Chapter 12
Yi Nuo~
A soft but unyielding hand was persistently patting my arm, pulling me from the depths of unconsciousness. Was it Abbess Mother summoning me to morning prayers? Or perhaps Feng Jun Hie, gently rousing me for breakfast? This made sense. Naturally, all that I had witnessed had been an awful and hideous nightmare. Hope, a small and fragile thing, flickered within me, dispelling the fog of sleep.
My eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly in an unfamiliar room. They took in too vivid and strange details, arresting my senses. The air was rich with the aroma of cinnamon, a scent so overpowering and intoxicating that it seemed to seep into my very bones, drawing me further into the waking world.
The one we knew as “the man” leaned over me; his intense gaze was unwavering as he studied my face. Beside him was a younger boy. His hair was such a brilliant shade of flaming red, and his eyes were like polished gemstones, sharp and gleaming. He reached out, resting his hand gently on mine. His touch somehow passed through a stranger and went directly to my heart. It was warm and immensely comforting, nevertheless.
“Ruilin, she’s finally awake!” The boy squeezed my hand with renewed vigor. “Are we ever relieved. We were so worried that you would be sleeping for another week. Ruilin shouldn’t have given you Consort Lie Xi’s calming potion intended for immortals.”
“Yi Nuo, don’t be alarmed. My name is Ruilin. It’s me, Pretty Boy.” A frown crossed his face. “Do you think you can sit up?”
Unsteadily, I sat up much slower than I intended. Everything felt like a haze. My head seemed lost in a cloud, and my mouth was parched. A teacup was held up to my lips. The first swallow made me choke as memories of the convent and the death of my master Zhiming crashed violently over me. “Am I dreaming?” I asked. The words felt distant, as though someone else were speaking.
Like a sunset, a flash of vibrant red hair erupted as the boy shot upward—a startled bird taking flight. His movements were a blur, quick and silent as the horns, two pearly shafts, sprang from his head, catching the light with a dazzling shimmer. The ethereal glow was the last clue: I was still dreaming.
Ruilin~
“What happened? Is she dead!?” Leyang jumped backward, his wild and unruly hair catching the light. He hopped around Yi Nuo nervously, as if her lifeless state were contagious.
“No, I think she’s fainted again,” I said calmly, though inside I was terrified. She’d survived, but the ordeal left me fearing lasting trauma.
“She’s been through something awful,” I whispered, shuddering. She’d witnessed horrors no one should ever see. That afternoon’s sight will forever haunt me, as will my return to the scene. The temple was reduced to ash and rubble; the nuns, mere charred bones. The stench was unbearable. I can’t comprehend such inhumanity.
Leyang cocked his head and scratched his ear. “Maybe you should take her home and find a mortal doctor. I think you overdosed her with the calming tonic.”
“She doesn’t have a home to go to. She’s all alone.” My eyes welled with tears, memories of the sisters flooding back, even the ever-bossy Ya Qi. They had been so kind, often a source of laughter and warmth. I want to cling to those memories, to see them alive in my mind, not as the cold, lifeless bodies strewn across the courtyard as we soared above the convent. A violent shiver ripped through me at the thought of what could have befallen Yi Nuo and me if my magic hadn’t surged back at the crucial moment.
“Nobody ever comes to Bright Jade Palace,” I said, feeling the cleverness and brilliance of the idea spark in my mind like a stroke of luck. “I’ll keep her safe here with me. I’ll hide her out of sight by disguising her as a servant. Nobody will be the wiser.” I congratulated myself on coming up with such a grand plan. Yi Nuo is an orphan- a child of tragedy—and leaving her to fend for herself would be like sinning. I owe her a life debt for what she has done. For saving me, I must, in turn, save her.
“You’re going to hide a mortal?” Leyang asked, bewildered. “You think nobody will notice? A mortal servant for an immortal master is silly? It will never work.” His skepticism made me want to pull his hair out.
“Not a real servant.” I glared at him dismissively, wondering how he could misunderstand so thoroughly. “What kind of host would I be if I made my savior serve me tea? To ask such a thing is absurd.” I tucked the blankets snugly and carefully around Yi Nuo, ensuring she would stay warm as I spoke. “No,” I insisted, my voice firmer than before. “She is my guest for saving my life and will be treated properly.” My resolve was unshakable; my plan would go ahead without a hitch. She has lived a life of abstinence, but with me, she will want for nothing. “When Princess Changying returns to our world, she will have an answer for where Yi Nuo can go.”
“Go to my mother’s palace garden and fetch sweet Zhi Lue, the firefly,” I directed, “to serve Yi Nuo while she’s here.”
Turning my full attention and focus to Yi Nuo, I noticed her brow twitching, her fingers curling weakly. All signs of life returning. Relief washed over me. I leaned in closer and whispered, “I know you’re scared and in shock, but you are safe and nobody will hurt you. I promise to protect you. Zhi Lue will be your servant, so when you’re ready, get up and eat. Don’t force me to feed you worms like you did to me.”
Hopeful that she would hear me, I watched her face with a searching intensity, curious about how she would react to awakening in this strange, unfamiliar world. Slowly, as if emerging from a deep fog, she blinked awake. Tears trailed down her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered like fragile moth wings, reflecting her unease and disorientation. She stirred, her gaze darting around the room, her eyes wide and filled with the struggle to comprehend her surroundings.
I held my breath in anticipation until she softly whispered, “Thank you, Pretty Boy.”
Though I didn’t appreciate being called “Pretty Boy,” a smile broke across my face. Here was a mortal who had survived the unimaginable, now waking in a realm of immortals surrounded by mystical beings that were strangers to her. It would have been expected for her to leap from the bed, a scream tearing from her throat. Yet, Yi Nuo is not just any girl; she has remarkable resilience. I am eager to introduce her to Princess Changying. They have similar personalities and might become wonderful friends.
Changchang~
Father used to tell us how Bai Lianhua spent her birthdays alone until fate intertwined their lives over steaming bowls of celebration noodles—the very noodles he, the Lord of Heaven himself, insists on fetching personally every year. My Father, who commands the skies, humbles himself to stand in line at a bustling human restaurant to rekindle the spark of their love story over those sacred bowls.
I never realized the depths of my Father’s romantic soul.
Father’s aversion to crowds and festivities is legendary, yet for Bai Lianhua’s birthdays, he orchestrates grand occasions with everyone in attendance. But this year, it’s colossal. Perhaps it’s because the sands of time are slipping through her fingers, leaving fewer birthdays to cherish. Yet this year marks a seismic shift—a tempest brewing. In a twist of fate, my Mother is attending her ex-husband’s wife’s celebration.
A-li and Yingpei warned her not to think about facing whatever Bai Lianhua had planned. Like me, they could feel an ominous tension, but Mother remained unyielding. She believed that since Bai Lianhua, their mother, represented my younger siblings, it was only right for her to stand by us.
Father spots us first and forces a smile, but I can see the strain behind his eyes because he never lingers outside the Celebration Hall to greet guests. That he does something he abhors only underscores his deep-seated loyalty to Bai Lianhua, and this should suffice for her, but it doesn’t. When she spots mother, me, and my brothers, the genuine warmth drains from her smile, leaving her rouged lips rigid and unmoving—a pity, as jealousy mars the stunning vision she presents in her celebration red gown embroidered with the Celestial Dragon. She stands as the extremely young Empress, looking exactly my age and Ying’er’s, adorned with her Phoenix Crown, and her entire ensemble is an extravagant, awe-inspiring spectacle, starkly contrasting with Mother’s refined simplicity.
Mother is still enveloped in the mourning of my grandmother’s passing. She continues to drape herself in white garments, unadorned and straightforward, devoid of intricate designs or embellishments, reflecting her subdued state of grief. The sole hint of color in her attire is the soft pastel peach sash, tied with a Ruyi love knot, symbolizing the child she lost during her mortal trial. This sash is accompanied by white silk tassels that sway gently as she moves, and a mother-of-pearl pendant that once belonged to my grandmother. From this pendant hangs a delicate strand of seven small, perfectly luminous Qingqui pearls, each representing the children she miscarried on Kunlun Mountain. This evening, she has forsaken the usual golden hair ornaments, opting for a simple yet elegant silver hairpin, further emphasizing the quiet dignity in her modesty.
“Happy Birthday, Empress Bai. High Goddess greets Heavenly Lord.” Mother’s voice is syrupy sweet. I stifle a laugh until A-li nudges the back of my shoe. We all greet Bai Lianhua and Father in our unique styles.
A-li chirps, “Greetings, father, and happy birthday, Empress mother.”
I chime in, “Happy birthday, Royal mother, and hello, father. You’re looking ever so dashing. When did you start wearing your hair down like that again?”
Yingpei declares, “Yingpei greets Skylord Father and Celestial Empress Bai Lianhua.” Mother barely turns her head, a micro-expression of disapproval, and Yingpei scrambles, “Happy Birthday, Empress Mother.” She gives a tiny nod of approval only the keen-eyed would catch.
“I sent my gift to your palace; it was too hefty to lug around. It’s a boulder-sized lum—” Father jumps in, finishing, “A luminous pearl.” Their eyes meet, they share a secretive smile, and they laugh together for the first time since Mother returned.
When my parents broke out in laughter, it was like thunder rolling across the heavens, filling the air with a sound so foreign that, for a moment, everyone froze. It had been lifetimes since a note of this kind passed between them, an echo from the distant past. Father, always the dignified, now seemed less an Emperor and a more carefree man reveling in the understated joy of the moment. Mother, notorious for her aloofness, shed it like an old skin and allowed gaiety to surface, unguarded and true.
Their shared amusement momentarily became a gravitational force, pulling all eyes toward them, transfixing the party in a peculiar spell. My brothers and I exchanged smiles. It was beautiful to witness them letting their guards down, and yet, observing Bai Lianhua’s eyes narrow, I knew not everyone found it so.
With fluidity, Bai Lianhua slipped between them, as if to shatter their familiar bond with her presence alone. Her obsidian eyes, which moments before glistened with pride, now flashed with irritation. The silence that followed was a chasm, gaping and immense. “How did you know that, Ye Hua?” she inquired, her voice laced with a possessiveness that belied her Empress’s composure. Even as she clutched his arm with feigned playfulness, desperation lingered behind her flickering gaze.
Father’s reply was immediate, his tone teasing yet knowing. “It’s always the same. For young immortals, she gives small pearls and larger ones for older ones. She wanted to give A-li one the size of the moon, but I talked some sense into her.”
Suddenly, the Jade Purity Fan appeared. Mother whacked Father’s arm with its handle, scolding, “You never appreciated their beauty! That’s why I never gave you one, and never will. Unsurprisingly, you lack culture for the refined things in life, although I shouldn’t be astonished since you are 90,000 years my junior.”
“I haven’t heard you mention our age gap in so long that I actually enjoyed hearing it from you, Qian Qian,” Father replies playfully, and she retorts. “Shut up, Ye Hua.” Then they chuckle again, and the sounds are like music to my ears.
A-li~
Was that a subtle flirtation between them? Seeing my parents share even the briefest amicable moment is like gasping for air after nearly drowning. The tension between them was so palpable that it’s choking me. Mother’s deliberate avoidance of him is agonizing to witness, and his inability to speak to her whenever he pleases because Bai Linghua is aggravating, but tonight, it seems all has been set aside to honor Bai Lianhua’s birthday.
“Let’s go in,” I say. The other guests surge behind us, a torrent of anticipation eager to greet Father and Bai Lianhua.
Festive energy fills the Great Celestial Hall, illuminated by vibrant red lanterns and gold banners proclaiming celebratory messages. The osmanthus flowers, their sweet, intoxicating scent overwhelming the senses, are woven into the lavish birthday decorations, as opulent and magnificent as they were on the day Father and Bai Lianhua were wed. The sound of exuberant chatter and laughter ricochets through the hall, a tumultuous symphony that mingles with the haunting strains of soft music playing in the background, creating an atmosphere of intense warmth and festival.
It’s a breathtaking celebration. She is basking in everyone’s attention. Glasses are raised to toast Bai Lianhua. The veiled dancers create waves with their arms, spinning gracefully, seeming to be the focus of Yingpei’s attention, but he’s staring across the hall. Mother cannot stop snickering as she nudges me, tilting her chin towards Yingpei, who is fixated on Second Grand Uncle Sang Ji’s wife, Shao Xin. I elbow Changchang, who rolls her eyes at our enamoured brother.
“That was a delightful dance, but I’ve heard tales of your legendary dancing, High Goddess.” Bai Lianhua’s voice slices through the air, drawing my attention.
“Oh, indeed,” the white-bearded immortal chimes in, his eyes gleaming with nostalgia. “I once witnessed Gugu dancing amidst the peach orchard, dressed in a resplendent red gown. I was but a boy then, observing from afar, yet that vision seared into my memory, unforgettable and unparalleled. No dancer of the eight vast wildernesses and the four seas could rival Gugu.” He lifts his glass high, a tribute to my Mother. “To Gugu.” The toast reverberates around the room, glasses raised in unified reverence.
Bai Lianhua leans forward, her intent palpable. “Oh, how I wish to witness such beauty. Would it be too much to ask, High Goddess, for such a gift?” My father, discreetly gripping her arm, whispers a caution that I read from his lips: “The High Goddess is our guest. You should stop drinking.”
“I’m ancient, and those days are long gone,” my Mother responds, her voice laced with courteous deflection. “I would only make a spectacle of myself. We seek beauty tonight, not seeing an old woman stumbling.”
“I understand,” Bai Lianhua concedes, though her words are heavy with purpose. “I simply imagined it would be a wonder to behold such grace before I no longer can.”
The vibrant hall plunges into a tense silence, whispers bubbling beneath the surface. Bai Lianhua’s insistence crackles with audacity, cornering my mother into a precarious dilemma. Should she refuse, whispers of indifference and ungraciousness will shadow her, accusing her of denying Bai Lianhua one of her last wishes on her birthday.
Seizing her arm desperately, I halt my Mother just as she attempts to stand. For Mother to be summoned to dance like a courtesan is the greatest of insults. The thought of her enduring such humiliation is unbearable. I swiftly gaze toward my father, eyes wide with urgency, silently demanding why he isn’t ending this travesty. Yet, I see he’s trying, his face mere inches from Bai Lianhua’s ear, his jaw clenched with a ferocity that speaks volumes of his struggle.
The room stares as my mother settles herself in the clearing, a lone figure amid the mass of onlookers. Her delicate composure makes the onlookers nervous. For a moment, I believe she might refuse this humiliating spectacle from the start, but then she offers a graceful nod and announces, her voice firm and unfaltering, “It’s been a while, but I believe I recall the Lotus dance.”
A gasp echoes throughout the hall. The musicians ready themselves, surprised by her boldness. The notes rise tentatively, and the music becomes less assertive. The dance begins with a severe, grounded position, which reflects the mud in which the root of the lotus is buried. But as she starts to move, she stumbles, an intentional miss-step that confirms her warning. She glances around with feigned awkwardness, letting out an audible laugh, and repeats herself to the crowd, “Does Empress Bai see? What a terrible dancer I am now.”
She falters again, each time seizing the opportunity to chuckle at her slip-ups, ensuring the performance is seen as a jest. Instead of continuing to be embarrassed, she halts and offers the onlookers a warm smile. The music wanes. She turns to the assemblage and proposes a toast to Bai Lianhua.
Gown diaphanous, she saunters back towards us, her expression sheepish yet unconcerned, her brows wagging playfully at our shocked reactions. I felt shame, but it doesn’t linger. Changchang, the easiest going of us all, glares at Father’s wife with tight lips. Yingpei, red from outrage, seems to be overcome with anger. My mother turns slightly to offer Bai Lianhua a bow she is not worthy of, when Bai Lianhua’s petulant and piercing voice says, “The musicians were to blame and off-key, unworthy to accompany you, and one can’t blame High Goddess for not being good at everything.”
Mother halts abruptly, her smile vanishing as if wiped away. Everyone has their breaking point, and pride can only be swallowed for so long. My mother has endured Bai Lianhua’s antics for reasons that elude my siblings and me, but now Bai Lianhua has finally pushed her over the edge. Her eyes dart skyward in exasperation, and she exhales sharply, a heavy sigh laden with disappointment not only in Bai Lianhua but perhaps in herself as well, for being unable to extricate herself from this toxic situation. With a resolute determination, she strides to claim her position at the hall’s center.
“We can’t possibly accompany Gugu again with our terrible playing, ” they plead. The musicians are afraid to offend both Mother and Bai Lianhua.
“I don’t need music,” Mother declares with a defiant edge. Her arms fall heavily to her sides, and she shuts her eyes as a lone zither begins to weep a haunting, melancholic melody. Like a shadow in the night, Uncle Mo Yuan has slipped in unnoticed to shield Mother against any disgrace or losing face. Anticipation grips everyone as the guests seem to freeze, breath caught in their throats. This is no ordinary moment; it’s a rare performance. Watching Gugu dance and Uncle Mo Yuan perform his music, which he guards closely, is an absolute honor for those in attendance.
His face is a mask of serene intensity, while his hands dance across the strings with the dexterity that leaves the women breathless, wishing it was them he was playing, and Mother in a trance of movement I’ve never witnessed before. As Mother dances, the fabric of her sleeves billows and flows like a gentle stream, as if controlled by an invisible current, as if carried aloft by the wind itself. The air around her stirs alive with every sweeping motion, her arms cutting through it like silken blades. Her graceful turns and poised stances form a symphony of elegance, her fluid movements standing as a vivid expression of love, beauty, and a mysterious, enigmatic emotion I don’t understand, but it captivates and mystifies those around. She never falters, not even for a fraction of a moment.
The men are spellbound, their eyes glued to her, fixated and entranced as if under a powerful enchantment they cannot escape. The tension in the room dissipates, replaced by a stunned awe, a disbelief that something so ethereal and otherworldly could be happening before them. Changchang’s eyes brim with tears, streaming down her cheeks in a torrent of emotion, while Yingpei’s smirk twists into silent, mocking laughter, contrasting sharply with the magic unfolding.
“This breaks my heart to see Mother like this. These people don’t deserve to watch her,” Changchang observes, her voice cracking with emotion. “Why did Father’s wife have to push Mother this far?”
“What’s so funny?” I demand of my younger brother, whose sly expression is incomprehensible.
Yingpei throws a grape into his mouth, crushing it between his teeth, juice dripping as he retorts without swallowing, “Mother’s dance.”
I press him further, “What kind of dance is it?”
Yingpei’s smirk stretches wider, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Old, rare, sacred, and one she was born knowing, as it is a part of her sexuality. It’s the irresistible mating dance of the Nine-tailed Fox. Mother has every man here teetering on the edge, ready to pounce at her. Some of these ancient immortals probably haven’t felt such a surge of desire in thousands of years. One should tread carefully with such allure. Bai Lianhua thought she could humiliate the wrong Fox, but she’s getting what she deserves.”
The music and dance come to a graceful end, like a flower blooming only to close again. The guests stand in stunned silence, any trace of words or sound caught in their throats, breathless at what they’ve just witnessed. Mother curves her fingers with the serenity that follows a mighty storm and bows deeply to Uncle Mo Yuan. Her arms form a soft circle, her gaze fixed downwards demurely. She holds the position delicately, a lone silk petal afloat in the charged space.
Uncle Mo Yuan remains silent, his expression calm and steady as he returns her attention with quiet resolve. He doesn’t smile or speak when their eyes meet across the room. Instead, he gives her a quick, playful wink, like a crack in the composed façade of his calm demeanor. Her reaction is immediate and unguarded, the flush of surprise and excitement painting her cheeks five shades of red. It is a color I have never seen on her; it makes her look like a girl again, and she answers with a smile so unrestrained and girlish that it catches even me off guard, as if she suddenly belongs to a world of youth and first love. Her cheeks are akin to the budding blossoms that cling to the branches in spring, and I never knew a wink could have such a powerful effect on a woman like my Mother.
I whirl around to face my Father, who stands there, visibly flustered and boiling with fury while trying to control his emotions. I shake my head at him in disbelief. His timing, as always, is atrocious, and this time, his luck is just as bad.
Father, can’t you see what’s unfolding right before your eyes? Your brother, Uncle Mo Yuan, is charming Mother with his suave demeanor and perfect timing, making her beam and blush. At this pace, Father, I dread she is tumbling headlong into love with Uncle Mo Yuan, and it won’t make a difference if Bai Lianhua is no longer in the picture. Father, everything is spiraling into chaos.