Chapter 37: Chang’an

Not every Ghost General of Yedu was a monster or demon by nature. In truth, each had their own unique past and experiences.

Someone like Qingzhi could barely be considered a spirit nurtured by heaven and earth.

In terms of age, she was far older than Shang Si. But if judged solely by cultivation, she fell short—for the Shang family line in Yedu was a million-year inheritance, uniquely favored by the Heavenly Dao.

A Fire Phoenix bearing ancient phoenix blood and a spirit tree that had gained sentience by gathering the qi of heaven and earth were, in a certain sense, an exceedingly compatible pair.

“No wonder I felt such an instant kinship with Sister Qingzhi,” Lu Shiyuan said. After Shang Si’s brief explanation, she understood at once and couldn’t help stealing several more glances at the woman across from her.

Firelight played across their faces, illuminating a range of emotions.

A spirit tree born of heaven and earth naturally exuded an aura of affinity, drawing people inexorably closer.

Lu Shiyuan felt it keenly, and Qin Xinying was no different.

At Qin Xinying’s age—from the moment of her birth until now—only a few hundred years had passed. With Qingzhi’s profound cultivation and the inexplicable pull her true form exerted on phoenix demons, it was no surprise that fate had tangled the two of them together.

On the surface, she seemed utterly detached from the mortal world. Yet privately, she shared this messy, inseparable history with Qin Xinying, Young Clan Leader of the Fire Phoenix Clan.

In the latter half of the night, the campfire burned to ash. Lu Shiyuan sat with her knees drawn up to one side, her thoughts drifting unbidden to the events of her own life.

Everyone had a clear and defined past. But what of hers?

What was it, exactly?

The fog cloaking her heart had not lifted during this journey to the Demon Realm. If anything, it had deepened.

Lu Shiyuan had no idea when she drifted off into a hazy sleep. She only knew that, burdened by these questions, she dreamed once more of fragmented scenes.

It was the Cold Mountain Courtyard again.

Likely because she had recently learned from Shang Si that A Jin was that seven-colored little bird, this time Lu Shiyuan saw their daily interactions with perfect clarity.

Though it was merely a bird that had awakened to sentience—unable to take human form or speak—it was Shang Si’s closest companion. At midnight, it would flutter in through the window and nestle against her to sleep. Come morning, it would shake out its gorgeous feathers, perch on the windowsill, and chirp until she woke. Day in, day out, night after night.

Most of the time, Shang Si’s shoulder belonged to A Jin. In closeness, not even Pu Yin could rival this little bird.

And yet, everything that had transpired in the Cold Mountain Courtyard back then was known only to Shang Si and Pu Yin—no third party. The world knew her as people like Hua Qiu did: Pu Yin alone, with no knowledge of A Jin.

But that lively, beautiful little bird had vanished alongside Pu Yin, as if it had never existed at all. No trace remained, despite Shang Si’s secret searches across the Three Realms in the years that followed.

Dawn broke the next day, and Lu Shiyuan pulled herself from those disjointed dreams. She pressed on as if nothing had happened.

Day after day, new fragments came to her each night—until, half a month later, the three of them finally reached the Capital Imperial City.

Naturally, Lu Shiyuan said not a word about it to Shang Si.

She was convinced that nothing happened without reason. These recurring dreams had to be connected to the secrets buried within her.

They found lodging at an unremarkable inn in the city and sent word to Yun Qu. At Lu Shiyuan’s urging, Shang Si reluctantly shed her eye-catching red dress for something plain and subdued.

Even so, her striking features remained impossible to ignore.

“Should we change our faces too?” Lu Shiyuan looked her over from every angle. She felt her efforts to tone down Shang Si’s outfit were as futile as plugging her ears while stealing a bell. Out on the streets, they’d draw eyes regardless.

One beauty was noticeable enough. Two together? Unavoidable.

Shang Si, however, refused to yield.

“No,” she said, wrinkling her nose and shooting Lu Shiyuan a petulant glance. “I’m not changing, and neither are you.”

Altering their appearances was child’s play for them—a basic spell. Uglying themselves up would dial down the attention, true. But it felt pointless to Shang Si, and she disliked it.

The two were still bickering when Qingzhi spoke up from the side.

“I’ll wander around the city and likely return in the small hours. If anything comes up, just send a transmission.”

After half a month of travel, Qingzhi had grown accustomed to their dynamic. She breezed past their affectionate sparring with a casual heads-up.

They hadn’t yet rendezvoused with Yun Qu, but Qingzhi hadn’t forgotten the reason for their visit. The Soul-Inspecting Device had indeed detected unusual activity within the city walls. Yet after half a day here, all they had witnessed was the superficial bustle and prosperity—no other irregularities, not even a whisper of ghostly resentment.

Qingzhi thus resolved to conduct a discreet investigation after nightfall, just to be sure.

In the meantime, Shang Si and Lu Shiyuan found themselves at loose ends, with no immediate outlet for their talents.

“Qingzhi’s gone—what about us?” Once the others had departed, Lu Shiyuan waited a moment, but seeing no sign that Shang Si intended to speak, she broached the subject herself. “Didn’t you mention earlier that you haven’t visited the Mortal Realm in ages? Why don’t I keep you company for a stroll around town?”

Chang’an’s prosperity was legendary, long renowned throughout the land. From what Lu Shiyuan recalled, the current emperor had ascended the throne only recently, and the sweeping reforms he’d enacted since had propelled his popularity among the common folk to unprecedented heights in a remarkably short time.

Yedu, however, had little contact with the Human Realm, and Shang Si rarely paid much mind to mortal affairs.

“Very well,” Shang Si agreed without hesitation. The words lingered on her tongue for a moment before she added a stipulation. “But on one condition: I’m not changing my appearance.” She was still irked by Lu Shiyuan’s earlier proposal.

Setting aside everything else, Shang Si had been exceedingly pleased with her own face for thousands of years.

Unable to sway her, Lu Shiyuan relented.

Shang Si had visited the city in the past, but the Mortal Realm was ever-changing—dynasties rose and fell like the tides, and today’s Chang’an bore little resemblance to the one she remembered.

Even as they had passed through the long streets to the inn during the day, she had spotted a fair-haired, blue-eyed foreigner from the western lands. The present dynasty appeared to be the mightiest in a millennium; the emperor might be young, but his grip on power was unyieldingly firm.

The two women set out at dusk, just as the sun dipped below the western horizon, its dying light casting a warm glow over rooftops and tiles.

By chance, they arrived at the height of the city’s revelry.

In ancient times, noble weddings were customarily held at twilight. Tonight marked the marriage of the Heir of Prince Pingnan, and nearly every official and aristocrat in the city was converging on Prince Pingnan’s Mansion in the West Ward to offer their felicitations. The wedding procession snaking down the long street was a spectacle of grandeur, radiating the unmistakable pomp of imperial blood.

After a brief discussion, Shang Si and Lu Shiyuan decided to join the merriment.

The matter of invitations, however…

“Emissary from Prince Jin’s Mansion. The betrothal gift was delivered in advance.” Before the gate attendant, Lu Shiyuan somehow produced a lavish invitation embossed in gold on red paper. With their striking beauty and refined poise, the pair looked every inch the daughters of illustrious houses—wealthy and noble.

The attendant waved them through without a second glance.

Shang Si had remained silent throughout the exchange.

It was only after they had slipped smoothly inside the mansion and melted into the throng of guests that she voiced her bewilderment. “I assumed the Heir of Prince Pingnan’s wedding would welcome one and all, no questions asked about station.” She hadn’t anticipated the need for verified invitations.

When she and Lu Shiyuan had wed, all of Yedu had rejoiced as one. Demons, ghosts, and spirits of every stripe were free to partake in the wedding wine, unburdened by such mortal formalities.

Yedu and the Demon Realm were far more relaxed in such matters. The great cultivation sects of the Human Realm, by contrast, aped the imperial court’s customs—despatching invitations for every occasion, great or small. It was hardly surprising; they shared the same origins, after all.

“What on earth are you thinking?” Lu Shiyuan rolled her eyes at Shang Si’s remark, her tone laced with exasperation as she explained. “In the Mortal Realm, nothing is prized higher than pedigree and birthright. Without a proper invitation like that, you wouldn’t even merit standing outside the gates for a moment longer than necessary.”

No one cared a whit if you were the lofty Ye Lord. Once in the Mortal Realm, one followed its rules.

Whether in her previous life before transmigrating or in this one afterward, Lu Shiyuan had always understood that social class was an immutable cornerstone of mortal society, enduring across millennia.

Her words had scarcely faded when a raucous cheer erupted from the grand hall ahead, where the guests were being received.

Intrigued, Shang Si edged forward through the crowd.

Squeezing past the press of bodies, they beheld the Heir of Prince Pingnan—elegantly handsome in his wedding finery—and the two brides flanking him on either side.

The sight gave Shang Si immediate pause. “I thought this was the Heir taking a wife. Why are there two brides?” The notion struck her as utterly preposterous. She studied the three beaming figures in the hall, her fine brows knitting into a frown.

“Most likely one principal consort and one secondary one,” Lu Shiyuan replied after a moment’s reflection. “They perform the rites together, but their statuses differ sharply thereafter. A secondary consort might bear the title, but in truth, she’s little more than a concubine.”

Marrying two women at once was hardly unheard of among the realm’s elite.

In ancient times, men held women in low regard, and it was commonplace for them to take three wives and four concubines. Though Lu Shiyuan did not approve of this custom, she could do nothing to change it.

“Truly ridiculous,” Shang Si said after hearing it all. Her brows smoothed out, yet a thin layer of frost settled over her features.

Four simple words, dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

Their conversation had not been loud, but the hall was filled with guests observing the ceremony. With so many ears about, no small number of people overheard. Strange glances turned their way, followed swiftly by hushed murmurs.

Some speculated about whose daughters they might be; others offered snide remarks.

They had come only to join the festivities, to bask in the newlyweds’ joy and witness mortal couples uniting in matrimony. Instead, they had stumbled upon this scene, which soured Shang Si’s good mood. Now, with the surrounding mortals whispering, the impatience she had kept buried in her heart finally surfaced.

Thus, she took Lu Shiyuan by the hand, flicked her sleeve lightly—and in the next instant, they vanished before the eyes of everyone in the front hall, eliciting a chorus of astonished cries.

They had not gone far, merely to a secluded corner of the mansion’s rear garden.

But before they could steady themselves, a clear and gentle male voice sounded from ahead, accompanied by the snap of a paper fan. “You two ladies aren’t from Prince Jin’s Mansion, are you?”

“What business do you have here, impersonating members of Prince Jin’s household?”