To Love Deeply Is to Always Feel in Debt

And what about me?

I clung to the laughable title of emperor, obsessing over every gain and loss of power, calculating the fairness between men and women. In the end, I was abandoned by everyone—and even a single kiss was deemed filthy and rejected.

The immense sense of disparity and profound self-loathing surged over Wu Lingxiao like a tide, drowning her completely.

Seeing Wu Lingxiao’s broken expression, the disdain in Ying’er’s eyes finally began to fade. She sighed, and her expression softened once more.

“Sister,” Ying’er said softly, her voice like a breeze brushing across the surface of the water. “I wonder if you’ve ever heard this saying…”

Wu Lingxiao raised her head woodenly.

“When love runs deepest, we often feel that we owe the other person.”

Ying’er gazed toward the secret chamber in the distance, her eyes gentle enough to melt ten thousand miles of ice. “I always feel that the time I can spend by my husband’s side is too short, and that there’s too little I can do for him. I only regret that I can’t suffer in his place, and that I can’t place every wonderful thing in this world before him.”

She turned to Wu Lingxiao, her tone firm and utterly sincere.

“I have never once thought of finding another man, nor will I ever consider whether things are fair or unfair. Because in this relationship, as long as he is safe and well, I feel that I’m the one who has gained the greatest blessing in all the world.”

As soon as these words were spoken, the enormous imperial garden fell into deathly silence.

Wu Lingxiao stood there in a daze. Those two sentences were like a thunderbolt, cleaving through the spiritual platform that had been clouded by obsession and greed for eight hundred years.

She suddenly understood why Ye Xuan treated Ying’er with such tenderness, and why he had said, “Loyalty was carved into the souls of those women from the very beginning.”

She let out a long, desolate sigh.

At last, she admitted that she had lost.

She had not lost in cultivation, nor in beauty. She had lost because of her heart.

She knew that she had never seen through life as clearly as Ying’er. She had treated love as a transaction and a contest of wits, and in the end, she had lost everything.

Yet whenever she thought of Ye Xuan’s icy gaze and the heartless way he addressed her, it felt as though ten thousand arrows had pierced her heart.

She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and choked out:

“But… but he called me a whore!”

“He thinks I’m filthy! He’d rather die than touch me! What am I supposed to do? What else can I do?!”

Faced with Wu Lingxiao’s near-breakdown, Ying’er’s expression turned indifferent once more.

She was not here to play the role of a sympathetic older sister. She was merely stating a fact.

“Then find a way to make amends.” Ying’er’s voice held not a trace of warmth. “Lower yourself even further.”

“Make amends?”

It was as though Ying’er had struck a raw nerve. Wu Lingxiao abruptly wiped away her tears and shouted angrily, “How am I supposed to make amends? I’ve already lowered myself enough! I’m the Empress of Great Xia, yet he slapped me and insulted me. I even offered to recreate his body! But what if he refuses to accept it? What if he never forgives me for the rest of his life?”

Ying’er looked at her as though she were watching an unreasonable, spoiled child.

Her expression once again filled with cold disdain.

“You did something wrong. You betrayed him, humiliated him, and destroyed the sincerity of his heart.”

“Since you did wrong, don’t stand there proudly and demand forgiveness. Since you long to be forgiven, then wait quietly and endure all of his anger and coldness.”

Every word Ying’er spoke struck Wu Lingxiao’s heart like iron.

“All you have to do is prepare yourself for the possibility that you may never be forgiven. Isn’t that enough?”

“Are you insane?”

Wu Lingxiao was furious. At that moment, her imperial pride let out its final, anguished cry.

“If I cast aside all my dignity and beg him, only to spend my entire life without being forgiven, wouldn’t I become the greatest joke in the world? Wouldn’t that be utterly ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous?”

Ying’er’s expression turned completely icy.

“To atone for your sins is, by its very nature, to prepare yourself for the possibility that you may never receive forgiveness. That is the cause and effect you must bear.”

Ying’er rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt. Looking down at Wu Lingxiao, she delivered her final, devastating argument:

“Otherwise, if everyone in this world could commit a mistake or an unforgivable sin, then immediately earn forgiveness simply by lowering themselves and begging a few times, simply by shedding a few tears—as if nothing had ever happened…”

“Then forgiveness would be far too cheap.”

Wu Lingxiao said nothing.

She stood there like a statue drained of its soul, her gaze vacant.

For the past eight hundred years, she had always believed herself to be the one in control—a god who could bestow and withdraw grace whenever she pleased.

Only today, before this young woman, did she truly realize that she was a sinner.

A sinner who had made a mistake and might never be able to repay the debt.

Seeing that Wu Lingxiao’s arrogance had been completely extinguished, Ying’er turned around and no longer looked at her.

“You always say that you love him. Then stop using that ridiculous mouth of yours to talk about it. Take action instead.”

Ying’er’s voice drifted lightly from ahead.

“My husband has already entered seclusion. He suffered serious injuries before, and his cultivation rose and fell dramatically. When he comes out this time, his body will be hungry, and he’ll want some hot food.”

With that, Ying’er’s figure transformed into a breeze and vanished from the imperial garden, leaving behind only a desolate silence.

Wu Lingxiao remained where she was.

The wind swept past, stirring several fallen leaves that brushed against the hem of her luxurious yet cold black-and-gold imperial robe.

Countless emotions flickered through her eyes: struggle, resistance, pain. In the end, they all transformed into a profound and utterly humble acceptance of her fate.

That was right. Forgiveness was too expensive. She could not afford it.

But she could atone.

Wu Lingxiao said nothing.

She silently turned around. She brought no palace maids with her, nor did she use any divine ability to cover great distances in a single step.

Like an ordinary mortal woman, she walked step by step, her gait somewhat unsteady, toward a place in the northwestern corner of the imperial palace that she had never set foot in during the past eight hundred years—the imperial kitchen.

The Imperial Kitchen of Great Xia.

When the figure clad in a black-and-gold imperial robe appeared at the entrance, the hundreds of imperial chefs, servants, and eunuchs busy inside were scared out of their wits. They all dropped to their knees in unison.

“L-L-long live Your Majesty!” The chief eunuch in charge of the imperial kitchen kowtowed repeatedly, his entire body trembling like a sieve.

Wu Lingxiao ignored them.

Her gaze swept across the mountains of delicacies and rare ingredients, including dragon liver and phoenix marrow.

Once, these had been essential to the grandeur of every meal she ate. But now, she found them cold and utterly devoid of warmth.

“Everyone, leave.” Wu Lingxiao’s voice was hoarse, yet it carried an unquestionable authority.

“Your Majesty, this…” The chief eunuch boldly raised his head, only to meet Wu Lingxiao’s phoenix eyes, faintly veined with blood. He was instantly frightened into scrambling away on all fours, leading everyone else out of the imperial kitchen and firmly shutting the doors behind them.

The enormous imperial kitchen was left with Wu Lingxiao alone.

She walked to the cutting board and looked at the most ordinary ingredients from the mortal world: spirit rice, greens, and several freshly caught spirit fish.

The Empress of Great Xia had stained both hands with the blood of countless powerful enemies and had once read memorials that determined the life and death of all under heaven. Yet she had never held a kitchen knife even once.

Slowly, she rolled up the black-and-gold cloud-patterned sleeve that Ye Xuan had once torn and that Ying’er’s flames had scorched.

Clumsily, she picked up the knife.

Chop the vegetables, start the fire, wash the rice.

She did not draw on the slightest bit of spiritual power, nor did she use any of the laws of the Mahayana realm.

She was just like an ordinary wife preparing a meal for the husband who had returned from a long journey. Amid the choking smoke from the cooking oil, it brought tears to her reddened eyes.

The blade sliced through her finger, and bright red blood dripped onto the chopping board.

She did not use her true essence to heal the wound. She merely raised her finger to her lips and sucked at it, letting the piercing pain spread.

Did it hurt? Yes, it did.

But compared to the pain in her heart when Ye Xuan called her a “used-up woman,” this was not even one ten-thousandth as painful.

Several hours later, when the prepared dishes had been packed into a food container, Wu Lingxiao’s breathtaking face was already smeared with soot.

She gazed at the container, and a sudden rush of bitter warmth welled up in her eyes.

“You were right…”

Wu Lingxiao spoke to the empty air, as though answering Ying’er—or passing judgment on her former self:

“I’ve made up my mind… to spend the rest of my life without ever being forgiven.”

She picked up the food container and pushed open the doors of the Imperial Kitchen. Bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun, she walked step by step toward the direction of the secret chamber in the rear hall.