Ji Yue’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he said, “Why did I…”
“Ah, you fainted,” Nan Shan explained, “Your little attendant said this was also your room, so you’d sleep here. Oh, and he also told us to make good use of the bed—no need to waste such a big one.”
She added the last sentence on purpose, because Ji Yue’s forced calm expression was just too amusing.
She was used to seeing the always serene, always tolerant, almost artificial Ji Yue.
It was the first time she saw such a vivid look on his face, and she couldn’t help but tease him.
Ji Yue was only flustered for a moment before regaining his composure.
“That Shou Xin, speaks without thinking.”
“I think he had a point,” Nan Shan replied, leaning closer to him on purpose.
“Even though you accepted my marriage bond with ulterior motives, no matter what your reason was, the result is that we do have a marriage contract.”
She looked around.
“And this just happens to be a beautifully prepared bridal chamber…”
“You’re getting better at using idioms. That’s good.”
“Are you pretending to stay calm, Immortal Lord?”
As Nan Shan got closer, Ji Yue’s throat moved again.
He raised his hand to her shoulder, intending to gently push her away.
Unfortunately, his touch was too gentle, and Nan Shan took the opportunity to grab his wrist and pin it back onto the pillow.
Their faces were suddenly inches apart, close enough to feel each other’s breath.
The always wise and gentle Immortal Lord Ji Yue now just looked dumbfounded.
His reaction was so funny that Nan Shan struggled to hold back her laughter and leaned in as if to kiss him.
Ji Yue snapped back to his senses, quickly grabbed her hand, and pushed her away.
Nan Shan hadn’t expected such a strong reaction.
She let out a surprised yelp and instinctively shut her eyes, thinking her head would hit the pillow hard—but the next moment, it fell into a warm palm.
She cautiously opened one eye—and found herself staring into Ji Yue’s deep, dark eyes.
His pupils were jet black, but a faint red light seemed to flicker within them.
Nan Shan froze, suddenly afraid to move.
“No more fooling around,” Ji Yue said coldly.
Nan Shan awkwardly nodded.
Only then did Ji Yue breathe a sigh of relief, release her, and get out of bed.
Nan Shan silently sat up, watching him straighten his robes and head toward the door.
She thought he wouldn’t speak to her again, but just as he reached the threshold, he turned back and asked, “Have you put the jade slips away?”
“I have,” she replied, sitting up straighter.
“Start cultivating after your meal,” Ji Yue said as he opened the door. In the dim light, his face looked frighteningly pale.
“I can’t help you with cultivation. You’ll have to rely on your own efforts.”
Nan Shan agreed softly.
Ji Yue saw her still staring at him with wide eyes.
He wanted to say something but swallowed it back, lowered his gaze, and left.
After he left, he didn’t appear again for several meals in a row.
Shou Xin sighed all day, constantly saying that it was his fault for upsetting the Immortal Lord—that’s why Ji Yue hadn’t come to the back courtyard in so long.
Every time Nan Shan heard this, she felt a guilty pang, not daring to mention that she had actually flirted with him.
With Ji Yue absent, Nan Shan buried herself in studying the jade slips filled with basic cultivation techniques.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find her own path.
Frustrated, she often wanted to ask Ji Yue why he believed someone like her—talentless and even missing a bone—could save the entire Dongyi Island.
But every time she thought of going to him, she’d recall his cold face warning her not to mess around anymore—and just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
And so, days passed, one meal at a time.
The blood-red sun in the sky was being devoured inch by inch by dark spots, and Dongyi Island slowly slipped into darkness.
When only a fingertip-sized sliver of the blood sun remained, Ji Yue finally appeared in the back courtyard again.
“…Are you really okay?”
Nan Shan asked hesitantly.
Ji Yue raised his eyes.
“What could be wrong?”
She silently stared at his sunken cheeks.
If this was “okay,” she really didn’t know what “unwell” would look like.
Her concern was written all over her face.
Ji Yue looked at her for a moment and gave a faint smile.
“I’m really fine. Just tired lately.”
As he spoke, the sounds of people praying in the front hall drifted intermittently into the back courtyard.
That noise had always been there, but lately, it had gotten louder, even sounding like arguments at times.
It had annoyed Nan Shan for days, but because she hated the heavy incense smell, she never went to investigate.
Now that Ji Yue was here, she asked, “There’s been a lot of people coming to pray, huh?”
“A lot,” Ji Yue said weakly, even his voice sounded drained.
“Why though?”
She pressed.
“Hm?”
Ji Yue looked up.
Nan Shan repeated herself, “Why are so many people coming to pray?”
Ji Yue seemed lost in thought—or maybe just distracted.
Seeing his dazed look, Nan Shan felt uneasy and was about to say he didn’t have to answer.
But then he said softly, “Probably because I’m too tired. The blessings I give aren’t enough, so they keep coming back.”
“You make it sound like not blessing them is some kind of crime,” Nan Shan said, speechless.
Ji Yue gave another faint smile.
He looked like he might break in the wind.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “How’s your cultivation going?”
“Still nothing,” she grumbled.
“Are you sure I can do this? I really don’t think I’m cut out for it.”
“You can,” Ji Yue replied.
“But I’ve been studying for so long and haven’t made any progress!”
“You will, eventually.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve seen it.”
Nan Shan blinked.
They locked eyes.
She suddenly realized that in his current dull and sluggish state, Ji Yue was not the best conversation partner.
Just then, Shou Xin wandered out yawning.
Lately, Nan Shan had been holed up in her room studying jade slips, so he didn’t bother coming out much either.
Other than preparing her meals, he mostly stayed in his room sleeping.
He had red marks on his face—clearly just woken up.
Seeing him reminded Ji Yue of his purpose in coming.
“Shou Xin.”
“Immortal Lord,” Shou Xin floated over like a ghost.
It had been a long time since they’d last met—long enough that Ji Yue never brought up Nan Shan’s teasing, and Shou Xin seemed to have forgotten his guilt over “upsetting the Immortal Lord.”
The three of them tacitly pretended nothing had ever happened.
“It’s almost dark,” Ji Yue said.
Shou Xin yawned, “Once you head to the front hall, I’ll go to sleep.”
“Remember to activate the barrier,” Ji Yue reminded him.
Shou Xin obediently agreed.
Both he and Ji Yue looked toward Nan Shan.
“You two don’t look very energetic,” Nan Shan said with a chuckle.
Shou Xin rubbed his eyes and said nothing, but Ji Yue gently replied, “After dark, close all doors and windows tightly. No matter what sounds you hear, do not come out.”
Nan Shan froze.
“Why?”
“Dongyi is now completely isolated,” Ji Yue explained.
“Even souls can’t reincarnate properly.”
Nan Shan frowned.
“And then?”
“Without bodies to anchor them, souls can only appear at night in the mortal world.”
She gaped.
Ji Yue added, “So tell me, after dark—how many ghosts do you think roam Dongyi?”
His cheeks were sunken to the bone, yet his eyes remained clear.
Nan Shan shivered under his gaze.
“I-I-I got it. I won’t go out.”
“You’d best stay with Shou Xin.”
“I will,” she quickly agreed.
Ji Yue saw that she was at least obedient and said no more.
He lowered his head and left, looking utterly exhausted.
A gust of wind blew, making his oversized robe flutter.
Nan Shan almost thought he would be blown away.
Shou Xin yawned again beside her.
Nan Shan turned away from watching Ji Yue and asked, “You’ve slept all day and you’re still tired?”
Shou Xin’s eyes teared up from exhaustion.
“It’s already dark. Of course I’m sleepy.”
Nan Shan glanced up silently and saw the last trace of sunlight being devoured by the blackness.
Shou Xin had already headed back inside. Nan Shan suddenly thought of something serious and hurried to catch up.
“Hey, when Ji Yue said don’t go out after dark—does that mean never?”
“Yes.”
“Then what if I get hungry?”
“Stay hungry.”
Nan Shan: “…”
“Or,” Shou Xin glanced up at her, carrying quite a bit of Ji Yue’s aloof attitude, “you can risk your life and go to the kitchen to get food.”
Nan Shan was speechless for a while, then rushed into the kitchen and grabbed everything edible, laying it all out piece by piece across Shou Xin’s entire room.
After finishing all that, the last ray of sunlight was swallowed.
Nan Shan glanced at the sky one last time while closing the window—
The blood sun had disappeared, leaving only a round red halo in the sky.
“It really is like a celestial dog eating the moon,” she muttered under her breath before shutting the window under Shou Xin’s disapproving gaze.
Once she confirmed that every window and door was tightly closed, Shou Xin pulled out a bell and shook it.
A crisp sound rang out, and the room was enveloped in an invisible barrier.
After setting everything up, Shou Xin collapsed into sleep.
Nan Shan quickly pulled him up and smacked him awake.
“What now?!”
Shou Xin grumbled, irritated and sleepy.
“…Don’t sleep yet, I’m a little scared,” Nan Shan said, trying to be charming.
Shou Xin paused for a moment, then reminded her, “Didn’t the Immortal Lord say… you used to live in the Underworld for a while?”
“Yes.”
“There, it’s all ghosts.”
“Of course not!”
Nan Shan jumped at the chance to share what she knew.
“The people in the Underworld are still people, just without mortal shells. The souls waiting for reincarnation are even less scary—they look like little fireflies, totally harmless!”
“Ghosts in Dongyi are harmless too,” Shou Xin mumbled, about to doze off again.
Nan Shan quickly grabbed him.
“If they’re harmless, then why won’t Ji Yue let us go outside?!”
“He lied to you. Go out if you want.”
Shou Xin shut his eyes, absolutely refusing to stay awake.
Nan Shan tried a few more times, but seeing his breathing steady into sleep, she gave up waking him.
“…Maybe I should light a candle for courage?”
She thought, but just as the idea struck, Shou Xin suddenly sat up, scaring her pale.
“What are you doing!”
She hissed.
Shou Xin looked at her.
“Just remembered to tell you—no matter what happens later, no matter what you hear, don’t go out.”
“Ji Yue already told me that,” Nan Shan said, speechless.
“And don’t light a lamp. Don’t make a sound. Best if everyone thinks this is an empty room.”
Nan Shan: “…”
No lights either?
Is there no justice in the world?
After giving his warning, Shou Xin flopped back onto the bed and fell asleep.
Nan Shan had no choice but to kick off her shoes and lie down beside him.
His room wasn’t as big as hers, but still spacious enough—though the bed was a bit small.