Guide to the Rebirth of the Evil Woman in the Immortal Realm - Chapter 26

Shen Fuxin stood under the thatched shed, watching the woman weep as she held her long-lost daughter in her arms. She pushed away the bowl of pork rib soup Shensha offered. “I’m not eating.”

Two or three other children in rags had already taken their soup, huddling over their broken bowls and eating with their heads down. Shen Fuxin suddenly remembered that she had come to the mortal realm to save the suffering and accumulate merit; her mood instantly brightened.

By using the deceased mortal body of the Immortal Gu Teng to provide a full meal for these children, she wondered who else but herself could possess such selfless, great love.

Feeling rather pleased with herself, she didn’t notice Ji Ting watching her from the side, a suppressed smile in her eyes.

A child destined to die had been brought back to life in an instant; Shen Fuxin had clearly lent a hand. “Little Fu is quite interesting,” Ji Ting thought. That proud tilt of her chin reminded Ji Ting of a peacock strutting back and forth.

Shensha, unable to read the emotions passing between them, set the bowl aside and realized aloud, “I forgot, you’re a vegetarian.”

Seeing them prepare to leave, the woman holding the bowl hurriedly stood up. Clutching her recovering daughter, she whispered, “You, Shensha.”

Hearing her name, Shensha froze mid-turn, instinctively looking toward Shen Fuxin and Ji Ting.

Behind her, the woman’s hands trembled. She couldn’t find any more words; they were all choked up in her throat. Holding her daughter, the woman knelt before them, breaking into uncontrollable sobs.

The little girl reached up to wipe her mother’s tears and said sweetly, “Mama, it wasn’t the War God who saved me. It was these big sisters.”

A Taste of the Mundane

By the time they returned to Shensha’s small courtyard, the sky was completely dark.

Shensha had roasted several red-skinned sweet potatoes and potatoes in the hearth and washed the gathered mushrooms, brewing a large pot of soup with wild onions. Ji Ting and Shen Fuxin sat side-by-side on the steps. The night air was cool as water, and Shen Fuxin looked up at the stars.

The Immortal Realm felt so distant now, and the Divine Realm was even further beyond reach. The vastness of the firmament only highlighted the smallness of humans; in such a sprawling universe, the warmth of bodies leaning on one another felt like the only reality.

Shensha returned with a large basin of steaming sweet potatoes and potatoes, placing them on the wooden table. “Time to eat.”

The moment the sweet fragrance wafted through the air, the schemes of the Immortal Realm and the ridiculous dramas of love and hate in the Divine Realm seemed to drift away with the steam of the splitting potato skins.

Shen Fuxin buried her head in her food. The sweet potatoes were sugary, and the potatoes were delicious with just a pinch of salt.

It seemed that nothing coming from Shensha’s hands tasted bad. Ji Ting ladled a bowl of soup for herself and Shen Fuxin. The savory flavor flowed from her tongue to her stomach and into her empty memories, like a withered leaf falling into still water, creating ripples in a pond.

For a dazed moment, this place didn’t seem like a dust-covered courtyard, but a desert amidst the flames of war. She was riding a tall white horse, looking out over a boundless sea of sand. Someone tightened their reins, diverted through the soldiers toward her, and casually threw something her way.

Ji Ting caught it: a round potato, burning hot to the touch.

A red-haired woman with a high ponytail rode a bay horse toward the other side, reaching out to hook her arm around the shoulder of another rider. The person she grabbed was clearly annoyed, and the two rode off into the distance, bickering loudly.

Ji Ting lifted her eyes. Beyond the yellow sands, a mirage appearing like a celestial palace shimmered into view.

While Ji Ting was lost in that fleeting memory holding her soup bowl, Shensha sat down quietly. Her bowl was a size larger than theirs, more of a small basin than a bowl.

After finishing her soup, Shensha suddenly spoke, “Since they died, no one has ever come to my house.”

Ji Ting lowered her bowl, her expression complex as she listened to Shensha’s sudden confession. Shensha paused. Over the years, she had rarely spoken to anyone except while slaughtering pigs. The hearth fire reflected brightly in her amber-yellow eyes.

“Ten years ago, I was an orphan who came to the city with the refugees. There is much war in the south. I’ve had no kin since I can remember. Later, this couple adopted me, saying I had a sturdy build and would be good for chores,” Shensha said, her head bowed. “Last year, they asked if I was willing to repay the debt of my upbringing. I didn’t know what it entailed, so I agreed.”

Shen Fuxin listened quietly, already guessing most of what followed.

“That day, my adoptive mother made me stay in the room for some reason. She taught me how to apply lip rouge; that stuff was like blood, smeared everywhere. When I opened the door, I happened to see several strangers, and an elderly person dressed in red standing in the yard with sheep and cattle. My parents went to greet them, but suddenly several startled horses charged into the yard. In an instant, they were trampled until their bones were twisted. I tried to straighten them with my hands, but I couldn’t.”

Shensha let out a long sigh and concluded, “The people in town said the rouge I wore that day was too red, that it brought a blood curse and killed them.”

Shensha was a simple, honest soul, and her voice carried a trace of sorrow. Ji Ting, rarely at a loss for words, simply ladled two more scoops of mushroom soup into Shensha’s bowl and patted her shoulder. “Don’t say anymore. Drink the soup.”

Shen Fuxin chimed in while gnawing on a sweet potato, “They died well. They died right on time.”

Both Shensha and Ji Ting turned to stare at her. Seeing their reactions, Shen Fuxin asked, “They almost sold you. If that isn’t karmic retribution, what is?”

No one had ever said such a thing to Shensha. All she had ever heard were condolences or people whispering behind her back that she was a curse to her husband and parents. Hearing “they died well” left her stunned.

Seeing that Shensha hadn’t quite processed it, Shen Fuxin thought of her own foolish past self. She said, “Why sacrifice yourself to give back to people who weren’t truly good to you? If they really cared for you, they wouldn’t have hastily betrothed you to someone you’d never met. If you want to repay a debt, there are many ways to do it; getting married for money isn’t the only way.”

Shensha fell into deep thought. Looking at her, Ji Ting felt a headache coming on; it felt all too familiar. Sometimes being too honest isn’t a good thing; she should have let Shensha learn more from that clever one back then. If she had been a bit more cunning or used dirtier tactics, she might not have been defeated in that manner.

Ji Ting’s head throbbed. In what manner? She had forgotten again.

Seeing her frown as if exhausted, Shensha grabbed Ji Ting’s empty bowl and nudged both her and Shen Fuxin toward the room to rest. Shen Fuxin glanced back at Shensha. Her silhouette looked even taller in the moonlight as she silently began clearing the table and cleaning the hearth.

If this is the shame and punishment the Divine Realm gives a War God, Shen Fuxin thought, then the one who made that decision is truly pathetic.

A defeated War God fallen to the mortal realm, even if she cycles through a thousand lives of lonely, destitute, and lowly fate, she will eventually pick up a blade and strike at everything she can.

Even if that blade is just an ordinary butcher’s knife.

The Broken Bed

Shen Fuxin and Ji Ting stood facing each other in the small room, which contained only a single bed.

Shen Fuxin said, “You sleep on the floor.”

Ji Ting replied, “No. If I sleep on the floor, the door won’t close. And the floor is cold.”

Shen Fuxin didn’t want to argue. Just as a cat isn’t allowed on the bed, this person wasn’t either. Regardless, Ji Ting was not sleeping on the bed.

She had just finished changing her outer robe when she turned around to find Ji Ting already lying under the covers, peering at her with only her eyes visible.

Seeing Shen Fuxin’s cold, silent face, Ji Ting shifted to the side, leaving the other half of the bed for her. “Little Fu, I’m begging you.”

Shen Fuxin immediately tried to drag her up. Ji Ting’s hand usually hung weakly, but when Shen Fuxin pulled, it seemed to possess the weight of a thousand pounds. With a flick of her wrist, Ji Ting pulled Shen Fuxin down onto the bed instead.

Lowering her long eyelashes, Ji Ting refused to let go. She put on an expression of total grievance and said intentionally, “Is Little Fu disgusted by me? I used a Cleansing Spell. Smell me; I’m very fragrant.”

Shen Fuxin didn’t care if she was fragrant or not; she only knew that anyone who dared to manhandle her deserved to die.

Seeing her preparing to use spiritual power, Ji Ting made a move to sit up, her long hair cascading down her sides. Gripping Shen Fuxin’s wrist with one hand and propping her face up with the other, she smiled. “Don’t bully me.”

Moonlight, a beauty, skin touching through thin clothes, and a messy bed.

Shen Fuxin felt like her scalp was going to explode. Without thinking, she swung a sword strike, but the sword intent was dispersed by a flick of Ji Ting’s finger. Ji Ting pulled the quilt over both of them. Within the enclosure, every breath was filled with the faint, sweet plum-candy scent of Ji Ting. In the hazy moonlight filtering through the quilt, she asked with genuine confusion and hurt, “Do you really hate me that much?”

She gazed into Shen Fuxin’s light-colored eyes and smiled slightly. “Can Little Fu please not hate me?”

Shen Fuxin struggled in her grip, her sword intent flying wildly in all directions, but Ji Ting shattered every strike. Shensha’s strength was an external display of power, but Shen Fuxin hadn’t realized that Ji Ting possessed such power as well. It was just more restrained, better disguised, and perhaps even more formidable than Shensha’s.

Shen Fuxin gave a violent shove, and the bed collapsed.

Amidst the sudden cloud of dust, she was still in a posture ready to skewer Ji Ting like a candied hawthorn. Ji Ting lay on the ruined bed blinking innocently, letting Shen Fuxin prop herself up on her elbows, their legs tangled together, their long hair a mess of silk.

In the next room, Shensha rolled over and covered her ears.

Despite all her wandering, she had never felt despair, but today she had learned a lesson. For the first time, she understood what it meant to be helpless.

Should I go tell them to be quieter, Shensha thought helplessly. The two rooms were too close, the house was too small, and every movement was crystal clear. That was the bed collapsing just now, right? They must have broken it.

Forget it. She chose not to go. When faced with trouble, it’s best to sleep first and deal with it tomorrow.

A Question of War Gods

In the suffocatingly awkward silence, Ji Ting reached out to push Shen Fuxin’s sword away. In the process, her forearm and upper arm were mostly exposed. Just as Shen Fuxin suspected, they were fair but not weak, actually quite toned.

The seemingly frail beauty climbed up and gave Shen Fuxin the majority of the ruined bed, compromising, “I’ll sleep on my side, is that okay?”

Shen Fuxin, still unsatisfied, stabbed at her with her sword. Ji Ting caught the blade, and it left no mark on her hand. Ji Ting used her right hand to draw a boundary on the small bed with spiritual power: seventy percent for Shen Fuxin, thirty for herself. She curled up in her small corner, voluntarily giving up the quilt. “Sleep.”

Shen Fuxin pulled the quilt over her seventy percent share. When my cultivation surpasses hers, I will definitely stab her a hundred times, or even two hundred times. She huddled in the quilt, but it was filled with Ji Ting’s warmth and the scent of plum candy. These two things stuck to her like glue. Frustrated, she kicked Ji Ting for no reason.

Ji Ting opened her eyes, her long lashes fluttering. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t hate me?”

“Who agreed with you?” Shen Fuxin glared at her. Looking at that familiar, gentle expression, she suddenly thought of something. Shen Fuxin leaned on the quilt, meeting Ji Ting’s gaze. She asked in a muffled voice, “Exactly how many War Gods are there in the Divine Realm?”

Ji Ting shook her head.

Shen Fuxin continued, “Is there a male War God among them who specializes in relieving suffering and avoiding calamity?”

“No,” Ji Ting said without hesitation. “Is the person you’re talking about named Jie Fanyin?”