The Weight of Home and the Fire of Possessiveness

The moment Jiang Jinyue’s words settled, even Mo Tingbei, whose heart had been tempered through countless trials, found himself momentarily lost in a daze, as if a stone had suddenly been cast into a tranquil lake, its ripples silently spreading outwards.

Eight years had passed, spent drifting amidst the tumultuous mortal realm, and his solitary days had, surprisingly, begun to smooth his rough edges, even allowing him to savor a taste of life uniquely belonging to the human world.

During the intervals between teaching Ye Jinghuang, he meticulously wove the fantastical popular tales from his past life’s memories into the language of this world, entrusting them to the storytellers in teahouses and taverns.

Though he never exchanged them for a single coin, he discovered a transcendent joy in the flow of those words, as if his fingertips brushed against the starlit rivers of old.

Those stories, though merely a diversion meant to entertain, seeped silently like a gentle rain, permeating the entire mortal dynasty.

In teahouses and taverns, amidst bustling markets and quiet alleys, a spark of life appeared on faces once dulled by routine, even giving rise to a wave of wildly imaginative “magical adaptations” (TL Note: ‘Mógǎi’ refers to fan-made modifications or reinterpretations, often with a fantastical or absurd twist).

A century of upheaval had passed in the blink of an eye.

The chaotic era of a hundred years ago, when wars raged across the land and human lives were cheaper than grass, now seemed as distant as a faded ancient legend.

The common topics of conversation in the streets and alleys had long since shifted from the bloody lament of “exchanging children for food” (TL Note: ‘Yìzǐ ér shí’ is a historical idiom describing extreme famine where people resorted to cannibalism). They had quietly transformed into tales of everyday life, the mundane details of firewood, rice, oil, and salt, and the increasingly bizarre storytelling performances passed down by word of mouth.

His own casually assembled “modest creations” could actually attract such a multitude of eager eyes.

A faint blush rose in Mo Tingbei’s heart, yet it also held a wisp of indescribable sweetness.

This newfound delight even made him sigh with a feeling of “too happy to think of home” (TL Note: ‘Lè bù sī shǔ’ is an idiom meaning one is so content in a new place that they forget their original home).

The word “home” seemed to have slumbered for too long amidst the dust of his memories.

Over a hundred years ago, he had fallen into this world like a rootless duckweed, separated from his homeland and stripped of all reliance, struggling to survive in an unfamiliar world.

The desolation and hardship he endured were beyond words for outsiders.

Just as he was about to drown, the Three-One Sword Sect (TL Note: ‘Sānyī Jiànzōng’ is the name of a cultivation sect) extended a hand to him.

From then on, his roots became firmly embedded within that mountain gate.

The Three-One Sword Sect was both his drifting boat and his returning shore.

His thoughts raced, but only for a fleeting moment.

How perceptive Jiang Jinyue was; how could that momentary flicker of distraction in his brows possibly escape her keen eyes?

A tide of pity washed over her heart.

Her fingertips twitched, and her form, ethereal as smoke, silently appeared by his side.

Rising onto her tiptoes, she gently patted the top of his head with an almost maternal tenderness.

This intimate gesture left Mo Tingbei momentarily dumbfounded, yet it also dispersed that nameless sorrow he had felt just moments before.

He turned his head helplessly, saying, “Senior Sister Jiang, I am no longer a child who needs coaxing.”

Jiang Jinyue, however, seemed stung by his words.

Her gaze turned serious, and her voice became low and clear: “Besides you, I would not treat a second person this way.”

Mo Tingbei’s heart stirred, recalling the rumors about Senior Sister Jiang circulating within the sect—how the true disciples of their generation had privately claimed she was capricious and arrogant, often using the guise of admonishment to inflict abuse upon those who violated sect rules.

He had always dismissed them as baseless rumors, wondering how a woman as gentle as melting spring water could possibly be like that.

Yet, witnessing her detached aloofness towards others today, that certainty of his quietly cracked open, revealing a sliver of doubt.

‘Could it be… the rumors weren’t false?’

Jiang Jinyue did not pry into his thoughts, but observing the shifts in his expression, she could guess most of them.

It was nothing more than idle gossip, after all.

Her mind subtly shifted.

‘Once we return to the sect…’ Her thoughts galloped like wild horses, and some enchanting yet clandestine images flashed uncontrollably through her sea of consciousness.

As someone who had awakened past-life memories and experienced two cycles of reincarnation, she had never fallen for anyone before meeting Mo Tingbei.

Once that long-dormant emotion broke its dam, its force was like a mountain torrent unleashed.

She had even already thought of names for their unborn child.

A faint blush quietly crept onto Jiang Jinyue’s cheeks.

A dangerous yet alluring thought, like a poisonous vine, sprouted and twined from the dark depths of her heart: ‘Senior Brother is so weak and powerless now, surely… he can’t resist? Imprisonment… if Ye Jinghuang can do it, why can’t I?’

No sooner had this thought emerged than it grew wildly, spreading like a demonic vine that could not be severed from the deepest abyss of the Nine Hells, instantly constricting her mind and threatening to devour all reason.

‘Patience… Senior Brother’s injuries… cannot withstand any further strain.’

She exerted all her strength to press the fierce beast in her heart back into its cage.

Each lost in their own thoughts, the two stood in silent opposition.

****

Not far away, Lin Xiaoxiao, who was painstakingly securing the unconscious Ye Jinghuang onto the flying artifact-boat, caught a glimpse of this scene from the corner of her eye.

The flames of jealousy in her heart flared “whoosh,” burning even more intensely and threatening to incinerate her reason.

‘One day… one day I will also cross that chasm and attain the Golden Core stage (TL Note: ‘Jīndān’ refers to a core formed by cultivators at a specific stage, signifying immense power and a long lifespan)!’

‘By then, you old woman, don’t even dream of touching a single strand of Master’s hair!’

She bit down hard on her lower lip, swallowing the surging hatred and resolve all at once.

Each person lost in their own thoughts, the prison fell into an eerie silence for a moment.

Eventually, it was Mo Tingbei who took the initiative to break the awkwardness.

“We’ve delayed too long,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse and tinged with an almost imperceptible weariness.

“Let’s return to the sect first.

If the Immortal Alliance (TL Note: ‘Xiān Méng’ refers to a powerful alliance of immortal cultivators and sects) sends someone meticulous to take over, Little Phoenix… we might not be able to take her with us.”

Jiang Jinyue naturally understood that Mo Tingbei harbored no ulterior motives towards Ye Jinghuang, but Lin Xiaoxiao refused to believe it.

Her devotion to her Master had long since twisted into the sharpest possessiveness, tolerating not even a hint of blasphemy.

In Mo Tingbei’s words from his previous life, she was his most extreme “toxic solo fan” (TL Note: ‘Dúwéi’ is a slang term referring to a fan who intensely supports only one member of a group, often to the detriment or criticism of others).

Any closeness between another woman and her Master was, in her eyes, an unforgivable transgression.

It was precisely for this reason that when Jiang Jinyue entrusted Mo Tingbei with severing his mortal ties back then, he chose to leave Lin Xiaoxiao without a word.

He left only a vague farewell, then vanished as if evaporated from the mortal world, even going so far as to use spells to completely erase his traces.

The dissatisfaction Lin Xiaoxiao had accumulated since first seeing Ye Jinghuang suddenly erupted: “Master, are you still going to protect this person who committed such disgraceful acts? Are you perhaps… fond of her?”

Before Mo Tingbei could respond, Jiang Jinyue preemptively began to reprimand her.

“Such disrespect in front of your elders.

You truly have been spoiled, you’ve even forgotten the sect rules!

Your master is soft-hearted, but I will not let you off lightly.

I will punish you with five days of Silent Meditation.

If you repent early, I will consider reducing your punishment.”

Jiang Jinyue spoke with an air of casual indifference, her finger pointing vaguely into the distance.

Lin Xiaoxiao instantly seemed as if a mute button had been pressed; her lips moved, but not a single sound escaped.

Mo Tingbei had intended to stop Jiang Jinyue’s reprimand, but recalling Lin Xiaoxiao’s behavior, he couldn’t help but begin to wonder: ‘Could it be that my own soft-heartedness has truly allowed them to take advantage?’

Given the delay, his reactions, already much dulled by his transformation into a mortal, just happened to miss Jiang Jinyue’s spell-casting.

Seeing that Lin Xiaoxiao had already been struck by the silencing spell, and knowing that this minor spell was no cruel punishment, would cause no harm, and might even benefit her cultivation, he tacitly allowed Jiang Jinyue’s actions.

“Senior Sister,” Mo Tingbei said helplessly, “Xiaoxiao is my disciple, after all.

When it comes to punishment, you should at least notify me first.”

Jiang Jinyue waved her hand dismissively, and the light from the lantern she held flared brightly once more.

A sensation of heaven and earth inverting, of the cosmos falling out of order, suddenly descended!

The scene that had previously unfolded in Chaoge City reappeared within this prison.

The bricks and stones, tougher than steel, seemed to be sliced apart by a space from another world, pushed to either side.

Time here was intricately clipped away, a small fragment.

Space itself was not distorted; rather, the dome of the prison seemed to have been completely and smoothly replaced.

The brilliant moonlight fell like rain and a waterfall upon Mo Tingbei and the others.

Mo Tingbei sighed leisurely, saying, “Fleeting Bloom”.

No matter how many times I see it, it’s always so astonishing.

To think such a naturally anomalous divine ability could exist in this world.

With such talent, it’s no wonder, Jinyue, that you were able to break through a barrier that no one in the sect had overcome in over two hundred years.”

Jiang Jinyue, however, did not agree, her voice resounding in Mo Tingbei’s mind, “If not for you, Senior Brother, transplanting your precious origin (TL Note: ‘běnyuán’ refers to a cultivator’s fundamental essence or source of power) to me back then, I would have died in that reckless attempt to break through, and it would have been even more impossible to awaken this divine ability.

Others don’t know, but I do, Senior Brother, that you are the most exceptionally talented cultivator of our generation.

Just like now, haven’t you already recovered your status as a cultivator?

A mortal would not be able to perceive my divine ability at all.

You will definitely be able to reach realms beyond the First Heaven just like me.”

Mo Tingbei chuckled softly, not surprised by Jiang Jinyue’s perceptiveness, and replied silently in his mind: ‘Thank you for your kind words.’

Jiang Jinyue returned a gentle smile, then waved her hand, her sleeves fluttering, and all four of them landed on Lin Xiaoxiao’s flying artifact-boat.

“Senior Brother, your injuries are severe and not yet healed, so it’s not suitable for you to remain active in my divine ability for too long.

I came too hastily this time and didn’t bring anything other than my magical treasures.

Let’s return to the sect on Xiaoxiao’s flying boat then.” Jiang Jinyue noticed that Mo Tingbei’s healed wounds were seeping blood again, naturally guessing it was due to her divine ability, and inquired. However, despite it being a question, her tone held little doubt and more of an unrefusable command.

Mo Tingbei sat down on the flying boat’s deck, which was only wide enough for two people, and closed his eyes to rest.

Hearing Jiang Jinyue’s words, he said noncommittally, “Whatever you say.”