Yan Dan stared at the restriction on her wrist, then at Tang Zhou, standing before her with effortless composure. For a moment, she froze.
She wanted to say, “So you weren’t poisoned by the Softening Muscle Powder,” and to ask why he had pretended before Shen Yijun, whether he had known she would appear.
But in the end, all her thoughts condensed into one question.
“Are you immune to all poisons?”
Tang Zhou answered simply, “My blood can resist all poisons. When Miss Shen approached, I bit my tongue.”
Yan Dan blinked at him, stunned.
“So that time in the shady shop—you were drugged, but it was nothing serious. You recovered quickly, didn’t you?”
Tang Zhou nodded, without the slightest hint of shame.
Yan Dan took a few steps back, dazed, like a wandering spirit. “So that’s how it is.”
He said lightly, “Actually, you were just a little off this time. If you hadn’t explained everything to me first…”
Yan Dan stumbled back to her room. The first thing she saw was the bright red apple on the table. Without hesitation, she snatched it up and hurled it at him. Tang Zhou dodged easily, looking slightly embarrassed.
“You have no magic now. You’re just like an ordinary woman—you can’t hurt me with an apple.”
Yan Dan slowly raised her head, her voice faint. “No magic… just like an ordinary woman…”
“This restriction blocks all magic,” Tang Zhou said, sounding almost guilty. “It’s the only one I had with me.”
Yan Dan gritted her teeth and threw another apple. “Who said I wanted to hurt you? I want to kill you with this apple!”
Tang Zhou stepped forward, catching her wrist with a faint smile. “How can an apple kill anyone? Be good. Stop that.”
“Even if it doesn’t kill, I can still hit you!”
He hesitated, then frowned. “Wait… I can see your shoulder. Pull your clothes back up. That dress—you didn’t get it from Mrs. Hu, did you?”
Yan Dan froze. Indeed, she hadn’t. She stood there awkwardly, unable to move forward or back.
Tang Zhou lightly tapped her shoulder. “Go change. We’re leaving soon.”
With no choice, Yan Dan returned to her room and pulled out a light green dress from her bag. As she slowly changed, a thought struck her—something she had never considered before.
Though her cultivation had declined, she had never been completely powerless. Now, stripped of her magic, she wondered: how far could an ordinary woman walk in a day? How much strength did one have? How much food would she need to survive? The more she thought, the heavier her heart became.
Worse still, she had once slapped Tang Zhou—something she had long dreamed of doing. Now, without her powers, what could she do if he decided to take revenge? Pretend to forget? Cry and claim she’d been forced?
She sighed, finished dressing, and stepped out reluctantly.
Tang Zhou stood outside with arms crossed, patient as ever.
“Earlier,” he said, “you slapped me…”
Yan Dan’s face fell. So it’s finally come to this.
She took a deep breath and whispered, “If you’re angry, you can hit me back.” Then, quickly, she closed her eyes and silently chanted, I’m joking—don’t hit me, don’t hit me, and definitely not in the face.
A moment passed. No slap came. She opened one eye cautiously—just in time to see his hand reaching out.
Despicable, she thought, he’s taking advantage of me while I’m off guard!
But Tang Zhou merely patted her gently on the head. “Let’s go.”
Yan Dan’s cheeks puffed in indignation. “I’ve lived longer than you, I have more experience than you—how dare you pat my head?”
This time, they entered the ancient tomb through the cave behind the mass grave. Tang Zhou moved swiftly, disabling every mechanism along the stone walls as they went. Yan Dan watched, distressed.
All that intricate design, all that effort—and now ruined. Lifting the Dragon-Breaking Stone alone would’ve taken dozens of men, and now all of it lay wasted.
At the fork ahead, the enormous Dragon-Breaking Stone blocked their path. Tang Zhou triggered the mechanism, and the stone shifted—but behind it lay nothing. Not a single soul.
“Could Miss Tao have already left?” Yan Dan murmured.
Tang Zhou replied coolly, “If she hasn’t left, she must have died in the tunnel long ago.”
Yan Dan shrugged. “Heaven truly envies beauty.”
Tang Zhou gave her a sideways glance. “Whatever Miss Tao’s intentions were, they’re no longer of concern.”
As they walked through the tomb’s dim passageway, the air grew thick and heavy. When they finally stepped back into the open graveyard, Yan Dan exhaled deeply—but her knees wobbled.
“How strange,” she muttered. “Why do I feel so weak, like I can barely walk?”
“Probably just hungry,” Tang Zhou said.
She turned her head slowly, neck cracking audibly. “Hungry…?”
He nodded matter-of-factly. “It’s almost dinner time. No surprise you’re hungry.”
Yan Dan’s eyes welled with frustration. “I saved you twice, and you repay me by sealing my powers? Why?”
She paused, then added wistfully, “If this were a play, this is where I’d throw myself into a river or off a cliff, crying, ‘Don’t try to stop me—I’ve made up my mind!’ Then you’d realize your mistake and regret everything.”
She looked around. No river. No cliff. Only a sloping dirt path.
Even if I jumped, I’d barely twist an ankle, she thought gloomily.
Tang Zhou simply shrugged. “What’s wrong with being mortal? Without demonic energy, isn’t that even better?”
Yan Dan weakly lifted a finger. “First, I never had any demonic energy to begin with. Second, I have no desire to be mortal. And third—if even the gods don’t want me, why would I want to be mortal?”
Tang Zhou’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll rest at the inn in Qingshi Town tonight. It’s too late to reach the next town.”
Yan Dan could only nod.
When they entered the same restaurant she had visited days ago, the waiter stiffened, his eyes wary, as if fearing she might overturn the tables again. But Yan Dan was far too hungry to care. The moment the dishes arrived, she seized her chopsticks and began eating.
Tang Zhou lightly tapped the rim of her plate with his chopsticks. “On the way here, you’ve been trying to learn the manners of mortal women. Since when does the guest start eating before the host?”
Yan Dan sighed. “What’s your point? You never cared about etiquette before.”
“I plan to visit Qixiang later,” Tang Zhou replied evenly.
Her eyes brightened. “Going home to visit your family? Then don’t bring me. I’ll only terrify them.”
“That’s precisely why I want to teach you some manners. You’re clever—you learn quickly, don’t you?”
“…Flattery won’t help. I have no patience for this nonsense.”
Tang Zhou regarded her coolly. “Then take it slow. Start with how you carry yourself. Women shouldn’t lift their heads so high when speaking. Remember that.”
Yan Dan clenched her fists, torn between pride as a once-noble flower spirit and the instinct for self-preservation. After a long pause, she lowered her gaze. “I understand.”
Tang Zhou smiled faintly. “The food’s getting cold. You may eat now.”
She obediently lifted her chopsticks again—only for him to knock them down.
He said calmly, “Don’t you know that was just a polite remark? You should have insisted I start first before we eat together.”
Yan Dan shot him a glare. “You mortals are unbearably pretentious.”
The meal only worsened her mood, leaving her mentally exhausted.
After dinner, they found an inn to rest. Yan Dan fell asleep the instant her head touched the pillow, but because she’d gone to bed too early, she awoke in the middle of the night. She opened the window to let in the night air and noticed a faint glow from Tang Zhou’s room. His candle was still burning; his shadow flickered across the paper window. He was still awake.
Yan Dan sighed. He must have his reasons for coming to Qingshi Town. But what are they?
She raised her wrist, staring at the restriction etched there. Escape was impossible for now. Mortal life might be short, but Tang Zhou—he would live a century easily. Would she have to endure his control for another fifty or sixty years?
Time could be cruel indeed.
Sleep crept over her again, bringing strange dreams. Scenes flashed in her mind—she stood by a lotus pond feeding fish, the scent of agarwood drifting through the air. Then, she was surrounded by mist, watching a man glide toward her. His robe flowed like water, his armored sleeves gleamed faintly, and his steps were steady and dignified.
The mist dispersed, and she found herself before the clan leader’s polished bald head, reflecting light like a mirror. She couldn’t help but chuckle. When she looked up again, she met a pair of deep, dark eyes—Yu Mo’s. His smile was warm and elegant, but when the teacup in his hand suddenly snapped in half, Yan Dan realized she might resemble someone from his past.
She had tried to ask about it later, but he always deflected the question. Eventually, she gave up.
Her dream dissolved into chaos. Then came the sound of clattering pots and shouting—
“Fire! Fire!”
Yan Dan jerked awake, threw on her outer robe, and rushed outside.
Tang Zhou was just returning to the inn, his face unreadable. “Guess where the fire started?”
Her eyes widened. “The Shen residence?”
He nodded gravely. “It began last night. By the time anyone noticed, most of the manor was gone.”
“Maybe they realized their scheme was exposed,” Yan Dan said, “so they torched the place and fled.”
Tang Zhou’s voice was calm. “Perhaps. Let’s go see for ourselves.”
The Shen estate was reduced to ruins—charred beams, scorched walls, and silence. Only the lotus pond remained, half-evaporated by the heat.
Yan Dan peered into the blackened water. “This…”
Floating among the dead fish was a woman’s body. Tang Zhou used a charred stick to turn it over. Though the face was unrecognizable, the jewelry and clothing made it clear—it was Shen Yijun.
Yan Dan raised her hand and swore, “I only meant to scare her yesterday. I didn’t kill her!”
Tang Zhou examined the body. “No wounds. She likely drowned.”
Yan Dan frowned. “This pond isn’t deep enough to drown in. If she wanted to kill me, she could’ve just tossed me in here instead of that old well.”
Tang Zhou shook his head. “Perhaps something else happened. It doesn’t look accidental.”
As Yan Dan glanced around, something glimmered near the rocks. She crouched and found two dull fragments of jade. When she fitted them together, they aligned perfectly.
Tang Zhou’s expression darkened. “This is… the Seven Stars Divine Jade.”
Yan Dan gave a skeptical look. “That dull gray thing? The legendary artifact? It doesn’t look impressive.”
Tang Zhou pressed the halves together. A faint light shimmered through the crack, and the jade restored itself, glowing faintly.
Yan Dan stared in awe. “It’s said the Seven Stars Divine Jade can purify souls—and resonates only with pure ones. That means your soul is remarkably pure, almost unnaturally so. But in the wrong hands, it could drain others’ souls instead. No wonder everyone in the Shen family died so strangely.”
Tang Zhou frowned. “Miss Shen said the same thing. That my soul is… pure. Are these seven souls and six spirits truly that different?”
Yan Dan nodded. “Of course. Every soul goes through countless reincarnations. If one of the seven souls or six spirits is lost, reincarnation can’t continue until it’s restored. Each time we’re reborn, memories of past lives are sealed away—but not erased. Taoist cultivators sometimes open those memories by mistake, confusing past and present. That’s why they must never be awakened.”
Tang Zhou listened quietly.
“In short,” she continued, “the soul remains the same, even if the person changes. And if it suffered great pain in one life, the scar lingers into the next.”
“I see,” Tang Zhou murmured. “So if I left no regrets in my past life, my soul might have become pure. But can a soul truly become pure?”
Yan Dan tilted her head. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve ceased to desire anything. Without desires, there’s no resentment—and pure souls are rare. Compared to others, purity is… well, the most ‘delicious.’”
Tang Zhou chuckled dryly. “Now I understand why my master took me as his disciple.”
Yan Dan smirked. “If you hadn’t known Taoist arts, you’d have been devoured long ago.”
Then, more seriously, she added, “Let’s go. If anyone from town finds us here, they’ll think we set the fire.”
Tang Zhou didn’t move. He crouched beside Shen Yijun’s body, lifting a damp corner of silk from her sleeve with his scabbard. Blood-stained words were scrawled across it, half blurred by water—
If you take my life, I will end his hope in this one.
Shen Yijun’s swollen face still carried a faint, eerie smile.
Upon closer inspection, a faintly smug smile lingered on Shen Yijun’s bloated face. Could it be that she had foreseen her end—and written that message in blood herself?
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