Chapter Fifty-Two: Crimson Flames

Qin Xiaomo felt extremely awkward being held like this, but at such a height, she dared not let go.

Qian Mubai smiled with a touch of wicked charm, realizing that getting close to her could be achieved in this way.

When Qin Xiaomo looked up, she happened to catch his smile. His face was pale, sharply defined, and hauntingly beautiful, with deep, enigmatic eyes and a high, straight nose. His smile was so dazzling it seemed to provoke the heavens themselves. In her heart, she secretly thought, Such a face, capable of bringing down a nation, what a pity he’s merely an NPC.

Qian Mubai hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. Being so close to his beloved, he couldn’t help but hold her a little tighter.

Qin Xiaomo felt his arm tighten around her waist and desperately tried to think of something to say to break the awkwardness. “I… I remember there’s no Mirror Illusion County here, only a Mirror Illusion City.”

“There was indeed only Mirror Illusion City before, but later, with the formation of the three-county balance, and since the name ‘Mirror Illusion City’ had been used for generations, the old countess wished to carry on the tradition and simply kept the name,” Qian Mubai said, mentioning the old countess as if she were a stranger.

“You don’t seem very close to your father,” Qin Xiaomo said, voicing her thoughts.

“Ever since I regained my memories, my feelings towards them have grown complicated,” Qian Mubai replied, his gaze clouded.

“How so?”

“My family in this life have all appeared around me in various guises in past lives. My father, for instance, was an old friend who wronged me in a previous life, while my legitimate mother, who poisoned me, was once my dearly beloved eldest sister. In every cycle of reincarnation, once malice arises in a person’s heart, they become someone wholly unrecognizable to you. So, rather than courting disappointment, it’s best not to expect too much in the first place.”

“What about me? You said you were waiting for me—who was I to you in your past lives?” Qin Xiaomo asked, her curiosity piqued.

“My wife—always, in every lifetime.” Qian Mubai looked down at Qin Xiaomo, who lay in his arms gazing up at him. He restrained the urge to kiss her, breathing in the faint fragrance of magnolia from her hair.

Upon hearing these words, her heart began to race uncontrollably, pounding so loudly it seemed the whole world could hear. Qin Xiaomo quickly cleared her throat to cover it up.

This time, Qian Mubai couldn’t resist and actually let out a laugh. “I heard it.”

“Heard what? You heard nothing!” Qin Xiaomo snapped, flustered; at this moment, Qian Mubai was every bit the oblivious, straight-laced fool.

Qian Mubai broke into her thoughts. “We’re here, just ahead.”

Qin Xiaomo turned and saw an archway that looked oddly familiar. Where had she seen it before? Beyond the arch, apart from the clouds, stood a three-story building with green tiles and red walls perched on stilts. It looked bare and out of place atop the clouds, resembling an ordinary civilian house and completely lacking any aura of immortality. With a wave of Qian Mubai’s sleeve, the fairy cloud beneath them shook like a little dog drying itself and instantly vanished.

“Come,” Qian Mubai called to her, reaching out his hand from a short distance away.

“What is this place?”

“This is my master’s dwelling. Feifei must be out with my master since she hasn’t come to greet us. Let me show you somewhere,” Qian Mubai said, pulling Qin Xiaomo inside.

“But isn’t it improper to barge in when the owner isn’t home?” Upon learning it was Qian Mubai’s master’s residence, Qin Xiaomo felt a twinge of nervousness, as if about to meet her future mother-in-law. She unconsciously grew more reserved.

“My master is wonderful, and even Feifei has the gentlest temperament—she’s incredibly sweet. When she gets back, I’m sure you’ll be great friends. If you’re ever troubled, just seek her out and your worries will quickly vanish.”

Hearing Qian Mubai mention Feifei again and again, Qin Xiaomo’s expression grew subtly strained, though she tried to keep her feelings from showing. Her smile was stiff, and she thought to herself: I’ve never seen his cold face praise anyone like this—could Feifei really be so extraordinary, enough to make him this happy? I’m not troubled at all, and even if I were, I wouldn’t go to her.

“No need to drag me—I can walk on my own,” Qin Xiaomo said, wrenching her wrist free.

Qian Mubai glanced down at his now-empty palm, feeling hollow inside, but forced himself to remain composed. Perhaps he was too eager, wanting to get close to her too quickly, and had made her uncomfortable. Trying to recover his poise, he strode forward elegantly and opened the door wide. “Miss Qin, after you!”

Hearing the formal address “Miss Qin,” so distant, while he’d called Feifei so fondly, Qin Xiaomo’s irritation only grew. Men, she thought—so affectionate when calling me “wife,” but as soon as we’re on another woman’s turf, the address changes. Qian Mubai, you really are something! Now I’m curious to see just what kind of person this Feifei is! The sudden flare of anger was so inexplicable that even she didn’t realize it herself.

So she followed Qian Mubai inside. The room, like the exterior, was bright without any apparent source of light. The furnishings were sparse to the extreme: a single Eight Immortals table, two wicker chairs, and a stone bed comprised the entirety of the decor.

She’d always thought being an immortal would be wonderful, but seeing this, it seemed much less comfortable than being a cook or a gardener in the human world—at least there, the yard would be filled with fruit and vegetables, and life could be quite cozy.

With a wave of his sleeve, Qian Mubai conjured two steaming cups of tea onto the table. He picked one up and handed it to her, asking cautiously, “Are you thirsty?”

“I’m not,” Qin Xiaomo replied absentmindedly.

Qian Mubai finally asked, “What’s wrong with you? You seem angry all of a sudden.”

“I’m not angry. Why did you bring me here, anyway? If it’s just to sit and drink tea, we might as well go back.”

“There’s something I want to show you. Come with me.” Qian Mubai, chilled by the coldness in her tone, seemed at a loss. His eyes dimmed a little as he stood and led the way outside.

Qin Xiaomo now found it hard to muster any enthusiasm for anything. Her mind was out of control, conjuring up images of Feifei—soft hands, skin like cream, a swan’s neck, pearly teeth, a heart-shaped face with delicate brows, a clever smile, enchanting eyes. The more she imagined, the angrier she became, even picturing an epic showdown when they met, where she would triumph with overwhelming dominance and Qian Mubai would meekly submit to her. The thought made Qin Xiaomo laugh out loud.

“What is it?” Qian Mubai turned at the sound of her laughter.

“Oh, nothing.”

By now, they had reached the back of the house. Qian Mubai traced a pattern on the cloud barrier with his finger, a trail of pomegranate-red light following his touch. When the drawing was complete, the cloud barrier began to thin, finally dissipating like steam. Behind it appeared a small, circular island, four hundred meters across, floating in mid-air. On the island stood a single rose-pink flowering tree, towering several stories high, its trunk about fifty meters in diameter, soaring into the sky so that its crown disappeared into a sea of blossoms above.

“And what are we doing here?” Qin Xiaomo was startled by the remarkable tree, but remembering that she was supposed to be angry, she put on a deliberate air of indifference, unwilling to let him see her surprise.

“Look closely between those branches—do you see that golden thread hanging down?” Qian Mubai pointed.

“Oh, I see it. It’s gleaming.”

“Mm.” Qian Mubai answered, and with a motion of his hand, that golden thread began to drop like a fishing line, lowering until it rested in his palm. He didn’t move, but at the point where the thread touched his hand, a golden bead began to form, growing larger until it took shape.

“Isn’t that the same transparent yellow fruit you gave me at Wanjin Valley?”

“Yes, that’s it.” As the fruit finished forming in Qian Mubai’s palm, the golden thread withered and shriveled away, its branch swiftly withering and vanishing as though it had never existed. Looking closely, the entire tree had only forty or fifty such branches, and with the handful she’d been given before, she realized she’d already eaten about a sixth of the total.