My Husband’s Ascension C67
Chapter 67 Mourning Clothes
Zhao Zhao was jolted awake in the dead of night, though she knew not why.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. She stared at the gauze canopy above her bed, and her thoughts, dulled by fatigue, slowly began to turn once more.
If, within this small world, Xie Lanshu had fled the Cultivation Realm with exiled members of the Zhongli Clan, then Mount Ling in this world would very likely continue its pursuit.
Yunmeng Pier was no isolated paradise. For cultivators, leveling this place would take no more than a passing thought.
Zhao Zhao nearly sprang upright from her bed.
In the past, she had saved Xie Lanshu and paid for it with a wound to the heart. That was of no consequence; it was the price of her own poor judgment. But she must not allow the Xie Residence to be implicated because of her.
If Xie Lanshu could harbor killing intent even toward disciples of Kunwu, he would not spare a thought for the lives of the Xie Residence.
“Xie Lanshu! Xie Lanshu!” Zhao Zhao rushed outside, calling his name again and again. They had to leave at once. They could not remain here for even a moment longer.
The silent Xie Residence flickered to life with lamplight.
“What has happened?” Auntie Xie, hastily wrapping a robe about herself, hurried over in concern and clasped Zhao Zhao’s hands tightly. “Your hands are so cold. Did you have a nightmare?”
Zhao Zhao’s heart still raced, yet she dared not show the slightest trace upon her face. Drawing several steady breaths, she answered, “Yes. Perhaps it was a nightmare. A very scary one.”
The hand holding hers was warm. Auntie Xie drew her half into an embrace and lovingly escorted her back to her chamber, tucking the covers around her as she had done when Zhao Zhao was a child.
She thought Zhao Zhao was still entangled in the matter from the day before. Her fingers gently smoothed the sweat-damp strands at Zhao Zhao’s temples. “If you truly like him, there is no need to mind our thoughts. That child may look unsuited for the ordinary course of life, but Auntie can see that he is deeply fond of you. For a family such as ours, it is easy enough to find someone of equal standing. What is rare is to find someone who truly cherishes you.”
In the darkness, Zhao Zhao gazed into her Auntie’s eyes and remained silent for a long while.
It had been so very long since she had seen her. At the thought that she would soon leave this place, she felt a sudden pang of attachment and clasped her Auntie’s hand tightly. “But Auntie, affection is worth nothing at all.”
Xie Lanshu did not even understand what it meant to care for someone.
Auntie Xie smiled. “Our Zhao Zhao has truly grown. However, when you grow a little more, you will understand. How could affection be worth nothing at all? It is only those who do not know how to love who render it cheap. When it rests in the hands of one who understands love, affection becomes the most precious thing beneath the heavens.”
Auntie Xie extinguished the candle and gently closed the door behind her.
Zhao Zhao rose from her bed, and under the pale wash of moonlight slipped quietly out of the Xie Residence.
Though her body was that of an ordinary mortal, in the previous small world her cultivation had already reached the fourth great realm.
Even in a different vessel, the realm and comprehension contained within her soul were sufficient to shatter, in the shortest span of time, the barrier between mortal and cultivator.
…
Right there.
From the rear mountain behind the Xie Residence came an exceedingly violent surge of spiritual power.
A barrier had sealed it off, so the disturbance upon the mountain had not alarmed the mortals of Yunmeng Pier in the slightest.
Only when Zhao Zhao forced her way into the barrier did she see that corpses already lay strewn everywhere. The wind sweeping through the wilderness carried the stench of blood straight into her lungs.
Thud.
A severed arm rolled to a stop at her feet.
Still attached to it was a sleeve embroidered with drifting cloud patterns. The hand, once cold and pale as carved jade, had already taken on a lifeless gray; the fingers hung loosely by her boots.
For an instant, Zhao Zhao’s mind went utterly blank.
Then she came back to herself. Snatching up the severed limb, she broke into a run.
Her dress billowed in the wind as she ran faster and faster, her steps scarcely touching the ground.
Affection was a thing of little worth.
And the affection of one who did not understand love was worth even less.
Xie Lanshu’s affection was in the form of fierce possessiveness. Dao Lord Tianshu’s was a self-satisfying desire that spared no one but her.
Zhao Zhao had always believed that, no matter in what identity or in which world they met, his so-called affection would remain the same: cold and obstinate, wounding others and himself alike. No one would desire such a thing.
And yet—
Upon the ridge bathed in moonlight, Zhao Zhao beheld the figure standing in confrontation with Wu-Shaman Xian.
Why was he here?
“So it seems I have been too careless…” Wu-Shaman Xian cast a glance at the Mount Ling cultivators around her, now nearly all fallen, and let out a faint sigh.
She too had been wounded by sword qi. Whether it was the body native to this small world or the soul that had entered it in out-of-body form, both were grievously damaged.
“Still, to sever one of Dao Lord Tianshu’s arms is hardly a loss.”
Her gaze shifted to Zhao Zhao, who had just arrived.
Wu-Shaman Xian remained composed. Though she herself appeared gravely injured, collapsed upon the ground with her breath faint and failing, she paid Zhao Zhao’s presence no mind. A thin smile lingered between her brows.
“Your actions are futile.” She spoke to Zhao Zhao, who had rushed forward to support Xie Lanshu and was preparing to reattach his arm with spiritual power. “Flesh may be mended. But injuries to the soul…even a practitioner of Divine Farmer Dao can do nothing for them. Across the Three Thousand Million Worlds, only in this one are he and I evenly matched. Your fortune is poor indeed.”
Zhao Zhao’s fingers tightened in the folds of Xie Lanshu’s robe.
She said nothing. In silence, she focused solely on rejoining the dominant right arm he had lost.
His snow-pale lashes trembled faintly. Xie Lanshu lifted his eyes and quietly regarded the figure before him.
Zhao Zhao had thought his first words would at least be, ‘I am fine’, or perhaps some feigned weakness meant to soften her heart.
Instead, he merely asked, “If I were to die, would you wear mourning clothes for me?"
Zhao Zhao’s movements faltered.
“I do not think you would shed tears for me,” he continued evenly. “So I will yield a step. Wear mourning clothes for me just once. Would that be acceptable?”
She felt he had truly lost his senses. Her grip on his severed arm tightened unconsciously, the force of it increasing.
“You have only lost an arm. You will not die.”
Those tranquil eyes, deep as autumn waters, merely curved in a faint smile.
For reasons she could not name, that smile unsettled her. It felt as though something soft yet unyielding had lodged in her chest, clogging her breath. The emotions surging within her had neither cause nor outlet, turning instead into a restless irritation that left her ill at ease.
“Did you not say you would not succumb to madness? Xie Lanshu, what are you doing now?”
“Zhao Zhao, I am very clear-headed.” He tilted his head slightly toward the direction of Wu-Shaman Xian. “Even if we leave the Xie Residence, in order to kill us, Wu-Shaman Xian will surely take the Xie Residence as her blade. Even if this is not a world that belongs to you, you would not wish harm upon them. Am I wrong?”
Zhao Zhao stared at him, almost unable to believe such words had come from Xie Lanshu’s lips.
“Only,” he narrowed his eyes. “This is indeed a small world where she holds the advantage. Even with one arm severed, she yet lives. And she has more in reserve.”
Wu-Shaman Xian’s crimson lips curved faintly.
A sudden foreboding rose in Zhao Zhao’s heart.
“Yao Ling, what are you still waiting for?”
…
Elsewhere.
Within Heavenward Watchtower.
After Xie Lanshu’s figure vanished into thin air, their party had searched the entire Heavenward Watchtower from top to bottom, yet found no trace of him or Zhao Zhao.
Even the hidden chamber beyond the secret passage had been thoroughly scoured. Aside from an altar left bare and desolate, nothing remained.
With no other recourse, they withdrew for the time being, lest the ghost soldiers arrive and trap them within.
Yet when they emerged, they found not a single guard outside. Instead, they were met with a piece of staggering news.
“What? You’re saying the veiled Wu-Shaman has become the Ghost King!?”
The yao subordinate who had come to report was visibly shaken, his face drained of color as he repeated himself.
“The veiled Wu-Shaman of Mount Ling, on the night of her wedding, devoured the Ghost King.”
To be precise, she had devoured the Ghost King’s heart.
The Demon Clan passed down its lineage through the Demon Clan Successor. The Ghost Clan, however, inherited its throne by consuming the heart of the previous Ghost King.
It was both a symbolic rite, strength triumphing over weakness, and a true transmission of cultivation. So long as one consumed the Ghost King’s heart, one would inherit the other’s power in full.
When this Ghost King had ascended the throne years ago, he had seized the opportunity after Dao Lord Tianshu defeated the previous Ghost King, devouring the fallen ruler’s heart to claim the crown of the Ghost Realm.
Who would have thought that, on his own wedding night, he too would have his heart torn out by his bride?
The sisters of Mount Ling were truly astonishing in their ruthlessness; they were able to bend when necessary, and strike without mercy.
“The great hall is already in chaos. The guests are fleeing the Ghost Realm in droves. It is said that the veiled Wu-Shaman is suppressing the rebels within the palace. Once that is done, she will take full control of Spectrahold. Her next move will surely be war with the Demon Clan. Generals, this matter has nothing to do with our Yao Clan. We must withdraw to the Yao Realm at once—”
“Nonsense. Our Yao Realm borders both the Ghost and Demon Realms. How could this not concern us?”
“But the Yao Lord…”
Their Yao Lord, ever fearful for his own life, would not share that view.
“The veiled Wu-Shaman of Mount Ling had previously intended to negotiate. She would not have devoured the Ghost King without cause. For her to act so suddenly, something must have changed on Wu-Shaman Xian’s side. They were forced to alter their plans.” Rong Yu spoke in a low voice, his analysis swift and steady. Having made his decision, he declared, “With Xie Lanshu absent, I must return to Wraith City to muster reinforcements. The veiled Wu-Shaman cannot seize control of Spectrahold in so short a time. If we hasten back, we will still make it in time.”
Li Feng inclined his head, then said to Fu Xue, “I will escort Yao Ling back to Cloudculm Abode. You return to the Yao Clan. We regroup at Spectrahold in half a day.”
“Half a day? In half a day, we would scarcely have time to march—”
“At a time like this, stop hoarding those precious teleportation talismans of yours. Use them all. We will make it in time.” Li Feng waved a hand as he finished speaking and turned to call out, “Yao Ling!”
There was no response.
“Where is she? Where did that chattering little girl go?”
Only then did the others realize—
Yao Ling was gone.
…
On the altar within the hidden chamber.
The departing footsteps had long since faded into the distance. Yao Ling, however, had not followed. She stood alone upon the altar, studying the murals carved into the surrounding stone walls.
Moments earlier, everyone had been preoccupied with searching for people. No one had spared a glance at this dim cavern. Yet both the walls and the altar were etched with strange figures and stranger dances.
Others might have cast them no more than a passing look. But for reasons she herself could not explain, Yao Ling found her gaze irresistibly drawn to them, unable to look away.
It was as though some obscure force within her blood was guiding her.
She lifted her head and imitated the posture of the wu-shaman depicted above, adopting the peculiar stance.
Her eyes shifted to the next figure; the movement was continuous. She followed the sequence, replicating each gesture and step as shown in the mural.
To begin dancing upon an empty altar in such circumstances would have seemed uncanny to any onlooker.
Yet within Yao Ling’s heart, a strange voice urged her onward. The movements that grew ever more fluid and familiar seemed to whisper something to her from beyond sight.
Continue.
Continue, and something will surely happen.
Her fingers curled slightly. Though she held no bell like the wu-shaman in the mural, as she moved, she faintly heard the clear chime of one ringing.
It seemed to drift from behind distant clouds—not only within this world. In a daze, it felt as though the bells of countless worlds were sounding in accord with her steps.
Ding-a-ling.
Ding-a-ling.
A sudden warmth flooded her nostrils. Lowering her gaze, Yao Ling saw blood flowing without warning from her nose.
A single drop fell upon the altar.
The entire world seemed to shudder, as though some invisible boundary had been shattered. Unreal ripples spread through the air.
Startled, Yao Ling tried to halt her movements, only to discover that at some unknown moment a spiritual sword had appeared in her grasp. Her body, no longer under her control, thrust toward a certain direction—
“YAO LING!!”
Yao Ling stared in shock at her Master, who had suddenly appeared before her, and the silver-haired youth cradled in her arms.
His gaze was tranquil.
Never before had Yao Ling seen such calm in the eyes of one whose heart was pointed at by her sword.
TL Note: Just keep in mind mourning clothes in China is white in color~
