Yuan Xiaozhong opened the bronze censer, stirred the white ash with tongs, and added another piece of plum blossom-shaped incense. Soon, a faint, cool fragrance spread throughout the quiet bedroom.
Tiptoeing to the bedside, he gently pulled back the curtain for a peek. Tan Yin lay there as she had for the past six months, her eyes closed, quietly resting under the covers, completely still. Yuan Zhong slept beside her, dark circles heavy under his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, as if he had finally reached his limit and succumbed to sleep.
It was no surprise he was so anxious. Ever since the master had regained her body, she had remained asleep. Though her heart beat and she breathed, she hadn’t woken up—not once. She had slept from winter to summer.
Yuan Xiaozhong half-closed the window, making sure the bright summer sunlight didn’t fall directly on their faces. He couldn’t help but glance back at Tan Yin again, but she remained in deep sleep, completely unaware.
He stifled a sigh. Over the past half year, the question he had asked most frequently was, “When will the master wake up?” Yuan Zhong never answered, not even once. In fact, aside from that day when Tan Yin’s body was first restored, when Yuan Zhong had been overcome with joy, his mood had only grown darker ever since.
Perhaps Yuan Zhong regretted it—using a lotus to create a body for her seemed absurd now. Maybe her inability to wake was because of this lotus body. Having a body, after all, was different from the intangible state before. Once there was hope, losing it again brought pain beyond anything else. If Tan Yin never woke up, Yuan Xiaozhong was certain that Yuan Zhong would lose his mind completely.
They had speculated countless times about why Tan Yin’s divine heart had stayed within Yuan Zhong. Yuan Zhong believed it was because some of her divine power had remained in his body when she had repaired him, but Yuan Xiaozhong had a different thought.
As a mechanical man, he may not have fully understood the complex and changing emotions of humans, but he understood Tan Yin’s devotion to Yuan Zhong.
Tan Yin had once been a goddess. Anyone who became a god had a burning passion and unwavering determination. In the past, her devotion had been to the craft of artisanship. But later, she had fallen in love with Yuan Zhong—her dedication to him surpassed even her dedication to her craft. Her divine heart had changed. What remained in Yuan Zhong’s heart was her attachment to him.
Whether or not this made logical sense didn’t matter. To Yuan Xiaozhong, his master had always been an incredibly intelligent but also incredibly clumsy woman. From beginning to end, she had only one heart—if it wasn’t completely dedicated to her craft, it was completely dedicated to the person she loved. She lived a life both clumsy and difficult.
Sighing, Yuan Xiaozhong turned to leave when a low, familiar voice came from behind the curtain: “Yuan Xiaozhong.”
He jumped three feet in the air in shock and spun around. Tan Yin had gently lifted the curtain, placing a finger to her lips, signaling him not to shout.
She was awake! Yuan Xiaozhong clamped his hands over his mouth, determined not to let his jaw drop in disbelief or to scream in excitement.
Tan Yin gave him a small smile, studying him quietly before lying back down. “I’m still not fully adjusted to this body. I’m very tired. I’ll need to sleep for another day. Don’t call anyone yet. When I wake up, we’ll talk properly.”
Yuan Xiaozhong nodded vigorously and, looking back at her every few steps, reluctantly left the room. He closed the door softly, as if the slightest sound might break the spell.
Tan Yin gazed quietly at Yuan Zhong, who lay beside her. He was thinner, far more haggard. His once thick, dark hair had streaks of silver running through it. Over the years, he had suffered so much.
She slowly inched closer to him, pressing her body against his. She could hardly believe that she had really returned. She had lied to him when she had saved him from the underworld.
She had known Yuan Zhong wouldn’t drink the waters of Lethe and would wander the underworld alone, waiting for her forever. Once he realized that a goddess could not enter the cycle of reincarnation or the underworld, he would surely fall into despair.
She didn’t want Yuan Zhong to end this life in such hopelessness. He still had a long life ahead of him, long enough to forget her, long enough to start over and find true happiness again. Her Yuan Zhong deserved to leave this world with a smile, to drink the waters of Lethe with no regrets.
That day, when she had brought him back to the mortal world, her divine body had shattered into golden dust and dispersed, just like when Han Nu had disappeared. In the misty haze, she had felt the radiant power of the Yuan Sheng Heavenly God calling to her. Many voices urged her to merge into that warm, endless light.
But she hadn’t gone. Just as she hadn’t crossed the Naihe Bridge when she had died, her stubbornness prevented her from letting her divine essence become part of Yuan Sheng.
She didn’t know how much time had passed in that swirling light, but she had resisted those calls, alone and resolute. Then one day, the voices fell silent, and a soft, unfamiliar voice asked her gently, “You really can’t come? Your heart is no longer here, is it?”
Yes, her heart was no longer there. From the day she realized she loved Yuan Zhong, she had ceased to be the unparalleled artisan of the world, the supreme goddess. Her heart had stayed with Yuan Zhong.
“A divine heart that has changed can no longer merge. You are free to go.”
Without her divine heart, she was no longer a god. Tan Yin had instinctively followed the lingering traces of her divine power and opened her eyes to find Yuan Zhong, exhausted and careworn, sleeping beside her.
He seemed deeply tired, and even as she gently embraced him, he didn’t wake. He muttered softly in his sleep, words too faint to hear.
Tan Yin smiled faintly and held him closer.
Sleep, my beloved. When you wake, this world will no longer have pain or tears. They would always smile, surrounded by happiness, never to be parted again.
[The End]
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