Volume One Hidden in the Azure Abyss Chapter Twenty-One

When thick, heavy chains wound around Jinli, her eyes dulled as she gazed at the oppressive sky overhead. She murmured softly, “Geng Yuan, I truly owe you a debt.”

In the Thunder God’s eyes flickered a flash of pain. “Jinli, you never should have touched those threads of emotion from the start.”

Jinli laughed, but it was a bitter, forced laugh. Shutting her eyes, she said, “Enough, let’s get on with it.”

She almost hoped that the world-shattering divine lightning of heavenly punishment might sever that ill-fated thread of feeling within her.

A bolt of lightning crashed down from the heavens, striking from her crown to the very depths of her spirit.

Nine times the lightning struck, but Jinli did not utter a single cry of pain. She gritted her teeth, her face pale as death.

Sweat drenched her loose hair, plastering it to her face. When the ninth bolt had passed and the chains dissolved, Jinli could hold herself up no longer; she collapsed to her knees, blood flooding from her lips.

For a moment, she nearly lost consciousness. She lay sprawled on the ground in utter disarray, unable and unwilling to move. If she could, she would have chosen to sleep then and there, never to wake again.

The Thunder God and the Fate Keeper rushed forward to help her up, but Jinli waved them away. Wiping the blood from her lips and chin with her sleeve, she forced herself upright, swaying as she walked away.

The Fate Keeper watched as three faint glimmers shone from Jinli’s soul—after the punishment of the stars, she had ascended straight to High Deity.

She had been only half-divine; a stray thought could have led her to fall into darkness. Yet now…

When she returned to Lotus River, her bare feet were caked with dust, blood, and scars. Her robes were stained with blood, shocking to the eye. Her face was ashen—walking numbly, she removed the jeweled hairpin from her bun. The moment it slipped from her grasp, she could no longer support herself and collapsed.

As she fell, it seemed as if the starry sky spun before her eyes. Pain blanketed her body, numbing every nerve. Slowly, she closed her eyes.

Truthfully, Jinli still wished she could just sleep on. Who would have thought, in such a moment of misery, that someone else would see her like this? Yet she cared not at all, only feigning her old composure. When she awoke, she sat on her bed, gazing at Qisui—a young man of the Butterfly Clan, with whom she had shared a few fleeting encounters.

Qisui dared not meet her eyes, only stealing a few glances—yet Jinli quickly caught the concern that filled those fleeting looks.

He spoke in a gentle voice: “My lady… are you alright?”

Jinli pulled the quilt closer, her voice hoarse. “Is your grandmother ill again? There’s medicine in the cabinet over there—”

“It’s not that.”

Qisui interrupted before she could finish, worry creasing his brow. “It’s you. Are you alright?”

Jinli tried to smile, but her lips would not curve no matter how she tried. In the end, she could only respond with a hoarse voice, “Qisui, I’d like some peach blossom soup.”

He agreed. It was the first time he had seen his lady in such a state—her once-bright eyes had grown dull, devoid of any light. She looked utterly defeated. When he opened the door, he could hardly believe this was the proud, confident woman he had once known.

He would never forget the first time he met her, in the Valley of Butterflies. His grandmother had brought him to pay his respects—he had been so afraid. There, behind gauzy curtains, sat a woman of peerless beauty, clad in flowing moon-white robes, her dark hair swept up with a plain hairpin. A slender wrist, pale as snow, held a cup of tea. At her lips lingered the trace of a smile, and her clear, peach-blossom eyes seemed to see straight into his soul. As she regarded him, the smile in her eyes deepened, gentle as the spring breeze over a river lined with peach trees.

One could never forget her after a single glance.

Everyone in the Four Seas and Eight Wilds knew—her side was never lacking in handsome men.

When she refined medicines, she was radiant and confident, healing the sick, saving lives, bringing mercy to all beings.

Compassion shone in her clear eyes.

He thought of the spirited woman of the past, unable to reconcile her with the defeated, wounded figure before him. Now, she was utterly changed.

Qisui watched as Jinli took only a sip. “It’s good,” she said. “Qisui, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to sleep. Take the medicine in the cabinet for your grandmother when you leave, and give her my regards.”

Before he could answer, Jinli pulled the covers over herself once more.

She awoke again to piercing candlelight. Mumbling, she said, “Dim the candle a bit.”

The room darkened. Opening her eyes, she saw Qisui at the desk, reading by candlelight.

“Qisui?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice, set down his book, and came over. “My lady, you’re awake? Do you feel unwell?”

Jinli looked at him. “Why haven’t you left?”

“I was worried you might wake hungry, or thirsty. I stayed to look after you.”

Jinli gazed at him, his meek devotion warming her heart.

“Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. She stretched out her hand. “Help me up, then go and prepare a few simple dishes. Let’s have supper together.”

Qisui smiled and agreed. He draped a thicker cloak over her shoulders and led her into the courtyard.

Yunxiang waited outside. Seeing Jinli emerge, she was overjoyed—the Lady had finally come out. Yunxiang, ever perceptive, said nothing of unhappy matters.

“My lady, what shall we have tonight?”

Jinli glanced at Qisui. “Whatever he prepares, we’ll eat.”

With that, Yunxiang went to help Qisui, while Jinli sat alone beneath the thick, leafy pear tree. Few of the tender green pears remained.

Soon, Qisui brought out four dishes and a soup—all her favorites.

After the meal, Jinli sent Yunxiang to check on Ruantu. She and Qisui sat beneath the pear tree, Jinli gazing up at the star-filled sky, the vast sea of stars above. She had slept fitfully for days.

In that moment, she felt a deep tranquility. Perhaps it was time to let go.

She had borne the heavenly punishment for him, and he was gone. It was time to move forward.

She could not remain mired in these trivial passions.

Now, the most important thing was to find the whereabouts of Bai Wanting’s soul.

As long as the soul had not dissipated completely, she could save her.

In the days that followed, Qisui remained quietly by her side, accommodating her in all things, and her spirits lifted somewhat. Qisui knew some medicine, and her wounds healed much.

One night, she turned to Qisui and said, “Qisui, I want to walk in the back hills.”

He nodded and supported her there.

The air was sweet with the scent of pears, intoxicatingly so. The place was peaceful; only the sound of footsteps rustling through fallen leaves and branches could be heard. Qisui found her a place to rest, and as she sat, Jinli, weary, leaned on his shoulder. She spoke softly, “Qisui, only you would indulge me so.”

“…You are my lady; who would dare not indulge you?”

Jinli smiled faintly. “Yes. Wasn’t it for my title that you stayed by my side at first?”

“No.”

She looked up at him. Qisui grew a bit flustered. “…At first, yes, it was because you were the Lady. But later, I realized… you’re remarkable. My lady, you’re the best—better than anyone in the Four Seas and Eight Wilds.”

“Qisui, from now on, don’t call me ‘my lady’… call me Jinli, or Ali.”

She had been mocked by all the realms—what right had she to be addressed with such respect anymore?

Qisui wanted to protest, but seeing the flicker of light returning to Jinli’s eyes, he fell silent.

His gaze was earnest and sincere. The more Jinli looked at him, the more she felt a strange overlap with someone else. She raised her hand as if to touch his face, but let it fall back down. Weariness overtook her, and she said, “Qisui, fetch some rice wine.”

He rose and went toward the cottage.

But after a while, when Qisui had not returned, Jinli got up to look for him. Suddenly, the sound of a wine jar shattering pierced the silent night, followed by a familiar shout: “Who are you? Get out, now!”

Jinli’s heart lurched, pain surging through her body.

She steadied herself against a tree, took a few deep breaths, then slowly pushed the door open.

As expected, Geng Yuan stood there, his face thunderous, fists clenched, eyes dark as night—glaring at Qisui as if he were an enemy.

With a wave of her hand, Jinli used her power to shield Qisui behind her. Her gaze was cold, almost unfamiliar, her expression distant.

“What are you doing here?”