My Husband’s Ascension C20
TL Note: I decided to clean up some of the previous chapter after realizing I’ve been too em-dash-happy. Nothing else was changed, but just wanted to make a note here in case there was a copy-and-paste mistake. Feel free to comment below and I’ll fix it as soon as I can!
Proofread and tlced by 旭亭
Chapter 20 Severed Affection
Zhao Zhao felt herself plunging endlessly.
The wind howled past her in a torrent, scouring her body as she flailed, yet there was nothing around her to grasp.
In her blurred vision, a faint glimmer of light seemed to flicker.
“Tianshu—!”
“Tianshu—!!”
“She’s still down there! Xie Tanzhao is still down there!!”
The voices came muffled and distant, as though separated by a veil of water.
Zhao Zhao forced her eyes open, straining to reach toward that distant silhouette, yet the gleam of the Single Intent Sword flashed past in an instant, and she caught nothing.
Above, a wavering radiance—was that the Tianshu Star?
The final image imprinted upon Zhao Zhao’s gaze was the sword light of the Single Intent Sword moving farther and farther away… and the Tianshu Star, cold and aloof, suspended in the heavens.
…
…
……
“Bleat—Bleat—”
As consciousness returned, Zhao Zhao’s first awareness was of bone-deep cold. The second was of something damp and warm brushing against her cheek.
It seemed as though daylight blazed overhead, yet her eyelids clung together as if sealed shut.
After much exertion, Zhao Zhao managed to pry her eyes open only to find a snow-white deer licking her face unceasingly.
Among men, legend tells of a deer that, having endured a millennium, becomes a celestial beast; this one, by its bearing, was surely no creature of the mortal realm.
Zhao Zhao felt as though she were a dead fish, cast ashore upon the bank of a small stream. Branches lush and verdant dappled her with shifting patches of light, the sun filtering through their leaves.
Jagged stones bit uncomfortably into her back, while clear but ice-cold water coursed beneath her, seeping chill straight into her marrow.
She lay sprawled, motionless, and for a long time could not stir so much as a finger.
Had it not been for the faint breath still leaving her lips and the lingering warmth of her body, Zhao Zhao would have thought herself already dead.
…But how could she still be alive?
'The Langhuan Compendium' recorded thus: Heaven and Earth are ever in balance—where there exist lands steeped in abundant spiritual qi, there must also be places mired in ceaseless miasma.
No matter how high a cultivator’s realm, two things remain beyond mortal effort: first, one cannot forge by hand a grotto-heaven and blessed land brimming with boundless qi; second, one cannot utterly eradicate those domains of deathly poison and malignant vapors. This is not for lack of cultivation, but because it lies beyond the reach of human strength.
By all reason, with her meager cultivation, the moment she plunged into the Soul-Shattering Abyss, she should have been corroded by its miasma before she ever touched the ground—flesh, bone, and soul all dissolved into nothing.
And yet—
Zhao Zhao’s fingers twitched.
Though her strength was faint, her life remained intact. Her cultivation had not been stripped away.
Could it be… that she was the one favored by Heaven, the chosen one?
At that thought, Zhao Zhao stirred her qi into motion, laboriously weaving the ancient array imparted to her within the illusion of the Soul-Binding Willow.
Back in the Soul Summoning Forest, when she had drained the wood element dry, the array had spanned thirty-three meters. Yet now, it was no larger than her palm.
So that was it.
Wood element bore the power to cleanse all filth; tempered further by the Pure Gold Fire, its purity had been refined to the utmost.
It was by virtue of this untainted essence, that she had survived unscathed amidst the Soul-Shattering Abyss, whose miasma was venom enough to fell even the loftiest cultivator.
Were she not living proof herself, Zhao Zhao would never have believed such a thing possible.
She lifted her gaze to the sky, washed as though with jade, and all at once fragments of what she had glimpsed before fainting surged back to her mind.
Even she had not thought she could yet live.
But what of those within the Blessed Land of Langhuan?
Before the miasma tore them apart, Shi Lanyan had clutched her hand tight. Zhao Zhao could guess, at that moment, Shi Lanyan’s leap had been most likely compelled by the hidden hand of Mount Ling’s wu-sorcerers.
Only…
When the three of them plunged into the abyss, in the end, she had been the one abandoned.
Zhao Zhao felt that liking someone was a paradox beyond the reach of reason.
Plainly, she hated him so deeply she wished to cut him down with her own hands. Yet when she discovered that, at the very brink of life and death, he had cast her aside without the slightest hesitation—her heart still ached as though gouged clean from her chest, leaving only a hollow wound behind.
All the memories she had shared with Xie Lanshu turned, in that instant, into a piercing gale that swept straight through that emptiness in her heart.
Thump.
As Zhao Zhao wept in grief, the celestial deer that had wandered some distance away suddenly tossed something onto her.
Lowering her head, she found it was a lingzhi mushroom, overflowing with spiritual qi.
Her lashes still wet with tears, she blinked in stunned disbelief before lifting her head in wonder. “Is this…for me?”
The celestial deer let out several clear cries in reply.
Some of the bitterness clouding her heart eased. Gazing at that lingzhi mushroom, her heavy mood slowly began to lift.
She had thought she would have to lie there until her strength returned, never expecting that the celestial deer would come to her aid.
Zhao Zhao did not immediately reach for the lingzhi mushroom. Instead, she lifted her hand, wishing to stroke the celestial deer in gratitude.
Her arm, however, was too short to reach the celestial creature. Yet the deer seemed to understand her intent, bending its legs, it lowered its head gently into her palm.
What met her hand was a warmth both soft and smooth.
“Thank you,” Zhao Zhao whispered, wiping away her tears as she could not help but stroke it again and again.
After consuming the lingzhi mushroom, Zhao Zhao lay still for the span of a stick of incense, quietly guiding her body to absorb its essence.
The burn marks left by the searing Pure Gold Fire gradually faded.
The meridians, once damaged from wielding the Yin-Yang Spirit Refining Array, slowly began to mend.
The miasma and turbid qi lingering within her after crossing the Soul-Shattering Abyss were drawn out.
Each trace of impurity that surfaced from her body while she lay immersed in the stream was swept clean by the limpid current.
When she opened her eyes once more, her ears seemed keener, her vision sharper; her heart felt vast and unclouded, and her body as light as though it might take flight.
That lingzhi mushroom was assuredly no common spiritual herb.
Stepping out from the stream, Zhao Zhao at last found the leisure to take in her surroundings.
Contrary to the grim imaginings of the world, the depths of the Soul-Shattering Abyss were not piled high with bones nor prowled by malignant wraiths.
The miasma, dense as a natural barrier, had split this place into realms of pure and impure. Here, beyond its shroud, stretched a land of eternal spring—verdant, flourishing with spiritual essence, like some hidden immortal sanctuary.
Just as she intended to wander and explore, the celestial deer circled around her several times, stamping its hooves upon the ground. Its obsidian eyes, round and gleaming like polished gems, fixed upon her with a gaze that seemed almost to speak.
Though she wondered if it was but her fancy, Zhao Zhao ventured to ask softly,
“Do you…wish me to ride upon your back?”
The deer flicked its ears, then bent its forelegs in clear assent.
Once more taken aback by such favor, Zhao Zhao hesitated for quite some time before carefully mounting.
Yet she had scarcely settled when the deer, brimming with untamed vigor, sprang forth in a sudden gallop that nearly unseated her.
Even more astonishing, after covering some distance, the deer pressed lightly upon a dewy green leaf, and in that instant soared free of the earth, racing across the open air as though upon solid ground.
Zhao Zhao clung tightly to its neck.
She had no means of flight, her wind control talismans were long exhausted and even the Yin-Yang Spirit Refining Array had dwindled to a trinket no larger than her palm. Should she fall from such heights, it would mean certain death!
The celestial deer, however, seemed utterly delighted with its game.
Now and then it paused, nibbling at fruits and herbs from trees brimming with spiritual essence. While it feasted, Zhao Zhao quietly opened her 'The Langhuan Compendium' and discovered that every morsel it chose was, without exception, a rare treasure of heaven and earth.
Between clinging to propriety and bowing to temptation, Zhao Zhao’s hesitation lasted but a breath.
“Um, Deerie, look—what’s that over there?”
Innocent and guileless, the deer obediently turned its head toward the direction she pointed.
Seizing her chance, Zhao Zhao’s hands moved like lightning, plucking the three remaining fruits from the branch and stuffing them into her spatial storage pouch.
By the time the deer turned back, the fruits had vanished.
Still unacquainted with the trickery of humankind, it twisted its head this way and that, wholly puzzled as to where the fruits might have gone.
“Ahem ahem…” Zhao Zhao, guilty, reached out to pat its head. “This place is vast. If you’re not full yet, why don’t we try somewhere else?”
Not the least suspicious, the celestial deer cheerfully carried her onward to other feeding grounds.
By the time it had eaten its fill, its belly was round, and Zhao Zhao’s pouch was even rounder.
Zhao Zhao patted her pouch with satisfaction.
To stumble upon such fortune—after being roasted by fire, betrayed, and cast aside—truly proved the old saying right: calamity hides within fortune, and fortune lurks within calamity (祸兮福之所倚，福兮祸之所伏).
Once she returned, the useful treasures could be kept, and those she did not need could be sold. With the money, she could buy the two children a few more sets of fine robes, perhaps even refurbish Cloudculm Abode…
It was only then, belatedly, that Zhao Zhao realized the crucial problem.
She had managed to enter, but how was she to leave?
Without the protection of the Soul-Binding Willow’s spiritual power, it was impossible to retrace her steps through the Soul-Shattering Abyss. And this place, seemingly sealed off from the world, implied that none from outside could ever reach it either.
Her gaze shifted to the celestial deer beside her, still nibbling leisurely at the grass.
At last she understood the source of its delight.
…It was rejoicing because, from now on, it would have a companion here, someone to stay and play with it forever.
Realizing this, Zhao Zhao’s heart plummeted into despair.
Sensing her sudden gloom, the celestial deer tilted its head and prodded her gently with its antlers, its round, obsidian eyes pure and limpid, as though earnestly asking what troubled her.
The thought that she might be trapped here forever made even the most adorable celestial deer and the wealth of heavenly treasures lose their luster in Zhao Zhao’s eyes.
“Deerie, do you know how to leave this place?”
The deer’s eyes were filled with nothing but clear, guileless stupidity.
“…”
She had known as much.
Dropping onto the soft grass, Zhao Zhao gazed at the empty mountains and secluded valley before her. The weight of the realization, that she might have to spend the rest of her life here, crushed her to the point she could no longer even appreciate the scenery.
“The hunger-warding pills won’t last many days. How long could I survive on these fruits alone?”
“Even if I could live a long time… with no one to talk to, would I go mad?”
“Deerie, can you speak?”
“You don’t look like you can. Then… could you at least try to learn?”
The celestial deer’s limpid yet foolish eyes betrayed no comprehension of her troubles. But when it heard Zhao Zhao mention speaking, it suddenly let out a few cries, urging her to stand.
Zhao Zhao no longer had the heart to keep pilfering treasures, but seeing its eagerness, she reluctantly climbed onto its back again.
The celestial deer dashed forward, leaping with ease, until it crossed a waterfall they had passed earlier but had not explored.
Only then did Zhao Zhao realize the place within concealed another grotto-heaven.
Unlike the wild, unchecked growth outside, this cavern bore the traces of habitation; towering shelves rose like pavilions, filled to the brim with countless books.
Drawing nearer, Zhao Zhao swept her gaze across the shelves and caught sight of titles such as ‘Plainweave Spirit Record (平纹灵录)’ and ‘Unwilled Dharma (无妄妙法)’.
She pulled out ‘The Langhuan Compendium’, and on its opening page was the inscription of its author:
This grotto-heaven once served as an Immortal trove of books.
Throughout the volume, the author lamented endlessly his inability to discover that hidden trove of knowledge, never imagining that the repository would lie within a deathless abyss from which there was no return.
Had it not been for her chance encounter with the wood element's protection, Zhao Zhao knew she too would likely have perished the moment she entered this place.
Before her stood shelves upon shelves of works, as numerous as drifting clouds. She reached to casually pluck one free for reading only to find that no matter how she tugged, the book in her grasp refused to come away.
“The book bears a soul of its own; it selects its master. You must not insist upon it.”
A voice deep and resonant as a great bell reverberated through the cavern. Zhao Zhao startled, hastily releasing her hand.
When she had steadied her breath, she ventured, “Are you…the master of this cavern?”
A soft hum answered her, confirming her inquiry.
Zhao Zhao’s spirit lifted at once. “Then…do you happen to know the way out of this place?”
“It goes without saying.”
Thank the heavens!
The heavens never cut off every path; her heart leapt with joy.
It took quite some time before she managed to calm herself. Then her mind returned to the old man’s earlier words: ‘The book bears a soul of its own; it selects its master.’
Meaning…if a book chose her, she could take it away?
“May I inquire… if one cannot attend in person, is there a way for the book to select a master from afar?”
For a long moment the elder within the cave was utterly silent, as though he had never heard such an outlandish request.
“…If one cannot come in person, then it is fate that is lacking. Without fate, what right has one to be chosen?”
“That’s not the right way to put it!” Zhao Zhao argued in all seriousness. “This place of yours must have gone untouched for hundreds, even thousands of years, hasn’t it? My being able to come here today proves I carry great fortune. And with such great fortune, is it really too much to let me bring along a few others to share in it?”
“This place is fated with me, and those tied to me are likewise fated. Doesn’t that mean they share this destiny as well?” she pressed on. “Since fate has brought us across countless kilometers to meet, now that we’ve already come, could you not make a little exception?”
Though Zhao Zhao had never concerned herself with household affairs back home, she had at least grown up hearing such haggling often enough. A little bargaining skill, she still possessed.
The elder in the cave listened to her words. He did not say yes, nor did he say no, only replied, “Retrieve the books for yourself.”
Zhao Zhao couldn’t quite guess his intent, but she dared not press too far, lest he turn cold-faced and forbid her a single volume. So she fell silent, closed her eyes, and summoned her spiritual power to sense the aura of each tome upon the towering shelves.
Even in her selection, she was not idle. One by one, she quietly brought out the scattered items her fellow members of Cloudculm Abode had once handled, laying them at her side. Whether or not the elder allowed it, she would at least do her utmost.
After a long and arduous search, when Zhao Zhao finally opened her eyes, five volumes floated in the air before her!
Too delighted to even examine them, she hurriedly swept all five into her arms.
“Many thanks for the immortal’s generosity! This junior and her companions will surely study diligently, restrain ourselves with discipline, and dedicate our lives to ridding the world of evil and upholding the righteousness of the world!”
After Zhao Zhao finished speaking, the voice of the elder within the cavern let out a low chuckle.
“Ridding the world of evil and upholding the righteousness of the world, well said.”
Yet his tone shifted. “This Langhuan Bochord (琅嬛书楼) was indeed prepared for those who walk the righteous path of the cultivation world. Thus, before you may carry away these manuals of esoteric arts, I must be certain that you shall not wield them in a manner that brings calamity upon the world.”
Zhao Zhao started slightly. “How…will you ascertain that?”
“Step forward.”
With some hesitation, Zhao Zhao glanced back at the celestial deer.
The creature was sprawled lazily against the cool stone wall, yawning in utter leisure.
It ought to be safe, I suppose.
Drawing a steadying breath, Zhao Zhao strode forward into the shaft of light that descended from the cavern’s dome.
“From time immemorial, the tender-hearted have been beset with regrets; this love will stay unrequited, this sorrow unceasing*.”
(TLN: The two lines originate from different works. “多情自古空余恨” comes from a Qing Dynasty scholar, Shi Qingxi, while “此恨绵绵无绝期” is from the last line of Bai Juyi’s ‘Song of Everlasting Regret (長恨歌; Chang Hen Ge)’.)
The cavern elder intoned the two incongruous lines of verse, his voice imbued with a wisdom that seemed to pierce through all things.
“What hinders your Dao is a solitary factor: sentiment. Your heart bears too many threads of attachment; some are bound to tangle your mind and easily lead you astray.”
His words struck true, and Zhao Zhao felt an uneasy premonition. She could not help but defend herself, “And what harm is there in attachment? If one lacks feeling, how can one love another? If one cannot love another, how can one cherish all things under heaven? And if even all under heaven holds no place in one’s heart, missteps are inevitable, no matter how high one’s cultivation, such a heart becomes a calamity in the world.”
“What you speak… resonates deeply with me.” The elder’s voice carried genuine approval. “Thus, I do not bid you sever all your threads of attachment, merely to prune a few.”
“…Prune?”
“Attachments take many forms: familial bonds, friendships—these will not hinder your path. But there is one thread—”
He paused, as though he had glimpsed the entirety of Zhao Zhao’s life.
“Of all the Thirty-Three Heavens, Separation’s Regret Heaven reigns highest. Among the four hundred and four ailments[1], lovesickness is the most excruciating.”
“Sever the ties of yearning, and your path in Dao shall be bathed in unbroken light.”
The final words fell upon her ears like golden bells in a palace, lingering and melodious.
Zhao Zhao felt a hazy daze over her mind. She thought back to her family at Yunmeng Pier, the Separation’s Regret Heaven within the Immortal Realm of Kunwu, the stifling miasma of the Soul-Shattering Abyss.
Above her, the Tianshu Star flickered faintly, carrying further into the distance the young woman who had grown up alongside him.
She whispered softly, “If the threads of attachment are severed, will they never be renewed?”
The elder’s tone bore a weighty meaning, “Not necessarily.”
“As long as the one to whom your heart clings dies and their soul vanishes, the thread may be renewed. But when all are gone, what matter is it whether it is renewed or not?”
Indeed, there was truth in that.
Zhao Zhao closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the haze of confusion had begun to lift.
“Then let it be severed.”
Hatred too deep, love too profound; both were burdens. It was better to let everything dissolve into emptiness.
Whether he lived or died in the future, Heaven had its own decree. All she needed to do was fulfill her own duties.
Zhao Zhao clutched the precious tomes to her chest.
Sever the threads of attachment, and when she opened her eyes anew, perhaps an entirely different world would await her.
.
.
.
Author’s Note: The workaholic one is going love-crazy, the lovesick one is going career-crazy… They’re still so perfectly attuned~
Footnote:
[1] Four hundred and four ailments - Sì Bǎi Sì Bìng (四百四病) is a Chinese idiom originally referring to ailments of the body’s limbs and skeleton caused by seasonal changes, later generalized to mean all kinds of diseases. Buddhist texts describing 404 ailments influenced its broader meaning. Yuan dramatist Zheng Guangzu applied it in Qiàn Nǚ Lí Hún with “四百四病害了，相思病怎熬” to contrast physical disease with emotional suffering, a usage continued in Ming works like Huālián Jiàopéng Nǚ Chéng Fó Jì. The idiom thus carries both literary and cultural significance, symbolizing the full range of illnesses in classical texts.
