Ten years had passed since the tides of fate had last shifted in the Six Realms, but the shadow of war still lingered like a storm at the horizon. Taiyi left the East Sea in silence, not as a ruler but as a man carrying burdens too heavy for even gods to bear. His first destination was the Emotion Severing Cliff.
He moved like wind through the heavens, yet before setting foot on the sacred mountain, he could not resist his old habits. He slipped into the God of Wine's palace with the ease of a shadow, weaving through wards and divine seals as though they were no more than morning mist. Shelves upon shelves of rare vintages lay before him, yet Taiyi only chose a handful—bottles sealed for centuries, hidden treasures even the God of Wine himself would hesitate to open. With a faint smirk tugging his lips, Taiyi vanished, leaving not even the ripple of divine energy behind.
At the base of the Emotion Severing Cliff, the old man was already waiting. His master. The one who had once severed emotion and desire to pierce through the Dao, standing as an immovable mountain in Taiyi's youth.
"I have come to pay you a visit… one last time."
Taiyi's voice was calm, but his hand betrayed him. He tossed a bottle of wine to the old man, and when their eyes met, the air between them grew heavy.
The old man caught it effortlessly, uncorked it, and inhaled. "So," he said with a tone that saw through the heart, "even you believe the battle ahead will not be easy. Else, you would not be here drinking with this old man."
Taiyi smiled faintly but offered no reply. For the first time in centuries, he wished only to sit by his master, not as the Heavenly Emperor, but as the disciple who once knelt beneath the cliff to hear the teachings of the Dao.
They drank. They spoke. Not of war, but of days long gone.
As Taiyi watched his master's face under the shifting light, his chest tightened. Lines had appeared, faint but undeniable, carved by time. For all his power, for all his victories, Taiyi realized he had failed here—he had not been by his master's side as he should have been. His gaze lowered, regret coiling like smoke in his chest.
"You think yourself unfilial."
The old man's voice cut through him, as always. "But you have walked a road no one else could. Do not mistake duty for neglect."
"Still," Taiyi whispered, "I should have been here more often."
The old man chuckled, deep and rough. "Hah. The boy who once wanted to challenge heaven itself, speaking of regret? Where has that arrogance gone?"
They laughed then, truly laughed, and the heaviness melted away for a time.
For three days and two nights they drank beneath the cliff. They reminisced about the first time Taiyi attempted to climb the mountain and fell nine times before reaching the summit. About the way he had once broken a zither in frustration during practice. About the mortal realm years, the laughter and the mistakes.
When Taiyi rose at last, his sword still slumbered within the cliff, evolving under the old man's care. He longed to take it, but his master stopped him with a single glance.
"Leave it. What is forged in haste never lasts."
Taiyi inclined his head. For once, he did not argue.
---
From the cliff, Taiyi went to the Fire Realm. Night blanketed the sky as he slipped past layers of divine guards and wards with the same ease he had stolen wine. He entered quietly, his presence a whisper against the silken curtains of Feng Jiu's sleeping chambers.
She was sleeping.
Though gods had no need for such mortal habits, Feng Jiu cherished them. To her, sleep was not idleness but a reminder of what it meant to be alive. Of the fleeting warmth of mortality. Even after centuries, she indulged in it, wrapped in soft crimson sheets that shimmered faintly with divine flame.
Taiyi stood at her bedside, his gaze soft. The woman before him was his empress, his consort, his fated companion. Yet in her slumber, she seemed fragile, almost mortal, and his heart clenched at the thought of the countless battles that might tear this peace away.
She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and when she turned, she found him there—lying beside her, dressed in pajamas as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her brows arched. "Taiyi…?"
He only smiled, warmth filling his features.
"I realized," he whispered, brushing a strand of silver hair from her cheek, "that I failed to give you an actual wedding."
Her lips curved as she leaned into his touch. "Should I take that as you proposing to me?"
Before he could answer, she shifted, rolling him beneath her in a fluid motion. Now she straddled him, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You can say so," Taiyi replied calmly, lifting his hand. With a casual wave, the entire room vanished.
The bed, the sheets, even the walls of her chamber dissolved into streams of light. In the blink of an eye, they were no longer in the Fire Realm but in a small, secluded world.
A natal realm.
Feng Jiu's divine sense spread instinctively—only to find it sealed. Her powers muted. Her cultivation stilled. She blinked, startled, before turning to Taiyi.
"What did you—?"
"I sealed your strength," he said softly. "And mine. For today, I want us to be here without power. Just us. No titles, no burdens."
Before her words could form, a shower of blossoms cascaded from the heavens, petals spinning like a rain of stars.
Feng Jiu gasped. She rose from the bed, her gown fluttering as she spun beneath the floral rain, laughter bubbling from her lips. For a moment, she was no goddess, no consort of an emperor—only a woman, radiant and free.
Taiyi's heart swelled at the sight.
He turned and entered a nearby structure, a simple wooden hall that seemed untouched by time. A moment later, the sound of a zither drifted out—gentle at first, then weaving into a melody that carried memory itself.
Feng Jiu froze. Her eyes softened as she began to dance, each step echoing the memories of when she had once been his disciple, yearning silently, loving in secret. Now, at last, that longing had been fulfilled.
The song ended. Taiyi stepped out, holding a crown woven of delicate blossoms.
Feng Jiu stilled. She knew this flower. The Flower Crown of the Ancestral God, a token unseen for countless eras.
"This is my natal realm," Taiyi said, his voice low yet steady. "The place of my birth. And today, I brought you here to celebrate not as emperor and consort… but as man and woman. To grant you a title worthy of the only woman I have ever loved."
Her lips parted. "Oh? I remember someone once said he was not good at sweet words."
"Did I?" Taiyi smiled faintly. "Perhaps I forgot. After all, I've always had trouble remembering… except for a face I could never forget."
Color flushed her cheeks. "So, not only has your personality changed… even your mouth drips honey now."
"I can let you taste for yourself," Taiyi teased.
She laughed softly. "I wouldn't mind. But weren't you in the middle of something?"
He ignored her teasing this time. Stepping close, he lifted the flower crown and placed it gently upon her head.
"Be my queen."
The words carried no hesitation, no burden of destiny—only the pure, unshakable resolve of a man who had chosen once, and would never choose again.
Feng Jiu's eyes shimmered, tears threatening to fall. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
And in that timeless, hidden world, beneath a rain of flowers, two immortals—once master and disciple, now husband and wife—sealed their bond not with heaven's decree, but with their own hearts.