AUOF - 110

The openness in Ji Wu’s gaze left Ji Hengyu momentarily unable to respond.

His throat moved, and silence spread through the room.

Ji Wu was not about to let the matter drop. With his head held high, he continued to press, “Are you going to release us back into the world, allowing us to become eternal evil spirits once more? Or will you keep us by your side, watching as you descend into demonhood and helping you become the new Demon Lord of heaven and earth?”

Ji Hengyu remained silent, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

After a moment, he closed his eyes briefly. “I will not abandon you.”

“Then it’s the latter,” Ji Wu said expressionlessly. “But Master, both Ji Xun and I were created to follow the path of restraint. Now that you’ve strayed from the righteous path and embraced demonic ways, are you not afraid of retribution from the heavens?”

Ji Hengyu’s eyes snapped open, redness creeping into their corners as an oppressive aura surged forth. “Are you lecturing me?”

“I’m reminding you,” Ji Wu corrected. “Do you truly intend to—”

Ji Hengyu refused to hear another word. With a flick of his sleeve, he recalled Ji Wu into himself.

His chest heaved violently as he collapsed back onto the bed. The emptiness of the hall only emphasized his solitude.

If there was anyone he was doing this for, it wasn’t really for anyone.

Once, he had been driven to desperation, crawling out of the abyssal prison to become the so-called “Protector War God” of the six realms. Later, he lost all his spiritual energy and his immortal roots were destroyed, forcing him to rely on the Soul Convergence Spell to rebuild his form. Even the Path of Restraint was merely the last option he chose when he had no other choice.

It was as if he had always been trapped in that abyssal prison.

Or perhaps, he had never truly escaped.

Perhaps what had always imprisoned him was fate itself.

Now, he wanted to break free from destiny, to be selfish just this once. Was that wrong? In these nearly six thousand years of painful existence, he had finally seen a glimmer of light, and of course, he intended to grasp it with everything he had.

It wasn’t for anyone—it was for himself.

—He simply wanted to love someone properly.

Ji Hengyu looked down at his hands. The intricate patterns etched into his palms mirrored the complexity of his life. Clenching his fists tightly, his eyes gradually cleared.

That night, Ji Hengyu paid a visit to Phoenix Grove.

The phoenix grove, which had been ravaged, had been restored to its original state, and the residual traces of the restoration spell had yet to fully dissipate.

He didn’t dare disturb those inside, choosing instead to stand quietly outside the Phoenix Tree.

When his body could no longer bear the strain, he hesitantly approached, extending his arm. After much deliberation, he cautiously touched the door seal with his fingertips. To his disappointment but not entirely unexpected, he found that the restriction had been reinstated.

Ji Hengyu’s raised fingers curled slightly before clenching into a fist, slowly lowering back down.

Just as he was about to leave, a voice came from within the tree hollow: “Is that Lord Tianheng?”

The voice was young and somewhat familiar, like that of the timid hedgehog spirit who often hid in the shadows, too afraid to come out.

“Lord Tianheng, wait a moment. I’ll fetch Elder Turtle to open the door for you.” The little hedgehog scurried off, waking the doorkeeper turtle from his slumber and dragging him over to unlock the door for Ji Hengyu.

Waves of light rippled as the diminutive turtle elder wobbled unsteadily, barely kept upright by his peach wood cane.

“For safety reasons, the door seal changes every three months, which is why Lord Tianheng was barred from entering. Allow me to provide you with a new access code,” the little hedgehog explained. Despite his timidity, he rarely spoke loudly or played with others, preferring to watch from afar.

But he wasn’t afraid of Ji Hengyu.

In the little hedgehog’s eyes, Lord Tianheng was different from the celestial beings his mother spoke of. He was gentle, kind, and often brought fascinating trinkets.

The trust in the little hedgehog’s eyes was evident, though he remained unaware that the person before him was not the “Lord Tianheng” he knew.

Ji Hengyu’s gaze flickered. Shaking his head, he handed over a bottle of spirit pills and an envelope. “There’s no need for the seal. Please help me deliver this to Sang Li.” Pausing, he untied the jade pendant from his waist. “This is for you.”

Ji Xun would often bring small gifts for the children here.

But Ji Hengyu was not Ji Xun. He lacked the patience to entertain children or win the affection of the villagers.

The little hedgehog recognized the value of the jade pendant and hesitated to take it. Looking up, he said, “Lord Tianheng can rest assured. I’ll make sure to deliver this to A Li.” With that, he darted off with the items.

Ji Hengyu didn’t linger further. Casting one last glance toward the direction of Sang Li’s wooden house, he turned and left the Phoenix Tree.

The little hedgehog rushed straight to Sang Li’s home.

The courtyard was pitch black, and he assumed she was asleep. Digging a tunnel under the threshold, he slipped inside—but the house was empty. The little hedgehog immediately grew anxious. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping villagers at such a late hour, he ran to Qu You to report Sang Li’s disappearance.

Before he could enter, however, he was intercepted by Rabbit Spirit Amo.

Though her true form was that of a rabbit, as a guardian of the spirit clan, Amo’s demeanor was notoriously ruthless. Her usual stern face made the little hedgehog fear her most.

But this concerned Sang Li, so the hedgehog swallowed his fear and stammered out an explanation, timidly offering the items he’d been clutching tightly.

Amo’s gaze softened slightly. “Give them to me.”

The hedgehog hesitated but didn’t hand them over.

Amo sighed. “A few days ago, Sang Li went out and got injured. She’s been recuperating in the Spirit Hut, hiding it to avoid alarming the clan.”

The spirit clan placed unconditional trust in its members, especially in children like the little hedgehog.

Obediently, he handed over the items, not forgetting to ask after Sang Li’s condition. Before leaving, he even received a small bag of snacks.

Amo carefully inspected the bottle of spirit pills, ensuring they were harmless, before taking them to the Spirit Hut.

The room was filled with warm steam, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs.

“Perhaps these are healing pills sent by Lord Tianheng. It’s strange he didn’t come himself but sent a little child instead,” Qu You mused, uncapping the bottle and sniffing it. Satisfied, she nodded. “Ah, high-quality Yuan Gui Pills.”

Qu You poured out two pills, lifted Sang Li, and administered them with some broth.

Sang Li had collapsed alone at her table overnight, discovered only by a neighbor the next day. Though her condition was stable, she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

Amo voiced her concern. “When will A Li recover?”

Qu You chuckled. “A nine-tailed fox losing a tail is akin to risking their life. It’ll take several days to heal properly.” Fanning herself, she wiped the sweat from Sang Li’s brow. “Still, I wonder what happened in that single night.”

Amo had her suspicions, handing over the letter as well. “Lord Tianheng also left this. Should we open it?”

Qu You glanced at it indifferently and shook her head.

Considering Sang Li’s missing tail and the sudden disappearance of the silkworm curse, she could guess what had transpired. “Perhaps there’s a rift between husband and wife. Sang Li should wake in three to five days. Let her read it then.” After a pause, she added, “Tell Elder Turtle that if Lord Tianheng comes again, inform him of Sang Li’s illness to avoid further misunderstandings.”

Amo nodded, silently noting the instructions.

Disappointingly, Ji Hengyu never returned to the Phoenix Tree.

Five days later, bolstered by the effects of the Yuan Gui Pills, Sang Li finally awoke.

She had slept deeply and still felt lethargic upon waking, staring blankly at the ceiling until the young apprentice noticed her open eyes and excitedly called for help.

Soon, Qu You entered with Gray Wolf.

“A Li, are you awake?”

Sang Li shifted her dry eyes.

Her head felt heavy, and her vision swam. Her energy was depleted, leaving her with barely enough strength to murmur a faint “Mm.”

The medicine, freshly prepared, was bitter, but Sang Li didn’t complain. Pinching her nose, she gulped it down with Qu You’s help.

True to their word, the medicine worked.

Warmth flowed from her dantian to her limbs, spreading throughout her body. Her depleted spiritual energy gradually returned, and her eyes regained focus. “Why am I in the Spirit Hut?”

“You collapsed at home, discovered by Aunt Qian,” Qu You scolded in her babyish voice. “You’re so reckless. Severing a tail is no small matter. How could you not seek treatment and stay home alone? If you’d been found any later, you’d have already reincarnated.”

Oh.

Sang Li gave a nonchalant tug at the corner of her mouth.

It was her first time severing a tail; she hadn’t expected to pass out from it.

“How long has it been?”

“Five days.”

Five days…

Before Sang Li could ask about Ji Hengyu, Qu You seemed to anticipate her question and handed over the preserved letter. “Lord Tianheng sent this via the little hedgehog, along with a bottle of medicine. Without those Yuan Gui Pills, you’d still be unconscious for three to five months.”

Sang Li:

If not for Ji Hengyu, she wouldn’t have spent even these few days in bed.

Though angry, Sang Li wasn’t one to act childish. In front of Qu You, she opened the envelope and quickly scanned its contents.

[Sang Sang:

I know you hate me, and I know I am to blame. Every midnight, I will wait for you in the phoenix grove outside Phoenix Grove.

—Zi Heng]

Even now, he still wanted to see her.

Ji Hengyu’s actions felt like a fishbone lodged deep in her throat, resurfacing every time she thought about it. Even after her long unconsciousness, those scenes remained vividly etched in her mind. How could she easily erase them?

Sang Li’s grip on the letter tightened until her nails pierced through the paper.

Beside her, Qu You stroked her sister’s soft fur, glancing casually at the emotions flickering across her brow. “A Li, don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Sang Li lowered her lashes.

She had her own judgment and couldn’t deny that, despite Ji Hengyu’s misdeeds, she couldn’t simply let go of him entirely.

Sang Li lay in bed for a long time, pondering deeply until the sun set, her thoughts gradually clarifying.

Ji Hengyu’s despicable actions against her were real, but so were the kindnesses of the past.

She harbored resentment, yes, but during that time, Ji Hengyu had been controlled by karmic hindrance and not in his right mind. She owed it to him to hear his explanation.

If, while clear-headed, he still insisted on such behavior, then they would part ways forever, never to meet again. But if Ji Hengyu had been driven by circumstances beyond his control, she would consider giving him a chance.