My Husband’s Ascension C34
Chapter 34 Dream to Reality
Late autumn waned into early winter, each dawn on Beaconlight Mountain grew colder than the last.
Zhongli Shun, who had not slept a single moment through the night, nonetheless rose at an early hour from the lingering warmth of his bedding.
Borrowing the faint, half-formed glimmer at the edge of the sky, he rose, folded his blanket with proper discipline, and pushed open the door on silent feet, lest he disturb Zhao Zhao in the adjoining room. Stepping into the courtyard, he drew up a basin of icy well water and washed his face.
In the wooden basin was reflected the tender yet resolute face of a young boy.
Though no more than nine, the shadow of the youth he would become had already begun to take shape. Remembering all that Master had said the night before, his desire to prove himself grew ever more urgent.
Though he knew not what grievance lay between Mount Ling and their sect, yet with the enemy now pressing upon their gates, as a disciple of Beaconlight Mountain he must grow quickly—only then could he protect his sect, protect his master.
…
A sword cry split apart the stillness of dawn.
Within the smoke-wreathed kitchen, Dao Lord Tianshu, peering through the half-open window, happened to catch sight of Zhongli Shun practicing swordsmanship atop the training platform.
From the very first glance, a faint sense of bloodborne familiarity stirred, enough for him to recognize the boy as the disciple from Zhongli Clan accepted by Xie Tanzhao.
The very same boy whom, that day in the corridor, he had lightly struck for trying to take Xie Tanzhao’s hand.
Naturally, aside from himself, not a second soul beneath the heavens knew he had ever acted with such childishness.
Dao Lord Tianshu watched his sword forms in silence.
The Zhongli bloodline was famed throughout the Cultivation Realm for good reason. Their innate inner technique, passed down from birth, was unlike any other; engraved into flesh and bone, as though their bodies had been wrought for cultivation itself. Because of this, progress that took others years often came to them with half the effort.
Yet an inner technique alone could account for only a portion of one’s gifts. Whether one might truly forge a path upon the Dao still depended on the discipline one chose, and whether one possessed the diligence to pursue it steadfastly.
The Zhongli Shun before him clearly possessed both talent and perseverance.
His sword forms did not resemble Kunwu’s style, nor any style known to the sword sects Dao Lord Tianshu was familiar with. Yet they carried their own clarity and fluidity; light as drifting clouds, swift as a blade cleaving bamboo.
Zhongli Shun held a freshly forged longsword, replaying again and again in his mind the movements performed by the tiny figures projected from yesterday’s sword manual.
Where his blade swept, fallen leaves scattered.
Yet perhaps because his state of mind wavered, the forms, meant to weave between solid and void, shifting through myriad changes, grew increasingly hurried, driven by the sharp edge of his own competitive spirit. The sword wavered in his grip; in another breath, he was on the verge of cutting himself—
Pang!
A chopstick flew from who-knew-where, striking the longsword just as it slipped from his grasp.
A cold gleam flashed.
The sword tip buried itself deep within a pile of crimson maple leaves.
The force of the strike left his wrist trembling. Momentarily stunned, Zhongli Shun glanced at the chopstick embedded in a nearby tree trunk, then followed its path back to its source.
“Who goes there?”
Zhongli Shun stepped closer and to his surprise, found that the one before him was a young woman clad in Kunwu Sect robes.
“You’re from Kunwu?” His eyes lit up at once, immediately recalling the Kunwu disciple who had accompanied Lord Yaoguang to deal with the matters regarding the Zhongli Clan.
Leaning against the kitchen window, Zhongli Shun looked positively delighted as he asked, “Was it you who knocked my sword away with a single chopstick just now? You’re amazing! Practitioners of the Sword Dao begin at the First Comprehension Dao and progress to the Grand Primordium Dao. Your realm should be at least Grand Primordium Dao, correct? Are all Kunwu disciples this powerful? How long did you cultivate to become this strong—”
He didn’t get to finish.
Dao Lord Tianshu lifted the lid off the pot.
A wave of scorching steam surged forth instantly. Zhongli Shun stumbled back a step, forced at last to cease his incessant chatter.
“If your heart cannot be still, then even practicing for a thousand years will do you no good.”
Hearing the gentle yet merciless tone in the woman’s voice, Zhongli Shun’s expression immediately twisted into panic.
“What do you mean my heart isn’t still? M–My heart is not still? Then what do I do? Is there a cure?”
His tone was much like that of someone who had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness.
And in a sense, receiving such an evaluation from a disciple of Kunwu, the foremost among all sword sects, was not far from a death sentence.
“You truly wish to know?”
Dao Lord Tianshu slowly stirred the congee simmering in the pot.
The white congee, enriched with ginseng and wolfiporia extensa, churned softly within the pot—a perfect tonic for the autumn season*. Beside it lay half-wrapped shrimp dumplings; on the stove, sugar flatbreads sizzled and scallion-pepper chicken soup simmered gently. Dawn was nearly upon them, and he had to quicken his pace.
(TLN: Autumn health preservation follows the six seasonal markers: from Start of Autumn (Liqiu; 立秋), End of Heat (Chushu; 处暑), White Dew (Bailu; 白露), Autumn Equinox (Qiufen; 秋分), Cold Dew (Hanlu; 寒露), to Frost’s Descent (Shuangjiang; 霜降). Aligning with the principle of “nourish yin in autumn and winter” as yang qi recedes and dryness rises, one must replenish fluids and guard against respiratory ailments.)
Zhongli Shun watched the woman roll up her sleeves with a cloth band and lift her long hair into a high knot. Something about her bearing faintly resembled a certain person he knew.
But he was far too desperate for answers about his cultivation to dwell on that thought. He urged in haste, “Of course I want to know! Quickly, tell me!”
Dao Lord Tianshu cast a calm glance at the chopping board beside him. “Then come in. I shall teach you how to cook.”
Zhongli Shun had never expected such a reply. He repeated it in utter disbelief, “C–Cook? Why cook? Master said the meal hall at the foot of the mountain sends food up every day, so we don't need to cook for ourselves. And what does cooking have to do with cultivation?”
“Cultivation begins with cultivating the heart.” Slender fingers lifted a thin sheet of dough, folding it into crystal-clear shrimp dumplings one by one.
Calloused hands from swordwork proved unexpectedly suited for the kitchen. Feeling the soft, yielding dough beneath his palms, and picturing the expression of the one who would partake of the meal he crafted, seemed to soothe his once-restless, near-unruly heart, granting it a fleeting moment of quiet.
“Seeking quick success will only lead to the opposite. Follow the natural course. Inaction is action. You are still young, yet you wish to soar to the heavens in a single leap. That is not the proper path of cultivation.”
Zhongli Shun nodded earnestly as he listened. The woman’s voice was neither fast nor slow, yet every word carried weight.
He recalled his sword, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped into the kitchen. “Alright… then what dishes must I make to cultivate my heart?”
“Make the dishes your master likes.”
Zhongli Shun: ?
He lifted his head in confusion, meeting a pair of calm, indifferent eyes.
“You are her disciple. If you don’t cook what she likes, are you intending to cook only what you like?”
That… did make a certain amount of sense.
Zhongli Shun still felt something was off, but as he studied the woman’s profile, a sudden thought popped into his mind. “Do you know Dao Lord Tianshu?”
The hands folding the shrimp dumpling paused for a heartbeat.
“I do.”
“Really? You really know him?” Zhongli Shun’s eyes lit up at once. After rinsing his hands, he began mimicking the woman beside him, clumsily folding shrimp dumplings as he spoke. “What is Dao Lord Tianshu like usually? Have you gone with him to slay demons? Have you ever seen his Single Intent Sword?”
Dao Lord Tianshu cast him a sidelong glance but ignored the latter questions and only replied, “You share a small resemblance with him.”
Zhongli Shun froze.
“That’s terrible. Then I’ll never be able to match the other disciples in Master’s heart.”
Expression unreadable, Dao Lord Tianshu turned back toward him. “Why?”
“You don’t know? Our master hates Dao Lord Tianshu.” Feeling enlightened by today’s guidance, Zhongli Shun earnestly warned her, “You’re a Kunwu disciple, but you must never mention Dao Lord in front of Master. Last time, just because I said I admired him, I nearly wasn’t allowed to enter the sect!”
Zhongli Shun waited, but no reply came.
When he finally lifted his gaze, he found those clear, crystal-like eyes unfocused, lost in thought.
After a long moment, Dao Lord Tianshu lowered his lashes and let out a soft, self-mocking laugh. “I see… In that case, you can only consider yourself unlucky.”
Dao Lord Tianshu recalled the look on Zhao Zhao’s face the previous night when she mentioned his arranged marriage.
That expression, once always filled with quiet affection and longing whenever she gazed upon him, seemed never to have existed at all. No matter how he searched her features, he could not find even the faintest trace of regret or sorrow.
She had spoken of his impending marriage to Shi Lanyan with such calm, such detachment, even casually wondering what gift she ought to prepare.
Having an elder of Kunwu personally go to Polaris Confucian Sect to propose, only to be rejected on the spot; this had been the cleanest, most decisive solution. Far more effective than any verbal refusal he could have given.
But at the time, believing Zhao Zhao to be dead, he had never expected that this piece of news would reach her ears.
Thinking of this now, he tasted within it a bitterness he had not wished to acknowledge.
For the news of Polaris Confucian Sect’s refusal had long since swept through the Cultivation Realm, yet she still believed Kunwu intended to form a marriage alliance with them.
Which could only mean one thing—
After leaving Small Sword Pass, she had never again inquired about his affairs.
Had he not sought and traced her whereabouts to Jimo Sea, she would have cut ties cleanly with all that belonged to her past. With her yao familiar, her disciples, and her sect, she would have stepped into a future in which he no longer existed.
And this was precisely the outcome he had envisioned as the most ideal the moment he regained his memories.
However—
He lowered his gaze to the dough in his palms. In the water bowl beside him, his reflection shimmered faintly, his features rendered almost androgynous, neither male nor female.
For the exalted Dao Lord Tianshu, this was the most ludicrous dream he had endured in a thousand years.
Since it was a dream, he would, in the end, awaken.
He turned to the Zhongli child nearby and said, “Your temper is too hasty. Henceforth, temper your heart through the quiet labors of the kitchen. In a moment, I shall leave a recipe for you. After I depart, remember to practice it diligently each day. Spare no effort, and allow no lapse.”
At their very first meeting, this Kunwu female cultivator had offered him such earnest guidance.
Just like his revered master—truly, a benefactor sent from the heavens!
Zhongli Shun’s eyes shone brightly, trust and admiration unclouded, as he nodded in wholehearted agreement.
…
Rong Yu’s consciousness drifted in a fog of confusion, tossed and torn within a nightmare of unspeakable dread.
Just as he was about to sink beyond saving, a gentle yet steady hand grasped him. As if seizing a single stalk of life-saving straw, Rong Yu clung to it with all his strength, refusing to let go, fearing that the slightest slip would plunge him into a bottomless abyss.
“A'Yu? A'Yu?”
A gentle voice drifted to his ears. Rong Yu, drenched in sweat, forced his eyes open, and before him appeared the young woman, smiling softly.
“Mas…ter…”
“What is it?”
Her voice was calm, like warm water flowing over him.
“I had a nightmare,” Rong Yu said, clutching her hand, his tone pitiful. “I… I don’t know why, but in the dream, I held a dagger in my hand, and… I stabbed you.”
His gaze fell upon Zhao Zhao’s shoulder, and he raised a trembling finger to indicate. “Right here.”
Zhao Zhao touched the spot he pointed to and smiled lightly, “Here? It was only a dream. Master was not harmed.”
Having risen early that morning, Zhao Zhao had sought out Daoist Ming Jue. With some of his restored spiritual power, he had quickly tended to Zhao Zhao’s injuries. Only, due to the overexertion of his spiritual energy the previous night, his expression seemed faintly weary.
Zhao Zhao, who had a thousand questions weighing on her mind, said nothing further upon seeing him and merely told him to rest.
“…But the dream felt so real.” Rong Yu still felt somewhat dazed. Memories twisted and fragmented under the influence of the spiritual gu, broken into scattered fragments that felt like a chaotic dream.
“Even if it feels real, it is still only a dream.” Zhao Zhao held his hand gently, a reassuring smile on her face. “If you truly care for Master, why not help by giving Master a shoulder massage?”
The little boy, still half-asleep, sat up quietly at her suggestion. Obediently, his small hands began to knead her shoulders.
Yet after only two presses, Zhao Zhao heard his stomach rumble loudly.
Rong Yu hugged his belly, a bashful smile tugging at his lips.
Zhao Zhao glanced toward the window, where Yao Ling was still practicing sword forms.
“Rest a while longer. Master will fetch the morning meal, and later you both can eat together in the courtyard.”
Rong Yu looked puzzled. “We’re not eating outside?”
“Today there are outsiders in the sect. Master fears you two might feel uneasy, so we will dine here in the courtyard.”
Patting Rong Yu’s head, Zhao Zhao rose and walked toward the direction of the main hall.
Though the Kunwu female cultivator named A’Lan was probably not a malicious person, Mount Ling acted in accordance with Kunwu’s affairs. Out of caution, Zhao Zhao ensured their paths did not intersect whenever she could help it.
As Zhao Zhao approached the main hall, the sweet aroma of sugar flatbread wafted through the air. She paused, sniffing curiously.
Normally, the aroma of the morning meals carried up from the foot of the mountain would have dissipated long ago, so how was warm, fragrant steam still drifting upward now?
“Xie Tanzhao, you’re finally here! Dawdle any longer and I’ll starve to death!”
Li Feng, roused early from bed by the tantalizing aroma, clutched his chopsticks, poised to dig into the glittering array of breakfast. Yet a slender, fair hand holding their own chopsticks intercepted his midair, holding them fast.
Li Feng struggled, scowling in irritation. Across from him, the arctic fox watched the scene with quiet amusement. Seeing Zhao Zhao arrive, the fox hurriedly patted the space beside him with a cheerful smile. “Good morning, Master. Did you sleep well last night?”
“…Not bad.”
Zhao Zhao did not sit beside Xiao Bai, but instead glanced at Dao Lord Tianshu, who held Li Feng’s chopsticks in check.
“You need not be so formal, Miss Immortal… our sect is used to informality. If truly hungry, anyone may start even if others are not seated.”
“You are far too indulgent,” Dao Lord Tianshu said softly as he released his grip. “A yao familiar is still a yao familiar. One must abide by the rules of a yao familiar.”
“You’re awfully concerned for something that’s none of your business.” Li Feng muttered, but the next instant, three or four shrimp dumplings had already disappeared into his mouth.
Seeing how skillful she was in the kitchen, Li Feng decided to overlook this Kunwu disciple’s arrogance, though not without teaching her decorum.
Zhao Zhao had never imagined that, despite only offering a single night’s lodging, this Kunwu disciple would prepare a morning meal with such meticulous care. Her regard for this taciturn, seemingly aloof Kunwu cultivator deepened slightly.
“It’s all right. You all may eat first. I need to set aside two portions for the children. Miss Immortal, you do not mind, I hope?”
Two children?
Dao Lord Tianshu lifted his eyes. “What children?”
Zhao Zhao immediately grew alert. “They… are children I’ve taken in, my disciples. They are young and shy, so they do not come out to eat with everyone else.”
Dao Lord Tianshu wished to inquire further, but in the end, only a complex expression crossed his face before his lowered eyes concealed it. “If they are so young, you should not give them food so difficult to digest.”
He filled two bowls of congee and handed them to Zhao Zhao.
“Let them eat this.”
Zhao Zhao looked at the two bowls. Though the ingredients were carefully chosen, they were nothing more than plain congee. She hesitated, caught between wanting to speak and holding her tongue.
They were young, yes, but not so young that congee was all they could eat!
Yet, seeing Kunwu disciple’s resolute demeanor and the faint disapproval in her expression toward her way of tending children, Zhao Zhao chose not to argue.
“Thank you for your hospitality last night. I must set out to return to Kunwu today. Miss Immortal… please take care of yourself.”
Zhao Zhao felt slightly surprised. “So soon? What of the Zhongli Clan…?”
“Lord Yaoguang will continue the handling. The affairs of Kunwu are more pressing.”
At the mention of Kunwu, Zhao Zhao quickly put two and two together. “Was Dao Lord Tianshu located?”
Dao Lord Tianshu fixed her with a steady gaze. In that instant, he almost wished to ask whether she truly wanted Dao Lord Tianshu to be found.
Yet in the end, he only softly remarked, “No. It is the Demon Realm that has stirred. Rumor has it that their long-missing successor has been located. He is within the cultivation world. They are restless, intending to enter and reclaim their successor.”
