Yuan Zhong didn’t notice the subtle hesitation in her voice. “Are there many gods in the divine realm? You mentioned something about Yuansheng Tian Shen earlier—what is that?”
Tan Yin smiled. “Back then, there were quite a few gods and goddesses, but the divine realm is vast and cold. Everyone has their own duties, and it’s not unusual to go hundreds of years without seeing anyone. As for the Yuansheng Tian Shen, I’m not entirely sure myself. They’re different from us gods and goddesses. They are, I suppose, what you could call true deities. When I first ascended, all I saw were clusters of warm and awe-inspiring golden light—those were the Yuansheng Tian Shen. Unlike gods and goddesses, they don’t have human forms…”
She had originally been a mortal, so her understanding of gods was the same as in mortal legends: beings of unparalleled beauty and immense power. But the existence of the Yuansheng Tian Shen shattered all her previous notions.
They—or perhaps it’s more accurate to call them “it” instead—didn’t have human bodies. They were simply masses of gentle light. Over time, she came to understand that the Yuansheng Tian Shen were beings of pure thought, unlike gods and goddesses who still retained traces of humanity. The Yuansheng Tian Shen had transcended all of that.
They didn’t communicate the way humans did, or at least not in a way that beings like the gods and goddesses could fully comprehend.
Suddenly, Tan Yin’s thoughts halted. A flash of inspiration crossed her mind. The image of the Yuansheng Tian Shen made her think of how gods and goddesses would disintegrate into transparent fragments of light upon their fall. And then, unbidden, she recalled what Han Nü had said about the “human tribulation”—it seemed that the crumbling of a divine body signaled its approach. But what about Tai He? He had only lost his left hand; there was no sign of his body falling apart. So why did he need to sleep?
Tan Yin was deep in thought. She felt as if she were grasping at a connection, but it was too tenuous to fully comprehend. She wasn’t one for intuitive leaps; her mind worked methodically, like a craftsman following careful steps. No wonder Tai He once said she didn’t behave like an ordinary girl.
“What are you thinking about?”
Yuan Zhong leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers. Startled, Tan Yin jerked back, and the brief moment of insight she had vanished in an instant.
Yuan Zhong smirked mischievously, his hands still on her shoulders. “No sense of awareness at all.”
Blushing, Tan Yin stood abruptly, stammering, “It’s, it’s getting late. I-I should return to my room. You, you should rest early.”
Yuan Zhong chuckled, “I just woke up. Why would I rest?”
He loved seeing her flustered, tripping over her words, and trying so hard to remain composed. In those moments, she seemed nothing like the lofty goddess she was supposed to be. More often than not, Yuan Zhong couldn’t tell whether he preferred the cold, distant eyes of the goddess on her divine pedestal or the down-to-earth, foolish mortal Ji Tan Yin. In truth, they were one and the same person—he had known that for a long time—but before he had realized it, the clumsy mortal Ji Tan Yin had become utterly unique to him.
Just as he was about to speak again, there was a soft knock at the door. Yuan Xiaozhong’s sly voice came from outside, sounding smug. “Master, Dazhong, are you… ahem, have you two finished your business after an entire day? Do you need some food to regain your strength and… continue?”
Tan Yin, oblivious to the insinuation in his tone, cheerfully opened the door. Yuan Xiaozhong stood there with a tray in hand, craning his neck to peek into the room, his eyes darting suspiciously around. When he saw the perfectly made bed, untouched, he rolled his eyes dramatically at Yuan Zhong.
“Black chicken and turtle soup!” Yuan Xiaozhong announced loudly, handing the tray to Tan Yin. “Someone needs to replenish their strength! All the desire but none of the courage!”
As he spoke, he suddenly noticed Yuan Zhong approaching with a small wooden mallet, his expression murderous. Terrified, Yuan Xiaozhong bolted down the stairs, shouting, “Dazhong, I’m doing this for your own good! You don’t appreciate the heart of a good automaton!”
Yuan Zhong slammed the door shut and glared at the tray in Tan Yin’s hands, where two soup bowls made of ripple-patterned porcelain sat. Presumably, this was the black chicken and turtle soup Yuan Xiaozhong had mentioned.
Tan Yin placed the tray on the table and lifted the lids, releasing an irresistible aroma. Even she was surprised at how skilled Yuan Xiaozhong was at cooking. She turned and called to Yuan Zhong, “Come, have some soup.”
Yuan Zhong glanced at the soup and his face suddenly turned pale. Without a word, he rushed out of the room, transforming into a streak of golden light and racing toward the lake. The old turtle, sensing his approach, surfaced with tears streaming down its face, lifting one of its legs to reveal a large chunk of flesh that had been cut away. It nudged Yuan Zhong’s leg with its head, motioning toward the fragrance wafting from the Xie Xiang Forest.
Yuan Zhong dreaded looking. In the forest were a dozen celestial cranes, a gift from the mountain lord of Xiangqu. There was no need to guess—those “black chickens” were undoubtedly his precious celestial cranes.
He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.
“What’s wrong?” Tan Yin called after him, puzzled, as she hurried over.
Yuan Zhong turned back and gave her a gentle smile, though there was a dangerous edge to it. “I have something I need to take care of.”
There was murder in that smile! Tan Yin instinctively took a step back, watching as Yuan Zhong shot back toward the small building in a flash of gold, shouting coldly, “Yuan Xiaozhong! Come out!”
0 Comments