“Destiny is heaven’s secret. The more you read, the more it fades. If not for a slight change in your features, I wouldn’t have read you at all.”
“Really?”
Nan Shan touched the space between her brows.
“What changed? I didn’t notice anything.”
“You haven’t studied face reading, so naturally, you wouldn’t see it.”
“Then teach me!”
Nan Shan was genuinely curious.
But Ji Yue refused.
“No.”
“Stingy! Are you gonna die with all your secrets?”
She muttered.
Then she remembered something.
“You mentioned I have the ‘short heaven’ fate… I’m not gonna die tomorrow, am I?”
Ji Yue’s always calm gaze finally held a faint smile.
“No. But far ahead, I can’t say for sure.”
“So round and round, I still have a short life. I’m really unlucky,” she sighed. But before Ji Yue could comfort her, she perked up again.
“Well, it’s still better than dropping dead now. I don’t believe there’s no way to extend my life!”
Ji Yue smiled silently and looked toward the darkening sky outside.
“It’s getting late. Go back. Don’t cultivate tonight. After dawn, I’ll check your spirit bone again.”
“Alright,” Nan Shan agreed.
“What about you?”
Ji Yue looked at her.
“Where are you going?”
She asked again.
“I’m staying in the front hall.”
“Why?”
Nan Shan glanced down at the worshippers still kneeling.
Through the heavy smoke of incense, their forms were hard to see.
It seemed like more people had arrived.
The once-spacious shrine now felt about to burst.
“It’s already night. Shouldn’t they go home? What are you staying here for?”
Ji Yue didn’t answer, just repeated, “Go back now.”
Nan Shan had no choice but to agree.
She jumped down from the statue’s shoulder.
As she left alone, she couldn’t help but look back.
The swirling smoke seemed to distort everything.
The faces of the worshippers appeared grotesque and twisted.
Nan Shan blinked, then looked up at the man sitting on the statue’s shoulder.
His silhouette looked fragile, grim, almost ready to crumble.
Ji Yue noticed her gaze and gave her a gentle smile.
The strange feeling in her heart instantly eased.
She lowered her head and finally walked away.
The blood-red sun was soon covered by black blotches.
The ghosts once again roamed the night.
***
Nan Shan couldn’t sleep.
Lying next to Shou Xin, she tossed and turned, then simply sat up and started meditating.
From the next room came the familiar howls and wails of spirits. Nan Shan got distracted for a moment—pain spiked in her dantian.
She quickly refocused, ignoring the noises outside.
After cycling her energy three times, Nan Shan opened her eyes, refreshed—only to still see total darkness.
She froze.
“Why isn’t it light yet?”
She murmured.
“You’re awake?”
Came a rustling sound.
Shou Xin yawned.
“What do you want to eat? I’ll cook something.”
Nan Shan paused.
“Now?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Shou Xin replied.
Nan Shan frowned.
“But it’s still dark.”
As soon as she said that, the room fell eerily silent.
Cultivators were sensitive to their surroundings—she could clearly hear Shou Xin walk up and wave a hand in front of her eyes.
Nan Shan was speechless, just about to scold him when she heard him stumble out of the room, shouting as he ran:
“Oh no! Oh no! Nan Shan’s gone blind!”
Nan Shan: …
Silence.
The room was too silent.
It wasn’t until Ji Yue’s fingers lifted from her brow that Nan Shan finally shrank back under the covers.
She opened her eyes wide, going by feel alone—but still, everything was pitch black.
“Did you cultivate last night?”
Ji Yue asked.
Nan Shan replied timidly, “No… I just couldn’t sleep, so I meditated a little.”
“Did anything feel wrong?”
Nan Shan hugged her blanket tighter, her voice smaller.
“I—I got a bit distracted. My dantian hurt, but it stopped quickly.”
“That’s it, then,” Ji Yue said calmly.
“Your energy strayed and harmed your eyes. That’s why you’re blind.”
His voice was still gentle, but everyone could tell—he was angry.
“I told you not to cultivate.”
Nan Shan sniffled, too afraid to speak.
After a long silence, she couldn’t help but ask, “Are my eyes… beyond saving?”
Ji Yue said softly, “Likely.”
Nan Shan fell silent again.
Then she burst into tears.
“Waaah!”
Shou Xin, who had been frozen with shock, suddenly jumped up.
“Immortal Lord! You’re all-powerful! Please don’t be mad at her—just save her! Please!”
Nan Shan sobbed as she turned toward them.
Though she couldn’t see anything, her tear-filled eyes looked especially pitiful
Ji Yue glanced at her, finally let out a sigh, and said, “No need to treat it—it’ll heal on its own.”
“But you just said it couldn’t be cured!”
Nan Shan’s eyes widened.
Ji Yue replied, “Oh, I lied to you. So you’d learn your lesson.”
She suddenly realized that Ji Yue could be pretty awful sometimes—not gentlemanly at all.
Still, knowing her blindness was temporary made her feel a lot better.
Though everything being pitch black made daily tasks inconvenient, it wasn’t too unbearable since she had a little servant she could order around.
“Shou Xin! Shou Xin!”
She called loudly.
“What?!”
Shou Xin ran into the room, annoyed.
Nan Shan blinked her lifeless eyes and reached her hands forward to feel around.
“Take me to the courtyard. I want to get some sun.”
“It’s just a short walk from the room to the courtyard. Can’t you go yourself?”
Shou Xin frowned but still grabbed her hand.
Nan Shan carefully got out of bed following his lead, saying as they walked out, “Maybe just a short walk for you, but not for me. Did you forget how I tripped the last time I went out alone?”
“That was because you were clumsy. If you had even a bit more awareness, you wouldn’t have fallen.”
Shou Xin snorted.
Nan Shan, being quite tactful, didn’t argue this time.
After he helped her sit on a rocking chair, she retorted, “No wonder people say there’s no filial child at a sickbed. I’ve only been blind for a little while and you’re already so rude. If I were blind forever, would you throw me out?”
“Honestly, if the Immortal Lord hadn’t forbidden it, I would’ve kicked you out the moment I saw you.”
Shou Xin placed a cup of tea on the small table beside her, fetched some snacks, and then carefully guided her hand over each item’s location.
“Eat something first. I’ll go cook.”
“Okay!”
Nan Shan nodded obediently.
Shou Xin saw her quietly sitting there and finally turned to head to the kitchen.
After just a few steps, he reminded her sharply, “Don’t call me unless it’s important!”
Nan Shan, who was just about to call him again:
“…Got it.”
Knowing that even a little servant might bite if pushed too far, Nan Shan didn’t provoke him further.
She lay back on the rocking chair, swaying gently as she waited for food, and reached toward the small table to feel for the dried red dates.
These red dates were sun-dried by Shou Xin himself—sweet and chewy.
Nan Shan loved them. Normally, Shou Xin was too stingy to share, but since she went blind, he had become a little more generous.
She ate one date after another, and soon the plate was empty.
She reached out again, trying to grab the teacup—but her fingers unexpectedly caught something cold.
She paused, then asked tentatively, “Ji Yue?”
The familiar voice answered. Nan Shan let out a small breath of relief and smiled brightly in his direction.
“It’s you.”
Ji Yue looked at her sightless eyes and softly responded.
Just as he was about to pull his hand back, Nan Shan gripped it tighter.
“Don’t move,” she said.
And so, Ji Yue didn’t move.
Without her sight, Nan Shan’s other senses had grown sharper.
She carefully traced the bones of his hand, inch by inch, from his fingers to the back of his hand.
At first, it was icy cold, but then gradually grew warm—skin over raised veins and muscles.
Ji Yue looked down at her concentrated expression.
The background murmur of prayers and pleas from the temple faded.
Even the sound of the wind disappeared.
All he could hear was the faint sound of her fingertips brushing across his skin.
He hesitated, unsure if such a faint sound could even be real.
Nan Shan’s hand continued upward. When she touched his sleeve, her movements became bolder.
Ji Yue instinctively wanted to step back, but before he could, Nan Shan sensed it.
“Don’t move,” she said again.
Ji Yue stayed still once more.
Her hand moved higher.
Just before touching his cheek, Ji Yue bent down slightly to help her reach.
She gently brushed his face and asked with a smile, “You’re back to normal again?”
Ji Yue’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly before he slowly replied, “Why do you say that?”
“I can feel it. You don’t feel as gaunt as before,” she said, her hand resting on his brow.
Ah, so that’s it.
Ji Yue smiled faintly, then remembered she couldn’t see him.
So instead, he spoke warmly: “Yes, I’m back to normal.”
“You’re really strange. At night you look sick and exhausted, like you’ve had a serious illness, but come morning you’re completely fine again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were out all night sucking people’s life essence or something.”
Confirming her guess, she beamed.
“And to think I figured it out just by touch—pretty impressive, huh?”
Ji Yue let out a quiet laugh. Nan Shan instinctively touched her own ear.
The courtyard suddenly fell silent.
Nan Shan blinked slowly.
Even though she couldn’t see, she could feel Ji Yue’s gaze on her—tangible, like the breeze, like the gentle prayers drifting from the front hall. It traced her brows, then settled on her lips.
Her mouth went dry, and her heart began to race.
“Time to eat!”
Shou Xin suddenly shouted from afar.
Startled, Nan Shan answered in a hurry and, forgetting she was blind, immediately started to walk.
She’d barely taken two steps when someone grabbed her arm.
“Slow down,” he said, placing her hand on his forearm.
Nan Shan really did slow down.
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