Nan Shan looked at the now-darkened Dongyi.
After steadying herself, she poured all her spiritual power into her fingertips and tried to cut through the seemingly indestructible barrier.
Sensing the disturbance, the barrier trembled uneasily.
The black and red resentment rushed toward her with a roar.
Nan Shan remained calm, dodging the attacks while increasing the power at her fingertips.
Only when pain surged through her chest did she abruptly stop.
No good.
She couldn’t tear it apart.
Nan Shan exhaled softly, repaired the crack in her fake spiritual bone, and returned to the beach.
Sensing the threat had receded, the barrier’s resentment gradually dissipated, and Dongyi brightened again.
Exhausted, Nan Shan repaired the internal damage and lay down on the beach.
The sea breeze, waves, warm sun, and soft sand—even knowing it was all false—lulled Nan Shan to sleep.
When she woke again, sand clung all over her, and the dark blotch in the sky had grown.
Nan Shan sat up and brushed off the sand.
Suddenly, a coconut fell right where she had been lying.
Startled, she looked up at the tree and saw several more coconuts about to fall, making her uneasy.
Hmm… better not sleep under coconut trees again.
Getting hit would be no joke.
Relieved, she poked open the coconut and took a sip.
The warm, sweet coconut water slid down her throat, and she hummed happily.
Thanks to the coconut—even though her attempt to tear the barrier had failed—Nan Shan was in a good mood.
When she returned to the courtyard, she found Shou Xin watering vegetables and went over to help.
“Feeling better?”
Shou Xin asked.
Nan Shan: “Not really. Just figured something out.”
“Figured what out?”
Shou Xin was curious.
Nan Shan paused mid-pour, looked up, and smiled at him.
“Figured out that man proposes, but heaven disposes. Just because I failed today doesn’t mean I have to follow the path he set for me. Just wait—I’ll succeed one day.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t get it.”
Shou Xin was totally confused.
Nan Shan patted his head and sighed.
“Not the sharpest, are you? No wonder you don’t get it.”
Nan Shan really left, and when she returned to her room, she found a round, plump coconut beside her pillow, clearly full of juice.
Even though she’d declared she’d forge a new path, she still had no idea what that path was or how to take it.
She could only spend long stretches of time out at sea, trying to find a way to break the barrier.
The blood-red sun in the sky was the main power source for the barrier, feeding it resentment and strength.
Nan Shan had once tried to destroy the sun directly, but was met with a fierce backlash.
If she hadn’t fled quickly, she might have died then and there.
After yet another failed attempt, Nan Shan sat on the beach, frustrated.
She took three coconuts to represent the barrier, the blood sun, and Ji Yue.
“The barrier draws power from the blood sun, and the blood sun was born from Ji Yue’s fall.
So to destroy the barrier, I must first…” Nan Shan grabbed the coconut representing Ji Yue, hesitated, and then picked up the one for the blood sun.
“The blood sun only appeared after Ji Yue’s fall—it was born because of him. If I sever the connection between them…”
She fell into thought again.
After a long time thinking, she still got nowhere.
Meanwhile, the black blotches in the sky had already covered two-thirds of the blood sun.
Maybe because her focus was all on the barrier, Nan Shan felt the black spots were spreading faster than before.
The days seemed shorter—morning had only just come, and Dongyi was already in the afternoon.
She rubbed her temples and looked back at the coconuts.
A while later, Shou Xin came carrying three heavy coconuts, looking thrilled.
“These are really for me?”
“Mm, they’re for you,” Nan Shan said as she used spiritual power to drill a hole in one.
Afraid of spilling the juice, Shou Xin hurried to take a sip.
“Thanks! Didn’t expect you to think of me.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. If you like them, I’ll bring you more next time,” Nan Shan waved and headed back to her room.
Shou Xin didn’t stand on ceremony.
“Sure! Bring me an old coconut next time. I want to grind its meat into powder.”
“Alright.”
Nan Shan strolled into her room, but just as she closed the door to rest, she saw a small coconut on her table.
She paused, picked it up, and opened the door again.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
Shou Xin looked up.
Nan Shan weighed the coconut in her hand.
“Did you put this in my room?”
“Nope,” Shou Xin looked baffled.
“I’ve never been in your room.”
Nan Shan went silent for a moment, then asked, “Did Ji Yue come by?”
“No. I haven’t seen him,” Shou Xin answered firmly, then couldn’t help complaining, “I don’t even know what you two are up to. You’re always running off, and he hasn’t been to the courtyard in forever. I’m so bored on my own…”
Seeing the kid about to go on a rant, Nan Shan quickly shut the door.
Shou Xin’s annoyed yelling came faintly through the door, but Nan Shan didn’t hear a word of it.
She was silently staring at the small coconut in her hand.
Unlike the big clunky ones she’d given Shou Xin—full but low in juice—this one was small and delicate, its green outer skin already shaved off, leaving only a soft white shell.
Clearly hand-picked with care.
Shou Xin complained at her door for a while.
When he realized she was pretending not to hear, he stormed off grumbling.
As soon as he returned to his room, the neighboring door creaked open.
Nan Shan peeked out cautiously, and after confirming no one was around, darted off like a thief.
She once again stood at the back entrance of the shrine.
Just as her hand touched the door, she seemed to hear chaotic prayers buzzing like ants.
Instinctively, she tried to shut off her hearing, but as she raised her hand…
Ever since that day she witnessed the mountain of corpses and sea of blood in the divine temple, Nan Shan had been extremely reluctant to return.
She didn’t want to come today either, but at the thought of that little coconut, she couldn’t resist.
Inside the hall, the urgent voices of people praying filled every corner, dense and pressing, like something screaming right above her head.
She calmed her breathing and pushed open the back door with effort.
The heavy scent of incense immediately flooded her senses.
After spending several days and nights in Dongyi, Nan Shan had more or less figured out the rhythms of this place—such as how the prayers were at their quietest in the early morning and grew louder by dusk.
The incense followed the same pattern.
And now, the intensity of the incense was already comparable to that of previous evenings.
Frowning, Nan Shan cast an invisibility spell on herself and entered.
Once inside the divine temple, the difference became more apparent.
Especially when she saw the anxious expressions on the worshipers’ faces—expressions that only appeared during dusk—she felt something was wrong.
“O Immortal Lord, please, I beg you to look upon me. My husband has returned twice now with empty nets. If we can’t catch anything this time, our business will truly be ruined…”
Auntie Li was mingling in the crowd, bowing repeatedly before the deity’s statue, and eventually joined the long line waiting to offer incense.
Besides her, there were many familiar faces.
Each one was begging the gods for blessings.
A few, less patient, let their resentment slip into their words.
But whether resentful or pleading, once they reached the altar, all that remained was piety.
Nan Shan stood beside the altar, watching them take three sticks of incense from the table, light them, bow solemnly three times to the statue, and then insert the incense into the burner.
The incense sticks were packed tightly, new ones atop the old.
The crimson fire tips brushed skin, instantly leaving scorched, blackened burns.
Yet those burned did not flinch, inserting the incense with unwavering resolve.
Nan Shan watched them like this and suddenly recalled their cold, lifeless bodies.
She wanted to ask: if they knew their end, would they still be as devout as they were now?
But she asked nothing.
Instead, under the concealment of her invisibility, she quietly took three fresh incense sticks from a bucket beside the altar.
The eternal candles burned atop the altar.
All she had to do was step slightly forward and the incense in her hand would catch fire. Nan Shan gazed silently at the gold-robed deity’s statue for a long while.
Just as she raised her hand slightly to light the incense, a cold hand grasped her wrist.
She paused and looked up—only to see a pale face.
“Don’t…” Ji Yue stared at her, voice hoarse and cracked.
She had once asked him what it would take to make him drop his mask.
She hadn’t expected that moment to come so soon.
She didn’t miss the flash of fear in his eyes.
The line of worshipers still crept forward. With each offering of incense, the smoke thickened, veiling Nan Shan’s expression.
Ji Yue found he could barely make out her face.
“Why?”
Nan Shan’s voice was calm in the smoke.
Ji Yue instinctively tried to smile, but despite several efforts, his lips never curled upward.
The silence stretched.
Nan Shan continued holding the three incense sticks, showing no intention of putting them down.
Ji Yue hesitated, then quickly turned his face away.
“Whatever you want, I can give it to you. Just… don’t become like them.”
Don’t become like them.
Nan Shan silently repeated those five words in her heart.
Her gaze dropped to the knuckles of the hand gripping her wrist.
“Cold,” she said.
Ji Yue was startled and then realized she was referring to his hand.
He immediately wanted to apologize, but before he could utter a word, her lips pressed against his.
He hadn’t expected her to kiss him.
Stunned, he instinctively tried to step back—only to accidentally step on the hanging banner from the altar.
As he lost balance and fell, the offerings on the altar came tumbling down with a crash.
Seeing they were about to hit Nan Shan, Ji Yue instinctively reached out to shield her.
But Nan Shan didn’t give him the chance. As soon as his hand rose, she grabbed his wrist and pinned it above his head.
With her other hand, she yanked the altar cloth, using it to block the falling items, completely trapping Ji Yue in that small space.
Apples rolled neatly across the floor.
Other offerings tumbled down with them, crashing loudly within the temple.
The worshipers looked up in confusion, only to see the altar suddenly empty, while chaos reigned below.
They looked at each other in bafflement.
Finally, one worshiper, the closest to the altar, cautiously lifted the cloth.
Beneath it—nothing at all.
***
Back courtyard, main chamber.
Ji Yue was forced to retreat until his back hit the soft bedding, only then realizing his belt had somehow come undone, revealing his slim but not frail collarbones.
“Nan Shan… Nan Shan, calm down…”
She covered his mouth and, meeting his dazed eyes, suddenly asked with some curiosity:
“Immortal Lord Ji Yue, in all the futures you’ve seen—was there ever a scene like this one?”
Ji Yue was slightly taken aback.
Realizing her meaning, his exposed chest flushed a deep red.