird kept his icy, unaffected posture.
Only Prince Julian's eyes dimmed, dangerous and intoxicating. "You know where it is?"
I felt the initiative slipping back into his hands.
I swallowed. "Uh, yes, I do…"
Julian broke into a smile so flawless it killed—the sparkle of a thousand stars. He said, "Bring me the Spirit-Subduing Herb, and I will agree to three conditions you ask of me."
My excitement shot up. "Really?!"
Was I finally going to profit off being reborn?
The Star-Moon robe flared with light and Prince Julian nodded, cold and noble. "A promise is a promise."
The Spirit-Subduing Herb—only a few sparse records existed about it in the divine compendia.
Possessing it could make one into a god.
Top-tier, top-tier divine item, a gift of the Heavens. Ordinary immortals couldn't afford it, couldn't touch it.
Immortals and gods walked different paths.
Ancient deities, blessed by the Heavens and born with fate, were overwhelmingly powerful—masters of storms and dominion. Young ascending immortals were like ants before those ancients.
But times change. Though weaker, the immortal descendants could grow strong; the ancients, though mighty, were a fixed lot.
The balance of the Elysian Court was being upset.
So the merciless old Heavenly Way did something gentle and cruel—he suppressed those out-of-time ancient gods. How? Population control. Yes, the old guardian simply made it so the ancient gods couldn't birth heirs.
No matter how powerful, without succession they faded. Harsh, but effective.
He didn't exterminate them all. The ancient bloodlines remained in fragments—like a way to say, "You're all under my hand; I'll decide this world."
War gods became the fortress for the immortals. After the Original Warlord perished, his divinity remained; capable ones were given shards of that divinity to guard the realm.
Yes—Sen Baird was a top-tier war tool.
But who isn't a tool, really?
Even I admitted I kinda wanted to be such a fearsome tool sometimes.
The Celestial Emperor's family were the last ancient lineage, the Heavenly Way's legitimate heirs, ruling fate. Then there were the guardian divine beasts—Silkweaver of Winterridge protecting the Silverwood Tree, the Abyssal Serpent guarding the northern abyss, and the Golden Rooster watching the eastern demon lands—birds, beasts, and beasts of the sea, all present.
The three of us weren't high-damage attackers—more like stoic guardians. The Heavenly Way left one heir of each for the immortals to rely on.
Now the Elysian Court was full of immortals who'd ascended from below; new powerful clans like the Dragons and the Phoenixes dominated.
Still, for anything tied to godhood, reverence and desire lingered. The Spirit-Subduing Herb, a Heaven-bestowed artifact that could help a mortal become god, wasn't something free folk could own—the natural divine objects of the world belonged to the Celestial Palace.
Even if you gobbled it up, the Palace could extract and punish you by refining it from your body.
Julian's family were outrageously domineering. The old feudal injustice.
Moreover, such divine things emerged with omens. The Spirit-Subduing Herb wouldn't be easy to steal silently.
If you ask about divine items without omens—they're trash. If it lacks an omen, it doesn't meet the hard standards of the Julian family; it's the kind of thing they'd ignore.
So if you want to live honestly in the Elysian Court, don't be greedy for this herb.
But my plan to hand the herb to Prince Julian wasn't only to curry favor. I had another aim.
And that aim was, frankly, bittersweet.
This whole thing goes back to my last life.
Back then I was at the end of my rope—punished by heaven, my body shredded, my divinity shattered. The Silverwood Tree withered. Springvale Manor collapsed into ruin. All that was left of me was a sliver of spirit power and a thread of divine veins.
Everyone turned their backs on me. The Elysian Court had no place for me anymore. I’d never been one to crawl and beg. I couldn’t stand the thought of wasting away.
So, in full melodramatic villain mode, I thought: screw it—if I’m going down, I’ll go down shattering everything to prove I still inherit the pride of the ancient divine beast bloodline!
Fueled by hatred for Lily Summers and resentment toward Prince Julian, I swore I’d kill Lily to ease the bleeding in my chest.
I’d been stupid before—too weak-minded to pull off anything subtle. Each scheme I cooked up to turn Julian against Lily got smoothed over by Lily’s whole harem, and each time I got punished for it.
But weirdly, while my divinity crumbled, Lily’s life only got better. That gap twisted me mentally. I became truly vicious and made a monstrous plan: stage a huge distraction to draw everyone away, then kill Lily myself.
I had no divine power left; everyone avoided me like I was poison. I went full crazy—ignored the generations-old blood feud with the demon kin, lied to my nephew Yi Jiao who lived out of the loop, colluded with demons from the Northern Abyss, pried open a small breach in the barrier with my last divine vein to unleash the demons and pull everyone away, then planned to use the hellish toxin I traded for to end Lily’s life.
The plan worked perfectly. Lily, the Crown Princess, was grievously wounded by the demon toxin—poisoned and near death.
Julian and the others could only contain the toxin to keep her barely alive; they couldn’t cure her.
I should apologize to Lily now—past-me was vicious beyond reason.
But Sen Baird was part of the harem too. Once he broke through his barrier, attained enlightenment of the heavenly way, built his divine form as a war god, the Elysian Court wiped out the demon tribes that could threaten heaven and crushed the remnant weaklings as a show of mercy.
Those scattered demons were no real threat; the prince and his allies re-sealed them quickly and returned. They caught me red-handed.
I had no intention of running. Not only did I not run, I even crossed my legs and waited for them like some smug idiot—just to rub it in.
“Everyone says I hurt Lily? Fine. Today I’ll finish her off for real—how about that? Impressed?”
So of course I got tortured by the harem—didn’t I still have a tough spirit? Hmm, spirit torment is the best venting method.
I wasn’t afraid. When I made my move, I never expected to live. Death didn’t scare me. Heroes are buried all over; being afraid of death makes you no kind of person. If I don’t become a god in this life, I won’t be a nobody in the next.
After a private beating, I was dragged to the Celestial Tribunal. The assembled immortals delivered their righteous judgment.
Julian led the charge, reciting my crimes with frosty words. Sen Baird held the execution sword; Dusk fanned the air with a smile that had malice curled in the edges: “Lily’s still clinging to life.”
I’d already made my peace with death—Julian’s accusations, whether deserved or not, I admitted them all.
Predictably, I was sentenced to the worst punishment: annihilation by Heavenly Law—the Thunderous Erasure, to be a lesson to anyone who dared.
I sneered. Let it be. I hadn’t feared death since the first wicked thing I’d done.
But at the last moment the Heavenly Emperor and Empress intervened and saved my miserable life.
After my parents died I’d lived long in the imperial halls. The Emperor had treated me like a daughter once—no wonder I’d wronged him.
Julian was the first to object to sparing me—Lily’s fate was still uncertain! Father and son directly faced off in court.
Sen Baird and Dusk egged them on, but I never expected the Emperor to be so adamant about saving me.
In the end they compromised: the annihilation sentence became the crueler, more precise torture—live extraction of divine bones and veins.
They’d take my divine bone and the veins, strip me of my divinity, and exile me to the Wastes of Ten Thousand Demons to suffer for eternity.
Brutal. Poetic. Perfect.
I should’ve known the venom I’d dealt others would come back on me. Friends, who’s ready to give me a double-tap 666 for karmic justice?
There I was, kneeling on the Celestial Tribunal in tattered white silk stained with blood. Even on my knees I held my head high, chin up, defiant and disdainful—because I’d somehow survived what should’ve killed me, and I truly thought I was unstoppable.
They demanded confession. Me? Confess? Not a chance.
Seeing me unrepentant, they began the sentence. Sen Baird didn’t hold back.
Then I started bargaining—screaming and begging: “Okay! Okay! Give me a chance! Please—Sir—”
I tried to act tough but pain has a way of humbling even the bravest. Sen Baird’s cold blade swept across my back, then drove into my spine, pinning me to the tribunal.
Thin, sky-blue motes of divine light welled from my body, forming a tiny cluster that clung to the blade.
I slumped on the stone, the last of my swagger gone. I strained to look up at the immortals—some indifferent, some pitying, some gloating—spitting blood and airing a pitiful wheeze. Even begging hurt too much to say.
Every inch of my bones and veins being pulled out felt like the world ripping apart. I couldn’t tell if I was drowning in pain or slipping into nothingness. My eyebrows felt like they’d been plucked clean.
The divine veins and bones that had once made me a god were being ripped from me as a weapon of punishment. Pain stretched each second into an eternity of spasms.
I managed one desperate look at Prince Julian. He stood there calm and statuesque, his face unreadable. The pain made my vision fade.
I glanced at Dusk; she was sweet-faced but the glee in her eyes nearly had form. Sen Baird was at my back—what expression did he wear? I couldn’t tell; he was busy extracting my flesh and sinew.
After a brutal, chaotic ordeal they finished. I finally blacked out.
Above my bloodied corpse hovered two pale blue trophies—my divine bone and vein—taken by Julian.
The Celestial Tribunal dripped blood into the dust it had not seen in ages.
Did the body really feel empty? Can drinking some miracle elixir help? No, those are fairy tales.
Before they hurled me into the Wastes, the divine beast Jinrong—Goldbird—roused me.
There he was, a single bird, staring at me with his beady little eyes. Then he kicked me. Light-footed claws, not hard, but I howled: “Ow ow ow! That hurts! You stupid bird—I'll pluck your feathers when I get up!”
I bled more. The wound in my back wouldn’t heal; I’d lost my godly regeneration. I was utterly helpless and bullied.
Goldbird shoved some healing herb into my mouth and muttered in a fury: “Why didn’t any of you idiots stitch her up? You’re all idiots.”
Hearing worry from my enemy came as a weird comfort. I ignored the insult and wailed: “I’m dying!”
He kicked me again. “You idiot—you deserve it.”
You flip like an opera mask, do you?
Turns out Goldbird had been guarding a remote outpost and didn’t know how horribly I’d been disgraced. But we’re three last divine beasts left—pride matters—so he flew at the escorting immortals to demand justice, then learned the full mess of my sins. Angry, he’d given me an extra boot to the head.
After the guards left, Goldbird fussed at me, built himself up in courage to wake me, then kicked me once more when I looked stupidly awake.
Then he yelled: “Why, for a little flower-immortal, would you stoop so low? You’re a divine beast—killing one of your own should’ve been easy. How did you make it come to this? Are you a pig?!”
I: “…”
Bro, do you realize your hot-headed, ‘it’ll be easy’ attitude screams Villainess Understudy?
After we talked, Goldbird admitted there was nothing he could do; the verdict had been passed. Tonight, at the peak of the moon, I’d be thrown into the Wastes of Ten Thousand Demons.
“Dumb sable,” he said, “we’ve traveled together for thousands of years. I’ll give you one gift: I’ll heal your wounds and give you a small talisman so you’ll at least survive in there.”
He was suddenly serious. I nodded and whispered, “Thanks, Rongjin.”
He kicked me one last time: “Don’t go acting weak when you go in.”
Really, can’t you just say you care?
Soon the moon crested the treetops and poured silver across the land. My heart hammered. I felt like I’d forgotten something important.
Clutching the little ring he gave me—the Luan Ring—and looking at Goldbird’s shimmering form beside the dark barrier of the Wastes, I felt a pang of unwillingness. Mostly cowardice.
“I’m terrified. What if I die in there? I feel like I forgot something—eeek!” I whimpered.
Rongjin shoved me through: “Stop dawdling. Go.”
As I fell, my scrambled brain flashed: Marcus Hale still hadn’t appeared. Before I hit ground my foggy mind tried to reason—could he have hesitated to let me die? By the time my face met the earth it was clear I’d been overthinking. Bad women fall face-first in free fall; there’s no room for sentimental friendships.
I’d nearly killed the woman he loved most. He’d surely want to tear me limb from limb.
The Wastes of Ten Thousand Demons was a barren, savage place drained of immortal power, populated by sprites in little leaf skirts and cruel, primitive things.
Some of them fought and devoured each other, some made a show of dating and spawned little mischievous sprites, and some started brawling in the middle of it all and ended up eating one another.
It was gruesome—an earth-shaking shock to the pure-hearted me at the time.
Luckily the Talan Ring that little Goldie had given me was incredible. Worn around my neck it could attack, defend, and hide me.
With that artifact I bullied my way through a few weaklings in the Wilds of Beasts and finally managed to stake out a place. I even picked up three handsome little skirt-wearing henchmen.
The social scene was sizable, but Claire could make a place for herself anywhere.
After a few days, to avoid standing out, I started fitting in—rocking the little leather skirts and leaf outfits with everyone else in the Wilds of Beasts.
Funny thing: once you play the part, your thoughts start to change.
Spending every day in that filthy, lawless place listening to whispers had my wolf-fire boiling. I started thinking: well, if I’m already this wreck, why not get myself a handsome little skirt-boy and make a mischievous sprite of my own? When old legends had Hou Yi shooting down suns, why can’t Claire the Badass spread her wings?
So I played the pious act outwardly while scheming inwardly which of my three pretty boys to… pick.
One was a little leopard—sexy, wild, very tempting; one was a fawn—innocent and naive, very tempting; one was a little blue snake—cool and mysterious, dangerously tempting.
Impossible to choose.
Then I clapped my hands. Why agonize? Kids pick one; adults take them all.
I decided to take all three skirt-boys.
Excited, I resolved to return to my den, take a bath, and get down to business.
Who’d have thought I’d meet my end right there in my nest.
Girls, did you see that?
I had sunk so low for a man, life worse than death.
Now that I wanted to grab myself a man by force, I died instantly.
What does this tell us?
Men are poison. Don’t touch them.
I never figured out why an ancient predator that specializes in me suddenly appeared in my den.
A garish, deep-blue skeletal butterfly with huge antennae, malicious intent, and giant golden pupils—utterly hideous—was my natural enemy: the Golden-Pupil, Jade-Waist Devourer.
When I first saw those giant golden eyes on its antennae, I was calm.
My first thought was even practical: guess I can’t make little sprites with the three skirt-boys now—what a pity.
The Wilds of Beasts had no divine power; no magic could be used.
I had no divinity left—just an ordinary mink. My one artifact couldn’t even get one round against it.
I lost quickly.
I coughed blood, tried bargaining for a dignified death: "Brother—"
It ignored me, pried me up, and ate me.
No manners at all.
My soul drifted free and was trapped beside it. I watched, complicatedly, as my body was eaten bite by bite by that enormous butterfly.
When its golden eye blinked, my soul—already void of divinity—froze, was ripped apart inch by inch, turned to ash.
Right before my soul died out, rain began outside my den.
It fell as hard as the day Yipin went to ask Black Leopard for money—washing away all grievances and hatreds.
As I watched my spirit disintegrate, I had resigned myself to never opening my eyes in this world again.
Soul extinguishment meant eternal oblivion, above and below.
So when I opened my eyes again, I was astonished.
Such a blessing?!
Everything was chaotic then.
I still carried the terror of soul-annihilation, unable to open my eyes, as if trapped in a nightmare—breath held tight, body suffocating.
I struggled wildly to escape the pain.
Suddenly I opened my eyes. Gentle spring breeze, dazzling sunlight.
The blood-red sun gleamed like a molten gold egg—so blindingly beautiful. This scene should have been a moment to savor, but something kept wobbling in front of my face.
I gasped and focused.
A chunky little black creature pretending to be fierce stood before me, poking and jabbering. It looked small.
Like a little porcupine sprite from the Wilds—insufferable.
Its mouth moved and my ears were buzzing; I couldn’t make out the words.
Seeing me dazed made it angrier. It stepped forward, trying to grab my collar.
Though dazed, the Wilds had left me with a bad attitude. Seeing this little fat thing act so presumptuous, my reflex was pure dislike.
I’d been through a hundred lives; when have I ever had a good temper?
I slapped it.
"Shut up."
The voice was childish but clear.
Do you know what decorum is? What dignity?
That slap wasn’t strong—first, I wasn’t skilled; second, this body was too thin.
But the little porcupine was clearly enraged. It rushed me, shouting, "Hey! You little bean sprout, how dare you hit your granddad?!"
Granddad?
I am the granddad here.
I couldn’t stand being hit.
I felt my muscles loosen and stretch properly—joy surged through me—and I dove into a wild brawl with the little tubby. The more we fought, the crazier I got.
The porcupine, fragile and flabby, went down after I smashed a wooden stick I grabbed over its head. It collapsed.
He sobbed, curled up on the ground, shouting, "Wahhh, Auntie, I was wrong! I was wrong! Don’t hit me—I'll never steal your steamed bun again!"
So he'd been stealing my buns.
I kept pounding him.
Finally, out of breath, I stopped and bent down, propping the little porcupine’s face up with the stick.
I looked around at the unfamiliar concrete buildings, at the pathetic little tubby crying on the ground, and asked in a cold, hard voice, "Who are you? Where is this?"
His voice that reached my ear was so immature it had no authority.
I looked at my own thin, scarred hands—not the delicate hands I once had.
"Auntie," he sniffed, "I’m Li Little Fatty. This is the Happy Orphanage… Are you…are you retarded?"
I tapped his round head again, not hard. "Who are you calling retarded?!"
"I’m retarded! I’m retarded, wahhh… please don’t hit me…"
Li Little Fatty bawled.
"Then who am I?"
Under my threatening glare, he didn’t dare test me. "Auntie Li Cuihua."
Nice name.
Me: "From now on call me Claire."
Happy Orphanage—nothing about that sounds happy.
Still, I was grateful to be alive.
Things were odd, but having a bicycle beats hopping on a cane, right?
I accepted this miracle with a kind of calm.
I remembered the past clearly, but the rage, the sorrow, the grudges—all of it felt veiled by a heavy gauze, dulled and less real.
Yesterday was history. Today was a fresh start. Tomorrow belonged to no one.
I stopped dwelling and launched into the second life with Li Little Fatty at my side.
Maybe I was lacking something and made up for it—Happy Orphanage truly wasn’t happy.
It was full of bullying and theft.
Once again, driven by my environment, my self-styled rebel spirit flamed up.
Li Little Fatty and I waged violent guerrilla warfare against the orphanage’s injustices for years, honoring the memory of my lost glory.
With a wooden stick, I carved out my corner of the world.
Later, by some absurd stroke of luck, the orphanage actually did get lucky—a wealthy sponsor appeared. Gifted kids could be funded through high school.
So the kids who had been swapped in and out of gangs were suddenly shoved into proper classrooms and made to look presentable.
Unfortunately, my household registration name really was "Li Cuihua."
I went on to college; Li Little Fatty went to vocational school to learn how to drive excavators.
We both had bright futures.
Don’t idolize me. I’m just a legend.
In college I had a roommate who loved domineering-CEO romance novels.
I sneered at them, of course.
I’d always thought of myself as the real domineering CEO.
Then one day I was shocked to see the names Julian and Lily in a shabby bootleg romance novel my roommate had left sprawled on the desk.
Life is strange.
I asked my roommate seriously, "So right now I’m Li Cuihua, right?"
She blinked, "Yeah."
"Does this book have someone called Claire Devine?"
Her eyes lit up. She’d been trying to get me into CEO romances and thought I’d finally be hooked. "How did you guess the villain is that dumb idiot?!"
Me: "…"
Because I was that dumb villain.
I suddenly felt a presence beside me and turned to see myself cracked open.
Calmly, I borrowed the book and read it cover to cover.
I could hardly believe it—I really was the vicious supporting villain.
I couldn’t believe that the damned butterfly had been let loose by Dusk.
More unbelievable was that Marcus had died retrieving the Spirit-Subduing Herb for Lily during her poisoning—dying for her.
I still don’t know exactly how Marcus discovered that the Spirit-Subduing Herb grew in the North Abyss—the place sealed to contain demons.
But it happened.
Marcus didn’t tell anyone. He went alone to the North Abyss to get the herb.
He didn’t get killed by demons—he was shattered by the guardian beast of the herb. His soul scattered.
Turns out this bootlicker didn’t get the girl.
Soul-shattering sounds slightly better than extinguishment, but in truth it’s worse.
I’d been extinguished—gone from one to zero. Marcus was scattered into countless tiny zeroes across heaven and earth.
If someone clings to him, legends say a Soul-Seeking Lamp could find and piece him back. Though that lamp probably never really existed.
Even if it did, no one knew Marcus had shattered himself for Lily.
He simply became a missing person in the Elysian Court. The Palace searched half-heartedly, found nothing, and then nobody asked again.
And the protagonists?
The thing that cost Marcus his life—Lily and Julian—strolled around the ruined Silverwood Ridge and casually found the last Moonwhite Lotus seed the author had assigned them.
My divine bones and meridians were given to Lily to rebuild her body. After guiding her spirit back, it not only cured the demonic poison but made her half-divine.
After she recovered, Lily had some conscience left and wanted to look for one of the bootlickers who’d vanished for no reason. But this only strengthened Julian and Lily’s relationship.
Julian felt jealous for the first time over one of his suck-ups.
So Lily chalked Marcus up to travel and carelessly lived happily and sweetly with Julian.
Marcus was gone—body and soul—and no one knew. The Spirit-Subduing Herb still glowed faintly in the North Abyss.
Finishing the book, I could only say: I thought I was the most pitiful—turns out Marcus had it worse.
I pinched the teal-to-purple flame pendant Marcus had given me at my throat and looked at him pretending to be innocent beside me.
His green eyes spoke of stern righteousness.
Ha. No matter how righteous he looked, I could never forget how he and Dusk had conned me.
Men—truly, not one of them is any good.
Marcus and I were nothing but a shallow friendship in my last life, but he was one of the few people who made my carefree youth less lonely, the only one who stayed when my parents perished and left me utterly alone.
Granted, that companionship was likely plot-driven—him being arranged to meet the Moonwhite Lotus on the ridge…
But I can’t deny it: when I recovered in the cold halls of the divine palace, it was Marcus who stayed and comforted me; when jealousy drove me mad, Marcus was the only one who didn’t openly attack me.
Still, he sided with Lily and watched idly while I suffered.
Then again, Marcus loved his clothes—everyone says women are like garments and brothers are like limbs. If I touch his clothes, he might as well take my limbs. Makes a certain kind of sense.
After all, brothers—even sworn ones—should split the bill.
Speaking of my pathetic self: when I was very young I entered the Silverwood Tree to repair my soul for thousands of years.
I woke up to a world turned upside down and became an orphan.
My divine parents were divine beasts; when the Elysian Court fell they dissipated back into source power, vanishing without graves.
My hunger for family and love became a warped obsession, a life raft I clung to.
I never grew up in my last life—remained arrogant, foolish, vicious—fixated on capturing someone to be my everything.
Dying once taught me this: supports will fail, waters will ebb. No more talks of forever—I'm done being a tragic romantic! If I live again, I'll be blunt, take what I want.
So living through this again, I reevaluated the people around me.
Ever since I dragged Lily and Paige to Prince Julian’s Waverly Palace, I sensed this world wasn’t the one where everyone worshipped Lily anymore.
But I still couldn’t tell what was real and what was a dream.
Whether my tragic last life was just absurd plotlines from some CEO romance or not, I had died once and paid my karmic debt. This time I only wished for a happier life.
Marcus was still the acceptance of the family I’d never had.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him being destroyed.
I couldn’t leave the Spirit-Subduing Herb where it was.
I needed Marcus to know for certain that the plant was gone.
If I let him keep that secret, things could go wrong. Life’s too unstable. If he recklessly risked his soul and got scattered, I—poor as I was—couldn’t afford a Soul-Recovery Lantern.
Even if I could somehow scrounge one up, it would be priceless; I’d probably hoard it and let him remain shattered.
So I told Prince Julian plainly, “Not to hide anything—you’ll want to know—the Spirit-Subduing Herb is in the North Abyss.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught Marcus’s pupils contract; he looked at me without revealing much.
Prince Julian leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing in that unreadable way. Dusk frowned and shook his fan. “Impossible.”
I wasn’t done snapping at Dusk. “You don’t know half the things.”
Pah—romance-brained men, get away from me!
Dusk smiled, a little too gentle. I must be annoying him… right?
“Nope. Shut up,” I said.
The North Abyss was used to restrain demons because it was full of abyssal mists—source power there is void. Celestials and demons are suppressed inside; without their powers, they’re as powerless as mortals. Only those protected by the Way of Heaven go untouched.
It was odd—everyone could believe the herb grew in places like Harbor City or Hawthorne Reach, but how could it possibly grow in the Elysian Court’s abandoned, mist-choked wastes?
Marcus’s reaction told me it was true.
Last life, too many mysteries were glossed over by that romance novel, which only cared about Lily being adored.
Take Marcus going to the North Abyss alone to fetch the herb—that made no sense.
The herb belonged to the palace; telling Sen Baird or Prince Julian would’ve been far safer than Marcus risking himself. Divine relics usually have a guardian beast; the Spirit-Subduing Herb’s guardian was a vicious beast, the Qiongqi.
In the North Abyss Marcus would be suppressed—no divine power, barely holding human form. Even if he found the herb he couldn’t beat the Qiongqi. He’d get swallowed whole, his soul devoured and scattered.
No matter why Marcus did it, I couldn’t let him risk himself again.
I told Prince Julian firmly, “The herb is most likely in the North Abyss. Even if it isn’t, no real loss—I’ll compensate you some other way.”
Prince Julian arched an eyebrow, languid and noble, suddenly reasonable: “Woman, I’ll trust you this once. But the North Abyss is dangerous, even if you retain divine power. Have Sen Baird go with you.”
I stood up straighter and shot an earnest look at Sen to show how serious I was.
If I were the only one with divine power there, I could maybe retrieve the herb with soul-force, but I didn’t know the Qiongqi’s true strength. If I could bring Sen Baird, that’d be much safer.
The divine beasts left to guard the realm couldn’t abandon their posts. Prince Julian was gravely wounded—no risk—so only Sen could go.
Sen Baird was cold and distant; I didn’t expect him to willingly help. I could only hope he’d agree.
Maybe my expression was too sincere—Sen, who rarely showed anything, seemed almost speechless for a beat.
Sen’s silent sword hung at his waist—the black scabbard wrapped with a curling pattern, a wicked purple gem set into it. His black light armor emphasized broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. His sharp, cold beauty radiated a dependable air.
He glanced at me with eyes like ice. My hair stood on end; I assumed he’d refuse. Instead he nodded. “Fine.”
His voice was calmly magnetic.
I took that promise like a bolt of joy.
Being officially sanctioned to safely gather a divine herb—how exhilarating.
Prince Julian’s voice turned serious. “Woman, be careful. Get the herb and come straight back.”
Sen and I bowed our goodbyes to Prince Julian and the others.
Prince Julian reclined on the couch, still composed and unreadable. He said nothing, waved once, and closed his eyes.
Since he’d suddenly changed tactics earlier I’d been wary—felt like he had some other quiet plan.
Marcus was quiet too, his green pupils deepening.
Beyond a brief loss of composure he showed little reaction, though he now looked relieved and relaxed.
I knew the herb must mean something huge to him, and I didn’t bring him because I was genuinely afraid.
In the North Abyss he’d have no divine power; if we fought the Qiongqi, we’d be busy and someone could be left exposed—Marcus alone would be easy prey. If he went, it would be like volunteering himself as the Qiongqi’s next meal-delivery.
Marcus seemed to understand. He only offered me a few parting words: “Claire, you’re so delicate—go somewhere that dangerous and take care…”
Sen’s sword flickered purple.
Sen shot Marcus a cold glance. “…?”
Being worried about safety was excessive. Did Marcus doubt my strength?
He suddenly shifted tone: “If anything happens, hide behind the warlord.”
Me: “…I will.”
Dusk might still have cheating in his heart, or he might have realized his wrong and wanted forgiveness.
He knew I despised him now, but he stepped closer with a softness edged by contrition. “Claire, you can bring me. Though I’m not a divine body, I’m skilled at divination—could help you.”
I gave him a curt, “No.”
Turning to leave with Sen, Dusk called after me.
“Claire, wait.”
He smiled, still gentle and otherworldly, but tasting a hint of sadness. “I want to sincerely apologize.”
I froze. I hadn’t expected Dusk to be that direct.
He said, “I was unfair before. I only saw the prince and ignored your feelings. I was arrogant and rude.”
He gave a self-mocking, earnest smile. “I won’t do it again.”
Me: “…?”
I didn’t expect such a simple apology from him. In my last life he’d sent me that cursed butterfly that killed me and never showed a trace of regret. Now, this time, a small moral apology is all it took.
Fate is a strange thing.
I looked at him and said seriously, “Admitting mistakes is the first step to saving yourself. You’re brave. Dad would be proud. But our values don’t align—friends, we won’t be. I wish you the best.”
With that I turned and walked away, not meeting Dusk’s eyes again.
Don’t love me—no future. I’m a wild horse that won’t speak of returning home.
Sen kept his gaze straight ahead, focused on the journey.
For the first time in both my lives I was alone with Sen. He didn’t talk much and radiated cold, but I wasn’t afraid of him. Him agreeing to accompany me made him seem gentle and reliable.
Also, he’d given me the jade pendant I wore at my waist.
I tried to make small conversation—maybe glean something.
“Sir Sen, do you know the Qiongqi?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied, his voice low and pleasant, emotionless.
“Can you beat a Qiongqi? We might run into one.”
“Yes.”
Makes sense—top-tier fighters live up to their reputation.
“Have you heard of the Spirit-Subduing Herb?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking forward to this herb-finding trip?”
“No.”
Me: …?
Isn’t he only supposed to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’?! Huh—he can use other words.
I blinked and asked, “Then why did you agree to come? Why help me get the herb?”
He answered flatly, without feeling: “To protect you.”
I: “…”
I couldn’t help a little smug curl of the lips. Maybe I couldn’t beat him head-on, but slipping away for safety? That I could handle.
Sen: “…?”
Did this woman’s reaction seem off?
Then I thought: Sen wouldn’t volunteer such a thing lightly. There was only one truth—Prince Julian must have something to do with why he put in so much effort.
I patted Sen Baird's shoulder, feeling sorry that his sincere brotherly devotion had been wasted on Prince Julian.
Sen glanced at me. I looked back with all the pity I could muster.
His eyes went cold enough to send a shiver through me, but I quickly straightened up and said proper: "Thank you, Lord Sen!"
Fortunately he only glanced once and turned his gaze away. Whatever turmoil I'd stirred up, I lost the urge to keep talking.
We walked in silence for a while.
Then, out of nowhere, Sen actually asked a question.
He was back to that emotionless, icy demeanor: "What do you mean by 'father'?"
I broke out in a cold sweat. "Father… I mean myself."
He nodded as if he understood, then asked, "Then what's the 'three views'?"
Me: …?
Studious, are we?
I put on a solemn face: "The 'three views' are the White Cloud Sect, the Three Pure Ones, and the Celestial Court."
Sen: ……..You sound like you're lying to me and you're too lazy to argue.
Me: That's right.
—Small scene (non-canonical): Sen: I'll protect you.
Claire Bennett: Father, I can clap my palms and wipe out an army of a hundred thousand!
You want protection with that kind of flex?
The faint pink flush in Sen's ears cooled away without a ripple: …?
This woman's reactions are abnormal.
I'm going to have to flip through 'How To Win a Goddess's Heart' again when we get back.
I wonder what sort of strange books the God of War has on his shelf.
—
Sen withdrew his gaze and fell silent, his whole body radiating frost like a banner that read "Too bored to deal with you."
Four big characters.
But for some reason I felt talkative again and started yammering like a neighborhood gossip about pointless things.
Sen's voice stayed cold; he said only a few words each time, his expression like someone who expected people to owe him money. Still, he answered every tedious question I asked.
There was an odd, comfortable vibe—until I suddenly blurted out and asked how old he was.
That's when I realized, to my shock, he was actually hundreds of years younger than me!
He looked so tall and reliable—how could he be younger?
Me: "……"
So I'm actually that old?
I felt a sudden slump in my spirits. Sen shot me a side glance.
I felt even sadder: two lifetimes of being bossed around and suppressed by brats younger than me!
Ha. Life is full of grievances; I refuse to always be the sufferer.
A mischievous idea popped into my head: "Then it's probably not too much to ask you to call me sister, right?"
I suddenly felt every hair stand on end, as if I'd stepped into an icebox.
I turned stiffly toward Sen. He stared at me with that same cold hard face—there was nothing different about it, and that made it terrifying.
Sen's thumb twitched along the hilt of the Shadowblade; the obsidian sword seemed to slide an inch free, emitting a silent pressure.
I imagined ice-blue flames licking behind him—the Reaper of Battle had arrived.
I melted into a puddle of nerves and hastily corrected myself: "Not at all! Lord Sen is the prodigy of this age, as formidable as my grandfather! How could I—what right have I—to ask Lord Sen to call me sister?"
Sorry, Grandfather!
Save your granddaughter!
Your granddaughter can't take this!
But saying he was like my grandfather seemed to have made him angrier. The Shadowblade slipped further from its sheath; I began to panic.
Damn—I’d gotten a jade pendant and somehow forgotten this man was the last person to provoke. Bad move!
Under pressure, I poured out complimentary flattery: "Lord Sen may be young, but his genius is unmatched. On the battlefield he turned the tide and became the one true War God. Age means nothing! I may be a few years senior in appearance, but you must accept this call of 'Grandfather'!"
Oh god—never in my life did I expect to have to recognize someone as grandfather!
Sen remained expressionless, but I caught a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
He probably had no idea how he suddenly became a grandfather with such a pretty granddaughter popping up.
Then, crack—the cold atmosphere shattered.
I looked and discovered a way out!
Calling someone grandfather let me off the hook and also linked me to family—wasn't this the perfect thigh to cling to?
What a surprise windfall!
I declared solemnly, "Grandfather! Put away your sword—the granddaughter is still young and frightened!"
Sen snapped back to himself and re-sheathed the sword with a sharp, "Shut up!"
Me: "Yes, grandfather!"
I knew—you're all bark and no bite.
You say no, but your body obediently obeys. I get it.
From now on you are my grandpa!
Pick this man; mom won't be able to torment me any more!
He glanced at me, then turned and strode off, focused on walking.
No matter how many times I trailed after him calling 'grandfather', he didn't respond. He was nothing like the earlier man who answered every question.
Before long we arrived at the barrier of the Northern Abyssal Reach.
Guarding it was Jia Hanyang in his true draconic form, coiled atop a peak—glinting scales flashing in the sunlight.
His teal dragon eyes blinked when he saw us, and he rose into human shape and came closer; his long teal hair flowed, handsome and refined.
His bright eyes filled with delight: "Claire! Why are you here all of a sudden?!"
I tugged on Sen's sleeve. "Han, look—I'm introducing you to my new grandfather!"
Sen: "……?"
Really acting like a grandpa?
Han: "……?"
That's Lord Sen… and beasts don't have grandfathers… Han is gentle and kind, inherently pure.
He'd once come to my home to heal; as a child I was weak and spoiled, and I teased him every day.
He always followed me around murmuring "Claire" and "Claire," taking my scolding and work without complaint. He was so obedient.
After I retreated to the Silverwood Tree to recuperate, Han recovered too and returned to his post guarding the Northern Abyssal Reach.
In my previous life, when I met him again he was as trusting and warm as ever, so easily did I trick him into leaving the barrier and releasing demons.
This time, seeing his gentle, delicate face and that same delighted, trusting look, I felt a pang.
I patted his shoulder. "Don't get too excited—join in. Say 'grandfather' too!"
Han: "Grandfather!"
Whatever Claire says goes!
Sen: "……"
You deserve a beating.
I restrained him before he blew up: "Don't be angry. Don't be angry."
After calming Sen down, Han and I had a nice long chat.
I gave him, with great ceremony, a branch of the Silverwood Tree imbued with my soul-signature—an idea inspired by Sen's jade pendant. If it broke, I could sense it and rush to help immediately.
Cheaper than smashing a jade pendant and less dramatic—still, a small apology for having deceived him in the last life.
Han looked very happy. He tucked that branch away like a treasure.
Feeling playful, I pinched his cheek and then slipped away quickly.
Sen: "……"
That woman really knows how to stir things up.
Soon Sen and I entered the Northern Abyssal Reach.
It was a place of clear mountain streams and fragrant flowers.
Strangely, a thin ethereal pink mist hung everywhere, faintly sweet; the whole reach looked impossibly girlish, almost unreal.
That pink haze was actually a poisonous miasma that suppressed source-energy and held back immortals and demons. Inside it, everyone's celestial power would drain and fade.
Luckily, Sen and I's core divine power still functioned; we weren't affected—but I had to revert to my primal form.
That wasn't too bad. In dangerous places, being in my original form made manipulating soul-force easier.
Besides, my primal form was cute—handy for cultivating grandparent-grandchild bonding!
I shifted into my primal shape and crouched, looking up.
Sen lowered his head to look at me.
Oh no—the grandfather even looked handsome from this angle, even with his nostrils aimed at me.
He leaned slightly, extending his hand: "Get on my shoulder."
Me: "……"
Grandfather: Father actually equals me.
The War God is useful and practical—so what to do to avoid getting beaten? Tell him to say "father."
Not "me," though.
With some hesitation, I scrambled up his arm to perch on his shoulder, my paws twitching suspiciously at his crown.
In primal form I couldn't help some animal instincts—like always wanting to climb to the highest point.
But when I saw Sen's rigid profile, I retracted my claws.
Kinship is precious—handle with care.
I said, "I'm going to focus on locating the Spirit-Subduing Herb. It might take a long time. Please find a safe spot and guard against demons."
The Northern Abyssal Reach was vast; I didn't know the exact spot. I had to search methodically; I couldn't afford distractions.
Sen didn't say anything. He walked to a bamboo grove by a tinkling stream and casually tossed out a defensive artifact.
It transformed into a jade kingfisher pavilion—delicately carved beams and painted rafters, stunning amid the pink mist.
He walked in and sat on an ornate vine-wrapped chair, set his sword on the stone table. Steam even rose from a cup of tea on the table.
Me: "?"
Are you on holiday?
You're really taciturn and efficient, huh?
Sen closed his eyes and said coldly, "Search. Father will wait."
Then he didn’t move.
I stared speechless. "……"
This decadent feudal noble is actually vacationing.
If you can be refined, do it. If you don't have the means, create them—refinement at all costs?
Where's the rugged battlefield man I expected?
I thought about my modern self fighting for the last steamed bun and felt a wave of shame.
I wanted to sit on a chair too, but looked around to discover he’d only conjured one seat—none for me.
What was I to do?
Forgive my dear grandfather/father, of course.
I sighed and crouched on his shoulder, releasing soul-sensing power in all directions to hunt for the herb the book only briefly mentioned.
The search was exhausting.
Time in the Northern Abyssal Reach runs slower than outside; I forced myself through several cycles of day and night there.
Casting my soul-power far and wide drained me, and the long span stretched my nerves thin.
Then to the north I felt an unusual divine fluctuation.
In this huge reach, aside from Sen and me, the only thing that could emit that kind of signal was the Spirit-Subduing Herb.
There it was!
I scrambled onto the top of Sen's head—still with his eyes closed—and grabbed his war crown. "Grandfather! There's a rift to the north—an unusual fluctuation!"
Riding my beloved little scooter, he'd never get stuck in traffic.
Too bad Sen didn't care for flashy postures—or being climbed on by me.
His voice was edged with ice: "Don't call me grandfather."
Sen Baird's long, pale fingers rose and pinched the back of my neck, lifting me off his head and holding me in front of his face. He stared at me with a chill that could freeze marrow.
I looked at him now—no exaggeration, if this were anyone else they'd definitely have been scared onto their knees.
But am I anyone else?
A streetwise city kid who's not ruthless—how could I possibly conquer the world and sit atop a kingdom of pictures?
This thigh—I'm holding onto it!
This relative—I'm climbing up it!
I fluttered my paws and latched onto his wrist, using my plush fur to rub against him like I was all innocence, putting on a terrified voice: "Lord Sen!
Please put your granddaughter down, Grandma's afraid of heights!"
Nobody's taking me off this thigh!
Not even the thigh itself!
Sen Baird was clearly taken aback by my shamelessness.
The neck that hadn't hurt a moment ago suddenly cramped under his grip after I finished speaking.
I shed some exaggerated, scheming tears, eyes misting: "Granddaughter hurts."
Sen Baird eased his grip at once; the cold ferocity in his expression softened noticeably.
He said, "Shut up."
Then he placed me on his shoulder and strode northward, not bothering with me any further.
I smirked inside—plan worked!
I had barely gassed up my little victory when my legs almost gave out and I nearly fell.
Luckily my hands were quick; I clung to his shoulder and avoided face-planting.
My white, soft fur was whipped back by the wind; my face contorted by the gale.
Sen Baird didn't spare my delicate looks one bit—my fur and his long hair streamed like tattered banners in the wind.
After a while he remembered to put a protective barrier around me, since the wind had blown me into a mess.
Me: "…"
You look like porcelain, and you don't care at all about my image?!
Are we even actually related?
I rubbed my numb face, forgetting how hard I'd just tried to cling to his thigh.
"I am very angry right now!"
You should know better—you can't ignore my appearance.
Sen Baird: "Behave."
I swear I heard killing intent in those few cold words.
I immediately suppressed any murderous thought.
Me: "Okay!"
Sen Baird: "…?"
Are women really this easy to pacify?
Me: "…"
Are you saying you try to soothe people with murderous intent?
That episode passed. I gradually recovered my wits.
Only then did I realize how fast he really moved.
Compared to when I came, it was like the difference between a fast train and an airplane.
Riding on Sen Baird's shoulder, mountains and rivers whizzed by. I couldn't help the swelling pride—seeing the land flash by inspired a kind of boastful bravado.
Just as I was admiring the scenery at the worst possible time, the pink mist ahead thickened into a peach-red fog that made it hard to see.
I shot up to my feet; Sen Baird halted too.
"Here?"
His cold, hoarse voice whispered at my ear, making me shiver.
I stomped my foot in sulks and didn't answer, scanning the surroundings carefully.
Sen Baird: "…"
You're in a mood.
Shouldn't be far.
The book said the Spirit-Subduing Herb grew inside a ravine cut off by a deep blood-red fog. The demons living there were terrified of that pink mist and never dared near it.
We'd walked this far; the mist was definitely getting thicker.
I sent out my spirit-sense again and cautiously pushed through denser and denser pink fog.
It darkened until it was blood-red.
Finally I reached the edge of the ravine and peered down.
A fierce backlash of divine power slammed into my soul—a hard shove that made me stumble from Sen Baird's shoulder and almost fall.
He caught me in time.
Heart pounding with fear and excitement, I scrambled onto his crown and shouted, "It's just down there!"
This time Sen Baird didn't pick me up. He let me stay draped on the top of his headpiece.
He crept forward; I nervously watched him reach the edge of the ravine. A barrier seemed to separate the fog from the abyss.
I looked down into the dark but clear bottom, free of mist. Marcus Hale must have been taken straight into the maw of the beast here.
A delivery right to the doorstep—customer guaranteed satisfied.
There seemed to be a swift river below; the water tinkled pure and bright. No sign of the beast.
Sen Baird prepared to descend. I tugged at his hair.
He paused slightly, then said coldly, "Nothing to worry about."
Me: "Of course I'm not worried.
I'm worried about you. If anything happens to you, I'll take care of grandmother."
Sen Baird: "…"
I think you need a smack.
He didn't linger. He began to descend slowly, sword in hand—the Stillshadow Blade—walking like a man taking a leisurely stroll, absolutely calm.
It was eerily peaceful.
We came down to where the Spirit-Subduing Herb grew—green stalks and glittering starflowers when suddenly everything changed.
A massive white tiger with blue eyes and lavish pink wings sauntered toward us with feline grace. The tips of its wings were stained blood-red like the fog.
I grabbed at Sen Baird's glossy black hair and yelled, "Qiongqi!"
He couldn't take me anymore; he pinched the back of my neck and shoved me against his warm chest. "Hide properly."
Me: "…"
In my wildest dreams I never imagined this treatment!
The beast exploded with pink light; a graceful, tragic-looking archangel-man appeared.
White hair drifting, huge pink wings cloaking the sky—yet the blood at the wing tips lent a decadent, dangerous beauty. His blue eyes brimmed with pity and desolation, unfocused.
He wore a white robe patterned with black lines that fell over his bare feet. Pink starlight trembled over him and rained holiness into the ravine.
Pure and sinful, sacred and ascetic.
I stammered, "This… this is Qiongqi?
He's too handsome…"
Is he still a beast?
How is he more divine than the true gods among us?
He's no worse than Prince Julian.
I had planned to avenge Marcus, but seeing this face made me think Qiongqi must have his own reasons.
I sympathize.
Sen Baird said nothing.
The Stillshadow Blade sheath vanished in a flash and reappeared on the sword; a purple gem fused into black iron, giving the blade a faint violet sheen—cold and terrifying.
Qiongqi slightly spread his hands. The red fog on the cliff surged into his palms and condensed into a red tassel spear.
Red mist howled and whipped like a storm. I felt a few tufted hairs on my head fly every which way, but the archangel remained unmoved; the spear radiated a sanguine dominance.
I wriggled out and cheered like a mad fan: Fight! Fight!
Winning at chess needs a king; worship needs offerings; survive the streets and you need a gun. Men showing a bit of blood isn't injury—it's a badge of charm!
Sen Baird, don't hold back—crush him! Prove your dominance!
Sen Baird shoved my head back in without mercy.
"Hide."
I strained to squirm free. "Grandfather, your granddaughter wants to watch the beautiful men fight!"
A streak of violet flashed; the Stillshadow Blade crossed my head, cruel and bloody.
Me: "…"
That was blatant intimidation!
I said with righteous honesty, "Alright!"
Then retracted my body and only left two eyes and part of my skull poking out.
A good man pursues beauty properly.
Pretty men are rare; love is worth more; if it's about life, both can be abandoned.
Sen Baird: "…"
Why did I come here again?
Qiongqi: "…"
What the hell is this?
Sen Baird is never passive. After shoving me, he launched forward with the Stillshadow Blade and a terrifying expulsion of divine power that made my chest clench.
My god—this is the world of the strong!
Not to brag, but if Sen Baird's casual slash hit me, within five seconds he'd be on his knees begging me not to die.
I clung to his robe and yelled impulsively, "Daddy's awesome!"
The black iron sword trembled; some of its force eased.
Me: "…"
Was my shout really that powerful?
Sen Baird: "…"
Daddy wasn't what I meant.
Qiongqi's huge pink wings beat; he held the spear and met the somewhat-checked Stillshadow Blade head-on.
Scarlet light clashed with violet. The violet was pale but still pressed down the red.
If I hadn't screamed, Sen Baird would have had absolute, crushing dominance.
No surprise—top-tier combat power. I picked the right thigh!
In the brief clash I was face-to-face with Qiongqi's face—so beautiful it dimmed sun and moon.
Even on the defensive his face remained expressionless—pure and serene, sculpted perfection.
But his blue eyes were clouded with gray haze—no spark in them.
Like a divine mural painting of an archangel.
At that moment I wanted to shout, "I volunteer!"
My heart softened. "Grandfather, can we spare this beautiful man? We're just here to gather herbs. After we're done…"
"Shut up."
Aw, no dignity for me!
That dignity disappeared the moment I knelt and clung to his thigh.
I can be stunned by beauty, but Sen Baird isn't.
He swung the Stillshadow Blade without mercy, switching to brutal offense. Each blow was backed by escalating divine power. Qiongqi's spear couldn't hold.
In a few strikes he collapsed; the beautiful wing was pierced and then the blade pulled out.
Blood sprayed; pink feathers drifted down like a powdery rain.
I grabbed a blood-tinged pink feather, staring dumbly at Qiongqi's still-serene face. The blood and the crimson-tipped feathers added a trace of carnal allure to him.
Seeing that beautiful man bleeding hit me like a chord.
This society is wild—if you don't love beautiful men, something's wrong!
My man deserves pampering; I'd spend any amount to keep him whole!
I wanted to present Sen Baird's black cloud-patterned jade pendant—his token—to beg mercy, to spare the archangel's looks, but the wound on Qiongqi's wing glowed and rapidly knitted itself with pink light.
My eyes widened—what's happening?!
It was healing from divine meridian power!
"Divine bone, divine meridian?!"
I cried out.
Pressing against Sen Baird's chest I heard his cold, hoarse mutter: "Hmm."
Every word soaked with killing intent.
A ferocious beast with divine bone and meridian—defying the natural order. The divine cannot be touched by the lowly; everything must be reclaimed.
Normally extracting a beast's bone might be survivable, but Qiongqi is a demonic beast—if his divine bone or meridian were taken, he could vanish entirely.
My hands and feet went ice-cold. This is it—no saving him! Beauty is doomed!
History mourns the beautiful—beauty and early death go together.
Qiongqi is like this; so was I in my past life.
Sen Baird: "…?"
Face, please?
Sen Baird suddenly poured divine force into the Stillshadow Blade; the purple gleam surged, the blade humming with world-destroying power.
So Sen Baird hadn't even used his full strength until now!
When that sword struck, the Qiongqi’s spear met the Shadowblade again and—only for an instant—the scarlet spear was torn inch by inch. Red mist dispersed, and in a single breath it dissolved into nothing.
Good grief, what kind of sickening, broken-level power is this…
I can’t even follow what’s happening… Sen Baird didn’t hesitate—he drove the sword straight through the Qiongqi’s chest.
He didn’t even ease up after the thrust. He pinned the creature into the cliff face.
Rock shattered and trembled; boulders tumbled down. Some chunks even struck the Qiongqi’s drooping wings, staining those once-immaculate pink feathers with mud and dust.
I saw the Qiongqi’s long hair, like white silk, splayed against the wall. His face, still pale as carved jade, remained eerily serene.
From the beginning his expression hadn’t changed—completely detached, as if he weren’t the one being nailed to the rock.
If I hadn’t been pinned like that before, if I didn’t know how it hurt, I might have believed it.
Honestly, I’ve seen a lot of theatrical displays, but this level of acting gets a perfect score.
I watched as Sen Baird poured his godly power into the blade. Pink light bloomed across the Qiongqi’s body.
He kept his eyes closed; veins stood out on his calm, holy face, muscles twitching with pain.
That delicate face twisted ugly—if I imagine how I must’ve convulsed back then, I shudder.
The technique—this bone-rending, vein-tugging method—was too familiar.
Back then the Shadowblade pierced my spine; now it pierced the Qiongqi’s chest from the front.
As blood ran from the Qiongqi, I felt a compulsive urge to grab him—like I was helping that past me, pinned on the sword and unable to move.
I scrambled up onto Sen Baird’s shoulder and, voice low and earnest, tried to bargain: “Grandfather, can we just let him go? Please?”
I flicked my tail and blinked—full diplomatic charm.
Sen Baird cast me a cold look and suddenly poured in more power. The Qiongqi convulsed violently.
Me: "…"
Seriously? No face at all!
I glanced at the Qiongqi. A hint of a smile flickered across his deep blue eyes; the haze around him glittered with tiny lights.
I crooned, “Beautiful—don’t be scared. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
Sen Baird: "…?"
Qiongqi: "…?"
Talking feelings out with Sen Baird was useless. Even between real siblings you had to keep accounts clear; with a godlike grandfather there was no hope.
So I took out the black jade pendant we’d agreed on. “Lord Sen Baird… even if I beg—stop for now. Spare him one life and take him back to the Palace of the Immortals to let the court decide.”
Sen Baird paused the flow of power and fell silent.
My heart pounded while I waited.
Finally he asked, flat: “Why save him?”
Me: “Don’t you think he’s especially handsome?”
Sen Baird: "…"
He didn’t. Go away.
Qiongqi: "…"
Are all celestial beasts like this?
The strange silence lingered. Sen Baird didn’t resume the god power, so I pushed my luck.
“Please, Lord Sen Baird! Besides, you’re so powerful, controlling him and taking him to the Palace won’t be hard. If you agree, I’ll stop calling you ‘grandfather’ from now on.”
I hopped back up on his shoulder and offered the black jade pendant with both paws.
Sen Baird looked at me with something like meaning in his eyes.
You still know I hate being called that, huh?
He retracted the Shadowblade; the Vined Scabbard slid back over the obsidian steel without so much as a glance at the pendant. Then he turned to go harvest herbs.
Yes! It worked!
I stashed the pendant back in my pocket—Sen Baird is surprisingly reasonable.
I grabbed his arm. “Hey—wait.”
I’m going to flirt a little.
Sen Baird: "…"
Pushing my luck, huh?
Is there still time to strike this dog of a man with a sword?
The Qiongqi fluttered his wings slightly, steadying his weakened body.
His blue eyes watched me. The holy, perfect face smoothed back into its fine, precise beauty—like nothing had ever happened.
He looked like trouble you couldn’t walk away from. Honestly, that beast was terrifyingly handsome.
“You have divine bones and meridian—technically you’re a celestial beast. I want to take you back to the Palace of the Immortals. Would you—will you come with me?”
Letting him go wasn’t an option. If a ferocious beast with divine bones roamed here, it would spell destruction for ordinary mortal demons.
If we brought him to the Palace, where the heavens leaned toward tolerance now, he wouldn’t die. He might even become a god—the seventh.
The Qiongqi didn’t react much; he tilted his head a trace and just kept looking.
His beauty melted me. That face was lethal.
“I… the Heavens are kind. I won’t let you die.”
Sen Baird: "…?"
Oh please. With that flirting? Teach me how to do it, you? If I ever get a girl with that move, I’ll take your name.
Before the Qiongqi could answer, Sen Baird—who’d been quiet for a long time—grabbed the back of my neck: “Hurry.”
I remembered the mission with regret. “I’ll go gather the herb first. Wait for me.”
Sen Baird didn’t bother with my whimpering; he simply turned and flew to a glowing plant growing on a stone platform.
The Spirit-Subduing Herb—shaped like an orchid but not an orchid; elegant and pure.
Silver veins ran across its leaves, light flowing along them. Several leaves drooped gracefully, and in the middle bloomed a single flower.
The blossom was white—not delicate like ordinary orchids, but like a magnolia: tender and refined, with weight and purity.
Tears of dew scattered oddly across its petals, and a windshadow slanted through it.
I suddenly thought this flower fit Prince Julian Pierce perfectly.
But I’m not merciful; today I planned to pluck the flower.
I landed beside the herb with trembling excitement. My godly aura stoked the moment.
I looked at Sen Baird—he didn’t move. Of course; he’d said he wasn’t interested in the Spirit-Subduing Herb.
I felt like I was participating in a monumental historical event, destined to be recorded: “In a certain year of the Immortal Calendar, the great heroine of the Phantom Sable Clan harvested the Spirit-Subduing Herb from the Northern Abyss!”
Carefully, I reached to touch the herb.
The leaves were soft and cool; divine power hummed through them.
Before I could pluck it, the bloom detached and floated into the air.
I glanced back at Sen Baird, bewildered. Behind him the Qiongqi bloomed with sudden, dazzling pink radiance.
A divine object manifested and the heavens flickered.
The world shook; thunder rolled. The sky split into dark night. Pink mists across the Northern Abyss roared and coalesced into a red fog that surged up, pouring into the floating blossom.
More precisely—it flowed into the white flower.
Such a tiny bloom, yet it absorbed the abyssal red mists as if swallowing an ocean, stirring a terrifying storm.
Sen Baird quickly folded me onto his shoulder and cast a protective dome.
When I turned, the Qiongqi’s pink light intensified, engulfing his whole body and wings.
Before the glow overtook him, the haze in his sky-blue eyes cleared—revealing nothing but warmth and brilliance.
He smiled at me, faint and exquisitely holy. It felt like angels chanting from the horizon, a radiant city of crystals where life’s tree bloomed under perpetual daylight.
As if God wiped away every tear—no more death, no more sorrow, cries, or pain.
Spiritual energy poured out; the pink light rode the red fog into the white flower.
My vision blurred with rage and helplessness. I tried to fly through Sen Baird’s barrier but couldn’t break it.
I watched the pink light crest and then fade. As the red fog was absorbed, the storm abated. The glow shrank until it condensed into two ice-pink divine meridians and a godbone.
The beautiful being vanished without a trace; the fragrance disappeared.
Sunlight returned. The world seemed clearer—even the bottomless abyss now hinted with a faint glow.
I trembled. “What… just happened?”
Sen Baird stepped forward in silence and picked up the ice-pink divine bone and meridians. “The Way cannot be defied.”
The Way?!
I looked at the Spirit-Subduing Herb. The white petals had a barely perceptible hint of pink along the edge.
So much abyssal fog couldn’t stain even that little bit of red off this god-bestowing bloom.
A divine mark—godbone and meridian—ready-made. The gods’ parts, perfectly prepared. That cruel old Way is doing what exactly?!
I lowered my head.
Who, then, is Marcus Hale?!
Those ice-pink streaks of light were crystalline and flawless.
I curled up on Sen Baird’s shoulder and silently cursed the Way in my heart.
Even I, a soft-hearted creature, could see it: this tailor-made god-creation was not random.
As the only one who knew this secret, I could almost guarantee this god-making package was prepared for Marcus Hale.
In short—he must be someone the heavens intend to elevate.
Sen Baird looked at me with that heavy, knowing gaze, but said nothing.
I felt crushed by the Qiongqi’s near-cruel disappearance—but also oddly happy for Marcus Hale’s impending godhood. “It wasn’t me.”
I said weakly, “Let’s leave. We’ll know once we’re out there.”
I didn’t actually know if Marcus would be made a god. A cat-god? One that just waves a paw and wealth comes? If so, maybe I could ask him for a fortune-bringing statue.
Poverty: Don’t love me anymore?
Me: You have dignity I don’t deserve—forget me, next in line.
Sen Baird nodded with hidden meaning.
Me: "…"
He’s acting strange.
I asked, suspicious: “Do you know something?”
Sen Baird answered calmly, “What you should be thinking now is whether the Prince will agree to hand these things over.”
Me: "…!"
I’d forgotten—I’d already handed them to Prince Julian Pierce!
Even if I hadn’t, those items were bound to the Julian house. Even if another god’s coming benefits the Heavens, the celestial rules are ironclad: divine artifacts belong to the Palace of the Immortals. Especially when the god-mark, godbone, and meridian are all present.
Even if the package was made for Marcus, it still needed the Palace’s approval to be legitimate.
So the only way to make Marcus’s ascension official was to go through Prince Julian Pierce and get his assent.
But Marcus and Prince Julian aren’t on good terms with me. With Julian’s domineering nature, he won’t hand over such things easily.
These damn people in power.
I thought maybe I could get a head start. “Lord Sen Baird, may I keep these for now? I’ll give them to the Prince later.”
It’s easier to bargain when the items are in your pocket.
Sen Baird glanced at me, and without a word handed the items to me.
Tears of gratitude blurred my eyes: so easy to deal with—why isn’t Sen Baird the Prince?!
Turns out, it wasn’t the road that was bad, it was the driver.
I’d barely finished stashing away the Spirit-Subduing Herb and the divine bone meridian when the space of the North Abyssal Expanse—already eerily calm—started shaking violently. It made me jump.
Me: “What’s happening?”
Did the Heavens hear me cursing them and get offended?
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
Sen Baird didn’t say anything. He just pulled me back into his arms and, calmly as could be, lifted us out of that dimming rift with the Silent Shadow Sword.
Seeing him like that settled me instantly.
If the sky fell, there was a tall man to hold it up.
What was I even afraid of?
This wasn’t my first time cursing at fate.
The Abyssal Expanse, once drained of that weird, girlish aura by the herb, no longer smelled like anything sentimental.
The dense green forest looked like a slab of dark jade hurled across the chasm—so thick and empty of people it was unnerving.
The ground shuddered and split. Huge fissures opened like jagged wounds in the jade, black and bottomless.
This is bad— the Expanse is collapsing!
All the remaining demons were confined here. Sen Baird and I could run, but the demons would be wiped out.
Immortals and demons were both birthed by the Dao; yin and yang balance each other. The extinction of an entire race was not something the Dao tolerated.
Even the Elysian Court—despite their grudges—wouldn’t stand to see such a massacre.
Back then the Court had effectively pushed the Dao to its limit, spilling nearly all of the demon blood to appease their own lost souls.
After that, the hatred between immortals and demons had been tacitly declared settled once the demon race was suppressed in the North Abyssal Expanse.
Enough.
Besides, the collapse was clearly because I’d taken the Spirit-Subduing Herb.
I didn’t want to add more blood on my hands.
Sen Baird must have thought the same, even though he’d been the one who killed the most demons in the war.
Like I said before: once the war’s over, genocide isn’t allowed. The Dao is above all.
I braced myself. “What do we do now?”
“Stay put,” Sen Baird said.
Me: “…”
Wahhh—this is the safety of being shadowed by a big boss!
Hearing those two words, I felt like I could do nothing and just sleep in his arms, trusting that when I woke, everything would be fixed.
Snow fell, swords fell—trust Grandpa and you won’t go wrong.
I lay on his shoulder and watched him hurry forward.
Without using spirit-force, my eyes blurred from speed. The tremors eased somewhat; the Windsource dragon out there—Calem—was holding things up.
But I could tell it was straining.
Calem couldn’t hold the whole Expanse forever; he could only buy time.
Sen Baird and I had to get to the heart of the Expanse fast.
In a few breaths we came upon a panicked crowd.
Black hair, bloodshot eyes—demons.
Mostly elders, women, and children; few strong men.
A thousand years of suppression by the Elysian Court had left them half alive.
Sen Baird landed and faced them.
At the sight of him the demons were terrified to their cores.
The Killing God had burned a living nightmare into their hearts.
Seeing him here, they assumed his arrival meant utter destruction; they were convinced the Court’s hypocrites would finish them off.
Sen Baird’s voice dropped. “If anyone has treacherous intent, kill without question.”
His cold, killing aura left the demons trembling: wuwu—he really means to exterminate us!
Me: “…”
Saving people felt the same as killing them.
A young demon boy stepped forward, rage burning in his blood-red eyes. His face was still fresh and sharp with youthful fervor.
“Who gave you the right to exterminate us? We’ve been living under this suppression for a thousand years, walking on eggshells—we’ve never crossed the line!”
I inched back, suddenly sheepish.
Only a pair of large, bewitching eyes and a mop of thick hair showed above the crowd, expression calm.
The impulsive, righteous boy was actually a distant cousin of a noble demon house—the Yan family—a troublemaking noble named Yan Si.
The royal demon surname was Wang, but Yan was a branch. In my past life, he’d been the one who released the demon toxin I’d been exposed to.
He’s standing there brimming with righteous fury because he hasn’t managed to contact me yet.
I stayed quiet; Sen Baird didn’t bother either.
He sent a slash of sword qi. A clean line of blood split Yan Si’s handsome young face; blood dripped slow and steady.
Me: You idiot. If he actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t even have a mouth to shout with. If he wanted you dead, this would be over already.
“If anyone shows treachery, kill without question,” Sen Baird warned again, then flew off.
The demons were too shaken to fight back. He had to hurry to the center of the North Abyssal Expanse to reinforce it.
And I had to adjust my estimate of Sen Baird’s absurd power: he was literally propping up the crumbling Expanse with one Silent Shadow Sword?
Nice work—reward earned.
This power was beyond my usual knowledge.
The Silent Shadow Sword couldn’t hold this forever. We had to get back and contact the Elysian Court.
Sen Baird and I hurried back out of the Expanse. Outside, the blue-scaled dragon Calem was straining to keep the rift from widening.
Seeing me, he blurted, “Claire—finally! Hurry and get the Court to come stabilize the North Abyssal Expanse!”
Before I could answer, I glimpsed two figures appear on the horizon—Prince Julian Pierce and Dusk.
So on time?
His punctuality put a bad feeling in my gut.
They drew closer and split into teams to shore up the Expanse.
Julian had changed back into his Obsidian Prince Regalia—gold embroidery flashing brilliant and noble.
Even with a pale face, he looked otherworldly handsome.
I pulled out three divine artifacts, planning to force the issue in front of the accompanying immortals.
Before I could say a word, Julian leaned close, smiling, and murmured into my ear: “Claire, did you know? The Demon God is about to be born into the world.”
Me: “What?!”
Demon… God?!
Everything in my hands slipped and fell; Julian caught the lot like a waiter with a full tray.
I didn’t care. My jaw had dropped.
The lucky charm cat I’d been coveting all this time had turned into a Demon God.
Honestly, I was stunned when I heard it.
I asked again, unbelieving. “You said what? The Demon God is descending?!”
Marcus Hale is the Demon God?!
I scanned the area; Marcus wasn’t here.
Julian collected the artifacts with effortless grace, the sight of him like fine silk and clouded banners. He looked slightly troubled. “Yes. A demon, to be precise. But the demon race only recently fought the Court a thousand years ago; preserving the demons is one thing, but a Demon God’s coming would likely meet resistance from many immortals. It’ll be hard to push through.”
Me: “…”
Come on—be confident. Remove the “likely.”
This was going to be hard as hell!
Julian took my hand. “Whatever. It’s just a demon. If they can’t kill it, they can just circle it off and leave it in the North Abyssal Expanse. No big deal.”
Me: “…”
That’s a cold thing to say with no heart.
I wanted to ask where Marcus was—ask him in person what this meant—but I didn’t dare. I didn’t know whether Julian already knew Marcus was the Demon God. If I asked now, I’d be admitting everything.
I couldn’t make a mess of this.
At a crucial moment, I had to protect the brother who trusted me.
So I said with righteous fervor, “Then…what can’t be done? If it’s destiny, there must be a way.”
Julian didn’t ask why I was defending a Demon God. He stroked my face with those aristocratic, ice-cool fingers. “There is a way. If the Court is willing to reconcile, the Demon God could be accepted by the Elysian Court.”
I yanked his hand away. “…”
Comforting, yes, but don’t get any ideas.
Julian’s tone shifted. “But I don’t want him to become a god. Claire—your father and mother perished defending against the demon invasion. The Demon God is still a demon; I won’t have you suffer.”
Me: “…”
He had a point. But…that’s Marcus.
Marcus isn’t a bad person.
“You’ve already done well,” he soothed, seeing my conflicted face.
“Sen Baird, Dusk, go help Calem stabilize the Expanse.” Julian gave the orders and then hooked his arm through mine. “Come. Let’s go back.”
Me: “I’m not going.”
I believed Marcus. Whatever he was, he couldn’t possibly be evil. He must have reasons—so I had to trust him.
I squeezed back against Julian. “You promised me three wishes, remember?”
Julian’s eyes flashed, lashes fluttering—normally solemn, his face took on a mischievous look, unexpectedly dangerous. “Yes. What would you like, Claire?”
Me: “?”
This Julian is fake—he’s trying to be cute.
Thinking of Marcus, I threw myself in: “Let him become a god!”
Julian’s expression hardened. He’d expected I might hesitate. Even if it was his own plan that had put me in this position, seeing how wholeheartedly I trusted Marcus stoked his anger.
He said sternly, “No.”
I argued, outraged. “Why not?! You promised!”
Julian: “Becoming a god requires the Spirit-Subduing Herb.”
You think you can freeload three wishes off me?
Me: “…”
I couldn’t confuse him with rhetoric.
While I was thinking of another angle, Julian surprised me by hugging me firmly in front of all the assembled immortals.
Me: “…”
Locking my throat, huh? Buddy, I’ll tell you straight: you better release me when I say so—don’t assume you’ll win this tussle.
Julian nuzzled and murmured in a low voice against my hair, “Don’t speak for him anymore.”
My heart stung.
Buried in his arms, I drank in that distant, clear scent of orchids—his lan-scent—deeply.
I blinked with heavy-lidded eyes. “…”
Beauty tactics might not always work on me—but damn, he smells good.
A pretty man, a veil; good man, good veil—tonight, I’m not going home.
Marcus: “…”
Was my story worthless to him?
I came to my senses. I wasn’t here to flirt with a prince; I was here to help a brother.
I struggled free. “Hey, get up.”
Julian whined, “No.”
Where was the princely dignity? Wasn’t he supposed to be cold and domineering? How did a few days and a change of clothes turn him into this?
I glanced at the old immortals who had come with him. Their wrinkled faces were full of auntie-like approval. “The Prince adores you, Princess Claire.”
Me: “…”
Old man, do you know how much that sentence reveals?!
I put on my stern face. "Can you tell me where this crown princess came from?!"
He stared right at me, that bastard.
Prince Julian's tall frame pressed down on me like he owned the world. "Woman, don't get so worked up. The Fate Ledger blessed by the Mother Divine has acknowledged us. We're destined."
Me: "………"
Destined my—.
I couldn't help cussing under my breath.
I started to think I hadn't transmigrated back here to enjoy life. I might've walked straight into a scam ring.
And it was definitely a romance-scheme.
"This is a joke, right? Not funny at all."
I shoved Julian hard. He'd been weak since earlier and I managed to push him back a little.
The elders—wrinkled faces full of panic—did what they always did. Even if they didn't understand why the once-adoring prince and his bride were fighting, they slipped straight into the proper protocol for the prince's retinue.
Crocodile tears, calling him "Your Highness" and "Her Highness" every other breath, grabbing our hands and bawling.
Me: "………"
He's not dead, I'm the one being forced into marriage—why are you crying?
Julian coughed twice, settled, then gripped my hand hard without another word. "Why don't you want to marry me? Don't you want the Spirit-Subduing Herb and the divine bones and meridians? Don't you want Marcus to become a god? If he doesn't become a god, he'll be crushed and sealed into the Northern Abyss like the demon clans."
Me: "………"
So he knew all along!
"What marriage plot?"
One hill is higher than the next. When you need to kneel, you do it.
The truth was brutal. Julian controlled everything—and knew everything.
I finally understood why he'd flipped so calmly when he went on the offensive earlier.
He only nudged the current when I mentioned the Spirit-Subduing Herb—set Marcus as the bait, laid the trap, and waited for me to walk into it step by step.
For Marcus to legitimately become the Demon God within the Elysian Court, he needed Julian's blessing. I had no right to overturn that.
I also understood why he asked whether I hated the demon clans.
How did I answer back then? I said I hated them so much I'd skin and eat them.
No wonder when I left for the Northern Abyss, Marcus's face looked as it did—quiet, relieved. Maybe he too had been torn by his identity as a demon.
We were silent for a long time. Julian said nothing; I knew he was angry—angry that I was willing, without hesitation, to sacrifice myself for Marcus.
He clung to me, dropping all princely airs, waiting for my willing surrender.
"Where is Marcus now?" I asked.
Julian said, "Him? He's been thrown into the Heavenly Prison awaiting judgment. But because of his status, only a few of us know."
I had imagined what Julian would be like if he discovered Marcus was a demon.
From the moment he mentioned Marcus, I realized that being sent to the Heavenly Prison was Julian giving Marcus the best treatment he could—out of face.
Being a Demon God might be one thing in the Northern Abyss, but if Marcus is a demon without the endorsement of the Divine Court, in the eyes of other immortals he's just a demon who once hid within the Elysian Court and harbored blood feuds. He could never officially be the Demon God.
I asked helplessly, "When did you learn this?"
Julian rubbed my face, reluctant. "Dusk deduced it after I helped you refine the Hanstar Ice-Spirit. Marcus will become the Demon God."
Me: "………"
Are you a koala, rubbing and rubbing?
Am I a tree?
So Dusk had the urge to tell me everything when he volunteered to go to the Northern Abyss with me? Did he—?
What did I do then? I refused!
You don't understand—after eight hundred years of being soft, I put my foot down once and refused spectacularly. We have a phrase for that kind of person: unlucky!
I had strong reasons to suspect I wasn't the typical Silverweasel breed at all.
This time I walked right into the net.
Looks like I'm condemned to a lovelorn life by handsome men.
Faced with this beautiful, all-encompassing pursuit, I could only surrender.
Julian dragged me back to Waverly Palace, his hand stuck to me like superglue—couldn't shake him off.
He was nothing like the proud immortal who would've scowled if I pinched his cheek.
Julian: "………"
Of course he wouldn't tell me it wasn't a scowl—he was just nervous.
Me: "………"
When the seas rage, you learn a hero's true colors.
I have to give Julian credit—he's a man who knows when to bow.
Back at Waverly Palace, Julian took out that Spirit-Subduing Herb.
The white flower's petals had a faint blush at the edges, like the wings of some strange beast.
Without a word he plucked the bloom right off.
Me: "………"
Isn't that a little blunt? You can't just wreck rare things like that!
"The herb's roots are the useful part. The flower itself…not much use," Julian said lightly.
Me: "………"
This is the flower of the Spirit-Subduing Herb, you fool! Useless? This flower could understand language and it'd clobber you.
Julian casually handed the flower to me. "Throwing it away would be wasteful. You don't wear much jewelry—use it as a hairpin."
Me: "………"
I got to witness Julian's kind of wealth.
Honestly, his show of generosity pinned me down.
But at this crossroads, I couldn't accept such a precious thing—what if it became my dowry?
Without looking at the flower, I went straight to the point. "If I don't marry you, you won't help Marcus?"
Julian narrowed his eyes, twirling the stem. He said languidly, "Of course not."
No need to overthink it—Marcus couldn't wait.
"Fine." I heard myself say it.
I should've felt happy. Marrying a powerful, wealthy, handsome prince who'd been pursuing me for so long should be a win, even if it felt a little bitter.
Life's like that; you can't enjoy the rich woman's company without giving a little.
Julian stepped closer, ruffling my hair. He didn't seem especially joyful. "Good."
I remembered the playbook my father taught for winning back a wife: marrying a changed woman is defying fate—the method doesn't matter, getting her is what counts. He believed that even if she was kind to another man now, she'd come back to him later.
Julian wore his usual calm, haughty look; you couldn't read his inner dramas.
So I added a stab, no hesitation: "Can I go deliver Marcus myself?"
And added, "Don't follow."
Julian: "………"
Whether to marry or not—the demon must disappear!
He frowned. "Fine."
A little patience keeps the bigger plan intact.
Me: "………"
Yeah, sorry for the trouble.
Reluctantly, Julian gave me the godhood package.
I planned to leave immediately, but couldn't help adding, "Keep the flower yourself. You've lost a lot of energy and need to recuperate—it's better for you."
And you match it.
Julian froze for a beat, then let a small smile break across his face. "Alright."
Me: "………"
He'd hardly smiled before—tch, he actually looks better when he does.
I took the items and went to the Heavenly Prison to see Marcus.
The court had been peaceful lately; the prison was empty, the wards strong, with only a few guard immortal soldiers.
A silver-armored, upright young man escorted me in, and Marcus's cell turned out to be a nicely appointed room.
There were instruments, calligraphy, painting supplies, and even several sets of clothes.
Me: "?"
Is this a prison visit? Why didn't I get such treatment back then?
Shouldn't a prisoner be bloodied and miserable? And yet that dog of a man was lounging, sipping tea.
"Living well, aren't you?" I said flatly.
Marcus sipped his tea. "Ah, not bad. Prince Julian's been quite considerate."
"Not bad my foot." I frowned. "Are you really a demon?"
Marcus took another sip. "I thought you knew when you went to get the Spirit-Subduing Herb. You're only finding out now?"
Me: "……"
How stupid of me.
"Cut the theatrics. Where is the real Marcus? When did you sneak into the Elysian Court?"
Marcus's green eyes suddenly sharpened. "Claire. The real Marcus is dead. I killed him."
Me: "Don't lie. You cried over a little flower—then you'd cry if you stomped on it, and you have the nerve to say you killed someone?"
Marcus slipped back into that easygoing, loutish way. "You trust me that much?"
"Behave. Confess and I'll be lenient; resist and I won't."
Marcus smiled and began to tell the story.
"I was born into the royal line of the Demon Clan, but I was ashamed to be associated with them. They were greedy, shameless, cruel, bloodthirsty. During the Immortal-Demon War, I opposed invasion and the slaughter, but the royal demon line insisted on fighting. By chance I possessed the spirit of a slain spirit-cat, Marcus, and left the Demon Clan."
A royal destined to be Demon God, but who didn't want to be a demon—typical arrogance from the Way's favored son.
"So Marcus died early, huh? Then who are you?"
"Me? I've forgotten who I used to be."
"Don't play melancholic with us—what was your original name?"
"Yan Xing."
"Never heard of it."
"Then why ask?"
"I was being thorough."
"After becoming Marcus and coming to the Elysian Court, I learned that your father-god and mother-god died in battle. I didn't expect the war to hurt you so much. I'm sorry, Claire."
I felt a little sad. I wanted to be his friend, but I couldn't forgive the Demon Clan for my father and all the immortals who died.
"When did you learn you'd become the Demon God?"
"After I became Marcus and came to the court. By then the demons had been almost wiped out. Maybe the Way regretted it—creating a royal demon line who started the war was a mistake. To protect their favored son, the court made a war god. Now they want to craft another Demon God who can live in peace with the Elysian Court."
I caught the blind spot. "So the demons will inevitably be saved by the Way?"
He nodded. "More or less. Yin and yang balance—everything seeks equilibrium. The Way treats the court like a favored child, but demons can't be suppressed forever. Even if the Demon God isn't me, there will be another. And the Demon God must be recognized by the divine race. An unrecognized demon cannot become a god."
Me: "………"
Julian played me!
He must've intended Marcus to become the Demon God all along—and used it to threaten me!
I suddenly understood why in the book Marcus got eaten by the Devourer—because he never received recognition from the divine clan.
But if he planned to give the Spirit-Subduing Herb to Lily Summers and therefore couldn’t ascend, then he absolutely could not casually reveal his demon heritage to the Elysian Court.
Marcus didn’t respond to my stirrings. He went on, letting out words he’d been holding back for a long time.
“But to be honest, I don’t want to become a Demon God.”
“Do you know what I saw when I went to the Northern Abyss?”
“The demonfolk that remain are pitiful—old, weak, women and children. They live in misery.
No one cares for them. They’re left to breathe out hatred and fear like animals, always waiting for the Elysian Court to get angry and slaughter them. It’s tragic and hateful.”
“Maybe wiping them out once and for all would be better. Blood for blood.
I heard the corpses of demons back then were burned in the Pit of Forgetting with phoenix fire for ten years before they were gone. So what’s the harm in the last few?”
“But now the problem is the Heavenly Way forbids anyone from exterminating them. It even wants a Demon God who doesn’t want to be a demon to save them.”
“After I became a deity I met many people. You were the first friend. Everyone else hates demons; you hate them too. And I’m supposed to save those demons.”
“I collapsed for a time… Later I thought, if I can become a god, can I gain the legitimate, lasting authority to restrain them? Can I prevent them from repeating the royal bloodshed of the demon dynasty—let them be demons openly and dignified in Demonrealm, living as happily as folks in the Elysian Court? Isn’t that the Heavenly Way’s intention for me to ascend?”
“But I never dared to actually do it.
Claire, I’m afraid… I’m afraid of losing all my friends, you included.”
Marcus—no, Yan Xing—reached this point and finally couldn’t hold back his tears.
Those green cat-eyes shimmered in the wash of tears like sparkling gems.
If he didn’t become a Demon God, his blood and kin would suffer forever; if he became one, hatred would become an uncrossable chasm and friendship would vanish.
But it wasn’t like that.
I thought back over the time we’d spent together. It turned out these ties weren’t just mine; they were his too.
He thought like I did—not malicious, only trapped by destiny and helpless.
So he hadn’t betrayed my trust.
He was still my good brother.
I calmed down. “Yan Xing, you won’t lose me.
But I can ask Prince Julian to release you from this cell; I won’t ask the Elysian Court to accept the demonfolk.
I won’t forgive the loyal spirits of Elysian Court—that’s my principle and bottom line as one of their deities.”
“But if Heaven won’t take it, it will backfire.
If destiny says demons aren’t doomed to die and a Demon God must be born, then I’d rather it be you—safer, less likely to repeat the demon dynasty’s mistakes.”
“You can suppress the demons in ways that favor the Court; the Court will understand the Heavenly Way.”
If needed, I could even use my own experience to give you tips for building a harmonious society.
“But from now on, you can only be Yan Xing.”
The words were hard to say.
Marcus was already dead—without my knowledge.
But I knew he’d never willingly be the savior who’d be hailed by enemies on the battlefield.
Yan Xing was silent a long while. “Claire, will you forgive me? For stealing your friendship with Marcus…”
I paused. “You didn’t steal it.
When I was young I was asleep. Before, Marcus was only someone I knew. I truly called you my friend because of how you stayed with me when I woke.”
That was when I was most fragile—both parents gone, all alone in the heavens and earth.
I took out the flame pendant Marcus had given me. “I’ll keep it always.”
I tossed him the Spirit-Subduing Herb and the Devourer’s divine bone-and-chi I’d taken from Prince Julian, then walked away without looking back. “Yan Xing, become the Demon God.
No matter what name you use—John Doe or Joe— we’ll always be brothers.”
After all, I’d once been called something ridiculous in a past life.
Heaven.
Screw the Heavenly Way.
Heaven: “?”
Blame me for letting someone ascend?
When I stepped out of the prison gate, I saw Prince Julian standing there—cold, tall, noble.
Just him. Expressionless, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the distance, radiating loneliness.
He’d promised not to follow, yet here he was—like the man who agrees generously to his wife’s wants but secretly fears her wandering.
He turned and noticed me.
Awkward and silent, he stepped forward and brushed the hair from my temple.
After the long ordeal, tears I’d held in began to fall under his gentle touch.
Prince Julian fumbled to wipe them away—my first time crying in front of him.
He frowned, as if something was seriously wrong. “Woman, what are you crying for?”
Half-dazed and misreading the scolding, I slapped his hand away and started sobbing loudly.
The attendants around us looked at each other: huh, the Prince is bullying his consort!
Prince Julian: “……”
I wasn’t trying to be harsh; I was just upset. He watched my tears fall and looked guilty.
He softened his voice carefully. “If you want… I won’t lock Yan Xing up anymore.
Please don’t cry.”
Me: “You’re saying you always wanted Yan Xing to become a god, aren’t you?! Why lie to me?!”
Prince Julian protested righteously, “How could I lie to you?! Yan Xing wouldn’t be tolerated in the Court without you!”
Oh no—wife looks furious. Not gonna admit that!
I couldn’t sort out all these complex feelings.
But the man I’d given up on suddenly got obsessed with forcing a betrothal, and I’d just discovered one of my brothers might not even be a brother.
Too hot to touch; people are too cold to trust.
Seizing the moment, Prince Julian tried to hug me—and I slapped him off.
I pushed him away, tears streaming, muttering.
Through a sob I said, “Now you’re all affectionate, but before I couldn’t get you to do this.”
Prince Julian’s brow tightened; he swallowed and didn’t argue. Getting his wife was what mattered most.
Prince Julian: “……”
What if my wife won’t let you hug her?
Me, cold: She’s not even my wife yet, so no hugging.
At that moment Princess Vivian limped out of the prison pale and shaky—clearly the divine punishment had just ended.
She saw me and Prince Julian and, surprised, a bright joy bloomed on her lovely face.
She had really thought her prince brother had come to fetch her—and that he’d even beat me to make me cry for her sake.
Spurred by joy she rushed to him.
I, mid-cry and ragged, hastily grabbed something to wipe my nose and face and happened to be holding Prince Julian’s uniform sleeve.
Vivian arrived and saw me using his sleeve as tissue. Her face went white with fury.
Before Prince Julian could say anything she shrieked, “Claire, what are you doing?! How dare you insult the prince!”
I startled and sheepishly put down the sleeve. “Wiping… my face.”
Prince Julian, stern and with hands behind his back, shot back without mercy: “This is the private affair between me and my consort. How dare you offend her! Has the heavenly punishment not taught you a lesson?”
The sleeve was filthy! If not for this woman I’d have had her blood spatter then and there!
I weakly protested, “No… it’s not like that…”
Remembering what I’d once said to Vivian, I didn’t know how to argue.
Was I really supposed to be a consort?
Who actually had such disgusting tastes?
Vivian’s joy froze into something ugly. Her eyes widened with irresistible, jealous outrage.
She stared at me, rigid, and asked, “Your… your consort?!”
Her face twisted. “Really?”
I watched Vivian be bullied by Prince Julian and felt a flicker of fear—she so powerfully reminded me of my past self.
Prince Julian said casually, “It’s true.”
I pouted at him. “It’s not true! It’s complicated—don’t get excited!”
I truly intended to explain.
Vivian snapped out of her daze and lost control. With a single piercing scream she attacked us.
I hadn’t been showing off any affection—what more do you people want?!
I didn’t expect Vivian to suddenly go berserk and strike.
Phoenix fire roared around her, and she drew a black-and-gold dao and swung with everything she had.
A surging divine intent of slaughter came at us; I barely had time to curse.
It was the Phoenix Dao—weapon of the battle-god, Jadewing.
Like Sen Baird’s Whispering Sword, it’s a divine killer that could slay gods and annihilate legions.
Vivian herself was a fierce warrior, and with her brother’s weapon in hand she was devastating.
Her strike wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular; it was indiscriminate.
In a cold, seductive voice she said, “If you dared to toy with me, then die.”
She showed no mercy toward Prince Julian either.
If she couldn’t have you, she would destroy you—complete obliteration.
Vivian was attempting to slaughter gods with a legendary weapon.
I was beside myself: Julian, look! I warned you—don’t mess with love entanglements, danger always follows!
Prince Julian’s vitality was already low—he couldn’t withstand that blow.
The attendants around us turned to ash under the licking phoenix flames.
Though I was a weak, Heavenly Way–suppressed beast-god, my first instinct was to protect Prince Julian with everything I had.
Whether by instinct or duty to the Court, I’d stake my life to keep him from harm.
But to my shock, in the emergency Julian locked me tightly against his chest, spun, and took that lethal close-range strike himself.
My eyes widened as blood sprayed and fell. “Julian!”
Above my head he said hoarsely, urgently, “I’m fine.
Woman, protect yourself first.”
He turned and drew his destiny weapon, the Frosting Sword, and engaged Vivian.
In the chaos I remembered Sen Baird’s jade amulet, smashed it, and sent out a voice-cry: “Help! Vivian has risen at the prison gate and is attacking!”
I tried to join the fight, hoping to stall ten breaths until Sen Baird arrived.
But my help was useless.
One breath.
The soul-force I released was directly reflected back at me by the killing intent on the Phoenix Dao.
For the first time I loathed the crippled body the Heavenly Way had chosen for me with a burning, pure hatred.
Except for occupying the shell of a divine beast, she was utterly powerless everywhere.
Julian barely forced out the strength to tell me, "Run, woman. Run."
Run if you can.
But am I the kind to abandon my friends?!
No!
But!
Can!
Three breaths.
Vivian attacked like a woman possessed. "You all can die together! Nobody gets out alive!"
She drove the Phoenix Edge harder, hysterical.
Julian's mouth spilled blood again; he was completely on the back foot.
The Phoenix Edge swept over me too. My wounds reopened, my face was slashed into a map of blood. I had no strength to resist a weapon of that tier.
Five breaths.
Finally, Vivian knocked Julian's sword from his hand.
I watched the Phoenix Edge in her grip lift, its golden blade glinting and dripping with phoenix-fire, aimed straight at Julian's heart.
Julian gasped once, "Run!"
She looked relieved, then sighed softly, "You all can die."
Blood from the cut on my forehead sank into my eye, making my sight blur and sting.
I blinked hard to see clearly—she really was going to kill Julian!
There was no time for Sen and Dusk to arrive from the horizon, and Yan—whose divine bone and vein had barely begun to fuse and whose nascent divinity couldn't form quickly enough—was nowhere near ready to help.
They couldn't save Julian in time.
I wouldn't let him die.
I forced out the secret of the phantom sable spirit: "The Midnight Banquet."
The Midnight Banquet is the sable spirit's forbidden soul technique. It freezes time, drawing all selected souls into the banquet. Within the banquet is the user's "Soul Abyss Realm"—you can move at will, snuff any celestial soul, and sculpt any soul-dream.
Almost invincible, but it maims the user's soul severely.
My father-god used it in the Battle of East Mountain to wipe out a hundred thousand demon troops and his soul perished afterward.
I had no other option.
Hopefully the Ice-Branding Heiress ward Julian set on me would work.
A distant, mournful flute rose from the edge of the sky. Dark purple billows, like an apocalypse, crept across the world. The bright warm world desaturated to an icy lavender, quickly smothered.
Within that, the Phoenix Edge's murderous divine power could not advance the slightest; everything outside froze.
All souls were drawn to the banquet.
I looked at my blood-smeared body—deep, mottled wounds across my face, grotesque.
Rage finally flared: I'd pleaded with her so reasonably—why this extremism?!
I stared at Vivian's rigid soul, weighing whether to kill her outright or toy with her first.
After all, only by killing her could the Phoenix Edge's divine power dissipate.
Twenty years of law-abiding, moral living and I'd forgotten I'm actually a cold-blooded bastard.
Just as I basked in my own dark cleverness, Julian's soul suddenly clutched me tightly. "How could you use the Midnight Banquet!"
His voice broke with tears.
Me: "…"
Pull yourself together—you are the CEO-type!
I awkwardly pushed him away. "Didn't you put that ward on me? I should be fine."
Should be. Most likely fine—maybe weak for a while, but survivable.
Julian shuddered through his massive frame.
He sank back into composure. "…Ah, that's good."
Then he forced a calm face and let go, grim and stern again!
At that moment the souls of Dusk and Sen arrived—what a relief. For once, Dusk's foresight looked useful: if he hadn't calculated my soul danger, I'd probably have been done for.
Yan was summoned too. His divine bones and veins had fused; only his divinity remained unformed. His broad demon-robed black cloak bore a few slender rose lines, like a butterfly in the night.
He muttered, "Sorry, I couldn't make it in time."
Me: "Demons don't get to whine!"
Yan: "…"
Talking to her always kills the vibe.
Julian: "…"
Great—husband might cheat on me now!
Dusk: "…"
Weren't we sworn enemies?
Sen: "…"
I'm used to this.
Vivian: "…"
Do you even see me?
I finally looked at Vivian.
She sat slumped, Phoenix Edge unable to come into the Midnight Banquet, her celestial power stripped—just a mortal awaiting slaughter.
Even ruined, that face—petal-soft, faded—was a rose at the end of bloom, still alluring.
Suddenly—how stupid was I? Last life I only hated Lily, but actually it was Julian who deserved the hatred most.
Is now a good time to kill him?
I swept meaningful looks across the lineup of bewildered men.
This doesn't seem that hard.
Julian: "…?"
My husband not only wants to stray but wants to murder me—what do I do?!
Of course I wouldn't actually kill Julian, but I did ask Vivian, genuinely curious: "Why go all-in with mutual destruction?"
Vivian lifted her foxed eyes; hatred like ice burned in them. Her red lips quirked. "Prince Julian deceived me. He left me destitute—neither human nor ghost—and goes to marry another! Why can't I kill you two, this dog couple?"
Me: "…"
Fortune turns—now I'm the dog couple.
Fine, she's the true tragic heroine. I have to at least give a nod to this venomous supporting villainess who tormented the female lead.
But I couldn't help feeling sorry for this dazzling woman. How many times had I said—what is love anyway?
I said, "Vivian, I actually like you as a person. Today you'll see what bullshit love looks like."
Since I used a once-in-a-lifetime Midnight Banquet, I might as well make full use of it.
With everyone present, not only would Vivian finally understand my past love and grief, but I'd also let these men see what they've done.
The flute swelled into a long, resonant note—the banquet began.
The scene shifted like a hologram: my past life in full projection.
Only now the body sharing the empathy was Vivian. She would relive everything I had lived—love what I loved, grieve as I grieved.
I also arranged for those men to get an eye-opening show. No more wanting to scold them and holding back.
I was the projectionist. I could fast-forward, pause, or replay.
The five of us squatted like gossiping bystanders, each holding a slice of melon, ready to roast.
When the scene hit the moment Julian first fell for Lily dancing at Stillwater Lake, Julian sneered inwardly, "Ridiculous! Who is this man with my face? I would never be so shallow!"
Yan, already a demon, said, "Stop pretending! You are shallow."
Dusk nodded in agreement, and Sen ate his chilled melon in silence.
Me: "Exactly! You all are shallow!"
Then I played them all the versions of love-at-first-sight.
Sen fell in love watching Lily run in the rain.
Sen stopped eating to watch: "I saw a house fall and went to see what happened, turns out it was my own house.JPG"
Yan fell for Lily humming and watering flowers by the Moonmere River.
He gave a tight smile and said, "Maybe you actually have a problem."
Dusk followed Julian to see what this "white lotus" who conquered the prince looked like, and seeing Lily's genuine sweetness, he fell too.
Dusk no longer acted like he knew it all: "Hm, not what I pictured."
Julian snorted in his head: justice cycles!
Then the replay showed me losing myself, doing stupid things for Julian, getting beaten for it. Yan sneered, "Prince Julian truly is trouble."
I took a bite of melon and nodded sadly.
Julian: "…"
Being handsome isn't my fault!
Next the scene flipped to Dusk stoking the fire for punishment: Julian muttered, "Dusk, your path is crooked."
Brother, kill the wayward brother, spare the virtuous one.
I took another bite of melon, solemn nod.
Dusk: "…"
Don't think I won't hit you just because you're a prince.
Then Yan watched me get beaten and comforted the wronged Lily while doing nothing substantive. Dusk remarked, "Some people would stab for a brother but in the end value passion over friendship."
Not like I, the prince, would say anything to a demon!
I took another bite, painfully sympathetic.
Yan: "…"
That's not 'valuing passion over friendship'—that's delusion.
Then the replay switched to Sen stepping in to beat me. He crushed his melon rind into ash between his fingers and, with a brutal pull of power, formed a quiet violet blade—the Shadow Quiet Sword—and calmly sliced another melon.
Everyone fell silent.
I tossed my eaten rind aside. "We're all family here—beat you is love, scold you is care, right?"
"Grandfather has business, hands off the knife!"
The bewildered men: "…"
When did we become so close?
After that everyone tacitly made fun of Sen, selectively ignoring him—one can't beat someone even with all of them combined.
They endured until the scene of Julian and Lily's wedding preparations: Julian was finishing his patience, a vein throbbing at his temple. "This! What has become of propriety! Woman, swap out this man's face! I cannot bear him!"
Yan gloatingly, "Look who's wearing the wedding dress like a proud victor!"
Before Julian could explode, the scene jumped to Yan foolishly waiting by the window for Lily before the wedding.
Yan: "…"
Brother, we don't have beef, do we?
Julian snorted loud: "I won't stoop to scheming with a shameless demon!"
Yan waited three days and nights outside; Lily finally met him and said, in essence, "I like you too, but only as a friend—we'll always be good friends."
The obsequious Yan was relieved and then vowed, "Even if you don't love me and marry another, I'll always love you, wait for you, protect you!"—evolving into a supreme simp who loves without the aim of marriage.
Yan: "…I can't stand it either!"
I: "Hahahahaha—"
I laughed so loudly, so wildly.
Julian and Aiden grabbed me and shook me, insisting I swap their faces around.
Dusk was genuinely afraid of that boomerang trick, and even Sen joined in with threats and bribes.
They jittered me until my head was fuzzy. Under their loud protests I finally changed their faces to the names:
"Julian"
"Aiden"
"Sen"
"Dusk"
Just like that, the romantic movie with a handsome lead turned into a horror flick where the actors had no features—only names—stamped on their faces.
Four ridiculous men: Hm, good. Better if you shuffled the names some more.
Seeing a name plastered over their faces felt gross, like they themselves were unclean.
I laughed until I flopped back: What's the point!
Now they all had a single target to tease.
When they saw my stupid plan to lock Lily up and drive a wedge between her and Julian, Aiden sneered: "Claire, your tactics are too shallow. No wonder they're always figured out. Think bigger—understand strategy?"
Me: "……"
I understood your mother's kiss.
Dusk: "Exactly. You shouldn't be playing little games now. It's boring. You should take advantage of her illness and finish the job—no complications. You're a goddess; you can just wipe out the little flower in his household. What could they possibly do?"
Me: "……"
Open your eyes and look—who was it that actually got Lily out of that cell, huh?!
Think hard: who did your calculations say ultimately killed me?
Julian nodded too: "Right. I will protect you with everything I have."
And so the plot moved to Julian carrying the unconscious Lily back from Dusk's arms and delivering me to heavenly punishment.
Julian: "Of course, it wasn't me."
Me: Ha.
As I watched, the story wound tighter toward its climax. They stopped mocking; I stopped gorging on the drama.
Since my divine persona shattered, I, the vicious supporting villain, had become a textbook example of "usefulness to the last."
I kept making grand mistakes and courting disaster, heading toward the satisfying comeuppance every evil supporting character gets.
Last life, my fate—having my bones stripped and veins plucked—was catharsis.
But now they were my friends and I could feel their worry.
Julian's eyes reddened. Aiden balled his fist. Dusk stopped smiling. I sneezed from the cold, sitting next to Sen.
Me: "It's okay—it's all fake."
I froze after saying it.
Right? It's fake.
Looking at them again, a strange wave of feeling swept over me.
Dream-Julian was ruthless; real Julian was soft and fussed over everything.
Dream-Aiden died like it was a joke; in reality he was a fearsome, fated warlock.
Dream-Sen was cruel; the real man was my gentle grandfather.
Dream-Dusk was poisonous and scheming; the present Dusk laughed every day like an eccentric town elder.
I suddenly felt pretty unjustified being angry at them.
"They"
really weren't them.
Beyond their faces, nothing matched.
Most importantly: if it weren't fake, how could a soul-erased me possibly open my eyes again?
Soul annihilation isn't something you just say aloud.
Julian saw my dazed face and suddenly hugged me: "Woman, did it hurt? Were you in a lot of pain back then?"
I blinked tears away, as if blinking away years of buried fear and despair.
I murmured, "I told you—it's fake…"
Aiden tried to hug me too but Julian had me pinned in a possessive hold with no room left: "Then why not me?"
I shoved Julian: "You went and gathered the Spirit-Subduing Herb to go save Lily and died."
Aiden: "……"
I shouldn't have been mouthy when I already said it was fake.
Julian: "……"
Ugh. My husband was only half-warm and this schemer ruined it!
Dusk: "I didn't expect I could be so cruel."
I, indignant: "You're worse—you arranged that golden-eyed, jade-waist blade-slave that made my soul vanish!"
Dusk: "……"
Isn't this supposed to be fake?
Sen stood there with his sword looking a bit guilty.
Me: "It's fine. We're family. I don't blame you!"
Dusk: Little one, do you have a double standard?
Replaying phony sorrow only worried my friends—what was the point? Only the weak dwell in misery forever. That kind of thing belongs as motivational quotes for desperate youths!
I ignored their protests and hid the upcoming bone-tearing, vein-plucking scene.
But in my confused state I fumbled and accidentally streamed the video of me in that tiny leather skirt in the monster realm, flirting with three little sprites.
Julian: "……"
Of course. You can't stop green with envy in your heart!
Aiden: "……"
Brother Claire, kids want it all, adults know they can't handle it.
Dusk: "……"
If I hadn't put that ghost butterfly in, maybe by now I'd already be an uncle.
Sen: "……"
My granddaughter isn't protecting herself properly—her grandfather is pained!
As my soul decayed in the plot, Vivian's spirit was expelled.
Sharing my body and emotions, she experienced every bit of my dying despair.
She knelt on the ground, vacant and innocently fragile.
I felt a twinge of softness: "See? Do you understand why I always warned you not to trust love?"
Vivian blinked with wide, wet eyes and slowly nodded: "…Mm."
Me: "Good. Now that you understand, you can die with clarity."
Vivian: "……"
You went through thirteen tricks just so I could die with understanding?
A row of ridiculous men: Didn't we all say it was fake?
Why hold a grudge like this?
Me: Forgiveness is intermittent; grudges are long-term.
I looked at awkward Vivian: "What else can I do? Your outside Phoenix-Sunder Blade is about to cut down Julian. I might not like him anymore, but he can't die."
Julian: "……"
You're my wife!
How can you say you don't like me anymore?
Vivian understood and obediently: "I won't kill him when I go out."
Me: "Wisdom wears well on you."
It's a gentleman's code not to strike a woman—especially one as beautiful as she is.
Besides, Vivian was just like the fake me.
The terrifying part was she was real—mad for love. Her life couldn't be rewound.
I sometimes wondered if someone could lift a vicious supporting villain, would the ending change? Now, as an onlooker, I'd help.
Let the curse on the vicious supporting character shatter.
Julian said nothing.
Dusk frowned: "You're going to spare her?"
Me: "Of course. Would you kill such a pretty woman?!"
Dusk: "I would."
Me: "……"
Devil.
I told dumbstruck Vivian: "I won't kill you, but I won't fully trust you."
Then I gravely wounded Vivian's spirit enough that when she left she would be barely able to stand.
She silently took it.
Dusk started to argue, but Julian stopped him, and I didn't see the rest.
"I hope you become better. But I'm saying this because I actually like you—not because I'm letting you off!"
I finished those words and dismantled the chaotic night feast illusion.
When a sliver of sunlight pierced the purple canopy overhead, the feast ended and the spirits snapped back.
A crushing weakness slammed into me. I thought, with my bloodshot eyes, I could at least watch Vivian put down that black-and-gold blade.
Instead, the blade dropped without warning, no hesitation.
Vivian's phoenix fire exploded around her into a terrifying sun-bird silhouette; she forced a phoenix rebirth, burning up her life to strike despite her grievous soul injury.
Six breaths.
The blade sank into flesh with a tearing sound that stabbed my ears. Julian made no noise; I let out a raw scream.
He managed to comfort me through gritted breath: "It's okay…"
A godslayer war-weapon can suppress a divine body's healing. I saw Julian's chest pierced through.
I couldn't even call his name.
I flopped helplessly to the ground; the stunned, voiceless shock gripped me completely.
But I couldn't move.
All my strength only allowed me to strain my eyes and watch Vivian's blade plunge into Julian's heart, unleashing an explosive golden light.
Seven breaths.
Hearing Julian still have the strength to speak, Vivian twisted the blade again.
The thick sound of blood and muffled groans detonated in my brain.
I shook my head desperately, begging her to show mercy.
I jutted my chin up, and when Vivian had done enough—when Julian had no sound left—she cruelly and cleanly pulled the blade out, blood geysering.
I hated myself in that moment.
Hated my bleeding-saint heart!
Why?
Why didn't the blade fall on me?!
I let you go—didn't I say don't harm others?!
My mouth opened in a hoarse rasp; I truly didn't want others to be hurt because of me… Buddha feeds himself to tigers, slices meat for hawks—he gives his body. Who am I to risk another's flesh?
Nine breaths.
She looked down at the slumped Julian and laughed—so unrestrained, so bewitching—then turned to me: "Claire, I should thank you. You freed the shackles that held my feet and let me take revenge. I kind of like you. I'm sorry for hurting you back then…"
That airy sentence shattered every defense I had just as Sen arrived.
A silent sword flew and slit Vivian's throat clean, driving the delicate neck into the ground.
Aiden finally completed his divinity and pierced Vivian's heart with a blast of power.
The phoenix image collapsed.
The rebirth had failed—only extinction remained.
Still, her face wore a satisfied smile, breathtaking and fully bloomed.
Julian lay there, life uncertain, his profile serenely divine, yet a hollow in his chest.
The blade's brutal lethality shredded flesh, blood and pieces scattered across the floor.
They stained the white Spirit-Subduing flower I had refused to take.
I, like a helpless neighbor struck by a thrombosis, trembled and gathered my last strength to squeeze out two words: "Jul—ian—"
Then I fainted completely.
The agonizing pain through my spirit left me unsure if I would ever wake again.
Princess Vivian’s words cut straight to my heart. I ached with regret—if only I hadn’t been cowardly and negligent, if only I’d been brave enough to kill when it mattered, Julian wouldn’t have suffered like this.
I would rather the blade have been driven into my chest than because of me it pierced someone else’s.
*
I woke up under the Silverwood Tree a thousand years later, crying.
Tears streamed down my face as I cried out, “Julian! I’m so sorry!”
I opened my eyes in a panic. Through the blur of tears, several faces hovered over me, all worried—among them was Julian, looking very much alive though altered.
Me: Did I dream again, or did I transmigrate again?
Julian’s old look had been a rare mix of fierce beauty and refined grace. His dignified bearing had tempered most of the otherworldly edge, leaving him stately and composed.
Now, though, his expression was wild with alarm; a faint weariness had crept into his eyes. The last traces of his feral charm had softened into elegance. Even the dark regalia he wore—his Obsidian Prince Regalia—had different embroidery now; the austere cloud patterns had been subtly worked into delicate, ornate floral motifs.
I asked cautiously, “What year is it now—by the immortal calendar?”
Julian gripped me tight, his eyes rimmed red and his voice hoarse: “Immortal Year 82,381. Woman, you slept for over a thousand years. You have no heart!”
Yep. That domineering CEO vibe, full force.
I was too embarrassed to push him away. “How are you still alive…?”
Julian: “Were you hoping I’d be dead?”
Me: “I didn’t say that—it was you who said it.”
They finally cleared things up for me.
I’d lost consciousness too fast to see the Spirit-Subduing Herb explode in a blast of light that wrapped around Julian and saved his life.
My spirit had actually been repaired by the Hanxing Ice Essence, but my subconscious clung to a sealed soul-state and refused to wake. They had only fully roused me after they found the millennium-lost Soul-Chasing Lantern.
Me: “…”
So my perfect, blooming young self suddenly aged a thousand years overnight?!
I pushed Julian away with complicated feelings and demanded to know what exactly had happened with Princess Vivian.
Dusk explained it all.
Two thousand years ago, after the Phoenix Clan’s war god Yulin fell, the Celestial Court tried to reclaim the world-ending divine weapon and sent people to retrieve the Radiant Phoenix Blade but came up empty.
At the time, the Phoenix Clan leader claimed the Radiant Phoenix Blade had perished with Yulin. The Court didn’t dig further and accepted that answer.
But the blade had actually been secretly kept.
I knew little of the conspiracy then—I’d assumed Yulin had simply left it to his sister for protection, never imagining it was hidden away for profit.
Yet the idea that someone like Princess Vivian could secretly hide a god-slaying weapon alone was absurd. The Phoenix leadership had to be involved.
Under interrogation, it came out that the Phoenix high council had wanted to hoard the weapon. A few of them conspired, using Vivian—Yulin’s devoted sister—as a pawn.
They convinced Vivian that her brother had been murdered by the Celestial Court, that he’d been betrayed for speaking out. Vivian idolized her brother and couldn’t believe he would fall in battle unless he’d been betrayed, so she grew to hate the Court.
But Yulin’s death was murky. Rumor had it his forced nirvana failed and his realm collapsed; no one knew why. When the Phoenix elders learned this, they panicked and covered it up to protect their future influence, pushing Vivian—unaware of the truth—to strengthen the clan.
The few elders who stoked her hatred weren’t really out for revenge; they wanted the divine weapon for themselves. After they used Vivian to hand it over, they brushed her aside and denied their lies. Vivian was furious, but she loved the Phoenix Clan—she couldn’t turn on it.
She outwardly accepted the elders’ explanations while privately believing her brother had been murdered, resolved to avenge him against the vast powers of the Celestial Court. But the Heavens are hard to touch, so she aimed for the one inside reach: Julian. She thought, if necessary, to trade one life for another—blood for blood.
Only, Julian’s charm was lethal.
Before I even woke, she’d fallen for him. Torn between vengeance and love, she tried a compromise: marry Julian and bear a heir. With a trusted son inside the Court, she might one day topple it from within.
Julian was typically indifferent to admirers—aloof and untouchable—which gave hope to many. But my appearance ruined Vivian’s plan, and she unhinged.
At the scene, Dusk and Julian recognized the Radiant Phoenix Blade immediately and understood that Vivian’s sudden violence wasn’t just about being spurned. It was a convergence of three factors.
Timing: she carried the stolen blade.
Location: we were near the prison gates, with only weak guards around.
People: my fragile, weakened Julian.
Even if she’d killed Julian outright, the Celestial Court would likely punish only the greedy Phoenix elders rather than slaughter the entire clan because of the way destiny and law work.
What none of them expected was that I actually used the Ruinous Night Banquet—one misstep and a soul could be extinguished. When Vivian was dragged into that banquet with me, she cooled and made a clear choice: sacrifice the moment to save herself and bide another time.
So naïve me, utterly ignorant of all this history, just happened to push her over the edge and made her take the kill.
I couldn’t decide whether to blame Vivian for deceiving me. If she hadn’t lied, all her plotting over the years might have been for nothing.
You can’t be soft-hearted willy-nilly.
I asked, helpless: “If you and Dusk both knew Vivian might still be murderous, why didn’t you tell me?!”
Julian blinked, a little guilty: “I saw that you didn’t want to kill…”
My blood pressure shot up. “I’d rather you not get hurt because of me!”
Julian looked at me with burning intensity—so I do have some place in your heart!
He hadn’t expected I would sleep for a thousand years over this. I watched him blink—still handsome—and my heart softened thinking of what he’d suffered. My voice dropped: “Well, you could have said one thing so I’d be a little prepared!”
You’ve got a knife in your chest and you keep fiddling with it—don’t make me worry more!
Then, thinking that warning me might have tipped Vivian off and made things worse, I shut up.
Julian was still hyped, not the solemn prince I remembered: “Telling you would only trouble you. I could’ve handled it simply!”
Me: Brother, your tough-guy act is flawless.
I pinched his face and said seriously, “No trouble. If I’d known, I would’ve acted without hesitation.”
I won’t let anyone hurt my people.
Julian froze. The joy that bubbled up in his beautiful eyes as I squeezed his face was almost visible. Riding the good mood, he ruffled my hair: “Woman, you’ve suffered in this thousand years. Let’s get it together and marry.”
I blinked in disbelief. “?”
Dude, that leap is huge. I wanted to be his comrade and now he proposes marriage?!
Julian’s smile was soft. “Claire, we’ve waited a thousand years. Finally this day.”
I awkwardly let go of his face and clumsily changed the subject: “If you’d told me you weren’t going to die before I used the Ruinous Night Banquet, I could’ve avoided this whole mess!”
Julian was silent a moment. “I didn’t expect you would use the Ruinous Night Banquet for me.”
I was suddenly pinned by guilt.
True—Julian and I had been at odds over the Demon God issue before. His smiling vanished; the old deep prince reemerged: “Are you having second thoughts?! You promised to marry me once Yan Xing became a god!”
He said, “He’s fine in the Heavens. The Destiny Registry has announced it and the Father and Mother gods have sent invitations. You can’t back out!”
I suddenly remembered—I had said yes once. I glanced guiltily at Yan Xing, sending a look: come on, dude—you weren’t fond of Julian, right?
Yan Xing refused to take my signal and shot back with a teasing jab: “Claire, you really don’t want to marry? I thought you wanted it badly!”
Since waking, I hadn’t spared anyone a glance—my heart and eyes were all for the Prince! And now he’s useful and remembers me again!
I felt guilty. Yan Xing wasn’t hiding his amusement; Julian praised Yan Xing: his civic conscience has clearly improved over a thousand years!
Yan Xing scoffed: my brother Claire marrying? Don’t get excited.
I thought: I’m betrayed—my ally turned traitor and counterattacked.
I turned to Dusk, who’d been watching like Spectator No.1: faithful Prince ally—never mind.
Then Grandpa spoke up. “Grandfather! Can you bear to see your granddaughter marry this man?”
Everyone around: “?????”
When did you two become relatives?!
Sen Baird: “…”
I don’t have a granddaughter as unsteady as you.
Sen Baird’s carefully hidden feelings over the millennium had been stabbed open by my question.
Sen Baird, cold: “If you don’t want to be the prince’s consort, you don’t have to.”
Me: Grandpa, you’re still the best. Sen Baird’s next line was merciless: “I think the position of War God’s wife suits you better.”
I was stunned. Grandpa, that’s some hardcore seven-level love!
Julian: “…A woman holding roses—how could she prefer a wildflower!” I’d always thought Yan Xing was a romantic rival—turns out the rival is Sen Baird?!
Dusk: “…”
Who said Sen Baird couldn’t be poetic? Come out and show yourself!
Yan Xing: “…”
Don’t say my Claire’s in demand.
I was completely shut down by Sen Baird, my spirit wobbled, and I sulked away.
I can’t handle this battlefield of feelings—I ghosted out.
Before I left, I saw Julian grabbing me and warning, “Don’t try to back out.”
He’s had enough terror for a thousand years!
I woke again to the Silverwood Tree.
I poked my head out slyly to see if those men were still around. If they were, I wouldn’t mind fainting again.
How long I pass out depends on how intense the men’s emotional battlefield gets.
I came ready for a horror show, but somehow I stumbled into a comedy.
Of all people, Marcus was playing chess with Dusk.
Me: "……?"
Since when did those two become friends?
What are two terrible chess players doing playing each other?
Competing to see who’s worse?
Dusk placed another piece—gentle as spring breeze. "If Claire's awake, she should come down. Prince Julian and Lord Sen aren't here, no need to worry."
Me: "…I'm coming."
Of course the Arbiter of Fate could be a terrible chess player and still be a prophet.
I snapped back into human form and went down.
Marcus looked at me like a sly thief, his green eyes flashing. "Now you're scared?"
Tears sprang to my eyes: "Little Star, tell me why this man is so terrifying!?"
Marcus tilted his eyes. "What's there to be scared of? You don't like him, then just ignore him."
Obviously I'm always on your side.
Me: "It's not that simple, sigh."
I said to Dusk with a little embarrassment, "I should thank you for saving my life. If your prophecy hadn't been right, who knows what would have happened to me."
Dusk waved a hand. "Claire, there's no need to be so formal. If you want, we can be friends. Just call me by my name."
I grabbed my comrade's hand. "Brother Dusk!"
Looks like I was petty before and misjudged my big brother—henceforth we're bona fide brothers!
Dusk chuckled softly, amused.
I turned to Marcus. "How's your thousand-year mission in the Demon Realm going?"
Marcus: "Pretty well. At first the Divine Court was outraged and the demons didn't trust the gods. But with the backing of the Celestial Palace and Royal Court, I had a lot of support. Over the millennium, gods and demons have learned to coexist more peacefully."
The demons had moved past old grievances, admitted the wrongs of the past war, and leaned toward peace. The heavens, too, showed mercy to those demon clans who’d suffered.
As the link between gods and demons, Marcus gained acceptance and respect from both realms.
I nodded in satisfaction. Good—everyone's doing well.
We chatted a lot, then circled back to those two men.
I made a soul-wrenching confession: "Why am I so amazing?"
Dusk, mellow as jade: "Claire, you're a daughter of the heavens—bright, sincere. Naturally irresistible. But what do you feel for those two gentlemen?"
My face flushed. Dusk's prophet-level compliments hit different—so flattering I didn't even mind the gossip!
I answered bluntly: "One's an ex, one's like a grandfather. I don't want either. We're just friends—isn't that enough?"
The thought of getting involved with men made my scalp prickle.
Dusk fanned himself, smiling. "Yes, being friends with Claire is wonderful."
I nodded earnestly: "Exactly!"
Marcus tossed aside a chess piece. "You think that way, but they don't. Debts of the heart you create yourself—you pay them yourself."
"For a thousand years we chased after the Soul-Chasing Lamp for you. The Prince finally found a way to make it, scoured the Three Realms for the materials, nearly gave his life to make it. As the heroine, your title as Future Princess spread across the realms along with the lamp's legend."
"When the Soul-Chasing Lamp burns, it makes a big scene. Right now, probably everyone in the heavens knows you're awake and waiting for you to show yourself."
Me: "…?"
My dream of stardom fulfilled so suddenly?
Back in my old life, I filmed hundreds of hand gestures and thousands of snappy lines and nothing blew up. Come back to the Elysian Court and suddenly I'm trending.
Of course. Misplaced effort!
I waved it off and dropped the subject.
After Dusk and Marcus left, I snuck out like a thief disguised as Paige.
Thanks to a few powerful patrons, Springvale Manor rose in status. Paige became someone who could speak with Prince Julian, Lord Sen, Marcus, and even the Arbiter of Fate—the top-tier of the Elysian Court.
Everywhere I went I was treated with respectful greetings.
Me: I never had this in my past life!
Well, I wasn't dead then.
Men are precious, but brothers are priceless; for freedom, both can go!
I marched to a famous hot spot that had appeared in the heavens a century ago: the Velvet Pleasure Gardens.
It was supposedly created because older single gods had so few chances to meet new immortals. It was huge—mountains, waters, meeting squares, rooms—an all-in-one legally sanctioned pleasure park. Like a modern entertainment complex, except the immortals inside were classy, into romantic arts.
I went in excited.
But as soon as I stepped into the meeting square, the place went silent.
Paige, the future princess and first lady of Springvale Manor, wouldn't normally come here.
Besides, everyone knew Paige was chaste under Lily Summers' watch—pure as jade.
Unless… their relationship had broken down!
Once that thought spread, Paige's presence ignited every immortal's passion. Hooking up with her was a chance to climb the social ladder.
More importantly—Paige was attractive to everyone.
Paige: "…"
Thanks, I guess.
Immediately, gods and goddesses swarmed me.
Me: "…"
Help. I feel like a lamb in a tiger den.
On my left, a deer-eyed youth offered cherries. On my right, a cool young man slipped me a handkerchief. In front, a bewitching elder sister fed me a lotus pastry.
I bit it and looked at her smiling face: "…"
Lotus pastry… are you shading Lily?
Marcus was right. Kids want it all; grown-ups know you can't handle everything.
Surrounded by so many beauties, life suddenly felt dull.
Just as I was losing myself and grinning ear to ear, the crowd went dead quiet.
Around me: "…"
Me: "…?"
Where's the music? Where's the dancing?
I looked up and saw Prince Julian standing there, holding a sword case blooming with carved flowers.
His face was so dark it could match his obsidian regalia.
I choked: "Ahem…"
He glanced at me, then turned and left.
That look—full of grievance and hurt, almost on the verge of tears.
Me: "…"
Oh no.
People exchanged glances and guessed wildly: Did the prince stop waiting for that one immortal who'd waited a thousand years and shift his affections to Paige?!
Tentative whispering: "Lady Paige… you…?"
I pushed through the admirers to chase Julian, but he'd vanished.
At the Velvet gate I found Lord Sen standing with a sword, watching.
Me: "…"
Did you all plant trackers on me?
I tried to slip away but Sen grabbed my collar.
Everyone gasped: "…!!!"
Did the Warlord fall for Paige too?!
One glance from Sen and everyone snapped to attention—straight and proper, no wandering thoughts.
After Sen walked off with me, the crowd breathed a sigh of relief: the Reaper's reputation held true.
No one dared gossip about the prince and the warlord, yet whispers still reached Lily: "Rumor has it Paige of Silverwood dropped by the Velvet Gardens—did the double bloom break?!" Which led to Paige crying to me every night for a while because Lily wouldn't let her into bed because of me!
Me: "…"
Actually I had placated Julian for a while that day.
Sen held me the whole time without saying a word.
I watched his cold profile and couldn't help blurting: "Lord Sen, you'll always be my grandfather…"
Sen, indifferent: "Shut up. I don't want to be the Celestial Emperor's old man."
Me: "…"
Hey! How can you be so sure I'm marrying Julian?!
Sen produced that familiar black jade pendant with cloud patterns and handed it to me.
The pendant was warm, not the usual cold stone. He clutched it a long time. "The other piece broke last time. I'll go to the Mortal Realm to guard Kunlun. If something happens, break this pendant. Within ten breaths, I'll come help you."
His tone was flat and frost-forged, but the words were soft and determined.
Grandfather truly was a gentle gentleman.
I didn't want to make him sad. But feelings are irrational; you can't give someone hope just because you pity them.
I put on a big smile: "Grandfather, you're too kind. From now on let's keep things separate! I'll call you 'Granddad' and you call me 'bro.' How's that?"
Sen tossed the pendant at my face and walked off.
Before she ended up with someone else, he confessed his feelings honestly; when she felt troubled, his leaving was all he could do.
Holding the pendant and watching him go, I was moved by our earth-shaking grandfather-granddaughter bond.
Then I turned and chased after Julian.
The only place Julian would run to was Waverly Palace—worried I couldn't find him, so he didn't run far.
A thousand years later, Waverly Palace was the same, except for a gauzy haze that had settled in. I found him sitting in the garden with his back to me.
He hadn't even finished his favorite tea.
He sat there, motionless, as if the flowers themselves had lost their color.
I called out clearly: "Prince Julian!"
He turned gracefully and quickly, facing me. He didn't stand—just sat up straight, eyes dim, full of grievance. It was so obvious—he was showing me, begging me to comfort him.
Tch. After a thousand years, the noble CEO type had devolved into a spoiled prince who pouts. I’d earned myself a petulant fan.
I walked up to him. Yes, his face was still immaculate—just not as easygoing as before.
Though my trip to the Velvet Gardens was a bit out of character, I still didn't really want to marry.
Julian, stern-faced: "Woman, you ungrateful thing! How can you be so irresponsible? Everyone knows you're the Future Princess and you act like this!"
Me: "Eh, I'm using Paige's face, I'm not shaming the Celestial Palace!"
Julian: "…"
Why did I fall for you, anyway?
Paige: "…"
Thanks again.
No matter how I tried to coax him, his expression stayed dark and sullen. I couldn't take it.
"If you're going to be like this, then I'm leaving."
Dramatic and spicy—tease but refuse the chase. I bolted.
Julian froze: That's it? Only a little comforting and you're gone?!
He jumped up, grabbed me, and wrapped his arms around me.
Dizzy from his scent, I: "…"
See? If you behaved like this earlier I would have stayed.
His voice was low and rough with hurt: "Don't go."
"I haven't seen you smile in over a thousand years!
But the first thing you did when you opened your eyes was go to that place, eat the pastry someone handed you, and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. How am I not supposed to be mad?"
"So don't walk away so fast, okay?"
I was in his arms too — the first time after waking I didn't pull away.
I opened up and looked at myself honestly.
I've lived more than five thousand years, but I've only had my eyes open for a little over a thousand.
And in that thousand-plus years, aside from childhood, every memory has him in it.
Pain was him, despair was him, but love was him, sweetness was him.
My whole life's love boiled down to two words: Julian Pierce.
My voice came out weak: "But I don't want to marry you…"
As if it could be that easy.
Julian went rigid for a long moment.
Then, his voice cracked into a sob: "Claire, did I mess up again?"
"You did before. I was clearly moved by you, but I always neglected you, never asked how you felt. You left and only then did I regret it."
"Now it's the same. You're so wonderful and so many people want you. I'm terrified I'll lose you forever. I panic and do whatever it takes to make you mine — still without asking how you feel."
A millennium of urgency, guilt, and remorse burst out; he sounded utterly broken. "What do I do? I don't think I know how to love…"
He held me tight, burying my head against his chest, chin resting on my crown as he cried freely, unwilling to let me see him so ruffled.
But I felt the wetness. I heard the sniffles.
This time I wouldn't let him off so easily; I lifted my head on purpose.
He looked at me through tear-blurred eyes, hesitating to speak.
His flawless face hit me with a direct emotional blow.
Ha. I expected a mess when he cried — maybe I'd sneer. Instead, he was more beautiful than ever.
I said bluntly, "You really don't know how to love."
Honestly, Julian had single-handedly sabotaged his chance at having a wife.
He'd thought I'd comfort him, but I just dealt another blow.
He couldn't hold back. The tears he'd almost stopped started falling again.
Me: "…"
Even a god's tears don't turn to diamonds.
If Julian knew what I was thinking right then, he'd probably throttle me.
He choked out, "Then… how should I love? Teach me…"
Me: "…?"
Teach my boyfriend how to love?
Seeing my expression, he changed his tone fast. "Okay! Then I'll try… to learn how to love you, all right? Please… could you not leave me for someone else?"
He looked pathetic and utterly gorgeous.
Normally I found all this tiring, but suddenly it felt kind of fun.
"Fine," I said. "I'll give you a trial period. If you can't move me, then don't ever bother me again."
Julian's face fell: he didn't want to let go.
Never wanted to let go.
Even if he couldn't win me, he couldn't bear to give up.
He wanted to be entitled and selfish with righteous confidence, but he was scared: I hadn't coddled him in a long time.
Julian asked carefully, "How long?"
I said on a whim, "Depends on my mood."
Tears sprang into his eyes. "Are you just using that as an excuse to dump me?"
His theatrics flared again. I got nervous. "No—how about a thousand years?"
Julian: "Ten thousand!"
Me: "…?"
Way too greedy.
He hesitated, then bargained: "Nine thousand five hundred?"
I: "You're being generous."
He pursed his lips. "Not less than nine thousand…"
Me: "Do you have any shame?"
He: "I want my princess!"
I want my wife!
Me: "Five thousand."
He: "Nine thousand!"
Me: "Six thousand."
He: "Nine thousand!"
Me: "Seven thousand."
He: "Nine thousand!"
Me: "Deal."
I couldn't beat a broken record.
Apparently repetition wasn't just human nature — gods did it too.
He pressed his lips together, and then suddenly the price felt too low to him.
I: That's enough.
He thought: if nine thousand years still couldn't win her, then all his glorious accomplishments in life were for nothing!
So he brightened again.
He pulled out the ornate flower-clad sword case he'd brought, offering it with eyes shining: "This is the gift I prepared for your waking."
I took it. The case was entwined with countless blossoms and branches carved and woven into the box.
On closer look, the flowers moved: from bud to bloom, then transforming into another bud as the cycle began anew. Tens of thousands of divine flowers bloomed one after another — some dazzling, some pure, all breathtaking.
The sword inside matched the case's style.
When I drew it, the blade was as bright and cold as a moon in a clear sky — beautiful and aloof.
A single swing left a trail of blooming flowers through the air; the floral arc was fleeting but stunning.
I was stunned. Beyond whether the sword was powerful, it was impossibly gorgeous.
How dramatic would this be on the battlefield?!
If you wanted flowers, one swing and you had them — the blossoms seed rare kinds, too.
I looked at Julian, surprised; he looked at me, hopeful.
I suddenly realized maybe he wasn't completely hopeless.
I asked happily, "How did you make this?"
"Following an ancient god-text I saw before!" he said with a smile. Then he asked back, "Do these flowers look familiar?"
I swung the sword again; floral trails lingered in the air. The plants seemed like the same ones you could find in the flower meadows by the river where I used to walk.
He took my hand and led me: "These are all the ones you gave me. You kept giving me flowers for a hundred years each time — over thirty thousand in total."
I was shocked. "…Didn't you throw them all away?"
Weren't they valueless to you when I gave them?
He looked a little ashamed. "I didn't… actually throw them away. After you left, I carefully preserved them with magic."
I was speechless. He'd been secretly hoarding my discarded gifts?
We arrived at a place — a glittering pavilion of gold and jade.
Inside, I was stunned. This was the treasure house I'd squandered in the past? All the heirlooms and artifacts passed through Silverwood Ridge for thousands of years — and I'd used them up chasing a man.
I owed an apology to the ancestors of the Silverweave line.
I was about to sweep everything back into my arms when Julian grinned and grabbed my hand. "Want them back, Claire?"
I nodded fiercely. "Can I?"
He beamed. "Yes! Kiss me once for each thing you take!"
Me: "You kids, behave yourselves while I'm gone, okay? Sister's heading out."
I turned to leave — I figured nine thousand years would never come.
Julian's resolve faltered. "Kiss me and take two, that'd be okay too~"
Me: "…"
Nineteen thousand years didn't convince me either.
After that, Julian set up a Waverly Palace branch in Silverwood Ridge and kept showing up at my house.
One time, when he wasn't welcomed in, he camped at my front gate.
He didn't lose face about it; he put on an extravagant display and carried himself with majestic ease.
At first, everyone thought he was deadly serious, ready to settle the score with me.
Then the sycophants, who'd been patiently squatting at the Springvale Manor gate with him, smelled an opportunity.
People assumed I'd be the one to grovel — after all, I had a history of chasing a man. But it turned out the situation was different.
Whether alarming or not, it was obvious Prince Julian wasn't being adored by his would-be princess.
Clearly the prince staged all that to win back his angry girlfriend.
Soon, the onlookers returned home and embellished the tale until the Elysian Court buzzed: Shock! The Princess pushed the Prince out of the gate and left him to wait in the rain! Who wronged whom? Stay tuned for palace romance revelations!
Julian standing in the cold rain was a spectacle. The sycophants saw their chance and flooded him with trashy self-help love books: How to Win Her, Beauty's Yours, One Hundred Eight Tricks to Chase Your Wife — all the street-literature crap.
For a while, Julian tirelessly tried those tactics on me; I was alternately exasperated and amused.
Of course, in public, Julian was mostly composed, reserved, solemn.
He didn't take those books at face value; instead he found sneaky ways to learn from them with magic.
When he reached the corny pick-up lines, the prince, locked outside, had an epiphany. If he couldn't get in person, couldn't he still send words?
From then on, the manor was often filled with awful lines echoing around.
Like when I gathered dew in the morning: "You rise early, I rise early — we'll be together sooner or later."
Or "I want to buy a plot of land. Know what land? Your unwavering devotion."
Or "Don't you have flames on you? Otherwise how did you spark my heart?"
Or "You look familiar — like my mother's future daughter-in-law."
Me: "…"
Even hot pot with friends wasn't as appetizing as before.
I was genuinely curious what kind of taste Julian had to enjoy such over-the-top lines.
Drenched in cringe, I let him back into the manor.
Julian was thrilled and began to treasure those dumpy books like relics.
For a while, whenever he had a spare moment he'd squeeze out another corny line.
While massaging my legs: "This is your hand, this is your foot — you're my treasure."
When he squeezed onto my sunbed: "I am the charming husband, you are the charm."
Me: "…"
Seriously, he'd be more famous if he made videos with that content.
Eventually the whole Elysian Court realized their strict, majestic prince had a long road to win a wife.
People even started betting on when I'd accept him.
Only I knew how ridiculous Julian's antics and schoolyard chasing could be.
I couldn't hold out for nine thousand years — he'd laugh me to death before then.
Around the three-hundredth year, I realized I'd been chasing him for close to three hundred years too.
Watching him serve me tea, massage my legs, I found myself softening. I remembered Dusk saying he was preparing a special move and asked, "Do you have any sincere, can-win-her-over trick to show me?"
I'd always wanted to know what else the marvelous prince could pull off.
Julian's ears flushed, adorably pink.
He asked seriously, "If I show it to you, will you marry me?"
This was Prince Julian’s favorite line for centuries — his standard question before pulling out any grand gesture.
Whether I agreed or not, he never pressed. It was just a routine reminder.
I always refused before. This time I didn’t outright say no. “Show me first.”
Julian snapped to his feet so fast I heard the stone table take a dull hit.
His features remained composed, as if nothing had happened. “Wait,” he said.
He stepped back a few paces, a little off-balance. In the private corners where I couldn’t see, the controlled smile he always wore looked oddly nervous.
I found myself curious. His previous displays had never made him shy.
He planted his feet, drew in a breath — then, abruptly, pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on.
This was one of those ridiculous accessories I’d studied during my slow centuries to look impressive. It had become all the rage in the Elysian Court.
The normally ethereal immortals had turned into trendsetters overnight.
Composed as ever, Julian suddenly raised his hand and began to perform a sequence of flamboyant hand flourishes.
I spit out water. “?!”
My noble, dignified Prince — are you all right?!
Julian’s eyes crinkled with bitter resignation: Not really, but chasing one’s wife is supposed to be painful.
I burst out laughing.
His attempts at romance were childish, but he’d always cared about appearances.
He was the Prince of the Court; decorum and palace dignity were nonnegotiable. Usually he was forced into gravity. So the fact that he’d stooped to a little showy hand flourish for me hit me right in the chest.
Because once the flourish starts, you know it’s sincere.
On impulse I blurted, “Julian, will you marry me?”
He’d just taken off the sunglasses and looked blank. “Huh? Sa—Cloth…what did you say?”
I smiled. “Will you marry me or not?”
If you like someone, why drag it out?
As long as the guy’s earnest, he’s formidable anywhere.
As long as his heart’s in the right place, anywhere can feel like paradise.
Life is full of exclamations and regrets; if you don’t believe me, just look — everything changes.
Same line I always believe: life’s about losses and gains. Live it big.
Julian finally snapped back to himself. “Marry… I’ll marry… mar-marry-mar!”
He tossed the sunglasses aside, surged forward, and cupped my face. Excited, he asked, “May I kiss you now?”
Before I could answer, he kissed me.
Me: “………’
Remember appearances!
Don’t lose the spirit; don’t let the poise slip!
Julian: “………’
So happy. Three hundred years, and I finally got him to give away his first kiss!
*Later Julian took me to meet the Celestial Emperor and Empress.
I was nervous at first. Everyone in the Court had known I’d been dangling Julian for ages; I worried his father wouldn’t be pleased.
To my surprise, the Emperor and Empress were extremely kind — kind enough that all my remaining worries evaporated.
The Emperor leaned to the Empress and teased: This kid always looked down on fathers who dote on their daughters-in-law. For centuries he’s been coming to me to learn how to be better, all because of little Sa—Cloth. But today I got to make him suffer a little, and it felt good!
Me: “………’
No wonder Julian’s courting methods were so infantile — the source was clear.
They set the wedding fast.
Julian wanted to give me everything best of the best and, in true dramatic fashion, cut the decision like a warrior severing a limb: the wedding would be in a month.
He looked heartbreakingly distraught about it. You’d think the wedding was being postponed for ten thousand years.
But Julian had everything prepared down to the finest detail. He told me he thought the fake wedding in my dream had been too shabby; if he truly married, he wanted his wife to have the very best in the world.
Dowry, crown, bridal gown, guests, feast — everything had to be ten, a hundred times better than anyone else’s ceremony.
The Emperor puffed his whiskers and glared: You little brat, don’t outdo my wedding with your wife!
Once things were decided, Julian grew more anxious than before.
He shadowed me constantly, asking strange, fretful questions.
One minute he’d ask if I’d love him forever; the next he’d mutter to himself that once he married me, I couldn’t abandon him; then he’d cast beseeching looks and plead, “Don’t call off the wedding, okay?”
I knew he lacked security, so I stopped teasing him.
Time in the Court flew, and the wedding day arrived.
Crane flocks carried dowries that merged into a long river of crimson, flowing from the horizon to Springvale Manor on Silverwood Ridge.
The little spirits in the manor watched ever more lavish tribute arrive day after day. They’d gone from stunned to blasé in no time.
So had I.
Julian had dragged me to his family warehouse several times to tempt me, saying, “If you marry me, all this will be yours.”
He was such a goof.
But I couldn’t have imagined that it would be Lily Summers who did my bridal makeup.
Truly, life is full of surprises.
I put on the heavy jeweled crown and trinkets that rattled against my throat.
The Court’s crown was said to be heirloom — the same used when the Emperor and Empress married.
Yet Julian, in his childish way, insisted everything had to be ten times better than anyone else’s.
The Empress didn’t mind; a son’s whim was fine so long as it didn’t go too far. The Emperor, however, initially huffed and scowled in objection.
He wasn’t about to be outshone by another couple’s wedding.
Julian pleaded for a long time and finally persuaded him.
The Emperor’s own marriage had been devoid of feeling — mere ritual of the Court — and that lack had been a regret he carried. Julian used that to sway him: he didn’t want his son to live with the same regret. Reluctantly, the Emperor agreed.
Julian had pulled crystals the size of fists — millennia-old ice crystals from the Kunlun, a moon-pearled bead from the Northern Sea, and day-and-night verdant gems from the Eastern Sun-Moon Altar — thousands in all.
A thousand immortals refined ancient divine fires to compress these rare stones down to rice-grain sizes for inlay, assembling them into a magnificent crown.
The crown’s tassels chimed, its brilliance unmatched.
The wedding robe was even more incredible — myth brought into reality.
Legend said a forlorn ancient god loved a goddess who was promised to another. He crafted the most splendid bridal gown: threads spun from his divine essence, river waters mixed with his tears woven into blue threads, clouds collected into cloud slippers, sun-and-moon-forged filaments for gold and silver accents. He poured his very life into embroidering the world’s beauty across a floor-sweeping, nine-span robe.
But the goddess spurned him, wearing that dress to marry another. The despairing god perished that night; the dazzling gown vanished with him. The tale moved many immortals — it became a Court legend.
I never thought Julian would actually recreate that mythical robe.
When I first saw it, my immediate question was: did it hurt to make it?
Such a robe must have required so much divine essence.
He told me he’d created it during the thousand years he’d spent making his soul-calling lamp — the thousand years he cherished most. Other pains had faded; this one he’d felt down to the marrow.
I slipped into the robe, donned the crown, and had my wedding makeup done: vivid, festive, and flawless.
I looked composed, exquisite, every inch the divine bride.
Clouds blazed with splendor on the horizon. Cranes and phoenix-birds cried out; the ancient bell chimed, its tones accumulated for a thousand years.
The whole Court buzzed with celebration. Immortals mingled and toasted as they waited for the auspicious hour.
The escort stretched out behind the dragon carriage and phoenix coach. Julian rode at the dragonhead, tall and handsome in ceremonial red: a picture of dignified charm.
He’d always carried himself with solemn grace. Even in that vibrant outfit he had none of the gaudiness — utterly regal as if born for it.
He smiled and the world bloomed: “Woman, I have come to take you.”
Me: “………’
If you don’t speak, you seem untouchable. Now? Still the same childish domineering CEO, nothing’s changed.
I gathered my trailing robe, climbed into the phoenix coach.
I felt an irrational worry: what if his cloud slippers made his head too tall for the carriage?
My mind wandered. I was nervous.
But who could say no to a wedding I’d once dreamed about?
I’d feared the worst — that mine would be a carbon copy of Lily Summers’ past wedding, everything the same except the bride.
Instead, wonderfully, everything was different.
I glanced at Julian, lips pressed but actually just as nervous, and I laughed out loud.
He turned and asked, “What mischief are you plotting now?”
“None. I just think you’re kind of adorable.”
He narrowed his eyes. “After the wedding you’ll be tidied up.”
“What? Not a daycare drop-off?”
The dragon and phoenix moved swiftly. Before long we arrived at the Celestial Court’s Pillar Hall, the imperial venue for grand events.
Eight massive cloud-flecked marble pillars rose into the sky, forming a vast open plaza perfect for the guests.
Mist and blossoms filled the grounds; there were pavilions, ponds, colored streams, and rockeries.
Less accomplished immortals took advantage of the occasion to gossip by the pools. High-status figures occupied special VIP seats at center court, awaiting the newlyweds.
The Emperor and Empress sat at the head, pleased beyond measure for their fortunate offspring.
Sen Baird had come too, seated in the front row with his sword — still in black, face like ice, a formidable aura that kept others at bay. I didn’t dare look at him.
Dusk was there as well, smiling warmly as he fanned himself like a comforting elder. Yan Xing, no longer sidelined, sat where he belonged; now accepted as a demon god by the Court.
And a very special entourage of maidens stood together nearby.
They said they were fangirls shipping me and Julian—always exchanging gossip and betting when we'd finally tie the knot.
When Julian heard, he specially invited them and gave them VIP seats, telling them to make the atmosphere lively.
Sure enough, the moment we arrived, their cheers and screams were the loudest, driving the energy through the roof. Some even cried on the spot.
Absolutely adorable.
I listened to the officiant's chanting; every beautiful phrase poured out like it cost nothing.
When the chant ended, it was time for the traditional bows.
Julian and I first bowed to Heaven and Earth.
The Way of Heaven is the supreme force in this world; the laws of nature. It's the most mysterious power in the realm.
I used to curse it, but now—suddenly—I felt grateful. It seemed the Way still favored me.
The Way of Heaven: "………"
Thanks, I guess.
Next came the bow to our elders.
Only Julian's parents—the father and mother gods—were present; my own had fallen in the ancient war against the dark clans a thousand years ago.
When I straightened, I nearly saw Vivian standing there too, who’d also lost a brother in that war. Her expression was frosty and gorgeous, a hint of mockery in her eyes: Didn't you say to hell with love?
Finally, the husband-and-wife bows.
I glanced at Julian across from me; his ears were faintly flushed.
His lashes were long, and his eyes softened with affection.
Looking into his eyes, I felt resolve: there isn't a path I can't smooth out—only a question of whether I can walk it.
I stopped hesitating and bent down—then Julian suddenly said, "Hold, first!"
Me: "………"
Wordplay's going to cost extra.
No one expected it when Julian spoke: "Do you promise you won't flirt around anymore?"
I looked at him—so plaintive and insecure—and smiled.
I rose onto my toes, cupped his face, and kissed him.
Cheers and whistles rose around us. Tears welled in Julian's eyes again.
A handsome man with tears on his lashes—how could I resist?
I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "You're the only flower in my world."
The End
