Yu Sangsang was gently pushed forward. Instinctively, she stumbled a few steps, as though grasping at something—then all at once her vision went dark. When she opened her eyes again, she was already seated properly in her own room. Everything around her was still and quiet, yet she felt as if some unseen thread had truly been severed. A sweetness rose in her throat; lowering her head, she coughed up a mouthful of blood. Spitting blood without cause was never a good omen. But once it was out, she felt strangely lighter.
On the silver bracelet, a tiny phoenix poked out its head, humming softly as if in concern. Though this little creature had followed her out of a nightmare and its origins were odd, since it cared for her, it was naturally a good phoenix.
As she changed into clean clothes, Yu Sangsang absentmindedly stroked the phoenix’s small head. Satisfied, it nestled back into the bracelet. She touched her chin, gazing toward the ancestral temple, lost in thought.
What she had just witnessed outside her body must have been the scene where Xianzhu replaced Yu Xian’er.
From that moment on, Xianzhu’s fate became wholly entwined with Yu Xian’er’s, emboldening her to attend the birthday celebration of Immortal Shangyong of Danxia Sect, and to return to Taisu Sect with its cultivators.
Yet those strange voices in the ancestral temple—Yu Sangsang had never encountered them in the story. Perhaps it was simply a matter of perspective. Only she had heard those voices; Xianzhu knew nothing.
Yu Sangsang wondered whether the Yu Xian’er of the tale had endured the same things she herself had. But as she recalled the story piece by piece, one urgent truth emerged: Someone already harbored the intent to kill her. And it was not that worthless father, rotten to the core. Her father’s mind was too dull; he hadn’t thought that far. Instead, it was the knife-wielding youth standing proudly behind Xianzhu. He was the guard who, subdued by the noble kindness of the princess, had pledged himself to her service. He prided himself on being proud, yet for the girl he adored, he was willing to humble himself, trailing after her like a servant, content simply to glimpse her figure each day. Such was his devotion.
This youth, whose heart held only Xianzhu, had always harbored hostility toward Yu Xian’er, the princess confined to the imperial tomb. To him, she was nothing but an obstacle in his fairy’s path.
And after the ancestral temple rites, he keenly sensed Xianzhu’s unease—though she had inherited Yu Xian’er’s identity, she still feared exposure. He understood then: as long as the true Yu Xian’er remained alive, his princess could never live in peace or find joy in that borrowed name.
Yu Xian’er’s very existence was a threat.
Existence itself was danger, and he resolved to cut it off at the root.
Banished to the tomb by her father’s disdain, Yu Xian’er’s death would bring no justice. Even if the truth came to light, the King of Dayu would likely turn a blind eye, never blaming him—for everyone knew who mattered more in the monarch’s eyes. With that assurance, the youth named Wei Li was ready to strike.
Yu Sangsang narrowed her eyes, recalling his role in the story.
Handsome, defiant, gifted—and unlike nameless figures such as Old Wang, he bore a full name—clearly not a disposable character. On the contrary, Wei Li was one of Xianzhu’s most important companions. The devoted guard, the loyal blade: he would later meet a great master, seize rare opportunities, rise swiftly in power, and even after fame and glory, return to her side as her most faithful sword. Whoever dared make her shed a single tear would face Wei Li’s edge. In the tale, he did much for Xianzhu—slaying many who opposed her, even those innocent of real offense. Could such ruthless devotion be called anything but loyalty?
Yet it was excessive. Already a mid-stage Qi Refining cultivator, skilled in combat, he was no easy foe.
In the story, his murderous intent toward Yu Xian’er was swift. Yu Sangsang remembered: that very day, her wretched father returned to court with the false daughter, while Wei Li secretly doubled back, infiltrating the tomb to kill.
It was the great crisis Yu Xian’er faced. Of course, the story never made this clear—after all, its heroine was the kind and virtuous Xianzhu.
It only said that the next day she discovered her ever-present guard had vanished without a trace, leaving her heartbroken. They were parted for years. When they finally reunited, the youth explained that he had once been gravely wounded and saved by another. Realizing his weakness, he chose to become that benefactor’s disciple, training diligently so that one day he could grow strong enough to protect her again. His disappearance had been explained away so simply.
But Yu Sangsang stroked her chin, suspecting there was more to it. After all, the Yu Xian’er of the tale was not her. At that time, Yu Xian’er had not begun cultivation—an ordinary mortal, no match for Wei Li. How could she have injured him so badly? And if she had, why not finish him off? Wasn’t that effort wasted?
Instinctively, Yu Sangsang glanced toward the ancestral temple, tapping lightly at the window frame. If Wei Li had infiltrated the tomb to eliminate her but failed, he must have been stopped. And in this tomb, the only one capable of matching him was Old Wang, the elder whose aura was deep and unmistakably that of a cultivator. But if it truly was that old man, what happened then? Why hadn’t he finished the youth off? Wei Li claimed he had been saved—so where did Old Wang go? These were the strange gaps in the story. Yet what concerned Yu Sangsang was not the mystery itself. What mattered was that she did not want someone who constantly harbored murderous intent toward her roaming free. Wei Li believed in cutting weeds at the root.
Yu Sangsang thought that phrase was rather fitting, too. Unlike the Yu Xian’er of the tale, she was now a cultivator herself, her strength not far behind the youth’s. And she carried treasures—defensive and offensive artifacts aplenty.
True, flaunting high-grade treasures might invite trouble, so she would keep them hidden. But even ordinary tools suited for a Qi Refining cultivator were more than enough. So why leave an enemy alive, only to let him grow stronger? Stronger, and then come back to take her life?
Yu Sangsang fiddled with the silver bracelet, tucking a few inconspicuous items into her robes. Folding her hands behind her back, she lifted her gaze to the blazing sun overhead. Having lost her place and her future, she herself did not dwell on it too much.
But for the sake of the true Yu Xian’er, she would stand up. That pure, gentle girl—unworldly and kind—should never have been forced to leave in such humiliation, reduced to a mere “opportunity” for a beloved thief.
Everything Xianzhu had stolen, Yu Sangsang vowed she would one day reclaim for Yu Xian’er.
And for Yu Xian’er’s mother, already gone, yet forced even in death to accept the enemy’s bloodline upon her memorial tablet—Yu Sangsang would not forget.
She had read the story. She knew Xianzhu was no stranger to Dayu. She was the King of Dayu’s daughter. Proof of his betrayal.
In the cultivation world, strength ruled, and concubines were not forbidden. But since Yu Xiu had married a wife of exalted status, one who could never accept a husband’s concubine, then he should have kept his vows. Instead, he betrayed her, placed such a child under her name in mockery, and stole his daughter’s destiny.
“I remember. I remember it all,” Yu Sangsang murmured, as if speaking to the body she now inhabited. “I will never forget.” With that, she swallowed two spirit pills from the bracelet, striving to restore her body to its best condition, quietly awaiting the fall of night.
Unaware, Wei Li, too, was waiting anxiously. Hidden among the cypress trees, clutching his sharp blade, he recalled how, when they returned to the palace, the usually cheerful girl had clung to his hand in tears, babbling: “Ah Li, what should I do? Will she blame me? Will she come for revenge? I—I didn’t mean it. I only wanted to call him Father openly. I did something wrong.”
She had wept so pitifully, truly repentant. But to Wei Li, what was there to repent? She was so beautiful, she deserved the best of everything. Whether by striving or by seizing, she should claim it boldly.
Thinking of her trembling in fear, dreading exposure, Wei Li’s gaze hardened. Whatever she feared, he would cut away. As for others—their lives or deaths meant nothing. For her sake, he had rushed back, hiding in the tomb, waiting for midnight when all within would sleep, so he could strike down the hidden threat. It was only a mortal, untrained in cultivation. Killing her would cause no stir. After all, he still had to return and guard his beloved princess.
Now, she was the true Yu Xian’er—the true heir of a great clan’s bloodline, the true princess.
Even though he had not read much, the surge of emotions—both fierce and tender—made the young guard secretly string together a few lofty phrases in his heart. And beyond those words, more waves of affection welled up inside him.
Clutching his blade, he imagined the day his princess would enter Taisu Sect, living like a celestial maiden. A smile of anticipation spread across Wei Li’s face. In such dreams, time flew swiftly. Just as he pictured himself one day attaining immortality, flying on his sword beside his princess with laughter and joy, night had already fallen.
Reluctantly tucking away his sweet visions, the youth stirred. His gentle expression vanished. Rising with his blade in hand, his handsome face hardened as he moved silently through the oppressive stillness of the tomb, where the silence itself felt suffocating. He went straight to the place he had scouted earlier with the tomb guards.
No one stopped him along the way. At last, he reached a quiet courtyard. Casting a binding spell to seal the area, he leaped inside—only to find his body suddenly frozen, unable to move. His face changed at once. Almost instantly, a sharp whistle tore through the air. A flash of silver streaked past, and a scream split the night. His blade clattered to the ground. The once murderous young guard clutched his abdomen, where his dantian had been pierced and mangled, howling in agony. From the darkened room, a beautiful, gentle girl stepped out with a smile.
The whistling weapon had returned to her hand, now a small silver sword twirling around her fingertips. She had waited all night for this one intruder. Tilting her head toward the sky, the princess struck again, driving the sword into the youth’s crippled core.
“Why so late?” she chided sweetly, her voice dripping with honey. “You really made me wait.”
He had even delayed her sleep.