Chapter 22: The Saintess

The place where Chuci and Kunlun stopped was a remote border region in the southwest, called Lanzhou. Lanzhou City was neither large nor small. It was indeed one of the crucial border fortresses, but its wealth far surpassed others. Despite the border standoff, the merchants of Lanzhou City still traveled north and south, facilitating communication between Da Liang and other nations.

The current dynasty was called Da Liang. The emperor’s surname was Li, his given name Hao. Having reigned for over thirty years, he possessed the desire to govern but was poor at employing talent. He’d been muddled and unprincipled for ten to twenty years, with treacherous sycophants running rampant in court. Now, the older he grew, the more absurd he became, particularly doting on a Saintess called Lian.

Even Lanzhou City, far from the imperial capital, had a statue of the Saintess. Strangely, the common folk were exceedingly reverent, going to the Saintess Temple in the east of the city to offer sacrifices every new moon and full moon, praying for peace in their nation and homes, and for prosperity of their descendants.

The first moment Chuci laid eyes on the statue, she pronounced four words: “She is not human.”

Kunlun asked why.

Chuci said, “Her brows are long and narrow, almost demonic. Her bearing is upright like a lotus, towering and bearing a faint, awe-inspiring Sword Qi. Humans don’t look like this.”

“Is she a demon?”

“Not quite like one either. Most likely a Loose Immortal who has attained the Dao, a Sword Cultivator.” Chuci cupped her chin and scrutinized it for a moment. “It’s just, her appearance is too sharp. Mm, she looks somewhat familiar to me.”

“Aren’t immortals forbidden from interfering in mortal affairs? With such folk worship here, by right, Heaven should send down the Nine Heavenly Tribulations to smite her.”

Chuci answered without thinking: “That’s inaccurate. The matters of the Heavenly Court are still unclear, let alone things in the Mortal Realm. Demons, Ghosts, Devils, and even Immortals may seem detached from the world, but examples of them secretly colluding with mortals are countless. Fame, fortune, and rank, or sometimes just for their own comfort—one identity is far from enough for them. If I’m not mistaken, Da Liang has a Sword Cultivator; other nations will have Demon Cultivators, Ghost Cultivators, Devil Cultivators. Some imperial clans are themselves Demon Cultivators. If the Heavenly Court smote each one individually, the Thunder God and Lightning Mother’s hands would be crippled before they were even halfway done. As long as they don’t rebel against Heaven or cause major incidents, no one cares about these ants. Where there are people—no, no, including other beings—anything with a heart will always struggle against each other.”

Chuci looked up at the Saintess statue, her expression darkening. It seemed she gave a cold laugh, then added in a flat tone: “The human heart, well, it’s always far more unfathomable than you imagine.”

Kunlun stared at her, stunned.

She took Kunlun’s hand, her voice softening: “As for you, just stay nicely by my side. No need to bother with those bad things.”

Kunlun nodded gently.

Chuci led her out of the Saintess Temple, the gloom between her brows sweeping away. Suddenly, her mood lifted, and she asked with great interest: “Kunlun, Kunlun, when was the last time I brought you out?”

She was like a completely different person from a moment ago.

“About sixty thousand years ago, I suppose.”

“That long? Just as well, I have no impression of it. Let’s go find some more novel things to play with.”

“I heard there are river lanterns set out at night. We could buy some first.”

“Alright.”

Kunlun’s free hand, hanging by her side, clenched and unclenched. It was sticky—an entire palm full of sweat.

Flowers bloom on two branches, each telling a different tale.

Jiang Yang, following her own estimation, concluded that the King definitely wouldn’t be in the capital. So, she coaxed the Heavenly Emperor to head directly for the mortal world’s imperial city. Jiang Yang had indeed predicted correctly—those two were a thousand miles from the imperial city, making a run-in with the Heavenly Emperor practically impossible.

“Ah Yang, the Mortal Realm is truly prosperous,” the Heavenly Emperor—no, Feng Jun—mused. “It’s just that I feel people are looking at me a little strangely.”

The Heavenly Emperor’s original name was Jun, his mother’s surname Feng. Since descending to the mortal world, he had styled himself Feng Jun.

Jiang Yang glanced down at the dragon on his boot and his sleeve that could blind anyone who looked at it, and said, “A’Jun, you naturally have the appearance of a celestial being. These mortals have probably never seen one, so they make a fuss out of nothing.”

A few rows of goosebumps shot up Feng Jun’s back. He hurriedly quickened his pace.

“Good sir, please have mercy.”

“Grand Lord, just spare us a bite to eat, we haven’t eaten in three days.”

“My child is still sick in a run-down temple.”

Whether Feng Jun was born with a face that screamed “easy mark,” or whatever it was, the moment he turned at a street corner, a gaggle of beggars swarmed him. They yelled a jumbled mess Feng Jun didn’t have time to understand. His robe was torn along a seam, and two dirty little beggars clung to each of his feet before he belatedly realized what these people wanted.

“Alright, alright,” he raised one hand high. A gentle yellow barrier pulsed from within him, lightly scattering the small beggars clinging to his body. “One at a time.”

Then he untied the large money pouch at his waist—likely prepared for him by the Curtain-Raising General, Jiang Yang guessed, embroidered with two dragons playing with a pearl, truly a clueless oaf. Including that whole outfit, Jiang Yang now felt certain it was also arranged by that fool, The Curtain-Raising General.

The largest restaurant in the capital was called the Immortal-Gazing Tower, nine stories high, intricately interconnected, elaborately ornamented. Not far from here, Jiang Yang kept an eye on Feng Jun while straining her ears. She could almost hear the strains of music and zither.

The top floor of the Immortal-Gazing Tower was an open-air pavilion, built especially for the Saintess.

Crimson gauze canopies, layer upon layer, fluttered. Only when the wind rose could one glimpse a figure in red reclining on a daybed, indistinct and shadowy.

Nine beauties in white gauze skirts, their long hair adorned with pearls, danced gracefully amidst the canopies. A soft, lazy voice from within pronounced a single “Good.” A pale hand lifted a wine cup and drained it in one gulp.

The attendant nodded to the dancers. One by one, the beauties parted the canopies, their lotus steps light, and assembled before the figure.

Da Liang’s customs were open to begin with, and with the emperor and his ministers leading the way in debauchery and recklessness, what did it matter if the Saintess, riding high on imperial favor, openly declared a fondness for women? Not only did no official at court object, some even secretly sent beauties to the Saintess Palace. Lian accepted none—not because of any virtue, but because they didn’t meet her standards.

Thus came about this absurd spectacle of selecting beauties at the Immortal-Gazing Tower. Ministers or wealthy merchants offered up beauties. Only after dancing at the Immortal-Gazing Tower and earning a “good” from the Saintess could they enter and be chosen by her.

These beauties, some pure, some seductive, covered practically the entire spectrum. Each was immensely confident, unwilling to yield to anyone else during the dance. Yet, all bore a mission. Heads bowed, they stood before the Saintess, superficially agreeable but inwardly at odds.

Saintess: “Raise your heads.”

The beauties complied and looked up. Yet, upon seeing the appearance of the person before them, they immediately dropped their heads again in shame.

In this world, there were beauties, and then there was another kind of person called celestial beings. The Saintess was undoubtedly such a person. Slender feet, wasp waist, bright eyes that sparkled. Her eyebrows were extremely long, as if slanted into her temples, adding a lingering allure that ordinary women lacked. Her eyes were long but not narrow, the corners of her eyes wide. When looking at someone, they were always slightly upturned, carrying endless gentleness and seductive charm.

Clad in fluttering red, she stepped barefoot on a white fox fur rug. A bewitching blood-red lotus was tattooed around her ankle. Yet, her entire being exuded an upright righteousness. It was truly a contradiction.

No one in Da Liang had never seen a statue of the Saintess, but upon meeting the real person, everyone reached the same conclusion as Chuci: She was not human.

No mortal could look like her.

The Saintess lazily yawned and said to the attendant: “If those below continue sending goods of this caliber, there’s no need to come anymore.”

“Oh? It seems some remarkable figures have arrived in the capital. Let me take a look.” She knitted her brows, and an opening appeared in the center of her forehead, revealing a Heavenly Eye. A moment later, a meaningful smile curved at the corner of her lips, making her aura—balanced between righteous and demonic—even more pronounced. “It’s Jiang Yang.”

This time, there might be some fun.

But why is she with the Heavenly Emperor?