AUOF - 22

Go back?

Going back would be like a lamb walking straight into the tiger’s mouth.

But if she didn’t go back, the Dual-Life Curse wouldn’t be lifted, and she’d still be under his control.

“Your Excellency, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu has arrived.”

Yuezhu Qing relayed the message from outside the hall. Ji Hengyu raised his hand toward Sang Li: “Help me up.”

So he really thought of her as his personal maid?

Sang Li reluctantly helped him to his feet. Ji Hengyu casually waved his hand, draping a plain-colored cloak over his shoulders from the rack, and quickly stepped out to greet the guest.

The sky was clear, with auspicious clouds drifting by.

A silver-feathered immortal crane floated through the clouds. Just before landing, its legs transformed into human limbs, its wings folded back into arms, and it gradually shifted into human form, walking gracefully toward the three of them.

This immortal had white hair but a youthful face, dressed in red robes that exuded an ethereal aura. His long white beard reached the ground, and he carried a duster. Every step he took seemed to carry the grace of riding the winds and clouds.

Ji Hengyu and Yuezhu Qing bowed simultaneously. Seeing this, Sang Li hurriedly followed suit.

“We pay our respects, True Lord.”

True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu paid no attention to the others, his gaze on Ji Hengyu carrying a hint of reproach: “I heard you’ve injured your heart meridian. Why rise from bed when you should be resting?”

Ji Hengyu lowered his eyes humbly: “With Your Eminence personally visiting, how could I, as your disciple, not come out to greet you?”

His every word and action exuded obedience.

Sang Li found this fascinating and couldn’t help sneaking glances at the two of them, her small movements naturally not escaping the notice of the True Lord.

He smiled kindly at Sang Li: “This little immortal looks unfamiliar. Is she another new disciple you’ve taken in?”

Yuezhu Qing explained on her behalf: “She’s a servant from Huansha Garden. She also played a role in subduing demons during this trip down the mountain.”

Upon hearing this, Sang Li felt her face flush with embarrassment.

Senior Sister, what kind of contribution did she make? All she got was one cursed seed! Don’t exaggerate on her behalf—it’s embarrassing!

Ji Hengyu didn’t refute the claim either. “Aqing, you may leave. I’ll have a discussion with the True Lord.”

Yuezhu Qing nodded and was about to leave with Sang Li when Ji Hengyu called out: “She stays.”

This “she,” of course, referred to Sang Li.

Yuezhu Qing paused, her expression shifting instantly from surprise to one of deep understanding. She gave Sang Li a sly smile, patted her hand, and said, “Then take good care of His Excellency,” before leaving.

Wait, what did she mean by “take good care of His Excellency”?

Senior Sister, don’t leave! You must be misunderstanding something!!!

Sang Li helplessly watched Yuezhu Qing’s retreating figure disappear, then followed Ji Hengyu back into the inner hall in a daze.

Since Situ’s intrusion last time, Ji Hengyu had reinforced the barriers around Shuo Guang Hall. Not only was it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop or sneak in, even a mosquito would find it hard to enter.

Without wasting words, Ji Hengyu got straight to the point: “During this demon-subduing mission, we accidentally fell into another realm and were unexpectedly cursed. Does Your Eminence know of a way to resolve this?”

True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu wasn’t surprised.

From the moment he entered and saw the two of them, he sensed an unusual energy flowing between their hearts.

“Give me your hands.”

Sang Li and Ji Hengyu extended their wrists simultaneously.

The True Lord placed his palm over theirs, and a red qi spread outward like ripples from his palm.

As time passed, the True Lord’s expression grew increasingly grave.

He withdrew his hand: “This is the Silken Thread Curse.”

Sang Li froze: “Can it be resolved?”

The True Lord didn’t give a direct answer: “In the Age of Upper Desolation, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth was abundant, nurturing all things. Demonic seeds and tribes flourished endlessly. Among them was a tribe called Wu Luo. The Wu Luo people excelled in curses, requiring love and desire to achieve immortality. Thus, they used curses to control emotions. The Silken Thread Curse is one of the emotional curses created by the Wu Luo tribe.”

He sighed and shook his head: “The Silken Thread Curse is an incurable death curse. Once entangled, hearts are bound together. Unless you grow old together, you will never part.”

In this world, poisons generally fall into two categories: living curses, which are easy to resolve, and death curses, which are inescapable. Countless people have been trapped by emotional curses, suffering endlessly without escape.

It wasn’t until a thousand years later, when the sects could no longer bear the torment, that they rose up and exterminated the Wu Luo tribe. That night, the Wu Luo people were slaughtered to the last man.

Sang Li, forgetting all notions of propriety, clutched tightly onto Ji Hengyu’s sleeve and pleaded urgently: “So does this mean we’re stuck together for life?”

The True Lord’s answer was ambiguous: “When the two of you exchange your bodies and souls completely, the curse will resolve itself.”

Exchange bodies and souls?

What a joke.

Among human emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hate, and desire—the two words “romantic love” were the least valuable.

Even a loving couple who walked together from youth to old age couldn’t guarantee that their feelings would remain unchanged throughout the journey, that no second thoughts would arise. The human heart was unpredictable, let alone someone like Ji Hengyu, who was cold-hearted and detached.

First of all, she would never fall in love with him; even if she did someday, she didn’t want it to be because of this curse.

Sang Li’s eyes reddened, and she pleaded pitifully: “True Lord, isn’t there any other way? I don’t want to be tied to Ji Hengyu—I hate him, I don’t want to be with him!”

In her urgency, Sang Li forgot her own identity, calling him by name and openly expressing her dislike in front of his master, even repeating twice that she didn’t like him.

Ji Hengyu glanced at her emotionlessly, then shifted his gaze. “Since the Silken Thread Curse exists in another realm, perhaps the Wu Luo people aren’t entirely extinct. If we can find traces of their survival, might there be a glimmer of hope?”

The True Lord nodded: “Indeed, there might be.”

“Mm.” Ji Hengyu still had matters to discuss with the True Lord. He made a brief promise to Sang Li: “You needn’t worry. If you find someone you care for in the future, you may be with them. I won’t hold you back because of the curse. Once we find a solution, I will let you go.”

Hearing this, Sang Li felt slightly relieved, though not by much.

Now that she knew it was the incurable Silken Thread Curse, she had even less mental energy to think about Yan Jinglou’s side of things. She sniffled, her nose feeling sore, and left Shuo Guang Hall with a lackluster step.

Once Sang Li was gone, Ji Hengyu finally spoke: “She has left, True Lord. There’s no need to continue hiding.” Ji Hengyu rolled up his sleeve, revealing the vine-like curse markings on his arm. “This curse isn’t just as simple as it seems, is it?”

The next words weren’t suitable for Sang Li to hear.

Sure enough, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu spoke bluntly: “The Silken Thread Curse is a dual-curse system, with the secondary curse controlled by the primary curse. Based on your curse markings, you are the secondary curse bearer, and she is the primary curse bearer.”

Ji Hengyu’s gaze flickered. “The curse markings on her and mine—one is a flower, the other a leaf. What does this mean?”

Wuyan Zhaoshu paced back and forth. “Flower and leaf entwined, flower and leaf dependent. A flower can survive without a leaf, but a leaf cannot live without its flower. The Silken Thread Curse binds the thread to the leaf and the flower, but it is not the flower that binds the thread and the leaf. Though this curse is called the Silken Thread Curse, it is only you who is truly trapped by emotions.”

Ji Hengyu lowered his eyes, stroking the curse marking on his wrist.

The faint floral pattern glowed vividly against the inner side of his wrist, a fiery red.

“If she hates you even a little, the Silken Thread Curse will wound you accordingly. If she loves you even a little, the curse will protect you accordingly. Gods are inherently without desire, guided only by their thoughts. This curse has already merged with your heart—if your heart dies, so will your body.”

Ji Hengyu listened silently.

Lin Xiang’er had known the consequences, yet in the end, she chose to defy the control imposed by the emotional curse, opting to pierce Su Zining’s heart with a sword, ultimately vanishing into nothingness alongside him.

—Such an act certainly required commendable courage.

“Gods are inherently without desire, guided only by their thoughts…” Ji Hengyu’s gaze flickered. “What if I were to remove this heart?”

It was as if a thought had occurred to him. His lips curled into a humorless smile, his tone chilling and devoid of warmth: “What if I… were to remove this heart?”

Upon hearing this, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu’s expression hardened, and his words turned sharp in an instant: “Ziheng, when your three souls were separated and your divine marrow nearly destroyed, I protected your divine body and taught you the art of soul creation to preserve your life. Do not entertain such thoughts again.”

By all accounts, a celestial being whose divine marrow was severed should not have survived. Even if they did, they would be left as a useless shell, unable to see or speak. Yet here he was, despite the damage to his divine marrow, still able to effortlessly wield the power of Sifangzhou.

This was all thanks to True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu.

When Ji Hengyu’s soul had nearly dispersed, on the verge of annihilation, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu could not bear to let him perish. He performed a spell on the lotus platform, using ninety-nine Heavenly Fire Red Lotuses to preserve Ji Hengyu’s divine body and stabilizing his divine marrow with the Sacred Lotus Heart. However, though his life was saved, only a wisp of his soul remained.

To address this, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu taught him an ancient forbidden technique—the Ninefold Soul-Birthing Art, also known as the Soul Creation Technique.

The Soul Creation Technique allowed one to extract soul threads from all living things and condense them into a living soul for oneself.

Within the six realms, whether human or god, all beings possessed three souls and seven spirits.

If one mastered the Ninefold Soul-Birthing Art, they could create four, five, or even seven souls.

If Ji Hengyu truly wished to craft a puppet body and place his heart and living soul within it, it wasn’t impossible. But no one could predict what a puppet with desires might do.

However, more than these concerns, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu feared that Ji Hengyu might use the Soul Creation Technique for something else.

At its highest level, the Soul Creation Technique allowed one to condense evil souls and malevolent spirits from the six realms of reincarnation.

Evil represented earthly wickedness; malevolence represented earthly darkness. When these two combined, one could enter the Path of Binding Misfortune.

The Path of Binding Misfortune was the apocalyptic path that bound three thousand great evils into one body. When the Path of Binding Misfortune was activated, it would be the day when all laws converged into one.

True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu sternly warned him: “Ziheng, abandon those inappropriate thoughts.”

Ji Hengyu concealed the desire in his eyes and gave the True Lord a gentle smile. “True Lord, rest assured. I know what is important and what is not.”

His obedient demeanor made True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu realize his tone had been too harsh.

In this celestial realm, although Ji Hengyu held the esteemed title of Immortal Lord, his origins were humble. Despite his countless achievements and sacrifices for the six realms, he was met with disdain and slander.

The True Lord sighed deeply, speaking earnestly: “I understand your dissatisfaction with the current divine domain, but times have changed. If you can live peacefully here in Gui Xu, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Ziheng, do not stray onto the wrong path.”

He obediently responded: “Disciple understands.”

Hearing his agreement, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu’s expression softened considerably. He extended his hand toward Ji Hengyu: “Come, let me examine the condition of your damaged heart meridian.”

After diagnosing Ji Hengyu, True Lord Wuyan Zhaoshu left behind a divine pill and then departed.

In the vast palace, Ji Hengyu sat alone at a high vantage point, his fingertips continuously tracing the smooth surface of the curse marking.

[So are you going to become one of the suffering disciples of the prison of emotions? If you cannot obtain it in this life, you will never resolve it.] A red mist emerged, snaking around his neck like a serpent, its mocking words rolling into his consciousness.

Ji Hengyu closed his eyes briefly. “Certainly not.”

[In my opinion, why don’t I throw her into the Eternal Abyss, freezing her soul so she can sleep peacefully at the bottom of the sea for eternity? Meanwhile, you can rest easy here in the Gui Xu Palace. How about that idea?]

[Impossible,] the black mist countered. [If she dies, we will also be trapped.]

The red mist grew impatient. [You say this won’t work and that’s impossible. Then tell me, what other good solutions do you have?]

The black mist decisively replied: [Removing the heart can resolve it.]

Removing the heart can resolve it.

Without a heart, humans cannot live—but gods… can they survive without one?

Ji Hengyu unconsciously placed his hand over his chest.

His heartbeat pulsed beneath his palm—once, twice, thrice…

He had once personally torn out his own heart.

It had been not long after he was born in the Abyssal Prison. His mother, having given birth to him and his twin sister, suffered severe damage to her heart meridians, her soul on the verge of fading away.

To save her, the inexperienced Ji Hengyu, knowing nothing of the world, personally tore out his own heart and placed it within her body, hoping to bring her back with his own heart. But it was too late—his once indomitable mother turned to ashes before his eyes, leaving behind only a small, beating heart in the dark, damp recesses of the Abyssal Prison.

Recalling the past, Ji Hengyu’s gaze grew even darker.

He tightened his fingers, first stabilizing his spiritual core, then concentrating his spiritual energy into one point. As the energy spread, his heart gradually peeled away from his body.

It was a crystal-clear heart, transparent like a dewdrop, floating above his palm, pulsing rhythmically.

Ji Hengyu could clearly see that at the center of this heart, two tiny red leaves had sprouted. They were pure, vivid crimson, their winding threads resembling fine red strings or the natural patterns of the heart itself, spreading outward in concentric circles until they covered the entire organ.

Without a heart, the spiritual platform within his consciousness began to waver, on the verge of collapse.

His soul attempted to escape his body but was quickly pulled back. His body resembled a puzzle, sometimes scattering apart, sometimes piecing itself back together.

Yet Ji Hengyu appeared to feel no discomfort. Calmly, he flicked his fingertips: “Ji Xun.”

[Hey, why are you calling him?!]

[What are you planning to do? Why didn’t you call me?! Honestly, are you playing favorites?]

[I knew it! You’re biased! You’ve killed me eight times, but never him!]

Ignoring Ji Wu’s loud protests, Ji Hengyu summoned the malevolent spirit without hesitation.

The malevolent spirit was named Ji Xun.

Compared to the chaotic Ji Wu, Ji Xun was calmer, more rational, and easier to control.

The summoned puppet obediently bowed his head: “Master.”

Ji Hengyu stood up silently and placed the heart, now entwined with the Silken Thread Curse, into Ji Xun’s chest.

Both Ji Xun and Ji Wu were extensions of him.

They were vessels formed from Ji Hengyu’s own bloodline and divine soul, naturally capable of perfectly accepting the heart.

The heart returned to its familiar abode, and the spiritual platform stabilized accordingly.

Puppets did not require hearts, as they lived off the main body.

At this moment, Ji Xun felt an unfamiliar throbbing in his chest. A previously unknown, indescribable emotion sparked curiosity within him.

Unable to resist, he raised his hand to touch it, and simultaneously, a name drifted into his mind—

[Sang Li.]

Sang Li?

Ji Xun’s gaze grew even more confused.

Ji Hengyu raised a finger and swiped it across Ji Xun’s forehead, extracting an almost invisible thread. “On the 15th of every month, I will recall both the heart and you. For the rest of the time, you may take my place, with one condition: do not let anyone discover your differences.”

The 15th of each month was when the karmic afflictions flared up, and Ji Hengyu needed both his heart and his three souls to protect himself. More importantly, the heart could not remain permanently detached from the body—it needed to return periodically to absorb spiritual energy.

The thread he had extracted was responsible for sensory perception. Unless there was a significant emotional fluctuation, Ji Hengyu would no longer perceive sensations as acutely as before.

The emotional curse still existed.

But with the heart no longer in his original body, the slight restraint it imposed was negligible—at least for now. However, this was not a permanent solution.

“Soon, I will find a way to break it,” Ji Hengyu paused, “Until then, all I need from you is to play my role well.”