Chapter One: Unaware Upon Returning

Beyond the Western Sea, where the border meets the Netherworld, there lies a small country called the Land of Gentlemen. The people of this land shun conflict and uphold the virtues of courtesy and deference. When disputes arise, yielding and retreat are their first response.

The royal consort, Jiang Wu, was a woman of unparalleled beauty—gentle, considerate, beloved deeply by King Dongfang Xun. Their union was harmonious, overflowing with love, and within a year of marriage, they were blessed with a charming young prince. With a peaceful realm and contented subjects, their family of three lived in bliss.

But happiness, as always, drew the covetous gaze of darkness.

The Land of Gentlemen soon found itself under relentless assault from the Netherworld—its neighbors were beasts, and so each year the little kingdom sent tribute and paid homage, yet the demands from the Netherworld grew ever more outrageous. The Land of Gentlemen could only endure, swallowing each humiliation.

At last, on the young prince’s second birthday, King Dongfang Xun received a marriage demand from the Lord of the Netherworld. The chosen bride was none other than Consort Jiang Wu.

Clutching the marriage edict in his hands, the king stood at a distance, watching his beloved wife coaxing their son with tender laughter. Tears streamed down his face like rain. The Lord of the Netherworld threatened annihilation unless Jiang Wu was sent as tribute; Dongfang Xun had no choice but to sacrifice the one he cherished most to stave off disaster.

Thus, he hid in his study, weeping as he issued the decree, unable even to face Jiang Wu.

When Jiang Wu received the order, she collapsed to the ground, clutching her child as tears flowed silently—pain, sorrow, disappointment. Her husband’s cowardice left her utterly disillusioned. She consented to the marriage alliance, not for the weak king or the unworthy nation, but so that her child might live.

Dongfang Xun did not take a final farewell. Jiang Wu was torn from her child, from her home, and set upon the road to the Netherworld—a lonely bridal palanquin, a handful of attendants, and within, a beauty whose face was as lifeless as carved jade. In exchange, the Land of Gentlemen enjoyed six years of uneasy peace.

The king, after sending his beloved consort to the Netherworld, was consumed by grief and shame; eventually, he died of sorrow. The little prince ascended the throne at six, but two years later, the kingdom was destroyed by the Netherworld. Its people became slaves, some thrown into alchemical furnaces to be refined into pills. The young king disappeared without a trace. The Lord of the Netherworld did not marry Jiang Wu, whose fate remains unknown. Thus ended the marriage alliance in tragedy.

Such pitiful and lamentable events happened in a time long past, beyond my reach. By the time my memory begins, the Celestial Realm was already peaceful and secure.

My name is Yu Fei, and my true form is a cold crow. I grew up eating from many households, never knowing my parents, nor having any siblings. As a child, watching the other young birds cultivate their immortality, I followed suit—and muddled my way into becoming the lowest rank of immortal, no more than an ordinary fairy girl.

I gave myself my name, drawing inspiration from the auspicious phrase, “the phoenix soars.” In my dreams, I spread my wings and soared again and again, but upon waking and gazing into the mirror, I knew it was but a daydream.

That year, in the Celestial Realm’s Qilin Town, the temple fair was in full swing. With nothing better to do, I went to enjoy the festivities—dressed smartly in men’s attire, munching a large pear as I wandered the bustling streets.

Street vendors shouted, “Primal Chaos artifacts! Bargain prices! One silver leaf each—buy one, get one free! Come and see!”

“Really? What’s this cauldron for?” asked a passing immortal.

“The Infinite Cauldron, of course! It refines the very heavens and earth,” the vendor boasted.

“That function is much too powerful, I wouldn’t use it. Anything else?” the immortal probed.

“At this price, it’s worth buying just for display! Give it to the children to play with! Try this—perfect for cooking porridge! Or this seal—great for cracking walnuts! Latest waterproof robe! This rope—ideal for drying clothes, or tying up a dog so it can’t run away… Want one? Don’t leave yet! Why, it’s even good for hanging yourself—guaranteed to work…”

I clutched my stomach, nearly spitting out my pear in laughter. A stall full of odds and ends, calling them “Primal Chaos artifacts” and boasting they could “refine the universe”—what an imagination!

“Gods for sale! The God of Rebirth! The God of Dawntime! The God of Myriad Forms! The Heavenly Emperor! The Lord of the Underworld! All the gods of heaven and earth available here!” another vendor cried enthusiastically.

Curious, I squeezed forward. It turned out to be a stall selling deity figurines.

“Young master, take one! This is our most popular!” The vendor held up a figurine of an old immortal with white hair.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“The High God Yunxiao! The god of light and hope in the Celestial Realm, incarnation of the Star of Rebirth. The peace of the world depends on him! Many immortals take him home for veneration,” the vendor replied.

So that’s what Yunxiao looks like? Rather ugly, I thought. Finding nothing to my liking, I turned to leave.

“I’ll give you a discount! Take one!” The vendor tried to shove the figurine into my arms.

“No, no! I don’t want it!” I hurried off—I certainly didn’t want such an old and ugly trinket.

Suddenly, cheers and applause erupted on the street. A crowd had gathered, three or four rows deep, around a street performance. Small as I was, I hopped up but couldn’t see a thing, so I squeezed through the gaps and finally poked my head out at the front—just as a shower of shattered stone flew into my face and mouth.

Another round of applause—the strongman was performing a stone-breaking act.

“Pah! Pah!” I spat out the gritty stone dust, too busy to watch the performance.

The burly strongman, brawny and imposing, had keen ears; upon hearing my spitting, he took offense and called out, “The brother who booed, won’t you come out and challenge me?”

“Humph! Pah!” I kept spitting out the dust.

He strode over, clasped his hands and asked, “Young master, did you find my performance lacking?”

“Huh?” I looked up, realizing he was speaking to me.

“Not at all. It was excellent!” I replied with a smile.

“Then you must be a master yourself, too skilled to bother with my humble act. Would you not honor us with a demonstration?” he pressed.

“Me? I have no such skills…” I was baffled as to why he was addressing me.

“Then you must be well-traveled and discerning. Surely you could offer me some encouragement to strive harder!” he said.

A breeze blew more dust into my eyes. “Well done! Keep up the good work!” I cheered him on as I rubbed my eyes, not noticing that the strongman had flipped over his gong and was holding it out to me for payment.

After rubbing my eyes clear, I finally saw the upturned gong and the embarrassed, red-faced strongman standing over me, veins bulging.

Just my luck, I thought. I’d just squeezed in, got a mouthful of dust, and now he wanted me to pay. How was that fair?

“Good sir, I only just arrived and saw nothing,” I said truthfully, bowing politely.

“Outrageous!” His eyes bulged as he reached to grab my collar. Terrified, I dropped my pear and dove through the crowd, but before I could escape, he’d plucked me back as easily as lifting a chick.

“You booed my act—if you want to leave, you must show us a skill of your own,” he insisted.

“I didn’t boo!” I protested.

“I heard it clearly! Show your skill or you can’t go,” he thundered.

Eyeing the slab of green stone—nearly as big as myself—I swallowed nervously and instinctively shielded my chest. I can’t break stones on my chest, I thought.

Suddenly, a cunning idea struck me.

“All right, let me go and I’ll perform a special skill. If the crowd enjoys it and tips, you keep the money. If not, you can smash the stone on me,” I proposed.

“What skill?” he asked.

“It’s quite different from your hard kung fu—a most profound immortal art called ‘mind reading.’ I can perform it here, but you’ll have to cooperate,” I said.

“How?” he asked.

“Release me first! This is the High God Yunxiao’s secret art—no ordinary person has ever seen it, and it cannot be desecrated by rough handling,” I lied boldly.

“Very well,” he said, letting go.

I clasped my hands behind my back, feigning calm. “Mind reading is my specialty. Here’s how it works: you and I stand back to back, and someone from the audience writes a character on your palm. I do the same. At the count of three, we both reveal our palms, and I’ll have written the same character as you!”

“So young, and you know such an arcane art?” he doubted.

“Of course! Or else I wouldn’t have dared heckle you,” I replied confidently.

“And if you fail?” he asked.

“Impossible. But if I do, you can smash the stone on me. Either way, you make money—what do you have to lose?” I declared.

“Agreed!” He struck the gong.

“Everyone, watch as this young master and I perform mind reading! If you’re entertained, tip me a meal; if not, he’ll be the one under the stone!” he announced.

I bowed to the crowd. “Please, everyone, remain silent; if either of us learns the character in advance, the trick loses its charm. If you find it amusing, I’ll take nothing—just tip him a few coins.”

“Agreed!” the crowd cheered.

We stood back to back. Someone wrote a character on his palm, which he glanced at before clenching his fist. I scribbled a character on my palm and showed it to the crowd, signaling them to keep quiet.

“One… two… three!” I yelled, then slipped away through the crowd.

The strongman turned around. “What character did I have?” But I was already gone.

The onlookers burst into laughter, shouting, “It was the character for ‘fool’!”

As coins clattered into his gong, the strongman cursed and stomped his feet.

I dashed away at top speed.

Through winding streets and alleys, I ducked into a teahouse and found an empty seat to catch my breath, grateful my small body had not ended up beneath that stone.

“What will you have, young master?” the server asked.

“A pot of jasmine tea, a plate of melon seeds, and a plate of green peas.”

“Right away! Please wait—a complimentary snowball cake from Listening Clouds Pavilion!” he called, and the other servers echoed, “Listening Clouds Pavilion treats its guests!”

Only now, seated and calm, did I notice the teahouse’s sign. Listening Clouds Pavilion was truly grand, three sides of seats and a large stage on the fourth, where a storytelling immortal prepared his table and sleeves.

I nibbled on melon seeds and sipped tea, waiting for the storyteller to begin.

He rolled up his sleeves, tapped the table with a wooden block, and called for silence.

“Before I begin, let me ask you: whose star shines brightest in the thirty-three heavens? Who ensures the peace and safety of the Celestial Realm?”

The guests replied in chorus: “The High God Yunxiao!”

“Correct! The incarnation of the Star of Rebirth, teacher to the emperors, revered across the Four Seas—High God Yunxiao! All my stories are based on truth—never mere invention…”

At that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “As if a storyteller never exaggerates or embellishes.”

He continued, “High God Yunxiao, incarnation of the Star of Rebirth, has lived over eighty thousand years. From childhood, he fought alongside his uncle, the ancient God of War, and took command of the Celestial armies forty thousand years ago. Now he resides in the Jade Purity Realm upon Kunlun, training the next generation of divine officials. His legendary deeds are too many for one mouth alone to recount.

“But were Yunxiao’s years only war and glory, a life of iron and blood? No! Today, let me tell you of his love and grief before his ascension, when he was not yet called Yunxiao, but went by the name Han Qing.”

The exalted High God Yunxiao—I had never met him, nor could I, so naturally I wanted to hear about the powers and immortal arts that had brought peace to the heavens, not some tale of love and sorrow.

Finding little interest, I turned my attention to the complimentary rice cake on my table—white, round, and clearly made with care. I took a bite. It tasted pleasant, though something seemed missing. I studied it curiously.

On stage, the storyteller pressed on: “Han Qing took a rice cake and fed it to his betrothed, Lu Xue, who was bound hand and foot. With tears in his eyes, he said, ‘Xue’er, your execution is at hand—please, eat this ‘Soul Severing Meal’…”