TBR CH8

Fu Tingxue flipped through the black book, then cast a puzzled glance at Gu Shishu.

In a soft voice, he said, “I can’t see anything.”

When Gu Shishu explained, he deliberately glossed over the more disgraceful scenes—the moment he had been bewitched by Shen Nian, storming Qingcheng Sect in a vengeful rage; the immortal lord lowering his head, his eyes like frost and snow; that absurd, public kiss.

He had no desire for Fu Tingxue to know.

Yet Fu Tingxue wanted to know. He wished to see the black book for himself, the book that embodied the will of the Heavenly Dao.

There was no helping it—Gu Shishu retrieved the book from his sleeve.

The book merely trembled twice in reluctant protest, as if voicing mild dissatisfaction, but it offered no strong objections.

Yet, when Fu Tingxue opened it, despite the dense script that Gu Shishu could see detailing the unfolding narrative, to Fu Tingxue, there was nothing.

Blank pages.

The secrets of fate were not his to glimpse.

This was as it should be. After all, the Heavenly Dao and Gu Shishu had chosen each other, their relationship one of both alignment and conflict—there was likely no other being in the world who had reached such a state.

If the Heavenly Dao’s book could be easily deciphered, revealing its truths without consequence, then why would it have sought out the Demon Lord? It could have simply displayed its secrets to the Yao King or the Human Emperor.

But even they lacked the ability to perceive the Heavenly Dao.

And even Fu Tingxue, with all his mastery of the sword, could not pierce this veil.

Yet, he showed no particular disappointment. He merely closed the book and handed it back to Gu Shishu, accepting the fact as effortlessly as one breathes.

It meant, quite simply, that without any proof, he still chose to believe Gu Shishu’s every word.

“Then,” the Sword Immortal lifted his gaze, “what do you plan to do?”

*

Shen Nian’s Villain Redemption System required him to conquer the affections of three key figures in this world. Gu Shishu was the final target. Of the previous two—one was the King, whom Gu Shishu knew; the other was the Human Emperor, whom Fu Tingxue recognized.

This divide made sense. After all, demons and fiends lived indulgently, their worlds naturally intertwined. Meanwhile, mortals and immortals, though separated by realms, both valued order and righteousness. The royal family of the human race would never willingly associate with demonic cultivators.

An attempt that failed would only bring ruin.

“I don’t know him well.”

Fu Tingxue now sat across from Gu Shishu, occupying the very seat Shen Nian had taken earlier. The table before them remained cluttered with untouched exotic fruits and rare delicacies. Picking up one such fruit, he took a slow, measured bite.

The Sword Immortal’s manner of eating was elegant. His gaze lowered slightly as he chewed exactly three times before swallowing, the motion of his throat barely perceptible.

Gu Shishu watched and felt a strange itch in his heart.

Too restrained. He didn’t like seeing Fu Tingxue like this. It meant that the face he showed now was the same one he presented to the world—composed, solemn, emotionless, like an untouched patch of snow in the mountains.

What would happen if he choked? Would his face flush, his composure crack as he coughed until the obstruction was expelled?

Of course, as the supreme figure of the celestial sects, Fu Tingxue would never be undone by something as trivial as a fruit. He merely cast Gu Shishu a fleeting glance before repeating,

“I’ve only met him once—at the coronation ceremony of Jing Qianshan. By custom, a new Human Emperor must establish ties with the celestial realm.”

Jing Qianshan—the current Human Emperor.

Mortal suffering was vast, and the desire for transcendence boundless. Though a great divide separated the celestial and mundane worlds, the royal family understood the existence of immortals and maintained diplomatic relations with them.

Fu Tingxue contemplated for a moment.

“I have heard he is a wise ruler—diligent, tireless in governance.”

Gu Shishu interjected, unable to resist, “Then he must be utterly heartbroken now, tormented by love.”

“Hmm…” Fu Tingxue considered this briefly.

“Perhaps the two states are not mutually exclusive. In fact, the more disciplined and rational one is, the more deeply they fall when emotions take hold. If we were to exploit such feelings, it might present an opportunity.”

Again, he spoke of passion and heartbreak with complete detachment.

The world knew that the Sword Immortal of Qingcheng cultivated the Path of the Emotionless—where the great Dao embraced detachment, and impartiality was held as the highest virtue.

Gu Shishu observed him in silence, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Indeed. And he also knows your face—this presents quite the opportunity. Tell me, Immortal Lord, have you ever heard of the Mirror of Mountains and Seas?”

*

This tale was widely known among mortals, though even immortals were not unfamiliar with it.

It began with an emperor who took a beloved consort—an unmatched beauty, though unbeknownst to him, she was a celestial being undergoing a mortal tribulation of love. Their affection was deep, their vows eternal.

But fate is cruel.

The emperor was deceived by slanderous whispers, and in a moment of blind conviction, he personally sentenced his consort to death, offering her white silk and poisoned wine to end her life.

With a single ribbon of silk, she cast off her mortal shell. Her soul ascended back to the celestial realm, unwilling to return to the world of men.

The emperor, however, was consumed with regret.

Years later, a Daoist presented him with a mirror, claiming that it would allow him to see his beloved once more. Desperate for redemption, the emperor peered into the glass—and beyond its surface, he glimpsed the celestial palace. Behind its nine layers of curtains stood his consort, radiant as ever.

Overcome with emotion, he reached out to touch her reflection—

Only to see, beside her, several strikingly handsome immortals, their expressions filled with warmth and affection as they laughed together in intimate familiarity.

The emperor recoiled in horror.

The mirror slipped from his hands, shattering into countless fragments.

And with it, his final chance to see her was lost forever.

From that moment on, his empire fell into decline. Ministers and generals alike perished in time, leaving behind nothing but lifeless bones.

*

Fu Tingxue tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Gu Shishu as he finished recounting the story—just in time for their eyes to meet.

The Demon Lord’s gaze was dark and unfathomable, impervious even to the frost and snow.

For two full seconds, they remained locked in silence, the air between them thick with an unspoken tension.

A trace of amusement began to stir in Gu Shishu’s shadowed eyes, though it remained veiled. He urged Fu Tingxue to respond.

“Do you understand now, Immortal Lord? Pick a role for yourself in this story.”

“…The lame Daoist who came from afar.”

Gu Shishu let out a sharp laugh, his tone teasing.

“With your appearance, Immortal Lord, I’d say there’s only one role that suits you in this tale—the peerless consort.”

Fu Tingxue said nothing.

He merely reached for another crimson fruit, bringing it to his lips before swallowing it slowly.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“And the Demon Lord? Which role do you choose?”

Gu Shishu hadn’t considered that he might be asked the same question. Fu Tingxue’s brief pause made it seem as though there was a hidden meaning behind it. Still, Gu Shishu’s earlier jest had been honest—Fu Tingxue was, indeed, beautiful.

What was the correct answer?

Given their past, Gu Shishu nearly blurted out: the new man by the consort’s side.

But now was not the time.

Not now.

So, instead, Gu Shishu withdrew his fingers slightly, mimicking Fu Tingxue’s movements as he picked up a red fruit. But unlike the Immortal Lord, he did not eat it with careful restraint—he merely bit down once, swallowed the flesh and skin in a single motion.

The taste exploded on his tongue—sweet, laced with potent spiritual energy, and just a touch sour.

“I’ll play the minister who whispered slander in the emperor’s ear, convincing him to strangle his consort.”

“And why is that?”

By all reasoning—be it sentiment, morality, or even their current positions as adversaries—the logical choice should have been the emperor himself. Yet Gu Shishu deliberately chose a character so insignificant he was nearly forgotten in the tale.

“Because I detest that emperor—spineless, foolish. He thought himself in love, yet he lost the very person he claimed to cherish. And yet, it was only after his minister’s words that the celestial being returned to the heavens, and the emperor was finally forced to feel regret and suffering.”

“You mean to say that he committed a grave mistake, yet it ultimately led to the correct outcome?”

“If not for that character,” Gu Shishu’s lips curled into a faint smile as he met Fu Tingxue’s gaze, “then they would have remained a pair of lovers, devoted and unchallenged. But if that were the case, this story would be boring.”

The story needed conflict.

Because what was about to unfold needed a narrative framework to match.

Shen Nian’s system had the ability to issue alerts whenever one of his designated targets approached him. For Gu Shishu, this range was only a dozen meters, but for the remaining two—particularly the Human Emperor, who lacked cultivation—it was far more effective.

As long as they came within a thousand meters of Shen Nian, the system would issue a warning.

This meant that forcing those two unfortunate souls to see their beloved’s betrayal with their own eyes would be no easy task. No wonder Shen Nian had been so confident.

Moreover, Shen Nian knew that Gu Shishu had long harbored enmity with the Yao King and had no past dealings with the Human Emperor. There was no risk of exposing himself.

So he would use external forces instead.

First—Fu Tingxue, who would soon step into the role of the lame Daoist, bringing an emperor a solution for his unrelenting longing.

Second—the Mirror of Mountains and Seas.

Gu Shishu just so happened to possess a similar artifact, one that could peer across vast distances.

With both elements in place, he could already imagine the look on Human Emperor Jing Qianshan’s face.

*

At this moment, Jing Qianshan was seated in his palace, reviewing memorials.

He was dressed in the elaborate robes of a human emperor, his desk illuminated by candlelight. The bright yellow silk-covered documents lay neatly arranged before him. Every object upon his vast, intricately carved desk was a rare treasure of the imperial court.

Except for a small, heart-shaped stone.

It sat at the very center, the most prominent position, a symbol of the emperor’s devotion to his destined lover and his boundless affection.

Of course, it had been a gift from Shen Nian.

The young emperor’s mind was restless as he worked late into the night. Once again, he found himself thinking of his perfect lover—obedient, understanding, breathtakingly beautiful, and utterly devoted to him.

But alas… afflicted with a chronic illness.

Forced to retreat to a distant place to recuperate.

What was he doing now?

Was he, as always, prone to tears?

Without him by his side, was he feeling unbearably lonely, shedding silent tears in the dark?

The thought sent a sharp pang through Jing Qianshan’s heart.

He wished he could see him right now.

Just one more glimpse…

His longing was interrupted by the heavy creak of the palace doors swinging open.

Annoyed, he lifted his head, ready to rebuke the servant who had so rudely intruded.

In the next instant, his expression froze—

One hand nearly reaching for the sword at his side.

The light from the hall illuminated the figure standing at the threshold, revealing his features with startling clarity.

It was not any palace attendant he knew.

Then—he recognized him.

No.

Rather, he recognized the presence of the man before him.

Even though they had only met once, it was not a face one could easily forget.

Sharp and cold as ice.

Lofty and untouchable as the clouds.

During his coronation, following the ancient rites of his forebears, he had welcomed a representative from the celestial realm—the Sword Immortal.

It was he who had proclaimed that his ascension was an auspicious sign, that the Empire’s destiny was secure.

Jing Qianshan had met cultivators before. His beloved was also one of them.

But Fu Tingxue was different from any other seeker of immortality. He was the very embodiment of the celestial ideal—pristine as frost, untainted by worldly desire.

And now, this man stood before him, inexplicably appearing within his palace.

“…Your Majesty.”

Fu Tingxue concealed the flicker of doubt in the emperor’s gaze and stepped forward, carrying something in his hand.

Only when he drew closer did Jing Qianshan see it clearly.

A mirror.

“Do not be troubled,” the immortal said quietly.

“The one you long for—this mirror shall reveal them to you.”