AUOF - 140

Guixu, Shuoguang Hall.

Upon reopening her eyes to familiar surroundings, Sang Li was suddenly struck by a feeling of having passed through an age.

She had spent what felt like hundreds of incredibly real years in the mental landscape. Now, seeing the faces filled with concern surrounding her, her body remained unresponsive, her mind still fixated on the scene of her death on the Immortal Slaying Platform.

It was so clear.

The pain was just as vivid.

Even recalling her initial purpose and all her memories, Sang Li couldn’t break free from the haze, feeling numb and empty, which immediately frightened the others.

“Senior Brother, A’Li, she...” Yue Zhuqing frowned, her eyes filled with unease.

“Is Junior Sister not fully awake yet?” Li Ningxi had only emerged a quarter of an hour earlier than Sang Li and hadn’t yet fully detached from his role in the mental landscape. In his urgency, he habitually called her “Junior Sister.”

[Junior Sister.]

These two words were etched into her very bones.

Sang Li suddenly jolted awake, staring blankly at Li Ningxi.

The young man’s face was handsome and bright, his eyes clearly anxious, all matching his appearance from her memories.

Overwhelmed with emotion, she suddenly burst into sobs.

The unexpected sound of her crying startled the three siblings, their gazes uniformly falling upon her.

“Brother, I, I was looking for you in Wangchuan, I kept looking for you...”

“They said you died, but I didn’t believe it.”

“I couldn’t find you, you left... I didn’t know what to do.”

Sang Li spoke while crying, her words jumbled, unable to form complete sentences, sounding disjointed.

Qi and Yue Zhuqing exchanged glances, falling silent, understanding that she was still immersed in the mental landscape and had not fully awakened.

This was Qi’s initial reason for opposing it.

Once one entered the profound mental landscape, at best, they would awaken but struggle to distinguish between dream and reality; at worst, their soul and body would separate, their body sleeping indefinitely in reality, while their soul lived another life in the illusion, until dying in the dream, at which point this illusionary state would end.

Her voice was sorrowful and tearful. Li Ningxi also recalled his own fate, his eyes reddening. He stepped forward and pulled her into his embrace.

Sang Li quietly sobbed in his arms. After venting her emotions, her consciousness gradually cleared.

She pushed Li Ningxi away, looked around, and her gaze met the giant snake coiled behind her. She was startled, “Ji Hengyu?”

Seeing that Sang Li was not trapped in the mental landscape, Qi quickly approached. “Do you remember anything?”

Sang Li pursed her lips, gently nodding.

Li Ningxi also seized the opportunity to ask, “After I died, you and Ji Hengyu... that—” The words “that bastard” almost slipped out, but Li Ningxi suddenly remembered his identity. Facing Yue Zhuqing’s suspicious gaze, he forcibly swallowed the disrespectful remark. “How did it go with the Lord?”

Truth be told, the sudden shift from “wild man who seduced my sister” to “Lord” made even Li Ningxi feel a bit awkward.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t had opportunities to undergo trials in illusions before.

However, those were all solo endeavors, lasting a few months at minimum, or a few years at most before he emerged. This was the longest time. A mere single night in the real world had equated to a hundred years in the mental landscape, and intimacy cultivated day and night couldn’t simply be discarded.

Sang Li had an intense headache.

She closed her eyes and pressed her temples. “I don’t know,” she said. “I asked Ji Hengyu to kill me, and then I woke up.”

The three of them listened, their eyes widening in unison.

“That bastard—!” No, not bastard. Li Ningxi forcibly swallowed his anger. “How could the Lord bring himself to kill you?”

Sang Li looked at Li Ningxi, then at her bewildered Senior Brother and Senior Sister, and briefly explained the cause and course of events. After hearing it, the three of them appeared particularly somber.

Sang Li had no time for other concerns, ignoring the soreness and dull ache in her limbs after waking up. She forced herself to stand and came before Qi. “Senior Brother Li and I have both successfully emerged, so are we considered successful or unsuccessful? Ji Hengyu... can he wake up?”

She asked cautiously.

The enormous silver snake was coiled behind them, its eyes closed, its abdomen rising and falling calmly, like a sleeping mountain.

Sang Li vaguely recalled their time in the mental landscape, in Bamboo Stream Village, where they had peacefully lived as husband and wife for nearly eight years.

If Ji Hengyu forgot everything, forgot who he was, what would be the point of waking up? What was the point of what she had done... what she had sacrificed?

Her vision blurred.

Sang Li forcibly suppressed the bitterness, haphazardly wiping away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen, her eyes resolute: “It’s okay even if it fails, I can go again, I believe...”

Qi shook his head, gesturing to Sang Li: “The sky is about to brighten.”

The candlelight in the hall flickered as if about to extinguish, warm embers glowed, and dawn was approaching.

Sang Li was momentarily stunned, only realizing after this reminder that an entire night had passed.

“Time in the mental landscape passes in an instant, like years. An entire night is enough for a thousand years to have passed within the mental landscape. There’s no point in you going back now.”

The longer one stayed in the mental landscape, the easier it was to forget the present world.

Qi didn’t explicitly state it, but he knew in his heart that the chances were slim.

Sang Li’s throat tightened. She stared blankly at Ji Hengyu.

She slowly approached, sitting down in front of him, her fingertips gently touching Ji Hengyu’s cheek. The cold snake scales met her palm, and she could even feel his breaths puffing against her.

Ji Hengyu must be... in a lot of pain right now.

Forced to kill his beloved; destined to be imprisoned for life for the sake of the so-called righteous path. But was living so rigidly truly what he desired in his heart?

Even if he lost Sang Sang, even if he killed her with his own hands, would Ji Hengyu then simply fall into depravity, willingly becoming the being the Divine Realm expected him to be?

Sang Li didn’t believe that Ji Hengyu was truly willing to submit.

He was born proud and unrestrained, so how could he at this moment decline and willingly become someone else’s puppet?

She suddenly remembered a small conch that Ji Hengyu had once left here.

Ji Hengyu had once said that if he were alive, as long as Sang Li blew the conch, no matter where he was, he would appear by Sang Li’s side.

She had always kept that little conch carefully on her person. Sang Li took it out, brought it to her lips, and gently blew.

A serene, ethereal whistle echoed through the hall, lingering for a long time. Whatever it was, a sound, a memory, as long as it could give him a hint, awaken him from the illusion...

The last patch of darkness was swallowed by the daylight. Dawn broke.

The whistling sound gradually faded. The vast palace was so silent that one could hear a pin drop. Sang Li tightly clutched the small conch, and seeing him motionless, her last glimmer of hope also extinguished.

She drooped her head in despair, tears silently falling onto the back of her hand.

The siblings behind her also became sorrowful and silent, the atmosphere in the hall exceptionally oppressive.

Suddenly, a gentle breeze stirred.

Sang Li’s sobs hitched. She looked up. The giant snake prostrated before her still showed no sign of waking, its eyelids pressing down on its brilliant golden pupils. Yet, the pair of horns on its head gradually began to blossom as the light descended closer.

One flower, two flowers, three flowers...

There were blue, pink, purple, and white ones. Five-colored, vibrant flowers adorned his silver horns, fluttering down onto Sang Li like a shower of glistening petals.

Her eyes were still wet with tears, and she remained in a daze for a long time, unable to recover.

Until her waist tightened, and a tail coiled around her, binding her tightly, leaving no gaps whatsoever.

The giant snake lowered its head.

He opened his eyes.

Sang Li opened her mouth, uttering his name in a dazed whisper: “Ji Hengyu?”

Those golden vertical pupils were like a boundless sea brewed from gold, an endless brilliance, deep and oppressive, reflecting her pale face.

Sang Li confirmed it was him. Seeing his serious face topped with those flowery horns, and tears still clinging to her eyes, she let out a choked laugh, then couldn’t help but cry again after laughing.

Ji Hengyu shook off the flowers from his head, frowning in annoyance. “I thought you’d be pleased.” He connected with her through their divine sea. Sang Li, hearing this, felt a surge of emotion and rushed forward to kiss his scales.

Ji Hengyu’s tail tightened even more, as if refusing to let go, pressing his massive head directly onto her shoulder. His enormous size almost completely enveloped her.

Ji Hengyu maintained this posture, retracting his spiritual body, and transformed back into human form.

They both sat on the ground. Ji Hengyu hugged Sang Li tightly with both arms, his unspoken longing erupting in this embrace.

The usually composed Yue Zhuqing couldn’t help but weep with joy at the sight: “Lord, you’ve woken up?!”

Qi also beamed with delight, murmuring, “A’Li succeeded...”

Sang Li then realized that this was not the time for intimacy. She pushed Ji Hengyu away, confirmed that his eyes were clear and that he remembered them, then she finally relaxed her tense emotions.

“Lord, are you alright?” Li Ningxi stepped forward and said, “We were so worried, afraid something had happened to you.”

Ji Hengyu remained silent, observing Li Ningxi for a long moment.

His eyes conveyed a clear meaning. Li Ningxi stiffened, remembering the foolish things he had done in the mental landscape and the numerous times he had spoken disrespectfully to him, he immediately felt awkward.

“Uh, well... anyway... it’s good that you’re alright, Lord.”

Li Ningxi scratched his head, then didn’t dare to say anything more, retreating with a bowed head and hesitant steps.

Ji Hengyu quickly processed the current situation. His forehead throbbed dullly. He took Sang Li’s hand and together they stood up from the ground, his gaze sweeping over their faces. “I’m fine.” He had slept for too long, his voice hoarse and dry.

“How did you wake up?” Sang Li was eager to know what else had happened after she died. “Did they make things difficult for you?”

Ji Hengyu saw the urgency on her face and smiled, shaking his head: “They didn’t make things difficult for me.” Afraid she might worry, he paused and said, “I’m back, Sang Sang.”

Ji Hengyu didn’t plan to tell her about the five hundred years of waiting, just as he didn’t plan to tell her that he had endured five hundred years of torment alone in the Soul-Seducing Prison.

That single word, “Sang Sang,” contained so much.

Sang Li clung tightly to Ji Hengyu’s arm, not saying a word, her lips pressed together as she forcibly held back the almost bursting sadness.

Ji Hengyu squeezed her hand.

They both had too much to say to each other, but now was not the time for such expressions of affection.

“Report—!”

At this moment, a small, wobbly leaf-creature ran in.

The leaf-creature had run all the way, bending its waist in exhaustion. It chirped and gesticulated wildly at Yue Zhuqing, then pointed outside, seemingly very angry, stomping its foot fiercely.

“It must be those few from the Clear Sky Palace.” Yue Zhuqing looked exhausted. “Lord, please rest. I’ll be right back.”

“No need.” Ji Hengyu’s eyes flickered. “I’ll go with you.”

Yue Zhuqing hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

She found a cloak and draped it over Ji Hengyu. The group then went together to the main hall of Changlin.