My Husband’s Ascension Chapter 2
TL Note: Does anyone else remember a old translated story that had the same premise as this story? Where it starts out with the female lead talking about her husband, but I think she was a grandmother at that point and had grandchildren who she shared the story to. Then one day she found out her husband was actually an immortal and decided to chase after him, and even began to cultivate from the very bottom herself. I vaguely recall the cover was deep blue as a woman in a white hanfu, with her back turned, near the bottom right corner…. Does anyone know the novel I’m referring to, or have I lost my mind?
Proofread and tlced by 旭亭
Chapter 2 Death Awaits Without You
The other elders visibly exhaled in relief. With Dao Lord Tianshu’s position now made clear, they no longer had to remain on edge.
“What the Dao Lord said is true. Love is fleeting, no more than a passing illusion. What happened between you two was merely a trick of fate. Now that the thread is broken, it should be cleanly severed.”
“Miss Xie, do you feel the reward is insufficient? That can be discussed. If there’s anything you wish for, speak freely. The Immortal Realm of Kunwu indeed owes you, and we should give proper thanks.”
“But we must ask you to leave Kunwu as soon as you’ve accepted the gift. It’s not that we’re unwilling to treat you as a guest, but this is a place of cultivation. It’s not suitable for mortals to linger. If you become entangled in matters here, it will only bring you harm.”
Zhao Zhao simply stared blankly at the wooden box, unresponsive to everything around her.
The elders of Kunwu, long accustomed to giving commands rather than offering comfort, quickly grew impatient when she said nothing despite their many carefully chosen words.
Lord Tianji stepped forward, took the wooden box from Lord Yaoguang’s hands, and held it out to Zhao Zhao with a cold and condescending tone. “Miss Xie, are you pretending to be deaf and mute to stall for time? Forgive me for being blunt, but emotions and attachments have no place in the pursuit of the Dao. Let alone pretending not to hear or speak, even if you were to blind yourself crying here today, no one would empathize—”
He never managed to finish his words. Lord Tianji, who had let his guard down completely around a mortal, could not have imagined that the frail girl just a few steps away, the one who had seemed on the verge of collapse, would suddenly lunge forward and land a punch squarely on his left eye.
That punch—powered by every last ounce of strength in her body—was swift, forceful, and utterly unexpected.
No one had foreseen that a mortal woman would dare strike an elder of the Immortal Realm of Kunwu.
All the disciples stationed at Reflecting Shadows Heaven widened their eyes in shock.
“Does it hurt? Do you empathize now?” Zhao Zhao screamed the words, her voice cracking with raw emotion.
Lord Tianji staggered back a step, stunned, disbelief written all over his face.
Zhao Zhao’s hands trembled—part from adrenaline, part from fear—but she forced herself to steady them. Turning to the speechless Lord Yaoguang, she said clearly, “Tell Xie Lanshu to come see me; I want him to say those words to me himself.”
Even if it were poison that corroded the intestines, she wanted him to hand it to her personally.
…How truly arrogant beyond their ken.
Even the free-spirited Lord Yaoguang couldn’t help but click his tongue.
Dao Lord Tianshu’s little wife was far more intriguing than he was.
Lord Tianji, having finally come to his senses, was livid. From the moment the girl arrived, he hadn’t once truly looked at her. But now, after taking that punch, the blurred figure before him gradually took shape—nose, eyes, and all—imprinting itself in his vision.
He coldly barked, “Miss Xie! The Immortal Realm of Kunwu has treated you with courtesy out of goodwill, but don’t mistake that for indulgence!”
Aside from Lord Yaoguang, the expressions on the other elders’ faces also darkened. They had lived for thousands of years, how could they not see that her punch was merely a pretext? What she truly wanted was to stir up trouble and draw Dao Lord Tianshu’s attention.
Lord Tianxuan spoke slowly, his tone unhurried, “So Miss Xie does not intend for this meeting to end peacefully.”
Before Zhao Zhao could grasp the weight behind those words, the very flow of air around her shifted.
After a brief stillness, an overwhelming pressure descended, crushing down like a mountain, surging in like a tide. Against such force, even the thought of resistance was futile.
Zhao Zhao could barely breathe; she crumpled to her knees at once, the sound of bone striking stone muffled yet jarring.
It hurt so much.
Zhao Zhao had never experienced such raw, physical pain. Tears welled up uncontrollably.
What tormented Zhao Zhao even more than the pain was the indifference surrounding her—though her knees throbbed as if pierced by needles, not a single person stepped forward to help.
"Lord Tianxuan—" Lord Yaoguang narrowed his eyes, voice laced with disapproval. "Aren’t you taking this too far?"
"I merely wish for Miss Xie to understand," Lord Tianxuan replied calmly, "that we are not the ones obstructing her path. She and Tianshu were never meant to be. Their destinies diverged from the start, their positions worlds apart. Just a touch of pressure, and she collapses. How could she ever stand by Dao Lord Tianshu’s side? Does she fancy herself a decoration? A pet?"
Zhao Zhao clenched her teeth and struggled to rise, but it was as if invisible strings bound her limbs—whether to kneel or stand was no longer hers to decide.
This was the difference in their status.
This was…the unbridgeable chasm between cultivators and mortals.
Lord Yaoguang let out a quiet sigh. He didn’t refute the others—seemingly in agreement with their judgment.
Only—
He glanced sideways at Zhao Zhao, and in that fleeting moment, the suffocating pressure vanished like a receding tide.
She could stand again.
“The Dao Lord is in the Thirty-Third Palace, at the summit,” Lord Yaoguang said with a faint smile. “If Miss Xie insists on hearing the verdict with her own ears, then go. Run along.”
With how stubborn this girl was, if she didn’t see Tianshu with her own eyes, she might not leave even if it cost her life.
“—Lord Yaoguang!”
All the elders' faces darkened with fury.
Zhao Zhao knew the window of opportunity was brief, she didn’t dare waste even a second. There was no time for gratitude. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her knees, turned, and dashed out the great hall, charging toward the highest peak of the Immortal Realm of Kunwu.
…
Dawn was breaking.
The clouds had parted, and fine rain fell under a sky bathed in golden light.
Disciples of Kunwu, headed to morning lessons in small groups, looked up in surprise as a mortal girl, soaked in mud and rain, burst out from Reflecting Shadows Heaven and began scaling the long staircase to Separation’s Regret Heaven, taking two steps at a time.
“Am I seeing things? How can a mortal be here?”
“Where is she running to?”
“From the looks of it—Separation’s Regret Heaven?”
“Is she mad? Does she want to die? Why hasn’t anyone stopped her?”
The disciples stirred in alarm, and some stepped forward to stop her from trespassing into the Dao Lord’s forbidden grounds—but an invisible force pushed them back.
A barrier had been erected.
It was Dao Lord Tianshu!
No one knew who the young woman was, or what had transpired. But no one could follow her—not a single person could set foot on the ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine steps that led to Separation’s Regret Heaven. Only she remained within the bounds of the spell.
Zhao Zhao had no idea a barrier had been cast. She didn't know that at this very moment, she was the only one allowed to tread this sacred path.
The wind screamed in her ears. Before her, all she could see were the endless stairs, stretching into the clouds.
She didn’t know how long she had been climbing.
On the 37,543rd step, Zhao Zhao stumbled.
She still had some strength remaining, but she didn’t get up.
She didn’t know why.
“Xie Lanshu...”
She hadn’t cried when crossing thousands of rivers and mountains alone, nor when she was humiliated by the elders of Kunwu.
But now, with just a few steps left between them, Zhao Zhao's tears fell heavily onto the long path that led to him.
“Xie Lanshu...”
Crawling, choking on sobs, she murmured to herself as though she were speaking to him through time.
“I can’t go any farther. Xie Lanshu, could you please spare the effort and come to see me instead? I really... really can’t walk anymore…”
The embroidered shoes on her feet had long since been worn through by the unrelenting journey.
Zhao Zhao lowered her eyes to the fading embroidery and still remembered the young man in the window-lit room, dressed in a simple robe, making shoes just for her.
The hand that had only ever held a sword and brush was clumsy with a needle. He embroidered crookedly for several days, frustration flickering across the face that was always so calm and gentle.
—So Lanshu isn’t good at everything after all.
The girl had giggled and thrown herself into his arms. The young man had carefully set aside the needle and thread.
—It’s fine if they’re not perfect. If they’re shoes you’ve made, I couldn’t bear to wear them. Just you wanting to do that for me... that’s enough.
But the young man had only smiled and shaken his head.
—No can do.
—Didn’t you say you want to see the world, madam? Then I want my madam to wear the shoes I made, and walk every corner of it.
In the Thirty-Three Heavens, Separation’s Regret stood highest of all.
Among the four hundred and four ailments, lovesickness was the cruelest.
And the one who caused her endless torment, the one seated in that lofty place, so far beyond mortal reach…
“Xie Lanshu, have you been watching me all this time?”
No matter how much Zhao Zhao tried to fool herself, she could no longer deny the truth.
The elders had not pursued her, and the disciples below the steps had not moved to stop her. At this moment, she understood better than anyone—
It was him who no longer wished to see her. He was waiting for her to surrender.
Feeling a bone-deep ache in her joints, Zhao Zhao steadied herself and raised her gaze to the golden-domed palace hidden deep within clouds and mist.
The emotion swelling in her heart was neither love nor hate—it was something more precise: sheer unwillingness.
She was unwilling to resign.
Behind the clouds and mist, the gold-domed palace loomed like a mountain, silently overlooking all living beings.
What power does a mere mortal have to intimidate a supreme Dao Lord?
Zhao Zhao believed her only weapon left was her own life.
“If I were to die, would you come to see me?”
At eighteen, she was still too naive. No one had warned Zhao Zhao how foolish it was to place her fate in another’s hands.
She glanced down at the abyss-like staircase behind her.
“Xie Lanshu, if I fall from here, if you don’t save me—I will die.”
Her voice was soft, choking, trembling at the edges.
No answer came. Only the cold mountain wind blew back.
She left herself no choice. Like a reckless, desperate gambler, she let herself fall backward onto the steps she had just climbed.
The mountain breeze lay frozen; the myriad sounds of nature fell into hush.
Then, on the Thirty-Third level, Separation’s Regret Heaven’s golden bell tolled, and the once still palace had its doors thrown open by a surge of spiritual power.
The moment her skull was about to shatter against the steps—
A hand, smooth as jade bamboo, gently grasped her wrist.
“This is the last time.”
A soft, cold sigh seeped into the depths of her fading consciousness…
…
Zhao Zhao felt her body grow light, as if immersed in a warm pool where the mud on her skin slowly peeled away. Warmth seeped into her pores and flowed through her limbs, soothing the weariness from her arduous journey.
—Zhao Zhao.
The voice was slow and gentle, like mist drifting from an incense burner.
On sleepy afternoons, Zhao Zhao liked to bury herself in the sleeves of Xie Lanshu’s robe, napping while breathing in the scent of sarcodactylis mingled with acronychia pedunculata on his body.
—Look, I can write your name now.
Rice paper was stacked like snow on the desk, each page inscribed with the words “Xie Tanzhao.” Each stroke was deliberate and clear, but the name slowly settled deep in Zhao Zhao’s heart.
Her face flushed, and she asked softly why he wrote it so many times.
The young man lowered his gaze, dipped his brush in ink, and set the strokes flying, again and again, as if engraving them into his very flesh.
—I want to firmly commit it to memory.
—This way, I’ll never forget.
Thud.
A crisp sound echoed, like Go pieces striking the board.
“Miss Xie, it’s time to wake up.”
A voice, clear and bright like jade clinking against jade, rang in Zhao Zhao’s ears. Suddenly, the fog in her spirit cleared, and the tangled memories within her mind were swept away.
Zhao Zhao stared blankly at the ceiling for a long while, her thoughts adrift, until at last she remembered where she was.
Her nose caught the familiar scent of sarcodactylis mingled with acronychia pedunculata and her eyes reddened almost instantly. She rose and glanced toward the figure beyond the paper door…
“Lanshu—”
The words caught in her throat.
At the edge of a sheer cliff, a young man clad in white sat alone before a Go board. His silver hair shimmered in the dim light. A hand clad in a half-finger glove slipped from wide sleeves, holding a white Go stone suspended in midair.
His eyes were focused on the Go board, not even giving a glance at the girl who had risked her life to see him.
After thinking for a long time, the Go piece finally fell and the young man raised his head.
“The lives of mortals are but candle flames flickering in the wind—fragile, fleeting, easily extinguished. Miss Xie, your life is not a thing to be so lightly wagered.”
Those lacquered eyes seemed to mirror the world, still yet radiating a sanctity that drifted beyond the mortal realm. When caught under his gaze, it was as if Guanyin (Bodhisattva of Mercy) herself looked down in compassion, a jade statue lowering its eyes, transporting one into a vast celestial expanse, where worldly cares faded away.
But the gentler his voice grew, the more it revealed a ruthless cruelty beyond human grasp.
Zhao Zhao asked blankly, "Don–Don't you remember me?"
These words fell like a stone into a still pond. Zhao Zhao saw faint ripples stir across his expression, a barely perceptible smile spreading between his brows, and her heart fluttered with a fragile hope.
“I have not lost my memory; of course, I remember you, Miss Xie.”
But as if the words had missed their mark, her hope plummeted into an abyss of uncertainty. Zhao Zhao stared blankly at him, the sentences turning into jumbled echoes in her mind.
…If he remembered everything, why did he call her ‘Miss Xie’?
…Why did he look at her with such detached indifference, as if she were nothing more than a passing acquaintance?
“I left without a word because I wanted to sever the ill-fated bond between us completely. Yet, I never expected you to be so persistent... Miss Xie, you are no fool. The letters I left behind, the words conveyed by Lord Yaoguang—you understood them all. So why do you still insist on coming to see me?”
A lump rose in Zhao Zhao’s throat, choking her breath. They had been a loving couple for two years, yet to him it was nothing but an ill-fated bond.
She swallowed back her tears and whispered, “I’m just... unwilling to accept it.”
Dao Lord Tianshu silently watched her tears fall to the cold ground and his fingertips twitched for reasons unknown.
Suddenly, he recalled how, in the past, whenever she shed even a single tear, the part of him that was Xie Lanshu would lose all composure. Not being skilled in comforting others, he could only carefully draw her into his embrace, wipe away her tears, and press gentle kisses upon her damp eyes.
Yet those memories, faded by the passage of millennia, seemed to belong to another lifetime entirely.
Truly, it was but a grand and absurd dream.
He gathered his fingertips together, as if all were as usual, and spoke calmly and measuredly, “Swallow that longevity pill, and you shall possess a lifespan far beyond ordinary men. You may witness the jade rains of Yingzhou, savor the lotus seeds, and watch the red maples blaze season after season. All the exquisite delicacies of this world—you shall have the freedom to taste them all.”
He paused then continued, “Mayflies* also resist acceptance, but before the vastness of time, all your unwillingness to yield shall be inevitably quelled.”
(TLN: The lifespan of an adult mayfly is very short, some only living for a day at most.)
His voice was as gentle as fine winter snow softly falling on an umbrella.
Yet Zhao Zhao felt as if her chest were being carved open by a knife, each tender cut slicing through flesh and blood.
“No!” She sprang up abruptly, blinking hard to clear the mist that clouded her eyes. “You promised to travel with me. You said you’d embroider my shoes with your own hands. You personally wrote my name again and again so you wouldn’t forget. When I asked if you would walk with me through the years to come, you clearly…”
He sat upright, watching her weep uncontrollably for him, his gaze still calm and gentle—yet utterly unmoved.
“Forgive me.” After a long pause, he spoke softly, “I cannot fulfill the promises I made as Xie Lanshu.”
Zhao Zhao’s complexion gradually drained of color.
“But... you remember everything. You’re still the same person…”
Her tone was innocent, genuinely filled with sincere confusion over the question.
Dao Lord Tianshu smiled faintly, as if gently enlightening an innocent child, “I have lived for thousands of years. To me, the two years of Xie Lanshu’s life are like a single drop cast into the vast sea, though it does not vanish, can you truly trace that one drop amid the boundless waves?”
Zhao Zhao had never imagined that a casually spoken phrase could plunge her into an unending hell.
“I see.” Her lips trembled, tears welling in her eyes.
Her husband would never return, and toward her—now and forevermore—he would feel no trace of affection.
“…Then it doesn’t matter to you if I spend the rest of the years you once promised me with someone else?”
Beyond Separation’s Regret Heaven, the mountain winds blew swift and sharp.
Suddenly, he felt as though his heart had been gripped tightly—as if, deep within his body, the part of him that once was Xie Lanshu let out a voiceless cry of sorrow.
Yet that emotion, filtered through the passage of several thousand years, left behind only the faintest trace of warmth—akin to a snowflake falling into the palm, melting the moment it touched the skin.
He heard himself answer quietly,
“Of course.”
In that instant, Zhao Zhao seemed to hear the sound of ice crystalizing, layer by layer, sealing away her burning heart in frost.
She thought: No matter how wretchedly Xie Lanshu might die in the future, she would never reveal even the slightest fragment of the dream she had once dreamed to him.
.
.
.
Author’s Note:
Future Xie Lanshu: Of course…you can’t! **Goes on crazy killing spree**
TL Note: As some of you may have noticed, this novel now has a dedicated proofreader on board!! 🎉 Please give a warm welcome to 旭亭 🥳🥳
She kindly reached out and offered to help refine and polish my translations…and I couldn’t be more grateful! Her thoughtful edits are already making a huge difference!! Let’s all show her lots of love and appreciation! ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕✨
This chapter is still being revised, but chapter one is now cleaned. Chapter three and onwards should be completely edited by the time we publish it next week as 旭亭 just joined us a couple days ago. There may be certain terms that may change, but if they do, I’ll def let you guys know in the following chapters. Anyways, we really appreciate your patience and support!
