AUOF - 136

Zhuxi Village entered its new winter.

Cold winds carried snow, blanketing the mountains and fields in a vast white haze.

On such freezing, snowy days, it was impossible to continue gathering herbs in the mountains. The young couple spent the winter relying on the silver they had earned during spring and autumn.

Sang Sang unusually felt an elegant inclination to appreciate the snow. Ji Hengyu set up a warm table on the courtyard veranda, brewed hot tea, and then watched the falling snow outside while savoring hot meat soup.

The scene was pleasant. Even Sang Sang, with her usually carefree nature, could quiet down at this time, calm and exceptionally gentle and well-behaved.

She nestled lazily into the warm table, draped bonelessly across it, her feet entwining with Ji Hengyu’s opposite leg. He didn’t dodge, letting her fuss obediently.

Sang Sang felt that her husband was unusually silent today compared to before. She turned her head, her dark, distinct eyes staring intently at him, observing.

Ji Hengyu suited the color of snow.

He wore a silver cloak over his shoulders, his long hair not tied up as usual, but loosely spread over his shoulders like ink, showing a rare hint of languor. The fingers holding the teacup were clearly articulated. He was focused on a frost-covered plant outside the courtyard. Snowflakes drifted onto his long eyelashes, his eyes as clear and cold as the snow.

Sang Sang blinked, a playful urge rising.

She completely burrowed under the table. Ji Hengyu seemed to hear the movement, lowered his head, and before he could get a closer look, Sang Sang sprang out from under the table like a fish, diving into his arms.

Only then did Ji Hengyu snap back to reality. Fearing the tea would scald her, he hastily moved away from contact, his outstretched arm making it easier for her to embrace his waist.

Sang Sang buried her upper body in his arms, shifting into a comfortable position, and closed her eyes contentedly.

“Cold?”

Sang Sang glared at him playfully, “Not cold, just wanted to hug you.”

Ji Hengyu remained silent, put down his teacup, and embraced her.

She nestled against him like a cat. Ji Hengyu seemed lost in thought, and after a moment, couldn’t help but lower his head to kiss the crown of her head.

Sang Sang had anticipated it. The moment he lowered his head, she lifted hers and kissed his lips first. Having succeeded, she gave him a smug grin.

White mist rose, and the smiling face before him was so clear it seemed illusory.

Ji Hengyu was startled for a moment, then involuntarily caressed her cheek. His long eyelashes fluttered, and he lowered his head to tenderly kiss the corner of her lips.

This kiss seemed to contain other meanings. Sang Sang couldn’t discern them, only feeling that he was more melancholic than usual.

“Snowginseng should have grown on the mountain. Should I go pick some to exchange for money, so we can go play in the city for a few days during New Year’s Eve?”

Snowginseng wasn’t considered a precious medicinal herb; it didn’t even have basic warming and tonic properties.

Its appeal lay in its unique and beautiful appearance. It only grew in winter, plump and white like a small snowman. After nightfall, it would run and jump around on the ground, dropping snowflakes wherever it went. Noblewomen in the city would buy them at high prices, simply for the novelty.

Ji Hengyu’s body tensed upon hearing this. “Such heavy snow might close the mountain. There’s no need to risk danger for a few ounces of silver.”

Sang Sang thought it made sense too. She pouted, reluctantly abandoning the idea.

She leaned in Ji Hengyu’s arms, listening to the rustle of the wind and snow, and gradually felt drowsy. Perhaps it was due to the onset of winter, but Sang Sang had been feeling sleepy quite often these past few days.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, prompting Ji Hengyu to look down: “Tired?”

“After a full meal, it’s easy to get sleepy, naturally.”

“Then shall we go rest?”

“Right here will do.” Sang Sang stopped Ji Hengyu, who was about to get up, and closed her eyes, saying, “It’s comfortable lying down like this. I’ll just nap for a bit, remember to wake me.”

Ji Hengyu gently agreed.

No sooner had he spoken than he heard a faint snore from the person in his arms.

Ji Hengyu glanced at the swirling snow outside the courtyard. With a flick of his long sleeve, the snow gradually subsided.

Sang Sang slept straight until sunset.

She opened her eyes to the rising moon outside the window, feeling hazy and disoriented, her thoughts still sluggish from sleeping too long.

Sang Sang threw off the covers and sat up. Perhaps she had truly laid too long, her limbs felt numb, and even a slight movement caused a dull ache in her chest. Sang Sang frowned, then obediently lay back down. She believed it wouldn’t be long before Ji Hengyu came over.

As expected, the wooden door opened the next moment, and a man’s figure appeared.

A layer of condensed frost and snow rested on his shoulders. Ji Hengyu took off his cloak and hung it aside. His peripheral vision caught her. “Awake?”

“Mhm.” Sang Sang nodded, “I feel a bit uncomfortable from sleeping too long.”

She couldn’t see herself in a mirror, so she didn’t notice her lips were pale, and dark red demonic energy swirled faintly around her eyes.

The candlelight in the room was dim, his eyes flickered with emotions that couldn’t be clearly discerned. After a moment, Ji Hengyu’s voice was low and soft: “There’s still some meat soup left from noon. I’ll warm some up for you. You’ll feel better after drinking it.”

“Then I’ll trouble you.”

“Between husband and wife, what’s trouble?”

Ji Hengyu put on his clothes and went out again.

He went to the kitchen, reheated the meat soup, and brought it out. Then, he cut his wrist with a knife, his fingers tightening slightly, expressionlessly watching the blood drip into the soup, merging with it. Worried that Sang Sang would notice the different color, Ji Hengyu added some ganoderma powder, which could calm nerves and nourish the brain, and also turn the soup a faint milky white.

Ji Hengyu carried the soup back into the room and brought it to her lips.

Watching her drink the soup in small sips, his tightly furrowed brows finally relaxed.

With a bowl of warm soup in her stomach, her whole body felt better and clear.

Sang Sang wiped her mouth and said, “Did you put ganoderma powder in it?”

Ji Hengyu didn’t deny it: “To nourish your body.”

Sang Sang felt a pang of heartache upon hearing this, “That stuff is very expensive; it would be much better to sell it.”

A smile flickered in Ji Hengyu’s eyes, “Why are you only thinking about making money? Your health comes first, everything else is secondary. Only when you’re well can I be at ease.”

Those words were comforting to hear. Sang Sang, propped on her elbows in bed, looked at him with a sweet smile, “You’ve been much sweeter these past few days.”

“Have I?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sang Sang nodded repeatedly, then said, “But I always feel like something’s on your mind.”

Ji Hengyu’s spine stiffened. He lowered his gaze, tidying the bowls and chopsticks, “Aside from worrying if you’re well-fed and warm, what else could be on my mind?”

It sounded somewhat reasonable.

But upon closer thought, it didn’t seem quite right.

Ji Hengyu was a stable and extremely reserved person, rarely showing his emotions so obviously on his face.

Sang Sang couldn’t quite figure it out, and drifted into a deep sleep, still full of suspicion.

In the dead of night, she felt a chill engulf her. Sang Sang instinctively burrowed towards the person next to her, only to roll into empty space for a long time. Just as she was about to fall headfirst to the ground, a sudden sensation of being suspended in mid-air completely jolted her awake.

Her side was empty, not even a trace of warmth.

Where was Ji Hengyu?

Sang Sang got up, put on her clothes, and took a lantern as she walked out.

It was strange; despite the heavy snow during the day, the night sky was exceptionally clear. The night was windless, and everything was still.

Was Zhuxi Village this quiet?

Sang Sang followed the path into the village. By this time, most villagers were probably asleep. Passing Aunt An’s house, she saw her courtyard gate open, perhaps accidentally, or perhaps the latch had been blown open by the wind.

She carefully closed the door.

In the profound silence, the sound of the threshold closing was particularly distinct.

Sang Sang was about to turn and leave when she heard a voice call out from inside—

“Who’s there?”

She turned back strangely. The house was pitch dark, with no sign of light.

Sang Sang thought for a moment, then shouted loudly inside: “Auntie, your door was open. I just helped you...” close it.

“Who’s there?”

Before her words finished, another voice spoke.

Sang Sang quieted, pondering for a moment, then tentatively pulled the door open and immediately closed it tightly.

“Who’s there?”

The same voice, the same content.

A chill shot up from the soles of Sang Sang’s feet to the crown of her head. She retreated two steps, stumbling, almost falling into the snow.

She steadied herself, lifted the lantern, and walked inside, tentatively pushing open the door.

The room was pitch black. The faint light from the lantern seemed especially weak. Sang Sang swept the lantern around, and it was very strange—the room was exceptionally desolate, showing no signs of having been lived in.

She cautiously walked further inside.

Passing through the side room, she entered the inner chamber, where the bed was directly ahead.

Sang Sang swallowed, nervously clenching her fingers. She slowly approached step by step. The lantern illuminated the bed, revealing—

Paper figures!!

With yellow paper bodies and vermillion eyes, lying stiffly side by side.

Sang Sang’s face turned ashen with fright. She rushed out in a panic, so quickly that she stumbled and fell heavily to the ground.

Her palm was pierced by a sharp stone hidden in the snow, instantly bleeding profusely. She was flustered and helpless, caring neither about the pain nor the tilted lantern lying nearby. She quickly stood up and limped back.

What happened to Aunt An’s house?

Could it be an evil spirit invasion?

But Zhuxi Village had always been peaceful. Where would evil spirits come from?

It was also strange; usually, the slightest disturbance in this village would cause wild dogs to bark furiously, but today, after all this commotion, she hadn’t heard a single sound.

It was too quiet, so quiet that it made her scalp tingle and her heart race. Sang Sang had no idea what was happening and just wanted to get home quickly and find Ji Hengyu.

“Husband, are you back?”

Her voice echoed in the courtyard, but no one responded.

Sang Sang was both worried about Ji Hengyu and concerned about Aunt An’s house. She didn’t know where Ji Hengyu had gone, fearing he might have met with misfortune. The tension and worry tightened her throat, and she felt dizzy in waves.

Ji Hengyu wasn’t in good health, especially in such winter weather. If he met with misfortune or accidentally fainted in the snow, either way would be a dead end.

No, she had to find him!

Thinking of her husband outside, Sang Sang suddenly wasn’t afraid anymore. She haphazardly tore a strip of cloth to bandage her left palm, then turned and rushed into the night, lifting her skirt as she ran frantically towards the village chief’s direction.

“Village Chief, are you home?”

“Village Chief—!”

She furiously knocked on the door latch, but there was no sound from inside.

Sang Sang didn’t care about anything else. She forcefully kicked the door open and burst inside, “Village Chief, are you home?”

Still, no one answered her.

A bad premonition arose.

Sang Sang ran directly into the house, and the scene inside stunned her again.

Paper figures.

Identical paper figures to those in Aunt An’s house!

Something’s wrong, something’s very wrong...

Sang Sang’s face was ashen. She turned and rushed into the night, breaking into one house after another.

Paper figures, paper figures, all of them paper figures!!

Sang Sang had never been close to the villagers; their neighborhood interactions were limited to greetings, but she didn’t want to see them fall victim to evil spirits.

This round had exhausted her, but more than that, she felt a profound panic about the unknown.

Sang Sang walked alone on the small village path, a solitary figure, accompanied only by the moonlight.

She looked up at the moon, and her steps paused again.

A full moon hung on the treetops.

Its position... hadn’t changed at all since she came out.

She vaguely felt something was off, as if grasping at a thought in her mind, but then the thought, like a swimming fish, darted away quickly just as she tried to clearly see it.

Drip.

A warm drop slid down her fingertip.

Sang Sang looked down. Unbeknownst to her, her wound had reopened, and blood dripped continuously along the broken skin, leaving a trail.

She untied the cloth strip, which was already soaked with blood.

The wound was small, not very deep, but after so long, there was still no sign of it healing.

Sang Sang lowered her eyes, lost in thought.

It seemed as if everything was... stagnant?

[Go towards the village entrance.]

A voice suddenly appeared in her mind without warning, guiding her direction.

Sang Sang instantly understood and dashed towards the village entrance.

Zhuxi Village was a small place to begin with, and soon she saw the most iconic large rock of Zhuxi Village. She slowed her pace, breathing heavily, took a deep breath to steady her breathing, and limped forward.

But when she was just one step away, an invisible wall seemed to block her path, completely stopping her.

Sang Sang’s heart constricted. She picked up a pebble and threw it forward.

Plop.

The pebble seemed to hit water, and the air before her rippled faintly.

A massive sense of shock completely overwhelmed her. Sang Sang was merely a mortal and had never witnessed such a bizarre scene.

[Are you truly a mortal?]

The sudden self-question in her mind jolted Sang Sang.

Was she a mortal?

If she wasn’t a mortal, then who could she be?

Sang Sang recalled her entire life: lonely and reliant on no one, drifting across the four seas. Later, she met Ji Hengyu, their destinies intertwined by a red thread, a perfect match. They lived peacefully through the seasons in this small village.

If she wasn’t a mortal, who could she be?

In an instant, something came to her mind.

Her pupils trembled, and a chaotic flood of memories surged forth. Sang Sang’s breathing hitched, and she squatted on the ground, clutching her head tightly.

The ground shook, and the world seemed to be on the verge of collapse.

Sang Sang saw cracks appearing in the scene before her. The entire world was like a false illusion pieced together from fragile mirror shards. The sky was fake, the trees were fake, everything was fake.

She struggled to stand, wanting to take a step forward.

Suddenly, a familiar voice, from memory, came from behind her—

“Sang Sang, where are you going?”

Sang Sang’s spine stiffened. She couldn’t help but turn back.

Ji Hengyu stood a few steps away, his thin white robe stained with spots of blood, much like red plum blossoms against white snow. The bloodstains on his face had not yet been wiped clean. His deep eyes were fixed on her, calm, silent, and even with a dangerous quality that made her feel unfamiliar.

He watched her unblinkingly, the cold indifference in his gaze making her afraid to look directly at him.

Sang Sang’s nails dug into her flesh. She forced herself to be calm and asked, “Ji Hengyu, where is this?”

“Zhuxi Village.” Ji Hengyu took a step forward and reached out to her, “We should go home.”

Zhuxi Village?

No, no, that’s not right.

Sang Sang looked around.

This was definitely not Zhuxi Village!

This was clearly an illusion woven from the threads of her memories!!!

No wonder she always felt something was off.

Because Ji Hengyu had sealed her memories, and even altered her identity!

Sang Sang pressed her palm to her dantian, clearly sensing a restrictive aura of his burning within it. She was even more astonished: “You used Spirit-Locking Candles on me? Why? Just because I’m a demon god?”

Ji Hengyu didn’t answer, walking towards her step by step.

Sang Sang tightly pursed her lips, anger surging in her chest—her memory was still stuck at the time she went to the manor to find him to sign the divorce papers. There was a blank in between, she didn’t know if she had forgotten something, or if he had sealed her memories again.

But no matter what, she could not accept Ji Hengyu deceiving her in this way!

Sang Sang formed a hand seal with her fingertips, just as she was about to forcefully break the illusion, Ji Hengyu suddenly teleported in front of her, grasping her wrist with one hand and twisting her arms behind her back.

This restraint rendered Sang Sang completely immobile.

Because the Spirit-Locking Candles were lit in her Four Continents, she couldn’t use any of her abilities.

This only enraged Sang Sang further. She struggled and cursed, “Ji Hengyu, are you out of your mind?!”

“I’m sorry, Sang Sang...” Ji Hengyu lowered his eyelids sorrowfully. Ignoring Sang Sang’s desperate struggle, his cold palm covered her eyes.

In the complete darkness, Sang Sang could only hear him repeating “I’m sorry” over and over in her ear.

Sang Sang half-struggled, half-cursed. Unable to use her magic, she desperately bit him with her mouth, but no matter how much she resisted, Ji Hengyu held her tightly and refused to let go.

Finally, a spiritual light descended, and the幅度 (amplitude) of her physical struggles lessened. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed again. Immediately after, her body went limp and she leaned back, falling into his arms and sinking into a deep sleep.

Ji Hengyu held Sang Sang in his arms.

In the twilight, his expression was placid, cold and numb, like a statue carved from the ice and snow.

Ji Hengyu had tried almost every method, but found that in the end, there was still no way out.

He had thought of giving his heart to Sang Sang, but she was born from a demonic embryo, a holy heart could not save her; even if she could temporarily live, she would eventually die from the backlash. Ji Hengyu also searched through books, using heavenly methods to silence the Spirit-Asking Heart, but if he did so, Sang Sang, as the host, would also fall into a deep sleep, no different from death.

He was defeated, frustrated, having crossed mountains and seas, searched all the methods in the world, but no matter what he did, there seemed to be no way to save her.

In the end, Ji Hengyu built an illusion in a place no one would ever think of, temporarily hiding Sang Sang inside.

He continued to use Spirit-Locking Candles to seal her spiritual heart and soul bone, constructing a false illusion identical to Zhuxi Village using their shared memories, making her believe they were just a mortal couple living there, then trapping her within the illusion day and night, unable to escape.

To put it more harshly—he had imprisoned her.

This was the twentieth, or perhaps twenty-fifth, time Sang Sang had discovered the truth of the illusion.

The more times it happened, the more loopholes appeared in the illusion, and the faster she discovered them. It had only been three days since the last truth shattered, and she had already reached this point again. Perhaps the next time, or the time after that, the illusion would no longer be sustainable.

But what did it matter?

Even if she was awake, he couldn’t let her go, no matter what.

Was it hateful?

Of course, it was hateful.

Sometimes rogue immortals or demon cultivators would pass by outside the illusion. To prevent the illusion from being destroyed by these intruders, whether immortal or demon, Ji Hengyu would choose to kill them.

He truly seemed to have gone mad.

Possessed, deranged, utterly devoid of reason.

Actually, Ji Hengyu knew this was nothing but a dying man’s desperate clinging, and he knew deeply that these methods wouldn’t keep her.

But...

He loved her so much.