Much later, Ji Xi thought perhaps she had been spat back to life by all the gossip.
In this peaceful age, there were two broad roads to glory: one for mortals, one for cultivators. Mortals studied the classics and sat the imperial exams, all to save the people and leave their names in history. Cultivators studied spells and refined their cultivation, all to achieve immortality and ascend to godhood.
Anyone who stepped outside those two roads inevitably seemed strange.
And if someone stepped outside those two roads and had an ugly reputation too, then they were even more hated and feared.
So when news came that the Master of Xuanming Tower, who possessed both of these qualities, had died, people could hardly contain their joy. They rushed to tell one another the most uplifting news since the beginning of the Jiazi year, as though a great threat had finally been removed from their hearts and they could now eat an extra two liang of rice with every meal.
This Master of Xuanming Tower, Hejia, descended from an alien tribe of Miaojiang and inherited the destiny of Yinghuo, the Star of Calamity. She presided over disaster; with a single curse, she could plunge living beings into misery and send calamity running rampant. Hejia also loved money like her life. She founded Xuanming Tower and turned disaster into a business: whoever paid enough, she would curse their enemies and bring calamity down upon them. She gathered a band of criminals wanted by the imperial court as her helpers, committed countless evils over decades, and was hated by commoners and cultivators alike.
The heavens had their cycle of retribution. After Hejia cursed the Palace Master of Xingqing Palace to death, she finally provoked public outrage and was jointly crusaded against by the hundred immortal sects. From then on, the world had no more Star of Calamity. It was truly a cause for celebration.
What a pity that people did not know this Yinghuo Star of Calamity had only disappeared for seven short days before waking up amid everyone’s curses, sneezing.
Ji Xi—also known as the notorious “Hejia”—was sneezing not because people were cursing her, but because she had been choked by the smell of incense. She thought to herself, This underworld isn’t Xingqing Palace, so why does it smell so strongly of incense?
Before her eyes was a hazy darkness, though not entirely without light. Her eyes hurt, and so did her head. Slowly, sluggishly, Ji Xi began wondering what exactly was going on.
Her last memory was of that day when countless cultivators had surrounded Xuanming Tower. She had stood on the roof, observing the situation and wondering which underground passage she should use to escape, only to be unexpectedly shot through the heart by an arrow.
At the time, the man in white standing below had lowered the bow in his hand and looked up at her expressionlessly. In the blood-red sunset, his robes fluttered, spotless and unstained, just as they had been seven years ago. Back then, when he smiled, his brows and eyes curved so beautifully.
Ji Xi did not know what she had felt at that moment. In any case, her pierced heart probably had no time to be sad before she fell from the tower and lost consciousness.
No matter how she looked at it, she had died thoroughly.
As Ji Xi was thinking, the darkness before her eyes was lifted. Warm candlelight spilled in from the edge of the darkness that had been pulled away. Ji Xi then realised that the darkness had come from a cloth covering her head.
As the cloth was lifted, what entered her sight along with the candlelight was a pair of soft red boots embroidered with golden patterns. They wrapped halfway up the calves, setting off the slender lines of the legs. Further up were robes of the same red and gold pattern, wide sleeves, a pale neck, and then the person’s face.
The man standing in front of Ji Xi had strong brow bones and a straight nose bridge, with sharp brows sweeping toward his temples. His slightly lowered eyes had a calm curve, almost gentle. In the cool moonlight, his aura was like white jade, like a white lotus, but dressed in red wedding robes, he gained a touch of alluring beauty, so stunning he hardly seemed mortal.
When the candlelight brightened, one could vaguely see the fine silver lines on the right side of his face. The pattern began at his right temple, crossed over his right eyelid, and continued below his eye. Only in the instant he blinked could its full shape be seen.
It was the star map of the Southern Dipper.
He was thinner than seven years ago, more mature, and even better-looking.
Ji Xi was entranced for a moment.
Then cold sweat broke out all over her body.
Was there anything in this world more terrifying than seeing the person who had just killed you standing in front of you? Not to mention, this person was wearing wedding robes and lifting your bridal veil?
The man before her, Jü An, Lord Tianji of Xingqing Palace, did not speak. In the surrounding silence, Ji Xi only felt bewildered.
So… what was this situation? What was she supposed to say?
Oh my, what a coincidence, you died too?
Your archery has improved a lot?
Why are the two of us wearing wedding robes in the underworld?
Every sentence that flashed through her mind was unbearably awkward. Ji Xi stiffened and decided to remain silent, responding to change by not changing at all.
“Shimu, please restrain your grief.”
Jü An placed the veil neatly by the bed and spoke first. His voice was low and steady, like an ancient zither.
That long-lost voice left Ji Xi dazed for a moment before she finally caught the important part of his words.
“Shi… Shimu?” she repeated in shock, and was then shocked again by her own unfamiliar, soft and delicate voice.
Ji Xi stiffly looked around. The furnishings here were indeed in Xingqing Palace’s simple and elegant style. Between the wedding candles on the table stood a memorial tablet. Written on it were the words: Tablet of Sang Ye, the Forty-Seventh Palace Master of Xingqing Palace.
All the causes, consequences, and gossip immediately began spinning rapidly through Ji Xi’s mind.
She had previously heard that the Palace Master of Xingqing Palace had been living in the Su family residence in Moling. Miss Su, Su Jixi, had fallen in love with him at first sight and insisted on marrying him. The Palace Master and his original wife, Lord Taiyin, had been deeply devoted to each other. After his wife died, he had not remarried for twenty years, and now his daughter was the same age as Su Jixi. Naturally, he had refused to marry her. But the Su family’s ancestors had once shown kindness to Xingqing Palace, and Su Jixi had cried, made scenes, threatened suicide, waited all night in the snow, and even ran away alone to chase after the Palace Master. After half a year of pursuing him, the Palace Master had finally agreed to the marriage.
The matter had previously caused an uproar. Ji Xi had enthusiastically eaten melon seeds while watching the drama unfold. She had never expected that before the Palace Master could even get married, he would die—and she, the spectator, would somehow be shoved onto the stage and die there.
She was wronged. Truly wronged. Even Dou E causing snow in June could not compare to her injustice.
Ji Xi hesitantly looked at Jü An and said, “I’m too heartbroken, so I’ve been a little forgetful lately… I… my name is Su Jixi, right?”
Jü An raised his eyes slightly in surprise, the candlelight reflected in them.
“That is Shimu’s name.”
“So you’re dressed like this to stand in for your master and marry me?”
“Yes.”
“What day is it today?”
“The eighth day of the ninth month in the Jiazi year.”
It was the seventh day after she had been shot through the heart.
It was also her twenty-fourth birthday.
…Heavens. What sin had she committed? She had died at Xingqing Palace’s hands, and in the blink of an eye, she had married back into it? And it was a damn ghost marriage? The dead could not return to life; that was a law of heaven and earth. No matter how powerful a cultivator or Star Lord was, once a person died, their lamp went out. What exactly was this?
For a moment, Ji Xi did not know whether she should be happy or sad. Her mood swung back and forth between “I could have revived as anyone, why did it have to be Su Jixi?” and “You’re alive again, what right do you have to be picky?” until her gaze returned to Jü An. Only then did she belatedly realise that his gaze seemed strange.
He seemed to be looking at her, yet also seemed to be looking at nothing at all. The candlelight quietly flickered in his warm eyes. His pupils were like black tourmaline submerged in water, far too dark.
“What happened to your eyes?”
Those tangled, complicated feelings were immediately thrown to the back of Ji Xi’s mind. She reached out and gently waved a hand in front of Jü An’s eyes.
Jü An’s gaze did not move at all. Ji Xi’s heart sank.
He smiled faintly and said, “There was an accident some years ago, which caused me to lose my sight.”
His tone was calm, neither humble nor arrogant, as though this were only an ordinary matter.
Ji Xi’s hand, still waving before him, stiffened. Somewhat at a loss, she lowered it.
Jü An’s eyes had once always been warm and bright, keen and perceptive. He could accurately swing his sword and cut through a drifting flower petal, and he could pick out a wrong character at a glance from her pages of tiny handwriting. How could he suddenly have gone blind?
She instinctively wanted to ask what had happened, but when the words reached her lips, she fell silent.
Suppose your murderer was standing right in front of you. Suppose he had no guard up against you, and he was blind. And suppose you happened to be wearing two jin of heavy head ornaments, among which there was no shortage of sharp objects. According to convention, shouldn’t you pull out a hairpin, take revenge, and then flee?
Ji Xi casually pulled a hairpin from her hair, looked at it carefully, and sucked in a breath.
Oh my, wasn’t this top-quality South Sea pearl? This Hetian white jade! This lifelike immortal crane! This exquisite gilding!
Ji Xi’s eyes shone with greed. Her family motto echoed in her heart:
“Forget personal grudges, focus on making money. Live in luxury and roam the mortal world at ease.”
The Su family’s dowry was so generous, life in Xingqing Palace was so comfortable, and she had even become the master’s wife. Forget everything else—she should enjoy herself first.
She silently inserted the hairpin back into her hair, cleared her throat, and said, “All right. Your shimu needs to rest. You may leave.”
Jü An lowered his head slightly in salute, then turned and left. His red figure disappeared through the doorway, and he gently closed the door behind him with a barely audible click. This series of movements was smooth and composed. If not for the scattered, unfocused quality of his gaze, others would probably find it difficult to notice that he was blind.
Now that Jü An was blind, surely she could finally beat him once, right?
But even if she won, could she really bring herself to kill him?
Ji Xi sighed, stood up, stretched her limbs, walked to the window, and pushed it open with one palm. The beautiful moonlight outside immediately poured in.
In truth, the notorious name “Hejia” was Ji Xi’s surname. It came from her father’s Miao surname. Her given name, Ji Xi, had been chosen by her Han mother. But because the Yinghuo Star of Calamity was passed down through bloodline, generation after generation, and because her real name was unknown, the world simply called them “Hejia.” When the old Hejia died, the young Hejia inherited the title, endlessly from generation to generation—
Oh no. It very likely ended with her, Ji Xi.
When she lowered her head, she found a colony of ants on the windowsill. They were carrying the corpse of a wasp toward their nest, forming a dense black line.
Ji Xi leaned on the windowsill and watched the ants. With her finger, she scraped aside the dust on the sill and drew a curse mark, chanting, “Great Zhao above, Yinghuo commands: let these ants lose their way for one quarter of an hour. Swiftly answer my curse.”
As soon as Ji Xi finished speaking, the orderly line of ants suddenly broke in the middle and began circling in place.
Ji Xi rested her chin in her hand and waited patiently. After a quarter of an hour, they recovered their order, reconnected their line, and continued carrying their wasp corpse.
If anyone knew that the infamous evildoer was lying on a windowsill cursing ants to lose their way, their jaws would probably drop.
Ji Xi looked at the scene and could not help letting out a long sigh.
Fine. She was still the Yinghuo Star of Calamity. Not a thing had changed.
Could it be because the Hejia line had no heir left, so Yinghuo had dragged her back to life to continue bearing the star destiny?
Ji Xi raised her head and found the Yinghuo star among the sky full of stars. After a moment of silence, she slowly lifted her hand, clenched it into a fist, and saluted.
“Aren’t you being a little too lazy? Is changing bloodlines harder than bringing someone back from the dead?”
Then she bowed carelessly again.
“Thank you for the birthday gift. I’ll be counting on your continued care in the future.”
Leave a Reply