My Husband’s Ascension Ch 17 (Part 2)
Chapter 17.2 Never Again
“Master! The Soul Summoning Forest is on fire!” Mu Ling glimpsed the flames from afar, alarm evident in her voice.
Through the clouds, the fire seemed little more than a flicker, yet the forest itself sprawled across a vast expanse. Should the flames fully take hold, it would be nothing short of a hellish inferno.
Moreover, this was no ordinary fire, it was—
“Pure Gold Fire.” Dao Lord Tianshu intoned the words slowly.
Pure Gold Fire was one of the Ten Prime Fire Seeds (十大火种), capable of refining magical implements—such as the Karmic Fire Lotus Parasol in Zhao Zhao’s possession—or stored as a fire seed to unleash as a decisive strike when needed.
Zong Fei remarked, “Those two shadow-kites just now—one mentioned ‘Mount Ling’s after me,’ the other ‘Meet at Soul Summoning Forest’… could it be that this Pure Gold Fire is from Mount Ling—Huh?! Master!”
Before he could finish, his master vanished, appearing in the Soul Summoning Forest in the blink of an eye.
Zong Fei murmured in awe, “Such haste… Master truly worries for Miss Immortal Lanyan.”
“Perhaps not only for Miss Immortal Lanyan.”
Mu Ling exchanged a glance with him, and Zong Fei’s eyes widened in realization. There was another—almost their mistress, now with a new identity under Cloudculm Abode—Miss Xie.
From within their minds came the voice of Dao Lord Tianshu.
{Over a hundred wandering cultivators are trapped within the forest. You two must not enter. Instead, gather the nearby disciples, locate the four formation nodes of Soul Summoning Forest and dismantle the formation to save them.}
Receiving the order, the pair immediately set to work.
Within the Soul Summoning Forest chilling winds stirred, and the supple willow branches danced in the breeze. The Pure Gold Fire had yet to reach this area, so the willows floated like ethereal banners, probing cautiously toward Dao Lord Tianshu.
One slender branch coiled around his wrist.
Yet his gaze did not waver, fixed solely on the few willows around him.
Earlier, from above, he had glimpsed the silhouettes of Shi Lanyan and Zhao Zhao; their souls had likely been drawn into one of these trees.
Had it not been for the approaching inferno, they might have escaped unassisted and unscathed. But with the Pure Gold Fire approaching unpredictably, they could not linger here.
It would be simplest to uproot these few trees and carry them away.
Dao Lord Tianshu’s Single Intent Sword, the foremost blade of the cultivation world meant to slay demons and Yao alike, never expected it would one day be used for hacking at stones and uprooting trees.
——“Xie Lanshu.”
A voice from behind caused Dao Lord Tianshu to pause.
Zhao Zhao peeked from behind a tree, her thick lashes damp with tears, nose red, a picture of utter fear.
“You’ve finally come… those people were chasing me, trying to kill me. I was so scared…”
The slight, delicate girl, eyes brimming with tears, threw herself toward him. Yet before she could even reach the hem of Dao Lord Tianshu’s robe, her movement was abruptly halted.
Slicck—
‘Zhao Zhao’ lowered her head; a sword had pierced her chest. The wielder acted without hesitation; beneath the faint smile in his eyes lay an indifferent chill, like a snowbound wilderness.
“Such a crude imitation… and you dare try to deceive me with it?”
She would never make such an expression for him.
Dao Lord Tianshu moved to draw his sword, only to realize the sensation was off. The soft flesh gradually stiffened; the girl beneath his blade transformed into a towering, leafy tree.
He stood beneath it, gazing at the wound he had made, and yet drops of fresh blood continued to trickle.
The wind howled more fiercely through the Soul Summoning Forest, rustling the willow leaves as if someone was laughing. Laughing at him, believing his keen sight could pierce all, yet blind to the truth: beneath the illusion, this very willow tree had absorbed the girl’s soul.
——When the false becomes real, and the real turns false… Dao Lord, with a gap in your heart, may I peer within?
A woman’s beguiling voice echoed, near and far, in his ears.
Dao Lord Tianshu looked at the gash left by his blade. His expression remained unmoved, yet he knew in his heart that in that brief instant he had revealed a flaw, allowing the forest’s Yin Qi to seep in.
To purge this taint, he would need to enter and draw upon the power of the tree’s soul to cleanse it.
A faint smile played across Dao Lord Tianshu’s face, as gentle as a spring breeze in March, yet his voice carried a sharp edge, “Once those trapped within the forest are freed, I will personally raze this Soul Summoning Forest of yours.”
For a moment, the rustling of the Soul Summoning Forest seemed to still.
Before the trees could draw his soul, Dao Lord Tianshu’s gaze settled on the willow before him, and with a subtle shift of thought, he entered it of his own accord.
One tree, two souls. As a powerful cultivator at the ninth realm of Dark Oneness Dao*, his soul would naturally be the willow’s primary target.
(TLN: Xuantong 玄同 (translated as Dark Oneness) is a unique Daoist idea that represents an ideally mental and physical state as a result of cultivation.)
After millennia of cultivation, his mind had been tempered through countless trials; no matter how demagogic the tree spirits of the Soul Summoning Forest they could not compare to the inexorable tribulations faced when breaking through a realm.
By overcoming this internal trial, he could draw upon the tree spirit’s power, move freely through the Soul Summoning Forest and coordinate with Mu Ling and Zong Fei to rescue the captives…
…including Xie Tanzhao, who had been wounded by his own hand.
A faint chime echoed from the Single Intent Sword, attuned to the fluctuations of its master’s heart.
…
Zhao Zhao stared down at the fresh hole in her chest, utterly bewildered.
How had she inexplicably been struck by a sword?
Fortunately, the wound pierced only her soul, leaving it weakened. Had it struck her physical body in that spot… she would likely have already perished.
Yet, alongside this inexplicable gash in her soul, Zhao Zhao finally awakened from that poisonous, beautiful dream.
Shi Lanyan had been deceiving her all along!
All that talk of childhood shadows and lingering grudges, making the trial sound as simple as breaking a paper window—once inside, she had barely realized it was all an illusion, nearly losing her sense of self.
Patting her weakened soul with lingering fear, Zhao Zhao lifted her head to survey the shifting surroundings, uncertain what new trick this might be.
The chaotic scene eventually settled before the Thirty-Three Palaces of Immortal Realm of Kunwu. Frost bit through the ninth heaven, snow blanketed Kunwu, and along the cliff’s edge, a handful of small children practiced swordplay in the snow.
Zhao Zhao’s gaze fixed on the child in the center.
The child’s features… seemed oddly familiar.
“Zhongli Jia, Zhongli Bing, neither of you need to come tomorrow.”
(TLN: Why is it ‘Zhongli Jia’ and ‘Zhongli Bing’, not ‘Zhong Lijia’ and ‘Zhong Libing’, you ask? Well, these are compound surnames, aka a Chinese surname using more than one character. The surname ‘Zhongli’ (钟离) comes from a country in Chunqiu.)
The two children’s cheeks were flushed from the cold. At these words, they paused mid-motion, their once-bright black eyes dimming instantly.
“Zhongli Ren.”
(TLN: Jia, Bing, and Ren are from the Heavenly Stems, a system based on the Shang dynasty’s 10-day week that combines with the Earthly Branches to form a 60-day cycle. The order is: 甲 (jiǎ), 乙 (yǐ), 丙 (bǐng), 丁 (dīng), 戊 (wù), 己 (jǐ), 庚 (gēng), 辛 (xīn), 壬 (rén), 癸 (guǐ). Zhongli Ren should be the ninth child because Ren is the ninth stem.)
The little boy, whose features bore a striking resemblance to Xie Lanshu, seemed not to hear. He continued to wield his oversized sword, moving with a fluidity and dexterity far beyond his years, performing a sword form that flowed like clouds across the sky.
His clothes were tattered, bare feet smeared with dirt, and his unkempt hair gave him the look of a beggar. Yet once he gripped the sword, he seemed touched by divinity itself, each move as if guided by some unseen hand—such talent was scarcely human.
At the cliff’s edge, the Sect Master of Kunwu gathered with six elders.
The Sect Master approached him.
“Ren, you may stop now.”
The boy, exuding a sanctified aura, finished the final flourish of his form and sheathed the sword. He lifted his head; his face, smeared with grime, revealed no emotion. Snowflakes landed on his long lashes, yet he did not so much as blink.
“From this day forth, you shall be the next Lord Tianshu, the Sect Master of Immortal Realm of Kunwu.”
The Sect Master handed him a sword. “Discard the one you hold. From now on, this Single Intent Sword shall be your blade.”
The boy’s icy, glass-like eyes shifted, resting upon the silver-white sword.
“What are the duties…of Lord Tianshu?”
The elders behind him clamored all at once:
“Of course, strengthen Kunwu and make it the foremost sect of the cultivation world!”
“Drive out those who dare oppose Kunwu, and reclaim all the grotto heavens and blessed lands they seized!”
“Ascend to Immortality and spread the renown of Kunwu far and wide!”
The Sect Master, however, smiled calmly and remarked, “Lord Tianshu is but a title—the designation of the Sect Master of Immortal Realm of Kunwu. What you do, and what you are able to do, rests entirely upon the strength of your own resolve.”
The boy lowered his gaze, staring at the Single Intent Sword in his hand.
“With a single intent, Kunwu can thrive or can fall. Whether it prospers or declines is the question that will follow you all your life.”
“There is no need to ponder.” He lifted his head, and in his eyes flickered the nascent aura of his future Dao Lord self. “I will lead Immortal Realm of Kunwu and make it the foremost sect of the cultivation world.”
Zhao Zhao watched the scene before her, and only then belatedly realized—
This was Dao Lord Tianshu’s memory, the very thing meant to trap him.
But why could she witness his past? Could it be that he was here too, within the same willow tree?
She tried to find a way out, but within this place she was merely a fleeting shadow, unable to influence the course of the illusion with her will.
The memories pressed forward relentlessly. Dao Lord Tianshu had lived for thousands of years. Zhao Zhao knew that, without someone coming to save her, she might be trapped here for quite a long time. Yet, at least until the memory reached its conclusion, her life was not in immediate danger.
Resigned, Zhao Zhao settled herself, treating it as though she were perusing a storybook, observing the Dao Lord Tianshu that Shi Lanyan saw—resplendent as a storybook hero.
Yet after a while, Zhao Zhao could not help but think: if this were a storybook, it must be an exceedingly dull one, utterly lacking in appeal.
—In his life, aside from sword cultivation, there seemed to be nothing else.
From the earliest First Comprehension Dao (朝闻道) stages of a sword cultivator, to the first glimpses of brilliance in the Grand Primordium Dao, to sweeping aside the great sect masters with the Mystical Foundation Dao (妙本道), and finally reaching the Dark Oneness Dao, Dao Lord Tianshu faced no rival in the cultivation world.
Across thousands of years of memory, every breakthrough in his cultivation stood out, while all worldly matters passed before him like flickering light on water—ephemeral, without trace.
Zhao Zhao spent this time observing his relentless millennium year training. Bored beyond measure, she even conjured a branch to imitate his every move.
Sometimes, when practicing alone, he would mutter to himself, “The speed was too great, causing a loss of aim. Do not make the same mistake again.”
Zhao Zhao fumbled clumsily, moving neither with his speed nor precision. Yet, as she repeated the motions, advancing merely an inch where he advanced a full yard, she gradually grasped a fraction of his technique.
She needed to remember his sword forms well. If she survived to return to Cloudculm Abode, she could begin instructing Yao Ling, ensuring the young girl’s Dao was not hindered.
Separation’s Regret Heaven cycled through seasons—winter yielding to spring, summer to autumn. Year after year passed.
At last, Zhao Zhao arrived at a scene she knew all too well.
After a hundred days of bloody battle in the Ghost Realm, having slain the sovereign of the specters and drawn a boundary with a tree monument forbidding intrusion for a thousand years, Dao Lord Tianshu had ventured alone into the Ghost Realm to retrieve the surrender edict signed by the new sovereign. Already at the limits of his strength, he foresaw the coming calamity; his final act was to dispatch crows to deliver the edict back to Kunwu.
Then, amid a thunderstorm as though cast down by the heavens themselves, his memories were wiped, his cultivation forcibly withdrawn. Like a wandering spirit, he drifted through the mortal world.
Ultimately, he collapsed in the heavy snows of Yunmeng Pier.
Fine snow sifted onto the surface of a parasol, rustling softly; the frigid air turned breath into mist. Unlike the fleeting echoes of memory before, this moment was vivid and tangible, so real that Zhao Zhao felt almost disoriented.
Moreover—
She lowered her gaze and lifted her hand, seeing her familiar winter garments.
She had form now, no longer merely a spectator of this phantom dream.
“Young lady, look—there’s something up ahead, isn’t there?”
Zhao Zhao raised her eyes.
Amid the silvered world, a figure lay in the snow, blood soaking into the drifts, red as plum blossoms.
Zhao Zhao stood beneath her parasol for a long, long while.
In the snow, the youth, who should have remained unconscious, twitched at his fingertips.
It was Dao Lord Tianshu, just crossing over from Zhao Zhao’s phantasmal dream. The pain from that dream was astonishingly vivid; he summoned all his strength, only managing to roll his eyes toward the plum tree not far off, where a girl in jade-green stood holding her parasol.
Amid the frozen expanse, she seemed the only hint of spring.
“There…seems to be someone there.” Zhao Zhao met those cold, crystal-like eyes and murmured softly, “But still, let us not go picking up men lying on the road. A’Ying, let’s head home.”
She pressed her fingers against the blood-riven gap in her soul. If she could do it all over again, she would never ever save him.
