My Husband’s Ascension Ch 5
Chapter 5 The Embrace of Sarcodactylis and Acronychia Pedunculata
A gentle mountain breeze blew softly, while the river below surged steadily.
Zhao Zhao landed somewhat clumsily outside the mountain gate of Cloudculm Abode, staggering a few steps before steadying herself.
Looking up, she saw a faint mist curling along the mountain path. At the end of the weathered, moss-covered stone steps stood an arched gate, its plaque bearing the words: “Cloudculm Abode.”
This was the sect where Miss Immortal Yao Ling dwelled.
On the verge of truly stepping onto the path of cultivation, Zhao Zhao’s heart could hardly contain its excitement.
It was said that all who entered a sect must first undergo a talent assessment.
Zhao Zhao had no idea how her own aptitude measured up—whether she was qualified to become Miss Immortal Yao Ling’s fellow disciple or not.
Her heart beat faster. Taking several deep breaths to steel herself, she stepped forward.
As she passed through the gate, a hush fell over the surroundings.
Sunlight spilled gently through the canopy of ancient trees, swaying faintly over aged eaves and verdant roof tiles. Palaces and temples built against the mountainside stood quietly scattered, nestled within the embrace of the surrounding peaks.
If one had never visited the Immortal Realm of Kunwu, this place could truly be considered a serene and refined paradise.
But having just come from Immortal Realm of Kunwu’s ethereal Thirty-Three Palaces, Zhao Zhao couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of disparity upon seeing Cloudculm Abode before her.
It… wasn’t quite what she had imagined.
In fact, it seemed a bit too quiet. From the moment she set foot inside Cloudculm Abode, she hadn’t seen a single soul.
Something was off.
“—To have come unaccompanied; may I know what brings you here, Miss?”
From behind came a gust of cold wind, along with a tender, lingering feminine voice, as if whispering right beside Zhao Zhao’s ear.
Goosebumps instantly rose along Zhao Zhao’s arms. She recoiled a few steps, her body tense with alarm, and turned sharply toward the sound.
Her hand instinctively gripped the spatial storage pouch at her waist—the Karmic Fire Lotus Parasol given to her by Shi Lanyan was inside.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The man standing behind her had long, flowing hair and wore robes of a strange cut and hue. Chains strung with turquoise and precious coral clinked softly as his gaze fixed on Zhao Zhao with a faint, unreadable smile.
The pattern and style of his attire struck Zhao Zhao as unusual. Perhaps it was a sect-specific fashion?
But his entire bearing felt wrong—completely unlike the calm, composed disciples of the Immortal Realm of Kunwu. That difference unsettled her.
With arms crossed, the man lazily quipped, “What manner of conduct is this, to come upon another’s dwelling and question to whom it belongs? Miss, you have to make yourself known first.”
Zhao Zhao surveyed her surroundings.
It was… unsettlingly quiet.
No gatekeepers, no patrolling disciples—just rustling leaves and an oppressive silence, as if the entire mountain had been abandoned long ago.
Her mind raced. Then, bowing her head slightly, she replied with composure,
“I am a disciple of Kunwu Immortal Realm. I’ve just come from the Ascension Terrace celebrations. Kunwu has sent return gifts to each Immortal Sect in gratitude for their congratulations.”
As the words left her mouth, her heart pounded.
The man stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing. Then he stepped forward and, rather abruptly, leaned in close—his nose twitching slightly as though sniffing her scent.
“…It really is the fragrance of Kunwu’s Immortal Realm.” The man turned his head and locked eyes with her, his gaze suddenly growing suggestive. “Not only that, I also sense the aura of a cultivator’s Primordial Yang. Though it’s very faint, faint enough to be almost imperceptible, the fact that I can still detect it means this cultivator you practice dual cultivation with is surely no ordinary figure.”
Zhao Zhao blinked, needing a second to register what Primordial Yang and dual cultivation implied.
Suddenly, like a fire blazing through, warmth spread from her cheek and ear to her neck.Her snowy-white skin turned scarlet, as if scalded.
“Kunwu boasts numerous cultivators,” the man went on, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "yet those as powerful, and specifically male, can be counted on one hand."
He actually started counting on his fingers.
“Kunwu’s top few disciples, including Senior Disciple Zong Fei, the new generation’s standouts like Yan Chenzhou, and elder Lord Yaoguang…Tsk tsk, caught in clandestine affairs with a junior sister who has just begun cultivation.…” He gave a soft, mocking laugh. “So much for noble and upright sects.”
The tips of Zhao Zhao’s ears burned crimson.
But even in her mortification, she caught the subtle slip in his words.
He had said—“So much for noble and upright sects.”
Would a disciple of a reputable orthodox sect describe a fellow disciple from the esteemed Kunwu in such a way?
Zhao Zhao’s heart pounded louder with each beat. Her legs felt unsteady, but his sharp gaze continued to trail her like a blade. She knew—no matter what—she couldn’t show weakness.
She was in a precarious position. Her only leverage was this Kunwu identity. As long as he believed it, and as long as he didn’t want to provoke Kunwu, she had a chance to walk away unscathed.
“It’s not your place, as an outsider, to comment on the affairs of Kunwu’s disciples!” Zhao Zhao, putting on the airs of a paper tiger, snapped coldly. She adopted a strictly businesslike demeanor and continued, “I’ve delivered the offering. If this Daoist has nothing else to say, then I’ll be taking my—”
Zhao Zhao randomly fished out a few bottles from her spatial storage pouch, feigning that they were the official return gifts from Kunwu. She extended them toward the man in front of her.
Just as the bottles were about to brush his fingertips—
A dull thud echoed through the still air, as if something had struck a wooden door.
It wasn’t an illusion. Someone else was present.
Her body reacted faster than her mind. Zhao Zhao reflexively withdrew her hand, blurting out, “...Where are the rest of your sect? What you just said… is highly inappropriate. It would be more fitting for your sect to send someone who actually understands decorum to receive Kunwu’s gift.”
With a tone mixed seventy percent anger and thirty percent haughtiness, Zhao Zhao finished the sentence, while inside her mind, a silent scream raged.
What the hell am I doing?!
All she needed to do was hand over the offering. That would’ve given her an excuse to leave!
The man’s outstretched hand froze in mid-air. His gaze dimmed as he stared at her in silence.
After a long pause, he finally said, voice low and unreadable, “Fine. There are other disciples in the main hall at the back. If Miss Immortal doesn’t mind the trouble—go ahead and give it to them instead.”
Zhao Zhao cast a glance at the main hall not far off, its doors and windows tightly shut.
The sound just now had come from within.
The man leaned lazily against the locust tree in the courtyard, making no move to stop her. Instead, he looked on with idle amusement, clearly intrigued by what she would do next.
Cold sweat dampened Zhao Zhao’s back.
She had the distinct sense that he had already seen through something.
But fleeing now would be courting death. She had no path of retreat.
Drawing a deep breath, Zhao Zhao steadied herself and began walking toward the main hall.
Don’t be afraid.
This is only the beginning of the road to cultivation, there is no room for fear.
Taking a hopeful view, perhaps the man truly was a disciple of Cloudculm Abode, and everything she suspected was just her own overwrought imagination stirring up trouble where there was none.
But if she considered the worst-case scenario—
…The worst-case scenario…
Zhao Zhao felt a tightness in her throat. If this really was the worst possible scenario, then why was she so unlucky? Why had she run into something so sinister the moment she set foot on the path to immortality?
Wasn’t this supposed to be the safest of all the immortal sects?
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps—
She was drawing nearer and nearer to the main hall.
Anxiety twisted in her chest, brushing dangerously close to despair. But Zhao Zhao forced herself to stay composed.
If the man behind her launched a surprise assault, how would she respond?
If Cloudculm Abode had truly been overrun by something malevolent… did she truly have no means to protect herself?
If—
If Xie Lanshu were here, how would he respond?
The moment this thought surfaced, Zhao Zhao's frantic mind seemed to be gently steadied, as if a calm hand had smoothed over her panic. The surging tide of fear, on the verge of overflowing, was drawn back like the ebbing sea.
She suddenly remembered—this wasn’t the first time she had been in a situation like this.
…
That had been in the first year of her marriage to Xie Lanshu.
At the time, the world was shadowed by unrest. Bandits ran rampant, and even the once-peaceful region around Yunmeng Pier wasn’t spared. Zhao Zhao had insisted on a pilgrimage to a mountain temple, to pray for blessings in the coming year. But fate had dealt her misfortune. On the final day of the journey, she had been surrounded by bandits in the snowy mountains and forced to take shelter in a wooden cabin.
"Will I suffer less if I slit my own throat now?"
It was a bitter winter night. Outside, the wind howled and snow fell thick. Inside, she was curled up in an embrace that carried the faint scent of sarcodactylis mingled with acronychia pedunculata—when she had suddenly asked that question.
The arms around her tightened.
Xie Lanshu's fingers gently brushed against the delicate curve of her neck as he replied, "If you cut your throat, how will Zhao Zhao wear those lovely necklaces ever again?"
Zhao Zhao rested her head against his shoulder, her gaze searching as she looked at him, a little bewildered. "But aren’t we going to die anyway? They say cutting the throat is the fastest death. I’m afraid of pain—I don’t want to be stabbed many times before I die. That would be such an ugly way to go.”
The sound of approaching footsteps grew clearer. The bandits were closing in, surrounding the house from all sides.
Outside, the mountains were blanketed in snow. Inside the wooden cabin, the occasional crackle of the firewood pierced the silence.
“Then, for my sake, do try to hold on a little longer.”
The young man with spring-warm eyes crouched in front of her, an axe in hand—the only object in the cabin that even remotely resembled a weapon. Yet in his grasp, it felt as though he wielded a sword with the power to protect heaven and earth.
His fingers, cool and steady, pressed lightly to Zhao Zhao’s cheek. His expression softened, almost to the point of pleading.
“You only need to hold on until I can no longer move even a single finger.”
"Until then, don’t cut your own throat, no matter how much it hurts."
“I’d rather have you alive, imperfect as you may be, than retaining your beauty as a corpse.”
That night, the snow was soaked with blood.
Zhao Zhao couldn’t count how many bandits surrounded them, but she remembered clearly the figure standing firm as dawn broke.
Corpses lay heaped upon one another on the ground. The hunter’s axe, left behind in the wooden house, had long lost its edge. Its golden gleam cut through the darkness, reflecting off Xie Lanshu’s blood-stained robe.
On that night, when it seemed the world would crumble—
He stood unwavering in his mortal form.
And never once retreated.
…
Memories of those moments flooded Zhao Zhao’s mind.
Clenching the blue pill bottle tightly in her hand, she thought:
If it were Xie Lanshu here, he would never show weakness; if it were him, he would fight with every ounce of strength he had.
If she could trust Xie Lanshu that deeply—
Then why couldn’t she trust herself just as much?
The towering wooden door of the main hall stood just before her. Without knowing where the sudden surge of courage came from, Zhao Zhao kicked the door open with all her might!
The moment she kicked the door open, one of the children suspended by a lengthy rope in the main hall managed to struggle free from the cloth covering her mouth.
Seeing Zhao Zhao’s unexpected entrance, she cried out at the top of her lungs, “Miss Immortal, help! That person is an evil yao* who ambushed us! He wants to kill our master!!”
(TLN: Yao (妖) are all natural non-human entities (animals, plants, rocks, water, manmade objects, and etc) that have gained the ability to take on a human-like form, though they are not entirely human. For instance, they may still retain features like animal tails and will revert to their original forms when intoxicated or after being killed. Read more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaoguai)
Two children hanging from ropes—what on earth was going on here?
Zhao Zhao barely had time to process the chaotic scene.
At that moment, she clenched her teeth, swallowed all the pills in the bottle she held, and swiftly drew the Karmic Fire Lotus Parasol from her spatial storage pouch—ready to face whatever was coming.
Like a phantom, the figure under the locust tree flashed before her in an instant, claws sharp as daggers aiming straight for her eyes.
At the critical moment, the parasol in Zhao Zhao’s hand bloomed like a fiery lotus. With a twist, red flames roared up in the fierce wind, surging toward the attacker.
Her opponent had never expected someone so seemingly mortal to wield such a powerful divine artifact. Completely unprepared, he faced the full force of the Karmic Fire Lotus Parasol with no defense—
It all happened in a flash!
One locust tree after another splintered apart, and the man was flung a dozen meters across the courtyard!
Zhao Zhao stood frozen, instinctively touching her head to check if it was still there.
She was alive.
She… had actually survived a blow from a cultivator!
The warmth of a palm against her chest stirred something deep within and Zhao Zhao nearly burst into tears on the spot.
What was it you said, Tianshu? A single drop cast into the vast sea?
What nonsense.
The evidence of Xie Lanshu’s existence—still and always—lingers.
.
.
.
Author’s Note:
Zhao Zhao: So he was not a husband of the past, but one of the grave.
TL Note: Just to explain, the term “Primordial Yang/Yin” is a cultivation concept based on the old belief that when a person is still in the womb, they are in a “primordial” stage, untouched by the mortal world, and thus possess a special essence (Yang for men, Yin for women). Think of it as a concentration of pure Qi that everyone carries from conception. It remains with them until their first sexual experience, after which they are no longer considered “pure.” To put it plainly, Xie Lanshu lost his v-card with Zhao Zhao.
