Chapter 62: A Feeling of Regret

Yan Dan endured three long days upon the Heavenly Execution Platform, just as expected.

On the third day, her second senior brother arrived, astonishment flashing across his face as he lifted her down from the platform.
"Yan Dan, you truly have a body of bronze and arms of iron, amazing!"

Too weak to speak, Yan Dan could only glare at him. Outrage simmered within her—what woman would ever want to hear such words? She had always longed for a delicate, charming appearance, something soft and graceful. Yet fate had denied her that allure. At best, she could only manage a fragile weakness, never the enchanting charm she desired.

She felt she had failed the precious bloodline of the Four-Leaf Lotus, appearing more like a weed that could walk after a few days of rest. Once she regained her strength, she resolved to return to the End of the Earth. Her master had entrusted her with managing the books there, and after causing such chaos, she could not afford to fail even in this small duty.

Tan Zhuo did not try to dissuade her. Instead, he saw her off from Tianchi Mountain, speaking earnestly:
"You’ve learned your lesson this time. Be more obedient from now on and don’t always cause trouble."

Yan Dan muttered under her breath, "Senior Brother, you’re really more like Master than Master..."

She walked slowly toward the edge of the mountain. Yet no matter how far she went, the palace remained unseen, and breathlessness overtook her. Since descending from the Heavenly Punishment Platform, her body had inexplicably deteriorated. The wounds crisscrossing her back burned with agony. Only her skill in healing magic kept her alive.

When exhaustion overcame her, she would rest, then rise again to continue. But one time, she fainted. Just before losing consciousness, she vaguely saw a young man in black clothes approach. He looked down at her, unmoving, as though she were something strange and new. Her scattered mind could not discern his face, only the impression of long eyelashes and a gaze that lingered.

Later, she dreamed.

In the dream, she was once again a lotus flower, surrounded by misty clouds and fish swimming in the Jade Pool. A boy in black robes appeared, squatting gracefully by the water. His eyes were deep and dark, his skin pale as ivory porcelain, his features striking yet gentle. He held onto her vines without expression. Yan Dan, displeased, reached out to tap him—yet wasn’t she a lotus? How could she have hands? The sensation of striking him felt too real.

Startled, she awoke. The boy was gone. Only pain remained, searing through her back. She gasped, regretting her choices, calling herself foolish.

Back at the edge of the earth, she found Ying Yuan had already left. Of course he had—his eyes had healed, and he should return. Love had no place in the Heavenly Court, especially not between them. Yan Dan knew she liked him, but she also knew this affection could never be spoken aloud. Perhaps, after a hundred years, she would forget. For now, she needed to recover her health and tend to her own life.

Time passed. She wandered, sometimes hearing zither music from Yanxu Palace. Her master, the Primordial Longevity Emperor, was skilled in many arts, though not a master of music. Her second senior brother cared only for martial arts, while Yan Dan herself had no talent for melodies. Her attempts produced sounds like cotton being fluffed. Zhi Xi, her twin sister, could at least play simple tunes, though imperfectly.

One day, Yan Dan listened by the palace wall. The music was pure yet hesitant, strings breaking occasionally. Curiosity overcame her, and she slipped inside. Celestial attendants greeted her respectfully as “Fairy Zhi.”

Inside, she saw Zhi Xi kneeling before the zither, her sleeves slipping to reveal delicate wrists. Ying Yuan stood behind her, guiding her hands, smiling gently as he replaced broken strings. Together, they looked like figures painted in a scroll.

Yan Dan turned away, her throat burning. Zhi Xi was her closest person, and if Ying Yuan chose her, perhaps it was right. Yet the irony of being mistaken for Zhi Xi gnawed at her.

"I’m not Zhi Xi! Why do you all mistake me for her?" she cried to Lu Jing, who had kindly stopped her. Realizing her slip, she fled.

Yan Dan knew she was inferior—less delicate, less refined, less beloved.

She behaved well for a time, pleasing her master with her cultivation. But when the Yaochi Grand Gathering arrived, fate intervened again.

At the gathering, she sat among peaches and tea, far from the honored seats. She tried to bask in her master’s glory, but boredom overtook her. She slipped away to the lotus pond, touching blossoms and murmuring, "It’s still just as crowded here..."

Then footsteps approached. Ying Yuan appeared, plucking a lotus blossom. The world seemed to fade, leaving only him and the pale red petals.

"Why are you hiding here alone? Did you find it too noisy over there?" he asked with a smile.

His burned cheeks had healed, his eyes clear and bright.

Yan Dan replied dryly, "It’s not that it’s noisy, I just don’t like being here."

"Then let’s go back. No one will notice if we’re gone," Ying Yuan said, extending his hand.

Yan Dan stared at it, bitterness rising. "You think you’re speaking to Zhi Xi? But I’m not her."

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

She stepped closer, smiling faintly. "You said that when your eyes healed, you would recognize me. It turns out, it was just empty talk."

"Yan Dan?" His voice trembled with astonishment, emotions swirling.

"So you finally remember now? How do you plan to repay me?" Her words spilled out, sharp and uncontrollable, born of pain and suppressed longing.

Ying Yuan smiled helplessly. "Whatever you say... What do you want?"

What did she want?

"Those days... I think I developed some feelings for you, Emperor Ying Yuan. Will you grant me this wish?"

"Yan Dan, you can’t just make jokes like that."

She laughed bitterly. Why was it that her words were always dismissed as jokes, while Zhi Xi’s were always taken seriously?

"Aren’t jokes just something you say casually? Do you have to take them seriously?"

Ying Yuan whispered, "You weren’t like this before."

Yan Dan smiled faintly at the lotus blossoms. "That’s because you couldn’t see it before. I’ve always been like this."

Her heart remained heavy, her words sharp, her love unspoken—forever caught between longing and despair.