After Death, I Became My Shijie’s Palm-Sized Birdie – Chapter 2

Events of the Past, Part 1

Shijie Is Probably a Block of Wood

One hundred years ago.

            

The Cangwang Realm, Dongzhao Domain.

At the center of this region lay the largest immortal sect in all of Dongzhao—Wenshen Sect.

Wenshen Sect comprised twelve mountains. Among them was Yunwu Mountain, the residence of Sect Master Yun Heng. Snow fell upon the peak year-round. At the first light of dawn, a layer of pale gold light would drape over Yunwu Mountain like a divine halo.

            

At this hour, however, the moon was rising, and the evening scenery of Yunwu Mountain held a unique charm. A woman in green robes, looking somewhat frail and sickly, walked along the mountain path, the gentle moonlight illuminating the stone steps before her.

Suddenly, a large white ball of fluff came tumbling down the steps from above, rolling over and over. The little creature barely managed to halt right in front of Wen Qiwu.

“Xuetuan?” Wen Qiwu bent down and patted the little creature’s head, asking gently, “Why the rush? Did you hurt yourself?”

            

“Ji…” The true form of this large, furry ball was an exceptionally plump rabbit. Because its cultivation was low and it ate far too much, its warren had kicked it out. Fortunately, it had crossed paths with a young Wen Qiwu, who possessed absolutely no resistance to soft, fluffy animals. She had carried it back to Wenshen Sect and raised it ever since.

“Why are you walking up the steps yourself? Yunwu Mountain is cold at night, and with your poor health, you must be careful not to catch a chill. Let me carry you up instead.” Xuetuan expanded to the size of a leopard, gently nudging Wen Qiwu’s legs before coaxing her to sit on its back.

In truth, given Wen Qiwu’s cultivation, a single thought could have brought her to the summit. However, she had overheard some disciples mentioning how beautiful Yunwu Mountain’s scenery was, which sparked a sudden whim to walk the mountain path.

            

Xuetuan carefully used its own spiritual energy to shield Wen Qiwu from the biting wind.

Wen Qiwu smiled helplessly. She was, after all, a Void Refining¹ cultivator. No matter how frail her constitution, she was not so weak as to collapse from a single gust of wind. Yet, from her Shijie² down to her pet, everyone treated her like a delicate mortal.

But she was indeed suffering from a severe illness—or rather, a terminal affliction.

            

Even though the Cangwang Realm was home to immortals and demons with heaven-defying powers, there remained several incurable diseases that had persisted throughout the long ages.

Among them was Spirit-Dispersing Syndrome³. Those afflicted with this terminal condition were born with incomplete souls. Their souls would continuously dissipate from the fracture, and no power in existence could halt the process.

In ancient records, there had been only one other such case in history. Even the Medicine Immortal of that era had been entirely helpless, forced to watch as the patient’s soul completely dissolved into nothingness. Thousands of years had passed, yet no cure had ever been found. Now, Wen Qiwu had been diagnosed as the second person in history to suffer from it.

            

Her Shijie had searched the world for all manner of treasures just to keep her alive to this day. Her senior always hid the truth, offering comfort and insisting that she would recover. But Wen Qiwu knew the truth in her heart; this affliction of hers could not be cured.

Was she afraid of death?

Wen Qiwu looked up at the bright full moon hanging in the night sky. Yes, of course she was afraid. She feared that one day, when she closed her eyes, she would sink into a lonely, silent darkness where her Shijie would never hold her hand again.

            

“Is something troubling you?” The little rabbit was exceptionally sensitive to changes in her mood.

“Nothing. I was just wondering if there would be any Chestnut Cake today.” Hiding her unease, Wen Qiwu smiled and rubbed the rabbit’s head.

Xuetuan’s simple little brain immediately resonated with the topic of food. It knew that Wen Qiwu’s absolute favorite dessert was Chestnut Cake, especially when she was young. Back then, she had been frail and sickly, forced to take medicine every day. As a child, she had dreaded the bitter taste; without Chestnut Cake, she would cry the moment she swallowed her medicine.

            

It’s probably the same kind of worry I have when I don’t know if I’ll get to eat Celestial Radish tonight, the greedy rabbit thought, convinced it understood its master’s plight. It gave a silly grin and said, “If you want to eat some, you can just tell Immortal Venerable. She will definitely cook for you.”

Wen Qiwu smiled and gave a soft murmur of agreement.

Xuetuan moved up the mountain swiftly, running so smoothly that Wen Qiwu did not feel a single bump. Before long, the chubby snow rabbit had delivered her to her Shijie’s residence.

            

No one was permitted to enter Immortal Venerable Yun Heng’s residence without prior announcement, but this rule did not apply to her only Shimei⁴.

Wen Qiwu pulled out a storage pouch and hung it around Xuetuan’s neck. “Inside are the Celestial Radishes you love so much. But you can only eat ten a day at most. If you eat too many and get a stomachache, I’ll have Shijie cut off your rations entirely, understood?”

Xuetuan nodded its head vigorously, then swayed its head in delight as it trotted back to its little nest, looking immensely pleased.

            

The little creature had absolutely no resistance to the high-quality Celestial Radishes cultivated in the spiritual plant gardens. However, if it ate too many, the spiritual energy would be difficult to digest. Wen Qiwu shook her head; she would have to mention this to her Shijie. If Xuetuan did not behave this time, they would confiscate all of its Celestial Radishes.

“Shijie…” Wen Qiwu knocked on the door, but there was no response.

Shijie’s not in her room? Then she must be on the back mountain.

            

Wen Qiwu bypassed the house and made her way to the back mountain, her steps carrying a touch of lightheartedness.

A clearing lay on the back mountain, surrounded by various exotic flowers and spiritual herbs. Wen Qiwu had practiced her swordplay here as a child, with her Shijie teaching her. Unfortunately, she truly possessed no talent for becoming a sword cultivator.

Though she had studied for a time under the personal guidance of the most formidable sword cultivator in the world, her execution of the forms remained a disaster. Back then, Shizun had still been alive. Whenever she watched her practice, she would always push her teacup far away to avoid spitting out her tea.

            

Even so, she loved watching her Shijie practice most of all. During those years when other children were at their most restless, she could sit quietly to the side and watch her Shijie practice swordplay for an entire day. No matter how beautiful the wind and moon of Yunwu Mountain were, they could never compare to even a fraction of her Shijie’s grace.

…

On the back mountain, standing amidst the rare flowers and herbs, was the person Wen Qiwu yearned for most. She wore a moon-white robe that fluttered gently in the wind, her dark hair loosely swept up with nothing but a single jade hairpin. Strands of ink-black hair fell softly around her face, framing her like a being of pure moonlight and jade—an immortal descended to earth. Yet she held a bare, glinting sword that hummed softly with a faint, lethal intent, draping this moonlit immortal in a cold aura of slaughter.

            

Sensing the footsteps behind her, Yun Heng raised her hand slightly and sheathed the sword, concealing all its sharpness within the scabbard.

Perhaps due to the influence of her spiritual roots and temperament, a faint chill always clung to Yun Heng. Framed by the snow and plum blossoms, she appeared like an inviolable deity, untouched by the dust of the mortal realm.

Wen Qiwu’s expression faltered for a moment, and her light steps slowed. Lost in some unspoken thought, a shadow of melancholy cast over her features. She slowly lowered the hand she had instinctively raised to embrace her Shijie, as though suppressing the unspeakable feelings buried deep within her heart.

            

Hearing the footsteps stop behind her, Yun Heng turned back to look at her. A hint of warmth seeped into eyes that normally resembled deep, icy pools.

Yun Heng retrieved a pale red outer robe from her storage pouch and draped it over Wen Qiwu’s shoulders. This Fire Feather Outer Robe was woven from the feathers of high-proud fire feather birds, designed to ward off the chill of Yunwu Mountain’s ice spiritual pulse.

Wen Qiwu lightly brushed the fabric of the outer robe and suddenly let out a soft chuckle. Her smile was more radiant than any flower on Yunwu Mountain, casting a wave of warmth over the thin layers of snow blanketing the peak.

            

“What are you laughing at?” Yun Heng asked. She carefully fastened the collar of the robe, her movements incredibly gentle. When Yun Heng looked up, Wen Qiwu saw her own reflection mirrored in her Shijie’s eyes. Her expression was so earnest and tender, as though her entire world was contained within her gaze.

Wen Qiwu felt her heart skip a beat. To hide her fluster, she lowered her eyes and teased, “I heard today that all the fire feather birds in the beast pens have suddenly gone into hiding. So they were plucked bald, after all.”

“They gave them willingly,” Immortal Venerable Yun Heng replied. She spoke with her usual, absolute gravity, so even though it sounded like a joke, one could not help but believe her.

            

But upon closer thought…

Willingly?

Wen Qiwu fell silent for a moment. Legend had it that fire feather birds carried a trace of phoenix bloodline. They were an incredibly proud species that would not easily gift even their fallen feathers to humans. Were they not… forced to be willing?

            

“Really?”

“Really. When has Shijie ever lied to you?” Sincerity filled Yun Heng’s picturesque features.

“Mnh, when we were young, Shijie lied to me and said the medicine wasn’t bitter.” Wen Qiwu blinked. At five years old, she had taken a single sip and immediately burst into tears.

            

“…Only that once.” And that was because Shizun had claimed she had modified the recipe so it would not taste bitter, leaving Yun Heng to watch in silence as her young Shimei took a single sip and quietly wept.

Amusement filled Wen Qiwu’s eyes. She knew the truth behind that incident, of course. After all, Shizun had fled the mountain to hide for several days before she dared return, and when she did, she had even tried to coax Wen Qiwu into hiding her Shijie’s sword. “Fire feather birds are infamous for their terrible tempers. I simply didn’t expect them to willingly give up so many of their feathers.”

“I told them they were for you, and they offered them.” The various avian species in the beast pens had always been fond of her Shimei. Yun Heng had merely mentioned it, not expecting them to yield the feathers so readily.

            

“The wind is cold out here. Go back inside the house first.”

“Are you staying here, Shijie?”

“Yes, I’m waiting for the flowers to bloom.” Yun Heng’s gaze fell upon the nearby buds, which were on the verge of blossoming.

            

“What kind of spiritual flower is this? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.” Wen Qiwu walked over and poked one of them. The delicate bud wobbled under her touch. Her Shijie wouldn’t even accompany her because she was waiting for these to bloom; she wanted to see just how beautiful these flowers could possibly be.

“A Spirit-Drinking Flower. It has the effect of condensing the soul and stabilizing the foundation. Once it blooms, keep a pot of it in your room.” The moment Yun Heng explained its properties, Wen Qiwu knew it was meant as her medicine.

Her Shijie had made a trip to an ancient secret realm some time ago—most likely for these very flowers.

            

“But I don’t know how to tend to flowers. What if it withers?” Wen Qiwu quietly tugged at Yun Heng’s sleeve, swaying it gently. Yes, what if she couldn’t keep it alive? The best solution, naturally, was to stay right beside the person who knew how to care for them.

“It doesn’t matter. I have planted quite a few. If one withers, you can simply come and swap it for another.” These were rare spiritual treasures of the world, yet Yun Heng spoke of them as if they were mere wild weeds. But that was not the real issue.

Wen Qiwu let out a heavy sigh in her heart.

            

“Is something on your mind?” Her Shijie was always surprisingly perceptive about other things.

“No, but before I came up, I heard some disciples say that the sunrise on Yunwu Mountain is incredibly beautiful. I haven’t seen it in a long time, so why don’t I stay here and keep you company, Shijie?” Wen Qiwu’s soft voice sounded almost like she was acting cutely.

Since the new outer robe could shield her from the ice spiritual pulse’s cold, Yun Heng agreed to let her Shimei stay. She conjured a soft couch and sat side-by-side with Wen Qiwu—one waiting for the flowers to bloom, the other waiting for the sun to rise.

            

Yet the person who had just claimed she wanted to see the sunrise fell asleep against her shoulder only moments later. Constant fatigue and drowsiness were also symptoms of the Spirit-Dispersing Syndrome.

Yun Heng turned her head to look at her Shimei’s sleeping face, her gaze softening even further. This was no place to rest. Just as she was about to carry Wen Qiwu back to her room, a breeze swept across Yunwu Mountain, and a pale pink flower drifted down, landing on her Shimei’s shoulder.

Yun Heng gently pinched the flower. It had already withered halfway, falling at the slightest breath of wind—much like the person beside her, radiant as a blossom yet poised to fall from the branch.

            

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The author has something to say:

Wen: I hate that Shijie is a block of wood QAQ. Is there anything worse than falling for a block of wood? TVT

A certain someone who hasn’t appeared yet: Yes, falling for a block of wood who went off to practice the Way of Heartlessness⁵.

            

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