An Obsession Spanning Eight Thousand Years

The next day, at the Lanfeng Pavilion.

Ye Jiuhuang stood in the pavilion without taking a seat.

She was dressed in blue again today. The phoenix hairpin in her hair caught the light. Her entire being seemed immersed in the radiant joy of her approaching wedding, yet when she turned to look at Shen Qingshuang, the gentleness in her features had faded considerably, returning to the familiar cool detachment she always wore.

Shen Qingshuang entered the pavilion with steady steps.

She was not as disheveled as others might have imagined. Her eyes were not red, nor did she angrily demand an explanation.

She simply looked quietly at Ye Jiuhuang—the person she had once loved deeply for eight thousand years.

A breeze swept through the pavilion, stirring the strands of hair at her temples.

Shen Qingshuang suddenly felt a little dazed.

She remembered a time long, long ago, when her name had not yet been Ye Jiuhuang’s, but Ye Jiuzhou’s.

Back then, he had been dressed in white, his features as exquisite as a painting. Standing on the greenstone steps after a light rain, he held an umbrella and looked toward her.

That one glance could not be called passionate, nor could it be described as tender or lingering. And yet, that faint glance had caused the Shen clan's Celestial Maiden, who had always possessed a heart as still as water, to hear her own heartbeat lose control for the first time.

Only later did she learn that, for some people, one glance was enough.

One glance could ruin an entire life.

“Hu—no, Ye Jiuhuang. I asked you to meet me this time because there’s something I want to say.”

Even she noticed the momentary, nearly imperceptible pause in her own voice.

The form of address that had almost slipped out was forcibly swallowed back down.

Ye Jiuhuang froze for a moment. She had not expected Shen Qingshuang to take the initiative to seek her out at a time like this.

Looking at her, Ye Jiuhuang spoke first. “What do you want to say?”

Shen Qingshuang did not answer immediately.

She only looked at the person before her.

She looked at what Ye Jiuhuang had become, at the light that appeared in her eyes whenever Ye Xuan was mentioned, and at the composure in her every gesture—a composure that was entirely justified, entirely at ease, and even faintly tinged with the satisfaction of someone basking in spring sunshine.

She was so happy.

So joyful.

So much like a woman truly about to marry the man she loved.

And yet, Shen Qingshuang’s heart was calmer than she had expected.

Even Shen Qingshuang herself found that calmness absurd.

She had thought that when she reached this point, when she finally stood face-to-face with Ye Jiuhuang and laid all those old matters bare, she would be in great pain. She would hate her. She would be filled with indignation and humiliation that could never be put into words.

But now, there was none of that.

She only felt distant.

As if she were standing at the end of reincarnation, looking back upon eight thousand years of wind and snow, and suddenly discovering that the obsessions that had once weighed so heavily upon her had, in the end, been nothing more than this.

She drew a light breath and said, “I want to have one last talk with you.”

At the words “one last,” Ye Jiuhuang’s brows drew together slightly.

Clearly, she disliked this sort of roundabout phrasing.

Or perhaps her patience had always been reserved for Ye Xuan alone. Toward others, she had never been particularly accommodating.

So she spoke directly, her voice flat. “Talk about what?”

After a pause, she looked at Shen Qingshuang. She had already guessed what Shen Qingshuang wanted to ask, and a trace of impatience even entered her tone.

“Whether I still love you?”

Shen Qingshuang was stunned.

She wanted to say that was not what she meant, but when the words reached her lips, she suddenly realized that Ye Jiuhuang was not wrong.

That was indeed why she had come.

Or rather, it was not the whole reason.

She had come to ask for an answer—an answer that had been delayed for eight thousand years, delayed so long that she herself had nearly forgotten why she had been so determined to obtain it in the first place.

Shen Qingshuang fell silent for a moment before saying softly, “I need an answer.”

Ye Jiuhuang looked at her, her expression utterly unmoved.

Her eyes were still beautiful, still pure and aloof, still like the coldest pool beneath the heavens on a snowbound plateau. But within them, there was no longer any trace of the old “Ye Jiuzhou.”

Perhaps there had never been one.

“An answer?”

Ye Jiuhuang repeated the words, then said calmly, “Then I’ll give you a thorough one.”

Her voice was not loud, but every word was clear.

“I have never loved you.”

Shen Qingshuang’s fingers curled slightly.

But she remained standing steadily.

Ye Jiuhuang continued, “I have always been a woman. Even when I inhabited a man’s body, even when the entire world believed I was Ye Jiuzhou—the man who would become your Dao companion, the man who would grow old together with you—I was still a woman at heart.”

“But even as a woman, the person I liked was never you.”

“I only love Ye Xuan.”

The wind blew in from outside the pavilion, gently lifting the hems of their robes.

Shen Qingshuang heard her own heartbeat.

It was steady.

So steady that it felt unfamiliar.

She had thought those words would pierce her like a blade, completely severing something she had painstakingly preserved all these years.

But when she actually heard them, she found that her heart only sank slightly before becoming calm again.

It turned out the most painful moment had passed long ago.

That was why it no longer hurt now.

There was only an indescribable weariness and understanding.

Shen Qingshuang looked at her, her gaze filled with mockery, and slowly said, “So you pushed me toward Ye Xuan and made him my husband.”

Ye Jiuhuang’s expression remained calm.

“More or less.”

She said indifferently, “You can think of it as me giving you to him as a gift.”

Had anyone else heard such words, they would likely have been consumed by rage, lost control, and felt that they had been trampled upon until not even their dignity remained.

For one instant, a blaze of anger did surge through Shen Qingshuang’s chest.

It was not jealousy.

It was the sheer absurdity of it.

Her eight thousand years of waiting, her eight thousand years of hardship, her first awakening to love and her refusal to turn back even unto death—in the end, to Ye Jiuhuang, they amounted to nothing more than “giving her to Ye Xuan as a gift.”

What a weightless sentence.

So weightless that it was as if all the suffering she had endured over the years had been nothing more than an idle stroke beside someone else’s game board.

But the fire had barely flared before it quickly went out again.

Because when she looked up, she saw the expression in Ye Jiuhuang’s eyes.

There was no smugness in them, no humiliation, no intent to shame her.

There was only a sense of naturalness, as though this were simply how things ought to be.

She truly thought that way.

And she truly had never regarded Shen Qingshuang seriously as a Dao companion.

At that moment, Shen Qingshuang suddenly found that she could not even bring herself to be angry.

There was no point arguing with someone who had never stood within the same relationship as you, no point demanding that they account for all you had lost over the years.

From beginning to end, it had only ever been your story.

The other person did not even have the obligation to grieve along with you.

Thinking of this, Shen Qingshuang instead let out a soft sigh.

Her gaze no longer rested on Ye Jiuhuang. It passed beyond the pavilion and settled on the roiling sea of clouds in the distance.

Only after a long while did she slowly say, “I’ve fallen in love with Ye Xuan.”

When Ye Jiuhuang heard this, there was not the slightest surprise in her expression.

She merely cast Shen Qingshuang a faint glance and said, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Shen Qingshuang turned her head and looked at her. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

Ye Jiuhuang countered, her tone so calm it was almost cold. “If you remain trapped in the past, it will do neither me nor you any good. Now that you’ve fallen in love with Ye Xuan, that you’re willing to stand at his side and become his woman, this is already the best possible outcome.”

She paused, and the faintest hint of a smile even surfaced in her eyes.

“From now on, we’ll be sisters.”

Sisters.

The word fell like a flake of snow upon the ashes of bygone years.

Shen Qingshuang gazed silently at her.

Suddenly, she remembered how, many years ago, Ye Jiuzhou had danced with his sword beneath the moon. The swordlight had been as cold as frost, illuminating his young, handsome face until it seemed almost unreal.

Back then, her heart and eyes had been filled with nothing but joy. She had believed that she would want for nothing else in this life.

Who could have imagined that, after eight thousand years of twists and turns, the two of them would ultimately address each other as “sisters”?

Ridiculous?

Very.

And yet, on closer thought, it was more fitting than the word “husband and wife.”

Because in the end, she could no longer regard the person before her as her husband.

After a moment of silence, Shen Qingshuang suddenly said, “Do you know that Ye Xuan doesn’t actually love us all that much?”

This time, it was Ye Jiuhuang’s turn to be stunned.

She looked at Shen Qingshuang, a trace of surprise flickering through her eyes, as though she had never expected Shen Qingshuang to say such a thing.

In the next moment, however, Ye Jiuhuang returned to her usual composure, the corners of her lips even curving upward slightly.

“I knew that long ago.”

Shen Qingshuang stared at her, genuine astonishment appearing on her face for the first time.

“Then why do you still…”

She left the rest unsaid.

But Ye Jiuhuang clearly understood.

Looking at Shen Qingshuang, she showed neither self-mockery nor grievance. She merely said with utmost calm, “It’s enough that I love him.”

Shen Qingshuang stood where she was, unable to speak for a long while.

She had originally thought that she had already seen through Ye Jiuhuang: aloof, domineering, forceful, almost unreasonably possessive of everything that belonged to Ye Xuan.

She had thought Ye Jiuhuang was the sort of person who would only continue forward if the other party returned her feelings with equal fervor.

But now, she suddenly realized that she was wrong.

Ye Jiuhuang was crazier—and steadier—than she had imagined.

She was crazy because, despite knowing that Ye Xuan might not love her as deeply as she loved him, she was still willing to throw herself into it without reservation. She did not care who won or lost, nor who would suffer more in this relationship.

And she was steady because she knew exactly what she was doing. She also knew what sort of person Ye Xuan was.

Yet she still chose to love him.

Shen Qingshuang suddenly understood why Ye Jiuhuang could stand so firmly, and why, after the invitations had been sent out, she did not care in the slightest whether those women would lose their minds, come to snatch him away, or harbor delusions.

Because she had never intended to compete with anyone over whom Ye Xuan loved more.

She acknowledged only one thing: she loved Ye Xuan, and Ye Xuan would marry her.

That was enough.