AUOF - 109

“Ji Wu, are you still here?”

Sang Li’s eyelids drooped weakly as she called out in a faint voice.

After a moment, a wisp of faint black energy drifted out, signaling his presence. However, judging by its dissipating aura, Ji Wu, who shared the same essence as Ji Hengyu, likely wasn’t faring much better.

Sang Li sighed softly.

This place was close to Mo Yuan, and the rampant release of spiritual energy would have undoubtedly drawn the attention of lurking demons. With Ji Wu incapacitated, Sang Li couldn’t leave Ji Hengyu here even if she were furious with him. If he didn’t die from his injuries, he’d probably be torn apart by predators.

Though she wanted nothing more than to ignore him, her anger and frustration boiled over, and she kicked him hard. The man’s head lolled to the side, and he slumped into her arms, mumbling “Sang Sang” in a half-dazed state.

The surge of anger in her chest dissipated, leaving behind only helplessness and sorrow.

Biting down on her lower lip, Sang Li hoisted him onto her shoulder and forced herself to carry him.

She had just lost one of her tails, her mind and spirit were drained, and her spiritual energy was scattered. What once would have been an effortless task—lifting two sandbags—now felt like an insurmountable challenge just to stand upright.

Sang Li tried taking a couple of halting steps forward, but her vision suddenly went black. The weight of Ji Hengyu on her shoulders felt like a mountain pressing down on her spine, dragging her entire body backward.

Just as she began to lose balance, the sound of hooves echoed nearby. Dust swirled as Yu Xue appeared behind them, steadying Sang Li with its body.

Once Sang Li regained her footing, the horse obediently knelt on the ground, allowing Ji Hengyu to rest across its back.

Yu Xue waited for Sang Li to climb aboard.

Instead, she simply stroked its beautiful white mane, masking her sadness with a faint smile. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not going.”

Yu Xue nudged her gently with its nose.

“I can’t go,” Sang Li insisted. “It’s not safe here. Take Master back and make sure he’s safely delivered to Gui Xu.”

Yu Xue seemed to understand. Its long, snowy lashes blinked twice, then it spread its wings and soared into the sky.

Sang Li tilted her head up to watch it disappear into the distance. The imprints left by its hooves glittered like snowflakes, delicately dotting the dense night. When the figure finally vanished from sight, she lowered her gaze and turned away, alone.

Sang Li walked slowly out of the phoenix grove.

Her pace was sluggish, until the horizon broke open, spilling rays of light that tore through the vast sky. Daybreak reversed the night, and colorful clouds bathed the entire grove in hues of color.

The phoenixes, which only appeared at sunrise, returned punctually to the grove. But the devastation before them offered no place to perch.

Sang Li’s gaze steadied. She cast a spell to restore everything to its former state. In the blink of an eye, the phoenix trees rose again, and all traces of destruction vanished. She stood there, motionless, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves. Suddenly, she remembered how happy she had been walking through this place with Ji Hengyu.

A wave of bitterness surged in her chest. Sang Li bit back her tears, refusing to look back as she walked out of the grove.

________________________________________

When she returned to the Phoenix Tree, the clan members were already busy at work.

As soon as she appeared, they greeted her warmly, asking about Ji Hengyu’s whereabouts.

“A Li, please thank Lord Tianheng for us. He gathered enough medicinal herbs to last our men a whole year.”

Rabbit Mother’s basket was filled to the brim with herbs.

“And the rattle drum! Little Linlin loves playing with it too.”

The villagers were unaware of the events of the past night. Seeing Sang Li’s pale face, they assumed she and Ji Hengyu had simply played too hard. Smiling knowingly, one villager teased, “Sang Sang, I’ve planted some sweet fruits. Why don’t you take some home? Lord Tianheng also brought back so many fruits we couldn’t possibly eat them all.”

Sang Li’s breath caught. She lifted her gaze and looked around.

Every household had received something new—medicines, grains, or toys for the children. Even the vegetable gardens had been tended to, and the chickens, ducks, and fish had been fed.

None of it was Ji Hengyu’s doing—it was all Ji Xun’s work.

Rabbit Mother tried to pull Sang Li aside to ask where Ji Hengyu was, but she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone. Burying her head, she ran back to her own house.

In her courtyard stood a young mulberry tree.

It hadn’t grown much yet, still in its sapling stage. Its fragile leaves hadn’t fully developed their veins, and it looked so delicate it might snap at the slightest touch.

Sang Li froze briefly, then fled inside to avoid looking at it.

Inside, the house was still adorned with the remnants of celebration—red candles in pairs, the character “囍” still hung on the wall, and Ji Hengyu’s inkstone sat untouched on the table.

Her throat tightened, making it hard to breathe.

Ignoring her aching body, she quickly tore down the curtains, removed the “囍,” and tossed the candles outside. Once she finished, she collapsed onto the table, staring out at the courtyard.

The window faced the yard.

Once, she would have seen Ji Hengyu standing under the tree in his flowing white robes, trimming the branches. Now, the courtyard was empty, the flowers swaying aimlessly, unsure who they were blooming for.

[The moon and wind may choose mountains and seas; may you always have a place to lean on.]

These words remained etched into the corner of the table.

When her parents left, her aunt became her refuge. After her aunt passed, she was left homeless.

She had thought she would have a home with Ji Hengyu—or so she believed.

A single tear fell onto the engraving, wetting one corner of the words.

If Sang Li wanted to deceive herself, she could let this matter pass. But she was clear-headed, and neither her heart nor her conscience could accept such treatment. She should have realized long ago that the male lead, skilled in manipulation, excelled at playing with people’s hearts.

—She had witnessed it firsthand.

But she never imagined that, on the day they were supposed to share marital bliss, he would use such despicable means against her.

Did he see her as his lifelong companion? Or merely as someone who existed solely for him?

Marriage wasn’t built on fleeting passion but on the daily grind of companionship and compromise. If something were to happen again in the future, would he erase everything once more, pretending nothing had ever happened?

Sang Li couldn’t accept it. She only felt an overwhelming sadness.

More than the physical exhaustion, the injustice buried in her heart was unbearable.

She buried her face in her arms, crying softly, too afraid to make even the slightest sound.

________________________________________

Seven days later, Ji Hengyu awoke from his coma.

His head throbbed painfully, and dryness spread from his throat to his lungs. Even though he was conscious, his mind remained sluggish.

He propped himself up, his eyes hollow, staring absently at the vast, cold palace.

“Sang Sang.”

Ji Hengyu called out her name, his voice hoarse and unpleasant, echoing through the hall before fading into silence.

“My Lord, you’re awake?”

Yue Zhuqing entered upon hearing his voice. She placed the freshly fetched water on the ground and hurriedly offered him a cup of tea. He didn’t take it.

After a moment, Ji Hengyu asked dazedly, “Where is Sang Li?”

Yue Zhuqing hesitated. “Didn’t you say... you married her in the mortal realm and it wasn’t convenient to bring her back yet?”

Yue Zhuqing’s question was careful.

She oversaw the Gong Yi Hall of the Demon Suppression Guard, responsible for assigning and collecting missions. Every disciple’s tasks were clear to her. When Ji Hengyu claimed Sang Li was on a mission and temporarily absent from Gui Xu, Yue Zhuqing sensed something was amiss. That period coincided with Sang Li’s idle time—how could she vanish without reason? Still, given Ji Hengyu’s explanation, as a disciple, Yue Zhuqing didn’t dare inquire further.

Not long ago, whenever Ji Hengyu returned to Gui Xu, he was brimming with joy. Seizing the opportunity, she cautiously probed and learned bits and pieces of the truth. Later, she received a letter from Sang Li, and all abnormalities found reasonable explanations. Only then did she set her mind at ease. But now, less than half a month later, things seemed off again.

The Lord had returned gravely injured, remaining unconscious for days, while Sang Li’s whereabouts were unknown. An eerie atmosphere pervaded Gui Xu.

Ji Hengyu’s brow furrowed.

With a dismissive wave, he said, “You may leave.”

Yue Zhuqing placed the tea beside him and exited.

The hall was deathly quiet. Even the bed where he had lain for so long was icy cold.

Ji Hengyu summoned Ji Wu and murmured, “Before I fell unconscious... did I do something?” His memories seemed abruptly severed, stopping only at the moment he returned to Phoenix Grove. As for what followed, only fragmented images remained. Even when he tried delving into his consciousness, he couldn’t retrieve much clarity.

Ji Wu’s expression grew troubled.

Suddenly alarmed, Ji Hengyu asked, “Did I hurt her?”

“Not exactly,” Ji Wu stammered, unsure how to proceed. Seeing Ji Hengyu’s patience wearing thin, he closed his eyes and blurted it all out: “You reclaimed your heart in front of her and attempted to erase her memories.”

Blunt and direct.

The sounds around them seemed to abruptly vanish, even the faintest breaths fading into silence.

Ji Wu tensed, carefully observing Ji Hengyu’s reaction.

Calm.

Too calm.

It made sense. The master was deeply in love with the little fox. If not for his rash intervention, she might never have discovered Ji Xun’s existence. All in all, it was his impatience that caused the problem.

Thinking this, Ji Wu couldn’t help but worry about Ji Hengyu’s wrath.

In the next moment, a force dragged him forward. Before Ji Wu could resist, Ji Hengyu’s fingers pierced his temple, extracting silvery threads of memory.

Ji Hengyu absorbed those memories into his consciousness, closing his eyes to process them.

His uncontrollable rage, her cries of fear—all flooded his vision.

The final memory lingered on Sang Li severing her tail to save his life.

Ji Hengyu’s eyes snapped open, his gaze fierce and wild. Never before had he displayed such madness, startling Ji Wu into retreating.

Ignoring Ji Wu, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal his inner wrist.

The arm was bare, pale skin stretched taut over blue veins. Ji Hengyu clenched his fist, veins bulging and throbbing erratically due to his unstable emotions.

“Master, you…”

Ji Hengyu raised his head, his eyes bloodshot. The question followed sharply: “Why was Sang Li in the phoenix grove?”

Ji Wu opened his mouth but remained silent.

“You took her there.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement.

Barefoot, Ji Hengyu stepped off the bed and kicked the basin of water on the floor. The silver basin rolled down the steps, clinking several times, and the long-cooled water splashed everywhere.

“Good, good, good.”

Ji Hengyu repeated the word three times, his breathing uneven, anger flickering across his face.

“Who gave you the audacity? Ji Wu, who gave you the gall to do this?!”

Ji Wu trembled with fear but refused to back down. Kneeling halfway, he replied, “Ji Xun had developed feelings, making it impossible for him to remain a puppet. Ji Wu couldn’t bear to see Master act so ambiguously...”

“Ambiguously? Hmph.” Ji Hengyu sneered. “Do I need clarity to decide whom I want to kill?”

Ji Wu fell silent.

Coldness gathered in Ji Hengyu’s eyes, his words dripping with mockery. “Both you and Ji Xun are my puppets. Acknowledging me as your master means no defiance, no disobedience.” He asked, “How can I possibly keep you after such betrayal?”

Under the pressure, Ji Wu’s head bowed lower and lower.

After a moment, swallowing hard, he resisted for the first time in his life, his voice weak but resolute: “Master himself said we are merely puppets. Master has killed me countless times—I’ve long since stopped caring.”

Ji Hengyu’s expression shattered. “You dare speak like that?”

Ji Wu raised his head, a mocking smile spreading across his face. “Has Master not realized? In the past, I wouldn’t have cared whether Ji Xun lived or died, because I was an evil puppet—heartless and emotionless. But now, with your heart stirring, you’ve begun to feel pity. As puppets forged from your soul’s blood, we naturally inherit your influence.”

It was like a thunderclap. Ji Hengyu fell silent, his tall frame frozen like a pine tree encased in ice.

Seizing the moment, Ji Wu pressed, “We can no longer walk the path of bondage and restraint.” He hit the nail on the head: “I believe when Master decided to kill Yan Jinglou and seize his demonic bone, that notion was abandoned. So, what will Master do with us now?”