TBR CH9

After the Immortal Lord departed, Jing Qianshan stared at the mirror in his hand, still filled with doubt.

Now that the mirror rested in his palm, he could sense its extraordinary nature. The surface was as smooth as water, unstained by even the slightest speck of dust. Yet, the reflection within remained blurred and indistinct. At this moment, he could see nothing clearly—not even his own face.

It was a one-way mirror. Fu Tingxue had told him it would ease his longing.

As the Emperor Star of the human realm, Jing Qianshan had never been particularly interested in mystical artifacts. If an ordinary Daoist priest had offered him such an object, he would have dismissed it outright. However, the man before him was beyond doubt—this was Fu Tingxue, the Sword Immortal with long-standing ties to the royal lineage.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind.

Would the Immortal Lord deceive him?—

No.

Jing Qianshan pulled the mirror closer to his chest, deciding to accept this celestial gift.

He studied the mirror carefully but found no immediate clues to its workings. Eventually, he placed it atop his ornate desk. Now, every time he lifted his head from reviewing state affairs, he would see it.

If he kept it there day after day, surely something would appear in its depths.

And who else could possibly soothe his yearning, if not that delicate, obedient, and beautiful youth?

A secret yet undeniable wish stirred in his heart.

Perhaps his beloved missed him just as much. Perhaps it was that very longing that had moved the heavens to grant him this mirror.

As he envisioned Shen Nian’s exquisite features, his reliance and devotion, the young emperor became lost in thought. A faint smile touched his lips, an expression of a man submerged in love’s sweet illusions.

Outside, veiled by white curtains, Fu Tingxue saw everything.

He had originally planned to leave as soon as Jing Qianshan set the Mirror of Mountains and Seas down.

But when he saw the emperor, lost in his own delusions of mutual love, wearing that expression of deep satisfaction in both giving and receiving affection—

He lingered a moment longer.

In the immortal’s eyes, there was only frost and snow.

Yet for an instant, beyond the frozen veil, something else was reflected—the transient emotions of the mortal world.

Then, Fu Tingxue closed his eyes. Turning away, he stepped onto his Clear Frost sword and departed without looking back.

What is love, truly?

Within the palace, three thousand women awaited the emperor’s fleeting remembrance. Outside their chambers, only the palace lanterns swayed in the night breeze.

The night watch drum would continue its measured toll.

In the desolate heart of power, blue-glazed tiles lay beneath a thin frost—silent and cold.

*

Gu Shishu idly played with a spell, expanding and shrinking the barrier around him at will. If he injected spiritual energy into the technique, the surrounding scenery would project onto the other side of the Mirror of Mountains and Seas with startling clarity.

Fu Tingxue had left beneath the cover of night and returned before the moon had reached its peak.

Moonlight glowed around him, its pale radiance reflected in his gaze.

And yet, the first thing his eyes landed on upon reaching the Demon Palace was Gu Shishu.

“It’s done?”

Gu Shishu lazily dismissed the lingering traces of his spell and turned to ask.

“Mm.”

The Sword Immortal nodded, unable to resist glancing at Gu Shishu once more.

Not everyone would spend the dead of night lounging atop the palace roof out of sheer boredom. But evidently, the Demon Lord would.

He swallowed back the question on his tongue and instead returned to the matter at hand.

“Jing Qianshan has accepted the Mirror of Mountains and Seas. He intends to keep it on his desk at all times, ensuring that he will see any images that appear immediately.”

Gu Shishu let out a low chuckle.

“Let’s hope our diligent and virtuous emperor doesn’t work himself into such a state of heartbreak that he neglects his duties.”

Fu Tingxue pressed his lips together but said nothing.

Then, as if something had just occurred to him, Gu Shishu lifted his gaze, half-lidded and amused.

His eyes gleamed like fine liquor, intoxicating and sharp.

“Immortal Lord, why don’t you stay for a few days? It would save you the trouble of traveling back and forth.”

Did he have to stay? Fu Tingxue considered.

To maintain the illusion of the lie Gu Shishu had told Shen Nian?

To facilitate further communication with Jing Qianshan?

To assist Gu Shishu in his scheming, to continue their cooperation?

But none of these were necessary.

With his cultivation, the distance between Qingcheng Sect and the Demon Palace was no more than the time it took for a single incense stick to burn. These tasks could be managed without the inconvenience of remaining here.

He was about to refuse—

But then he remembered.

The final glimpse he had caught in that grand yet frigid palace.

The emperor of the human realm, a man who held the world in his hands, possessing boundless power and wealth—

Yet he had looked upon that mirror with such desperate, tender longing.

A one-way mirror.

Fu Tingxue had concealed nothing about its nature.

And yet, even if the emperor could only watch his beloved from a distance, never to be seen in return—

He still found that prospect utterly blissful.

“…Alright.”

Fu Tingxue gave a quiet response.

Gu Shishu had made the offer in passing, never expecting the other man to agree so easily.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, studying the immortal’s expression.

Beneath the pale glow of the moon, Fu Tingxue lowered his gaze. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his eyes, obscuring whatever emotions lay beneath.

He did not explain.

And Gu Shishu did not ask.

The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension—an ambiguity that teetered between past and present.

Yet Gu Shishu, for all his wit, suddenly found himself disinterested.

That day, Fu Tingxue should have realized—there was no longer anything between them.

It had been he who first suggested severing ties.

Now, there could be no lingering sentiments between them.

And yet, their words drifted ever closer toward something that felt like intimacy.

His smile faded.

Expressionless, the Demon Lord briefly reflected on his own actions before adopting a purely businesslike tone. He arranged for Fu Tingxue to stay in the chambers near his own—a decision made solely for convenience, to facilitate secrecy and coordination.

He trusted Fu Tingxue’s ability to remain undetected by Shen Nian. The Immortal Lord was more than capable.

And he had no personal belongings, save for his Clear Frost sword.

With everything settled, Gu Shishu gave his final instructions.

Fu Tingxue’s expression remained unchanged, as unreadable as ever.

He sheathed his sword, nodded lightly in acknowledgment, and left.

*

Gu Shishu lingered on the rooftop, eyes drifting upward to the vast expanse of the night sky.

Among the scattered constellations, one star had belonged to him long before he was even born.

A baleful star—its glow tinged faintly red, like diluted blood.

The Heavenly Dao dictated fate.

But Gu Shishu had never believed in fate.

So, for the first half of his life, he had forcibly suppressed the demonic energy within him.

Endured the bone-searing pain.

Swallowed down the violent urges that surged from within.

He had been born a demon. But he had refused to let himself be controlled by that cruel, senseless destiny.

He had endured for a year, two years, ten years, a hundred years—

Until the day that lapse occurred.

But even then, he had fought back.

Rather than succumbing to a bloodthirsty rampage, he had staggered his way home—his body drenched in his own blood, step by step, returning to the small, familiar bamboo peak.

Gu Shishu had always thought that Fu Tingxue would kill him.

Because he was destined to commit bloodshed. Because it was in his nature. Because fate was inescapable.

Yet, in the depths of his heart, he harbored another possibility—

That Fu Tingxue would save him.

Because they had once understood each other. Because they were each other’s only weakness.

But Fu Tingxue had merely said, “Today, we drink this wine. From this moment forth, we are separated by the ends of the earth. We shall never think of each other again.”

Gu Shishu had replied, “…Alright.”

A response carefully measured—no hollow words.

Then came the war between the celestial and demonic realms. Gu Shishu burned away half of Fu Tingxue’s Clear Frost sword, crippling a millennium of cultivation. And Fu Tingxue, merciless in return, used the remains of his shattered blade to strike a counterblow—leaving a scar across Gu Shishu’s chest that had yet to fully heal, a wound that had nearly killed him.

They had come so close to becoming true enemies.

Now, after all these years, it felt as though all debts had been settled. Nothing remained of what once was.

Love? Gu Shishu was confident that he had long since let go of such things.

*

…But he wasn’t confident in his own acting.

For the Mirror of Mountains and Seas to take effect, Fu Tingxue first had to deliver it to the Human Emperor, Jing Qianshan. Then, Jing Qianshan had to witness Shen Nian’s actions through it. And for those actions to have any real impact—

Gu Shishu would have to allow Shen Nian to seduce him.

A rare dilemma for the Demon Lord.

After some thought, he arrived at the simplest conclusion—just let things unfold naturally.

The next morning, Gu Shishu and Fu Tingxue exchanged brief words, the remnants of last night’s conversation fading like a dream neither of them remembered.

“You’re going to find Shen Nian,” Fu Tingxue said, though the tone of his statement held a question, seeking Gu Shishu’s opinion.

“He will come to me.”

Gu Shishu made the prediction absentmindedly.

“The events of the past few days must have been frustrating for him. But Shen Nian, with his unwavering belief in his own fate, will not lose confidence. To him, this is precisely the time to act.”

He flipped open the black book, intending to show Fu Tingxue the record—only to remember that the Immortal Lord could not read the script of the Heavenly Dao. His fingers hesitated for a moment before tapping lightly against the pages.

The book quivered in protest, seemingly expressing its displeasure at being treated so carelessly.

Gu Shishu briefly wondered if knocking on the book’s cover was the equivalent of knocking on the Heavenly Dao’s skull.

Best not to dwell on it.

Did the Heavenly Dao feel anything?

In the end, he merely tilted his head toward Fu Tingxue, his tone laced with amusement.

“I just know.”

*

Gu Shishu’s prediction was correct. The Heavenly Dao’s record was not wrong.

Though… the exact circumstances deviated slightly.

Two hours later, Gu Shishu was in the Demon Palace’s main hall, handling official matters as usual, when he heard a voice outside.

Soft, hesitant, laced with feigned timidity and dependence. The protagonist blessed with an irresistible aura had apparently spoken a word or two to the guards outside—just enough to slip inside unnoticed.

How did he get in?

Gu Shishu lifted his head, barely restraining his laughter.

He had been mildly curious as to how Shen Nian would manage to seek him out under these circumstances. After all, he was not the version of himself recorded in the black book—the one who had lost all reason and declared before the entire palace:

“From now on, Nian Nian may go wherever he pleases. Within the Demon Palace, there are no forbidden places for him. To see him is to see me.”

In reality, Shen Nian was nothing more than a guest—no, not even a guest. Just someone temporarily residing in the palace, with neither status nor privilege.

Gu Shishu had already raised the difficulty of Shen Nian’s conquest.

But he was still the Child of Fate, carrying an aura that bent the world in his favor.

Gu Shishu had no idea how Shen Nian had managed to charm the right person or manipulate the shifts in palace duty, but the moment he laid eyes on him, the method became obvious.

Shen Nian was dressed in the garb of a palace servant, a broom in hand.

Of course, sweeping was merely a pretense.

He had used it as an excuse to convince the steward to swap duties with him, but from the very moment he stepped inside, he had begun his act.

Sweeping was a distraction—his true focus was stealing glances at Gu Shishu.

Even if Gu Shishu had failed to recognize him at first, there was no mistaking it now.

What kind of servant stared at the Demon Lord while cleaning, his gaze filled with suggestive intent?

What kind of servant, instead of lowering his head to sweep, deliberately adjusted his posture to present his so-called perfect profile to the Demon Lord at all times?

Is he waiting for me to be captivated? For me to be struck breathless by his beauty?

Gu Shishu found it amusing.

But he also found it… difficult to laugh.

Because if he had been the Gu Shishu affected by Shen Nian’s aura, he would have already been bewitched. He would have been unable to discern true intent from false affection. He would have been overcome with tender sympathy, rushing to comfort the boy, urging him to rest.

Ah.

So it’s time to play that role, is it?

No.

Gu Shishu discreetly gestured with his fingers.

A soundless, invisible barrier spread across the main hall.

This stage is set for a performance.

Shen Nian was acting.

And so was Gu Shishu.

But no play was complete without an audience.

After all—what’s the point of a spectacular show if no one is watching?

*

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the imperial palace.

On the Human Emperor’s desk, the Mirror of Mountains and Seas flickered to life—its glow reflected in Jing Qianshan’s eyes.

Hurriedly, he seized the mirror.

And there, within its depths, he saw his beloved.

Still so breathtakingly beautiful. His delicate features radiant, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

That familiar look of reliance, of devotion. Snow-pale skin, alluring and fragile.

For a moment, the young emperor was lost.

He had forgotten that this was a one-way mirror.

He thought—mistakenly—that his lover could see him, too.

That was why he looked so affectionate. So full of longing.

His fingers brushed the mirror’s surface, his voice barely a whisper.

“…Nian Nian.”

Of course, there was no response.

Then—he looked closer.

…Hm?