“Where’s the source?”
Nan Shan asked immediately.
Ji Yue was silent for a moment and had just opened his mouth to reply when Shou Xin suddenly burst in from outside.
“Nan Shan! The radishes we planted sprouted!”
“Really?!”
Nan Shan lit up with delight and immediately ran out.
Ji Yue stood silently in the room, watching the joyful pair in the courtyard for a long moment before finally turning his face away.
After finishing up in the field, Nan Shan remembered she had been mid-conversation with Ji Yue, but when she looked back, he was already gone.
“What are you looking at?”
Shou Xin asked.
“Ji Yue… I think he’s gone,” Nan Shan replied.
“You think everyone is as idle as you? He’s a Celestial Lord—he’s got a lot to do,” Shou Xin muttered.
Nan Shan suddenly recalled the murmured prayers like an anthill and shivered.
“But he’s injured now. He needs to rest. Can’t they stop with the blessings for a bit?”
“Injured?” Shou Xin looked shocked. “The Celestial Lord is hurt? How? Is it serious?”
Nan Shan: “…”
Totally forgot to tell him.
Afraid he’d scold her, Nan Shan didn’t dare tell him the real reason Ji Yue was injured, just brushed it off by saying it wasn’t serious.
Even so, Shou Xin was visibly worried.
If not for his condition that prevented him from seeing outsiders, he probably would’ve rushed to the front hall to check on Ji Yue right away.
Nan Shan had to repeatedly reassure him and promise she would go take care of Ji Yue in his stead.
Only then did Shou Xin feel slightly better.
“The Celestial Lord treats you so well. You have to take good care of him right now,” Shou Xin urged.
Nan Shan agreed, practically swearing to the heavens.
Shou Xin sighed.
“Alright, alright, stop worrying already,” Nan Shan said to change the subject.
“Oh, right! I found something of yours in the room.”
“What?”
Shou Xin wasn’t very interested.
Nan Shan ran back inside and brought out the little grasshopper.
“Look!”
Shou Xin glanced at it and quickly looked away.
“That’s not mine.”
“Come on, it obviously is,” Nan Shan argued.
“It really isn’t! Look how dried up the leaf is… Wait a second!”
Shou Xin suddenly reached into his robe and pulled out a large bell, waving it over the grasshopper. When a faint red light shimmered over the grasshopper, he looked surprised.
“I knew it felt familiar—look, it has the same source energy as my bell!”
“Really?”
Nan Shan looked down at the straw-woven grasshopper in her hand. Its bulging eyes were actually quite charming.
“Did Ji Yue borrow your bell?”
She asked.
Shou Xin looked confused.
“No? Why would the Celestial Lord borrow my bell?”
Nan Shan didn’t ask further.
Since she’d promised Shou Xin to take better care of Ji Yue, Nan Shan started going to the front hall more often.
This time she was smarter—she cast an invisibility charm on herself before entering, making sure the worshippers couldn’t see her.
Ji Yue’s wound was healing very slowly—nothing like what he’d claimed about it recovering within half a day.
Nan Shan looked into it and suspected it was because he hadn’t been resting properly, which was why the wound wasn’t healing well.
“It’ll heal eventually. Don’t worry too much,” Ji Yue said gently.
Nan Shan pursed her lips and asked, “Can’t you just take a break for a while?”
They were both sitting on the shoulder of the statue, with a dense sea of worshippers like an anthill below them.
Facing her question, Ji Yue gave a soft, clear smile.
“As the god of Dongyi, I live by the prayers of the people. I cannot slack off for even a single day.”
“…Being a god is really exhausting. You’d be better off as a mortal,” Nan Shan muttered.
Ji Yue smiled again and raised his hand to bestow another blessing on someone offering incense.
Nan Shan had nothing to say.
Watching his practiced movements, she suddenly asked, “So if no one comes to pray, would you be able to rest then?”
“If that were truly the case, then yes, I could rest well. Unfortunately…”
Ji Yue lowered his eyes to gaze at the people, his expression filled with compassion.
“With their wishes unfulfilled, how could they ever stop?”
Nan Shan rested her chin in her hand, deep in thought.
The bloody sun still hung high in the sky, with two-thirds of it covered by dark spots.
The remaining light cast a gloomy, rainy-like shadow over all of Dongyi Island.
After returning from the front hall, Nan Shan didn’t go straight back to her room.
Instead, she found Shou Xin and asked him for a favor.
“Why are you trying to lure the Celestial Lord away from the temple? Are you planning something shady?”
Shou Xin eyed her suspiciously.
Nan Shan crossed her arms.
“Do you want Ji Yue’s wound to heal faster or not?”
“Of course I do!”
Shou Xin said immediately.
“Then do as I say.”
Although Shou Xin was still hesitant, seeing how certain she looked, he reluctantly agreed and pretended to be sick, hiding in his room.
Sure enough, Ji Yue arrived promptly.
“Why are you suddenly sick? Did you sneak out to meet an outsider again?”
“I didn’t!”
Shou Xin answered loudly, then weakened and added, “I don’t know what happened… suddenly my stomach started hurting—a lot.”
Ji Yue gazed at him calmly and said nothing for a moment.
Shou Xin, feeling guilty under his gaze, buried his face into the blanket, leaving only his eyes exposed.
He had learned this trick from Nan Shan—it really worked.
Hiding like this made him feel a lot better.
“Shou Xin.”
Unfortunately, the moment Ji Yue called his name, all his efforts were in vain.
“Alright, fine, I admit it. I’m not actually sick. Nan Shan asked me to stall you.”
Shou Xin sighed.
Ji Yue looked confused. “So why did she want you to stall me?”
BOOM
A loud explosion interrupted Shou Xin’s explanation.
Both of them were startled. When they rushed outside, they found Nan Shan returning, covered in dust and dirt.
“What the…?”
Shou Xin stared at her dirty face, dumbfounded for a long while before finally squeezing out a sentence.
“Where did you go?”
“I blew up the temple,” Nan Shan said brightly.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t blow up the statue, and no one got hurt. I just destroyed the place where people kneel to pray, then told them it was an earthquake.”
After saying this, she looked happily at Ji Yue.
“Now, until it’s fixed, no one can come pray. You can finally rest.”
Silence. The atmosphere was far too quiet.
Nan Shan sensed something was wrong. Her voice shrank as she continued, “Is… is there a problem? I was careful. I only destroyed the floor. It can be fixed anytime with spiritual power.”
Finally, Shou Xin spoke.
“You asked me to stall the Immortal Lord just so you could do something this stupid?”
“What do you mean stupid? I just wanted Ji Yue to get more rest.”
Nan Shan retorted, chin raised.
Shou Xin rolled his eyes at her.
“Did you even consider that even if they don’t go to the temple, they can still pray at home? Then the Immortal Lord will have to go door to door granting blessings—that’s even more exhausting than staying at the temple.”
Nan Shan: “…So boring. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have helped you,”
Shou Xin sighed like a jaded old man, apologized to Ji Yue, and headed toward the kitchen, reminding Nan Shan to restore the temple soon.
Nan Shan stood in silence for a long time.
When she met Ji Yue’s smiling eyes, she couldn’t help but ask, “Was what he said true?”
Ji Yue smiled gently, like spring rain.
He didn’t answer, but the truth was clear.
Nan Shan trudged back toward the temple, dejected.
When she saw the mess she had made, she started forming a hand seal to restore it.
“I’ll do it,” came Ji Yue’s voice—he had appeared silently behind her.
Nan Shan pouted.
“I made this mess. I’ll clean it up myself.”
Hearing this, Ji Yue didn’t interfere.
Nan Shan sighed and began forming hand seals with both hands, a bit clumsily.
The shattered stone slabs in the hall slowly rose and pieced themselves back together, returning to their original places.
This restoration spell didn’t require much spiritual power, but it was mentally exhausting.
By the time the final stone settled into place, Nan Shan’s arms ached terribly.
She let out a silent breath of relief.
Just as she looked up to smile at Ji Yue, she saw him staring off into the distance.
She paused and asked softly, “Are you disappointed?”
Ji Yue returned to himself and gave her a gentle smile.
“Not really. It’s just… seeing you busy with all this, I suddenly wondered what it would feel like not to hear prayers anymore.”
“Weren’t you just an ordinary person when you were little?”
Nan Shan asked, confused.
Ji Yue looked up at his own statue, lost in memory.
After a long time, he said quietly, “That was a long time ago. I’ve long since forgotten.”
Nan Shan’s fingers twitched unconsciously.
Ji Yue seemed to realize he had said too much.
He gave an apologetic smile and was about to leave when Nan Shan suddenly reached out and covered his ears.
Since that day on the beach, a faint awkwardness had lingered between them.
They usually kept their distance. But now, her sudden action left Ji Yue frozen in place.
“How about now?”
Nan Shan moved her lips, her voice muffled by the barrier.
“Can you still hear anything?”
Ji Yue stared blankly at her.
He felt as though he had replied, and yet said nothing.
Nan Shan had acted on impulse, but now that she was facing his clear, quiet eyes, all the noise in the world seemed to vanish, leaving only her own heartbeat.
In their silent gaze, Nan Shan slightly parted her lips, trying to maintain steady breathing.
Ji Yue’s gaze fell on her mouth.
He knew he shouldn’t stare—but he couldn’t look away.
After an unknown length of time, Nan Shan suddenly rose on her tiptoes and leaned in.
Ji Yue stiffened, instinctively trying to turn away like the first time.
But her hands, still covering his ears, gently cupped his face and firmly turned him back.
Nan Shan smiled—and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Immortal Lord Ji Yue,” she said proudly as she pulled away and stepped back, “you like me.”