Chapter 79: Disciple and Wife
On the edge of the Radiant Realm, beyond a towering mountain range, lay the lower realm, its spiritual energy thin and weak.
The mortals below, however, didn’t consider themselves inhabitants of a “lower realm,” nor did they call their world the Radiant Realm. That name existed only in ancient texts.
This was a world of kings and nobles, of merchants and scholars, ruled by the Southern Zhou Dynasty, its current emperor surnamed Qi.
The mountain before them, its peaks shrouded in mist, its depths unseen, its height immeasurable, was a place of mystery and legend.
Zhouguan Mountain, a thousand feet tall, its summit piercing the clouds, its slopes stretching beyond sight.
Legends spoke of a hidden paradise beyond the mountain, a realm of immortals, but no one who ventured into its depths ever returned.
Some claimed they had ascended, becoming immortals themselves. Others, more pragmatic, assumed they had simply perished, their bodies nourishing the mountain’s flora.
A woodcutter, his mind filled with his ancestors’ tales, walked towards the mountain’s foot.
He wouldn’t dare venture further, his activities confined to the lower slopes, where a peach orchard bloomed every spring, its blossoms a cloud of pink, a breathtaking sight.
The mountain belonged to no one, its flowers and trees free for the taking, which was why he dared to gather firewood here, selling it to support his family.
Sometimes, he was lucky, his traps catching a rabbit or a pheasant, their pelts sold, their meat a welcome addition to his meager meals.
Today, however, his luck had run out. The trap was empty, only the bait gone.
He frowned, disappointed, resetting the trap before continuing his search for firewood, humming a local ballad about a mad scholar. “The scholar, failing the imperial exams once again, threw down his books, declaring his intention to become an immortal, venturing into Zhouguan Mountain… Huh?”
He stopped mid-song, pushing aside a thorny bush, his eyes widening in disbelief.
The peach trees were in full bloom, their blossoms a vibrant pink, their fragrance filling the air, a delicate mist swirling around them, transforming the orchard into a fairyland.
But it was late autumn, nearing the Mid-Autumn Festival. Peach blossoms shouldn’t be blooming.
Even more surprising than the out-of-season blossoms was the crystal palace at the center of the orchard, its elegant design and intricate carvings seemingly unnatural.
Unlike the opulent, human-made palaces of the mortal world, this structure seemed otherworldly, its beauty beyond human craftsmanship.
His axe slipped from his grasp, landing on the ground with a thud.
He gasped, bending down to retrieve his axe, then turned and ran.
Such a miraculous sight! He had to report it to the magistrate! He would be rewarded!
After a few steps, he stumbled, his eyes closing as he collapsed.
A rustling sound, and a young woman in green robes emerged from the trees, her skirt brushing against the grass without disturbing a single blade.
Immense power, yet a gentle touch.
She stopped beside the unconscious woodcutter, a flicker of light as she touched his forehead, his expression relaxing.
Her voice, soft and melodious, echoed through the quiet orchard. “My apologies. You can’t tell anyone about this. Consider it a dream.”
Another voice, coming from above, said, “I thought this place was deserted. That woodcutter almost saw us.”
Tao Ning looked up at the figure perched on a branch. “With us here, no one will find this place.”
Cen Dianshuang didn’t argue, extending her hand. Tao Ning, understanding, stepped forward, catching her as she jumped down.
Cen Dianshuang, glancing at the woodcutter, who was starting to stir, said, “Perhaps we should leave. We’ve crossed the boundary. We should return immediately.”
A few days after declaring her intention to travel the world, they had departed.
Their journey was aimless, their destination determined by the spirit boat’s whims, their days spent exploring the world below.
Then, during a night of meditation, they had inadvertently crossed the boundary between the upper and lower realms, the sudden decrease in spiritual energy eventually alerting them to their mistake.
It was nighttime. The darkness concealed their presence, preventing widespread panic.
Cen Dianshuang was puzzled. The boundary between the realms was said to be impenetrable, accessible only through special means. How had they crossed it so easily?
Tao Ning, her expression innocent, replied, “I didn’t know the spirit boat could bypass the boundary.”
Cen Dianshuang, after a moment of thought, couldn’t fault Tao Ning, simply concluding, “A Mahayana cultivator’s creation is truly remarkable.”
Blaming the spirit boat, not its creator, Cen Dianshuang, noticing the peach blossoms below, had suggested staying for a while. It was a secluded spot, and a few days wouldn’t hurt. Tao Ning had agreed.
Now, however, their quiet retreat had been disturbed by a woodcutter.
Cen Dianshuang sighed, her plans disrupted. “Perhaps we should leave. The mortals here don’t know about cultivators. Our presence could cause unnecessary complications.”
Tao Ning: “We’re already here. There’s no rush.”
Cen Dianshuang: “Not leaving? Then where are we going?”
Tao Ning, her wide sleeve slipping down, revealing a silver ingot, smiled. “To the mortal realm.”
For an artifact refiner, carrying precious metals wasn’t unusual. Gold and silver, currency in the mortal world, were simply raw materials, her storage ring filled with enough to last them a while.
The crystal palace vanished from the mountain, replaced by two elegantly dressed noblewomen entering the city gates.
As they disappeared into the city, the woodcutter, still lying on the ground, his eyes fluttering open, sat up, rubbing his eyes, his mind still foggy.
Looking at the familiar scenery, he muttered, “How did I fall asleep here?”
Two lines of people waited at the city gates: ordinary citizens on foot and wealthier travelers in carriages, accompanied by servants.
Cen Dianshuang sat inside the carriage, her body swaying slightly with the rhythmic movement, her expression radiating discomfort.
Accustomed to the smooth, steady flight of her sword, the confines of the carriage felt restrictive.
Like a bird trapped in a cage, she forced herself to remain still.
Tao Ning, sitting beside her, thought, Next time, we’re riding horses. We don’t need a carriage.
Cen Dianshuang: “I’ve heard that cultivators, upon reaching a certain realm, can imbue puppets with spirits, making them as lifelike as humans, though their movements and expressions are still… stiff. A semblance of life, but lacking true sentience…”
A voice interrupted her. “Here are our travel permits, sir. Please inspect them.”
A moment of silence, then a gruff voice. “The Qiyang Tao Clan… Proceed.”
As they passed through the gates, Cen Dianshuang continued, “But these puppets… they’re surprisingly lifelike. Another one of your creations?”
Tao Ning, parting the carriage curtains, her gaze sweeping over the bustling street, a faint smile playing on her lips, replied, “A little something I made in my spare time. It seems they’re quite useful.”
Cen Dianshuang also peered out the window. “This mortal realm… it’s different. Barely any spiritual energy… What are they doing? Carrying those colorful strips of cloth?”
Tao Ning, her spiritual sense briefly encompassing the entire city, its secrets laid bare before her, replied, “Preparing for the Mid-Autumn Festival.”
The term was unfamiliar. Cen Dianshuang hadn’t heard of it in the Radiant Realm. “What’s the Mid-Autumn Festival?”
Tao Ning explained, their conversation drifting from family reunions to the taste of mooncakes, to the pleasures of boating on a moonlit lake, enjoying the festive lights and fireworks.
The Southern Zhou Dynasty, blessed with three generations of wise rulers, enjoyed peace and prosperity, its citizens well-fed and courteous, even the remote cities celebrating the festival with the same enthusiasm as the capital.
As they approached a small city, the puppet coachman shrunk to the size of a bean, disappearing into Tao Ning’s spatial sleeve, replaced by puppet horses.
While this realm lacked spiritual energy, they weren’t concerned about depletion. With their cultivation levels, a single misstep could obliterate the entire Southern Zhou Dynasty.
On the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, they arrived in the capital, its streets even more bustling than the previous cities.
The Southern Zhou Dynasty’s social customs were relatively relaxed, noblewomen often seen strolling through the streets, their faces veiled in white silk.
Cen Dianshuang, after a brief, curious glance, paid them no mind.
She too wore the local fashion, her red beauty mark and serene expression, like a Guanyin statue, giving her an ethereal aura, even amidst the noisy crowds.
Unbeknownst to her, she was also being observed.
The capital, a hub of commerce and diplomacy, attracted visitors from distant lands, but these two elegant women were unfamiliar, their presence sparking curiosity.
Before anyone could approach, however, they vanished into the crowd.
A servant, reporting their disappearance, was met with a sigh of disappointment from behind a screen. “Gone so soon? What a pity. I wanted to make their acquaintance. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.”
Tao Ning and Cen Dianshuang reappeared in a quiet side street, Tao Ning opening a small paper bag.
“Freshly made osmanthus cake. It’s the perfect season. Try some.”
Cen Dianshuang took a bite, savoring the sweet flavor. They quickly finished the small package, continuing their stroll.
Mortal food was a burden for cultivators, but they were prepared, their return to the Radiant Realm a promise of cleansing pills and spiritual herbs.
A Mahayana and a Soul Transformation cultivator, revered figures in the Radiant Realm, were now exploring the mortal world with the wide-eyed wonder of novices.
With no other cultivators present, they could shed their usual aloofness, their behavior more relaxed and playful.
It was the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, but they had arrived too late. The best viewing spots for the fireworks display were already taken, even the lakeside tea stalls fully booked. They had heard that later, the crowds would release lanterns onto the lake, the queue stretching for miles.
Tao Ning, however, simply smiled. “I have a plan.”
Cen Dianshuang, her hand clasped in Tao Ning’s, chuckled softly. “What plan?”
Tao Ning, her eyes twinkling mischievously, replied, “You’ll see.”
As night fell, Cen Dianshuang, concealed by a spell, found herself on the roof of a large, elaborately decorated pleasure boat.
Looking down at the city lights spread out before her, she turned to Tao Ning, her expression questioning. This is your plan?
Tao Ning, shaking her head, asked, “Do you know who reserved this boat?”
Cen Dianshuang: “Who?”
Tao Ning: “The Imperial Chancellor. He has impeccable taste. We’re simply borrowing his roof. We won’t cause any trouble.”
She patted a nearby cushion. “Come, sit. The fireworks display will start soon. I heard they’re also performing ‘molten iron flowers’ for the Chancellor when the boat docks.”
Cen Dianshuang sat down, smoothing her skirt, then tilted her head curiously. “I know what fireworks are, but… molten iron flowers?”
Tao Ning: “Mortals, despite their lack of cultivation, are remarkably creative. They can achieve many things without relying on spiritual energy.”
With a wave of her sleeve, a small table appeared before them, laden with spiritual tea and fruits, a simple yet elegant spread compared to the Chancellor’s lavish banquet below.
Below, the Chancellor’s guests enjoyed the festivities, unaware of the two figures on the roof above them, enjoying the moonlit view.
Cen Dianshuang, however, missed the “molten iron flowers” performance. She was distracted.
By the person beside her, whose smile, bathed in moonlight, was breathtaking.
Tao Ning pulled Cen Dianshuang closer, their lips meeting in a deep, lingering kiss.
The pleasure boat, having reached its destination, slowed down, and the artisans, their movements synchronized with the rhythmic beat of a drum, began their performance.
The shower of sparks, a dazzling display of light and color, drew gasps of admiration from the onlookers below, coins and ingots raining down on the performers.
If they had stayed, they would have witnessed the entire performance, its beauty distinct from the fireworks exploding in the sky above.
But the rooftop was now empty.
In a nearby tower, a young woman in elaborate robes sat by the window, her gaze drifting across the bustling river, its activity no longer holding her interest.
Suddenly, she straightened up, her eyes widening as she saw two figures floating across the moonlit rooftops, their hands clasped, their laughter echoing softly in the night air.
Their movements were graceful and effortless, like celestial beings descending from the heavens, gracing the mortal world with their presence before departing.
The young woman, mesmerized, watched until they disappeared, then turned to her maid. “Did you see that? Immortals! They looked just like the two I asked you to find today.”
The maid, looking out the window, smiled. “Princess, you must be drunk. There were no immortals.”
The princess, catching the scent of wine on her sleeve, her eyes still filled with wonder, murmured, “Was it… a dream?”
The immortals, their departure unnoticed, returned to their temporary residence, the city’s noise and activity fading behind them.
The quiet courtyard amplified every sound.
Cen Dianshuang, for the first time, found her enhanced hearing inconvenient.
Tao Ning’s voice, soft and close to her ear, broke the silence. “You owe me a bottle of wine.”
Cen Dianshuang, blinking back tears, her mind still foggy from the wine and the kiss, her breath catching in her throat, asked, “When did I… owe you wine?”
Tao Ning chuckled softly. “You forget so easily. The Three Lives Dream from the City Lord. You promised to share it with me.”
Her fingers traced the curve of Cen Dianshuang’s back, her skin still damp from the bath, smooth and cool like pearls.
“My back… it feels… strange…” Cen Dianshuang, her attention focused on the unfamiliar sensations, her brow furrowed, murmured, “My back…”
Tao Ning leaned closer, her ear brushing against Cen Dianshuang’s lips. “What?”
A flash of white, a rustling sound, and something unfolded.
A pair of snow-white wings, emerging from Cen Dianshuang’s back, their long feathers brushing against the bedsheets, scattering her discarded clothes.
The sight made Tao Ning’s breath catch in her throat, the pressure of Cen Dianshuang’s hand on her shoulder, now surprisingly strong, almost painful, forgotten.
The wings, seemingly unaccustomed to being summoned in this form, fluttered experimentally, their soft feathers brushing against the fabric.
Cen Dianshuang touched her shoulder, her fingers hesitant, her long eyelashes wet with tears. “I… I can’t retract them.”
Tao Ning, a wave of guilt washing over her, thought, I went too far.
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