The snow fell harder and harder, and the messy footprints by the lakeside were soon smoothed out.
Tan Yin floated far outside the small building, watching Yuan Zhong wake up, watching him get up to search for her, and then watching him slump his shoulders in defeat. In the end, all the lights in the building were extinguished, and everything plunged into darkness. The wind howled like it was weeping.
She didn’t return to his side, like she once said she would—forever staying with him, never leaving by even a step.
Now, she couldn’t face him—whether it was his burning eyes in the dream, demanding she admit that she liked him, or his tightly furrowed brow and lifeless eyes in this very moment.
She truly had no talent for relationships. She didn’t understand the hearts of others, nor did she understand her own. If everything could be as orderly as crafting mechanical figures, where every part fit together seamlessly, with no chance of mistakes, how simple that would be.
Tan Yin descended to the mortal world in search of Yuan Zhong for one reason: Tai He’s left hand. Yes, her purpose was as clear as crafting tools—guarding Tai He’s left hand. Whether it took hundreds or thousands of years, it was merely a fleeting moment, unworthy of attention. The ultimate result would be the perfect retrieval of the left hand, leading to Tai He’s awakening.
And things indeed progressed this way. Yet, she felt as though she had made a terrible mistake. But where exactly did the problem lie? She didn’t know—or perhaps she did but refused to think about it.
The human heart is not like cold, unfeeling rivets or bronze tools. When she used her body to shield Yuan Zhong from the brutal attack of the battle ghosts, what was truly in her heart at that moment—Tai He or something else? Even she couldn’t say. That mortal body had already been shattered beyond repair. The divine crystal had spread to every part of her, and it could no longer be used. The moment she released her consciousness, she suddenly felt that her connection to Yuan Zhong was no longer so simple.
She couldn’t say she liked him—she didn’t know how to say it, and she didn’t deserve to say it.
“Parting in life, reuniting in death”—such simple words. She had once thought them simple too, but now, she suddenly felt the vastness and depth, as well as the fickleness of time.
This long, slow passage of time filled her with fear, along with guilt—guilt towards Tai He, and guilt towards Yuan Zhong.
She had made a grave mistake, one that couldn’t be undone.
Tan Yin floated quietly alone for a long time. Finally, she glanced back at the enormous rift in the distant green mountains where the gate to life lay, and with a wave of her long sleeve, she sealed the rift in an instant.
This was Yuan Zhong’s home. The gate to life had been broken, and he was undoubtedly upset. She was one of those with ulterior motives, and the only thing she could do for him now were these small gestures.
Now, it was time for her to return to find Han Nü. Unlike the last time when she had been hasty and impulsive, she now felt an immense calm—an icy, resolute calm. She no longer knew what she would say or do when she saw Han Nü again. She had no plan and didn’t want to think about it.
She had never truly understood Han Nü. No, she had never understood anyone—not even herself.
Everyone she knew seemed to have a vast disparity between their outer appearance and their inner heart. Some people were angry at her on the outside but treated her so well in their hearts; others seemed amicable on the surface but hid venomous barbs within.
Han Nü, Han Nü...
These gods and goddesses, bestowed with divine status, had all been people who defied the heavens with unwavering devotion when they were mortals. Like her, a dedicated craftsman, there were also knights obsessed with martial arts and scholars of unparalleled talent.
Han Nü, too, had her obsessions. Her embroidery skills were unmatched, and even when mortals wanted to burn her at the stake as a witch, she couldn’t abandon her needle and thread.
Back then, Han Nü and she had a very close relationship. She had been a god for two hundred years, and Han Nü had just ascended to godhood, still reminiscing about the mortal world. The two of them often talked about the amusing things from the mortal realm. Tan Yin wasn’t good with words, but she often awkwardly shared many stories, while Han Nü would listen with a gentle smile.
Han Nü rarely talked about her time as a mortal. Tan Yin only knew fragments, like how Han Nü was devoted to embroidery—when she embroidered a peony, the next day, a peony would bloom on her windowsill. As this happened more and more, ignorant mortals began to believe she was some kind of witch, and they tried to burn her. Although they didn’t succeed in killing her, she was burned half to death and lingered in pain for a long time before passing away.
Now that she thought about it, no one really knew where Han Nü came from, who her family was, or whether she had ever married.
She seemed never to have lost her composure or said anything wrong, always remaining gentle and smiling, understanding others in a way that made people feel like they were bathing in spring sunshine. Among the gods and goddesses who were not good at relationships, she stood out as being so different.
That’s why Han Nü’s actions now were so shocking, leaving people utterly at a loss.
Returning once more to the Tianya Platform, the Milky Way still sparkled, and Tai He still slept within the massive divine crystal.
For some reason, Tan Yin didn’t want to look at his face. Feeling guilty and fearful, she hurriedly walked around and called out, “Han Nü.”
There was no response.
Tan Yin floated straight toward the eastern corner of the hall, where Han Nü’s body was still lying in its usual place, but her consciousness was nowhere to be found.
Tan Yin approached the man-sized divine crystal. Since Han Nü’s body had been sealed in the crystal, its disintegration had stopped. But strangely, the divine crystal hadn’t replenished her divine energy. Tan Yin clearly remembered that when she descended to the mortal world, Han Nü’s limbs and the left side of her body had turned semi-transparent. But now, upon closer inspection, her body had completely returned to normal.
What was the reason? Tan Yin couldn’t figure it out. But if Han Nü’s disintegrating body could be restored, didn’t that mean Tai He didn’t need to continue sleeping? Didn’t that mean the other gods no longer had to worry about falling?
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