Through the Fusang leaf, Xing Shuishui saw the past and cried countless times. Back then, she thought the Sacrificial Platform was when he loved her most, but as memories unfolded, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Young love was too pure. She underestimated He Liansheng’s feelings. That stab must have hurt so much.
As thoughts flowed, time within continued flowing too.
Later.
He Liansheng suffered from severe hysteria.
To others, he was in his prime, barely surviving a brush with death on the Sacrificial Platform despite his limitless future.
But Xing Shuishui saw him often murmuring her name in bed, his breath chaotic, nearly losing control.
“Xing Shuishui, you liar. Didn’t you say we’d be young spouses, never parting…”
His voice hoarse: “Couldn’t you have completed the marriage ceremony before leaving me?”
The proud youth spoke countless delirious words. There was no magic to reverse time.
When he woke, the night was cool, the deep blue sky so lonely.
The aftereffects of the Dream Cicada made those fifteen days replay endlessly in his mind — her smile, her voice, her face repeating over and over, making each awakening a torture.
Xing Shuishui ran over, wanting to tell him: He Liansheng, I’m beside you! But when she reached out, passing through his body, she tumbled to the ground, rolling several times without pain.
She clutched her knee and looked up.
He Liansheng sat by the window — her usual perch. He took out a notebook from the drawer and added a date.
Fifth of October.
I dreamed of you.
How many flowers fell in the dream.
He stopped writing.
Tree shadows danced as her tears fell unbidden onto the notebook. Where there was one drop, there was another, blurring the ink.
— I had a dream with you in it. — How many flowers fell in the dream.
He Liansheng suddenly looked up, realizing — it was raining.
Rain wet the small windowsill, making the peach branches tremble.
He hadn’t closed the window, leaving just a crack in the door. Afraid she might return to find him but get stuck outside in the cold wind. He remembered how easily she got stomach aches. He remembered how delicate she was. There were so many memories — afraid that remembering more would make him want to die. The youth sat by the window holding that small goldfish sachet, another sleepless night.
The young servant bringing tea sighed at the sight.
Autumn rain fell steadily, the mortal world desolate.
This was only their second year apart.
…
The tracing of the insect curse was nearly complete.
The Fusang leaf in Xing Shuishui’s hand emitted golden light. The leaf floated in midair as the young woman’s fingers gently pinched it, lifting her face as her hair danced in the air.
The youth’s figure grew increasingly blurry in the rain.
The persimmons under the eaves were fully ripe.
“Thank you for always waiting for me, He Liansheng.”
Winter comes and goes, and those meant to meet will meet.
She murmured: “And now, I’m going to find the future you.”
I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.
…
Opening her eyes again, Xing Shuishui returned beneath the Fusang tree in Cangchuan, the leaf in her palm now dim.
She looked down at the obscure Sanskrit text and returned the leaf to the elder before her.
The elder seemed somewhat surprised: “You don’t want to see the other leaf?”
The other leaf was about the love curse.
Xing Shuishui gently shook her head: “I can’t bear to.”
She wasn’t sure if He Liansheng had used the love curse on her.
But she was certain her feelings for He Liansheng began before the Sacrificial Platform, definitely not from any love curse.
Definitely… not…
With the fire spirit appearing so frequently lately, even if there was a love curse, it would have been burned away long ago.
She asked: “When he came asking for the curse back then, did he say anything?”
“He said it was his wish, and if he couldn’t get it properly, he’d take it by force — we couldn’t have stopped him anyway.”
Xing Shuishui laughed slightly — that really matched his personality.
The elder didn’t mind: “We basically gave him the Dream Cicada and love curses without resistance. But not long after he took the Dream Cicada, he came back once more, asking for another Dream Cicada. We didn’t give him that one.”
Xing Shuishui spat: “Madman.”
Knowing the side effects, yet still asking for more.
The elder asked: “Do you know what happened to everyone else who took the Dream Cicada?”
Xing Shuishui looked at her.
The elder looked up at the Fusang tree, where some leaves were yellowed, speaking regretfully: “Without exception, they all took their own lives.”
“The Dream Cicada is a curse because it’s not meant to fulfill desires, but to end lives. After the fifteen days of dreams end, those cursed can’t accept it was all false — it kills invisibly. We never expected he wanted the curse to use on himself. Even more surprising, he survived and came back for more. Young lady, this is extraordinary. He’s the only one who survived the Dream Cicada.”
And he took it willingly.
Xing Shuishui remembered seeing He Liansheng in the trace. Despite such suffering, trapped in memories, he still clutched that small goldfish sachet, never letting go. Some people remain detestable even after centuries of knowing them, while others known for less than a year can be remembered deeply for five years.
He Liansheng, these years, the most painful part probably wasn’t that stab on the Sacrificial Platform, was it?
If not for what she saw today, she would never have known how He Liansheng lived after they parted.
Sister, do you know?
In the three thousand seven hundred and twentieth year of the First Scholar.
I met a spirit hunter,
He was brilliant, loving me more than his own life. I was overwhelmed, unable to repay him, deciding to stay by his side forever once everything was resolved.
Bidding farewell to the chief, Xing Shuishui returned to the ruined village. The snowstorm had stopped, snow melting, changes visible here — blood stains cleaned away, many simple memorial mounds erected.
He Liansheng waited in the cold wind, holding the Taoyuan sword, his features handsome, white robes whiter than snow, his crimson hair ribbon the only bright color in the snow, making her heart ache.
Seeing her red, swollen eyes, the youth started: “Couldn’t get the curse-breaking method?”
Xing Shuishui said: “I got it.”
“Did she bully you?”
“No.”
“Did someone there bully you?”
“My hands are cold.”
She looked up at him, her lips very pale. He Liansheng lowered his eyes, lighting a talisman flame on his fingertip. The fire illuminated the young woman’s face, casting shadows beneath his brow bone.
Xing Shuishui felt he still didn’t understand, reaching to grab his finger. The talisman flame on the youth’s knuckle instantly extinguished. He looked at her, his hair ribbon tangling with flying hair, somewhat confused.
The young woman stared at him intently, as if discovering some amazing secret. Her eyes curved as her red hair tie bobbed up and down in the cold wind.
“He Liansheng, your hand seems warmer than talisman fire.”
As she spoke, she felt He Liansheng tentatively press his palm to her hand, a wave of warmth rushing in. His hand was indeed very warm, dispelling much of the cold from her hand.
But the youth was greedy, slightly curling his fingers to capture her entire hand, pulling her a bit closer: “Better now?”
His fingertips pressed against her palm. Xing Shuishui felt the warmth from her palm might spread to her cheeks. She lowered her head, catching sight of the small goldfish hanging at his waist. Back then she had been quite pleased with her “masterpiece,” but now it looked increasingly ugly.
Xing Shuishui muttered: “He Liansheng, don’t wear the goldfish anymore, I’ll make you a new one when I have time!”
He Liansheng said: “Don’t forget then.”
Things here were nearly concluded.
Xing Shuishui turned to look toward the Fusang tree, thinking: seems like I forgot to ask if there’s a way to confirm whether I was under a love curse?
Should I just ask directly?
Du Dizhu was already in a bad mood, and somehow these words reached his ears. He sneered: “Since when does the Fire Lord get cold hands? He Liansheng, why don’t you warm mine too, my hands are also cold. Xue Jiuling, that’s enough from you two, both of you get off this snow mountain!”
He Liansheng coldly glanced over, saying harshly: “Your hands are cold? Why not just chop them off? You’re the one who should leave.”
Du Dizhu threw him a look that said he wouldn’t bother with children, raising his hand to shatter the snow plum nearby. No matter how fierce the snowstorm, the snow plums here stood firm. They had long guessed these were used to trap the Duanmu clan. As the strong wind rose, shattered red plums quickly mixed with scattered snow, creating a rare scene of beauty.
The Duanmu clan people smiled in thanks, their soul forms gradually dispersing into points of light in the dark night, like floating sky lanterns.
Du Dizhu seemed to be searching for something, but there were too many souls to find it quickly.
Xing Shuishui glanced over, seeing several souls spinning around, and pointed: “They seem to be looking for you too.”
Du Dizhu cast a spell, and a strange wind swept by. Those soul clusters were drawn before him, taking human form — three old and one young. They hadn’t looked at Xing Shuishui and He Liansheng, instead staring at Du Dizhu from the start.
The man clasped his hands: “We can never forget your lifesaving kindness to our clan, noble one. Might we know your name… we…”
Du Dizhu interrupted: “You guessed right, I’m the renowned Master of Wuxiang Mountain, Du Dizhu. Mirror Wudang was my master. He taught me mirror arts, and after his death, I won’t let anyone else learn them.”
He spoke proudly.
The man broke into tears: “I am Wudang’s father… you are his disciple… he took a disciple… so he became that accomplished. I knew someone of his exceptional talent could succeed at anything. When Wudang left the snow mountain, I deeply regretted pushing him too hard, forcing him to learn curse arts, and angrily saying he could never create new techniques. I shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have realized only later that having family nearby matters more than all the curses in the world. By the time I understood, Wudang could no longer return.”
The old man had waited a lifetime, thinking if his son couldn’t make it elsewhere, he’d return to the snow mountain. Then after some casual scolding, it wouldn’t be too late to teach him curse arts.
Unfortunately, both were stubborn, and they never met again.
Du Dizhu waved his hand: “People say the Master of Wuxiang Mountain is magnanimous. I forgive you on his behalf. Go on to reincarnate — with luck, you might meet Mirror Wudang. Please pass on a message for me.”
The man started: “What message?”
Expecting to hear something touching, they were surprised when Du Dizhu grinned and said: “Tell him — ‘It’s good you walked the path to the Yellow Springs first. This unworthy disciple is busy wreaking havoc in the mortal world, busy being above others, waiting for the day to end up like you, murdered by righteous cultivators. Remember, don’t let me get lost.’”
Everyone fell silent. Time was up. The souls of Mirror Wudang’s family became transparent in the night sky, smiled once, and scattered like sparks, vanishing before their eyes.
“You all should remember to leave quickly too.”
As the words fell.
BOOM —
Xing Shuishui heard a huge crash. Looking up, she found the strange sound came from all directions. Rolling snow slid from the mountaintop, scattered snow curling like white clouds in the sky, showing the momentum to swallow heaven and earth. What? So sudden?
The snow mountain was about to collapse.
Her braid nearly stood on end.
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