She forgave herself for once being moved to tears by that so‑called “fatherly love.” It was only because she had not yet tasted the bitterness of others. Now, with these revelations, she understood why that scoundrel of a father had come seeking her. Though he strutted about as if bold enough to deceive the heavens, in truth, Yu Xiu’s heart was riddled with guilt.
What unsettled him most was the fear that the secret of exchanging two children might one day be exposed. After all, those who reach the pinnacle of cultivation are rarely fools. Should anyone discover the truth, Yu Xiu dreaded not only their wrath but also the danger it might bring upon his cherished stepdaughter.
Thus, before emissaries from the Taisu Sect arrived, he busied himself with endless little tests and preparations. That was one reason he had come to see Yu Sangsang.
There was also Immortal Shangyong of the Danxia Sect—an elder of gentle temperament, tied by old bonds to Yu Xiu’s late wife’s family, and one who had once met the young Yu Xian’er. His recognition would carry great weight.
So Yu Xiu planned to attend Shangyong’s birthday banquet, presenting his stepdaughter as the child of an old friend. Both girls were seventeen, and after so many years apart, who would doubt his word?
Especially when the names “Xian’er” and “Xian‑zhu” sounded so alike. Even if Immortal Shangyong remembered the true child, Yu Xiu could retreat to the excuse: one was his stepdaughter, Xian‑zhu; the real Xian’er had not come.
But if matters came to that, his scheme of “substituting plum for peach” would collapse. So he pressed Yu Sangsang, probing whether she and Shangyong had ever shared some secret known only to them—lest Xian‑zhu betray herself.
Yu Sangsang, watching her father rush about in such a panic for the sake of a stepdaughter, could only roll her eyes. She wanted to tell him there was no need to worry. Xian‑zhu was so lovable—how could anyone suspect her of being a counterfeit? Their journey to Danxia Sect went smoothly. Faced with the “child of an old friend,” the kindly elder beamed, repeating, “Ah yes, yes—she’s just like her mother!” He called her “Xian’er” with affectionate warmth and even gifted her a large bottle of spirit pills for Qi‑refining cultivators, utterly charmed by the soft, obedient girl. Nor was that all.
Yu Sangsang remembered clearly: when Taisu Sect’s envoys arrived, Xian‑zhu entered under the name “Yu Xian’er” and was immediately accepted as the Sect Master’s personal disciple. Both the Master and his senior disciples adored her. Meanwhile, when the true Yu Xian’er finally struggled her way to Taisu Sect, she was stopped eight miles from the gate by the Sect Master himself—never even allowed to step inside. “We are certain she is our Xian’er. Child, you are still young, and many opportunities await you. Taisu Sect simply has no fate with you.” With a few gentle words, the amiable Sect Master of Tai Su politely escorted the true Yu Xian’er out of Tai Su’s domain. He then returned to his beloved disciple, and the two wept together, vowing never again to speak of “the counterfeit.”
From that moment on, Xian‑zhu truly became “Yu Xian’er,” free from fear of being exposed, free from the dread that Taisu Sect might one day cast her out. She let go of all worry, living happily in the cultivation world—spoiled daily by her master and senior brothers, basking in affection under the name Yu Xian’er.
Yu Sangsang let out a long sigh. Even knowing the truth of the story, she would not expose it to Immortal Shangyong or Taisu Sect. Perhaps it was fate—or perhaps things would have unfolded this way regardless.
Shangyong had failed to recognize the child he once met; clearly, he did not care so deeply for the “offspring of an old friend.” As for Taisu Sect, since they had abandoned the true Yu Xian’er, Yu Sangsang would not go knocking on their door just to defend her.
Why strip everything bare, when leaving Xian‑zhu in peace spared her the torment of being discovered as a fraud?
No—Yu Sangsang wanted her to live in constant unease, waiting for the day Yu Sangsang herself became a powerful cultivator, and then settle accounts with both Xian‑zhu and the scoundrel father who betrayed her mother.
After all, her talent was unmatched, her cultivation method supreme, her resources abundant. Even retreating into a mountain cave for years of training would be better than bowing to a sect that had ignored her for fourteen years.
Yes, in all those years after her mother’s death, Taisu Sect had never once shown her concern. Clearly, she held no place in their hearts. So be it.
Better to plan for life beyond Dayu, to find her own path more swiftly. The princess did not take the matter to heart; her mind was broad and untroubled.
But those with guilty intentions grew ever more restless.
Yu Xiu stormed out of the courtyard in fury, walking a long way before his rage burst forth—he slammed a fist against a stone stele and cursed, “That little beast!”
Hatred consumed him, yet worry for his stepdaughter gnawed at his heart. In his anger, he failed to notice Old Wang trailing cautiously behind. Seeing Yu Xiu so enraged, the old man hurried forward, bowing low: “My lord, please quell your anger.”
Yu Xiu cast him a cold glance, his face still dark with wrath. He lowered his gaze, watching Yu Xiu’s expression with timid humility.
Seeing such submission, Yu Xiu’s face softened slightly. “Look at what you’ve turned her into!” he barked.
“It is all this old servant’s fault. But since the King seems troubled, I am willing to share his burden,” the elder said, rubbing his hands together, his voice full of devotion. “Though I am clumsy and dull, my loyalty to the King is boundless! I would brave fire and boiling cauldrons for you!”
It was clear he had been stifled to death in the imperial mausoleum; this obsequiousness was nothing more than an attempt to regain trust.
Yu Xiu, however, harbored little suspicion toward this old retainer, who had always been loyal to Dayu. In the past, he had banished him to the mausoleum only because the man’s loyalty had been solely to Yu Xiu’s father—he would obey no one else’s command.
But now that his father was gone, the old servant’s loyalty could only belong to him.
After a moment’s thought, Yu Xiu did not conceal his plan of “substituting plum for peach,” and confided it to Old Wang. He had little choice. Among his current retainers, none were capable; compared to them, this elder was far more experienced and shrewd, able to ease his master’s worries.
Moreover, Old Wang had cared for Yu Xian’er in the mausoleum for fourteen years. If she had any secrets known only to herself, Old Wang might know them. Perhaps he even knew whether Yu Xian’er and Immortal Shangyong shared some private understanding—something that could trip up Xian‑zhu.
When Yu Xiu finished explaining, Old Wang gasped, then quickly said, “This is a grave matter. The King must handle it carefully, lest the princess be exposed!” He was indeed a loyal servant.
Yu Xiu, whether the elder sought to prove himself in hopes of returning to court or truly favored Xian‑zhu whom he had barely met, replied coldly, “Do you think I don’t understand such principles? Yet look— that little beast refuses to say anything! And if Immortal Shangyong…” He snorted.
Old Wang hesitated, then murmured, “Immortal Shangyong, in this old servant’s view, is of little concern. Rather…” He weighed his words. “Rather, I recall that when the King’s late wife lay upon her sickbed, you swore to cherish her bloodline and return her to Taisu Sect.”
From his lowly position, Old Wang studied the King’s face, shifting from pale to dark, and spoke with concern: “This old servant has ways to help the King fulfill that vow. But… but…” His voice broke, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “I am a loyal servant! If the princess gains her wish, yet the King suffers loss, this old servant cannot bear it!”
For a mother at death’s door, the hardest thing to leave behind is her child. That frail, noble woman was no different. She lingered on her sickbed, knowing her days were numbered. How could she not worry for her beloved daughter’s future? Though born to a grand clan, by her time, that clan had withered, leaving her a solitary daughter. Of course… a solitary daughter who inherited the clan’s treasures, the wealthiest orphan of all. While she lived, that legacy was a blessing. But once she died, the once‑glorious, now empty clan could no longer shield her child. Her only hope was that her husband would protect their daughter. And so, before her death, he swore a solemn vow: to cherish her child.
That vow was answered by Heaven and Earth. With it, his wife passed away in peace.
Old Wang remembered this clearly, and so his heart was heavy with worry. If Xian‑zhu was merely a substitute, then Yu Xiu was betraying his oath—an oath that should bring thunderbolts down upon him!
To risk his life for the sake of a stepdaughter—was that truly acceptable? How could he not remind his master, lest others ascend joyfully to immortality while his own lord lay struck down?
Such words proved him a loyal servant indeed.
Yu Xiu had not expected anyone to remember his vow, let alone hold it so close. He glanced at Old Wang’s tear‑streaked, snot‑stained face. Strangely, the visage that once repelled him now seemed almost pleasing. After all, this man carried him in his heart.
“You are not wrong to worry,” Yu Xiu said gently. No one would lash out at a faithful servant.
Trusting him more, Yu Xiu decided to share deeper secrets. His lips curved faintly as he spoke: “Indeed, I swore before Chonghua to ease her mind.”
His late wife’s name was Jing Chonghua. He had always thought it too austere, ill‑suited to her gentle, innocent nature—so easily trusting, so pure. But that was beside the point. She was gone. Clearing his throat, he swept his gaze across the towering mausoleum, where her spirit tablet was enshrined. Pride flickered in his eyes as he recalled his cleverness back then. “She insisted I swear to pass down her clan’s legacy—the *Su Xin Manual*—to her child, and to return her daughter to Taisu Sect.”
The *Su Xin Manual* was the treasured cultivation method of her family, handed down for generations. With it, they had all become great cultivators, soaring through the skies. It was the finest of techniques.
But Jing Chonghua had died too soon, before she could even begin to teach their three‑year‑old daughter. So the task of passing on the jade slip of the *Su Xin Manual* fell to him.
Yet how could he allow her to learn it? Was it not better to give it to his beloved Xian‑zhu instead?