Chapter 1: The Immortal Wife Returns Home
The sky was barely light when Chen Yang shouldered his hoe and headed out to the fields.
During the spring plowing season, there was always more work in the fields than could ever be finished.
He walked barefoot along the muddy ridge between paddies, the morning dew soaking through his trouser cuffs, its coolness seeping into his skin through the cloth.
In the distance, the mountains rose like dark ink strokes against the sky, wreathed in mist and cloud — a world he had never set foot in.
Three years ago, Zhao Yanran had left in the direction of those very mountains.
"Young Chen, out in the fields this early?" Old Zhang from the neighboring plot straightened up and thumped his lower back.
Chen Yang smiled. "Better to get more done before the sun climbs too high."
He swung his hoe, turning over the damp earth with practiced, fluid strokes.
For three years now, he had risen with the sun and rested when it set, tending these few meager acres and the small courtyard at the foot of the mountain, waiting for someone whose return date he did not know.
At midday, Chen Yang sat on the field ridge gnawing on dried rations, washing them down with cool water from his canteen.
The sunlight was harsh. He raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his temple and stared off into the distant mountains, lost in thought.
"Chen Yang! Chen Yang!" An urgent shout came from down the ridge.
Chen Yang turned his head and saw Wang Xiaoliu from the same village running toward him, panting hard, his face wearing an expression that was somewhere between excitement and panic.
"What is it?" Chen Yang stood up and brushed the dust from the hem of his clothes.
"Your — your wife is back!" Wang Xiaoliu gasped. "I saw her heading toward your house, and she's got three men with her. The way they're dressed is something else — they look like immortal cultivators from up in the mountains!"
Chen Yang's heart lurched. The canteen in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp.
He stood frozen for an instant, then flung down his hoe and broke into a run toward home.
Three years.
For three years he had imagined countless times what it would be like when Zhao Yanran came back — but he had never once imagined she would come back with others in tow.
The field ridge beneath his feet seemed to stretch on forever. The wind rushed past his ears, carrying the faint murmur of distant voices.
His heart pounded furiously — he couldn't tell whether it was from running or from the reunion that was drawing near.
The gate of the small courtyard stood open. Four figures were gathered inside.
Chen Yang skidded to a halt at the entrance, breathing hard.
His gaze found the familiar figure in an instant — Zhao Yanran.
She had changed.
When she had left three years ago, she wore coarse cloth garments, her hair pinned up simply. She had been lovely, but unmistakably the daughter of a farming family.
Now she was dressed in a flowing water-blue gown, her robes drifting like mist, her ink-black hair cascading like clouds, her skin as white as snow. An otherworldly air of transcendence surrounded her entire being.
More striking still were the three men standing at her side, each clad in the same moon-white robes, their bearing extraordinary — utterly at odds with this humble farmhouse.
"Yanran..." Chen Yang called softly, his voice a little hoarse.
Zhao Yanran turned around, and their eyes met.
A flicker of complex emotion crossed her gaze — gone so fast it was impossible to catch.
"Chen Yang," she said, giving a slight nod. Her tone was so calm it was chilling. "I'm back."
The three men's gazes swung to Chen Yang all at once, carrying scrutiny and undisguised contempt.
What they saw was a farmer caked in mud, dressed in shabby clothes — standing beside Zhao Yanran, the contrast was like that between clouds and earth.
Chen Yang paid their looks no mind. He kept his eyes fixed on Zhao Yanran. "When did you get back? Why didn't you send word ahead?"
Zhao Yanran did not answer. She only pressed her lips together lightly.
The man beside her — handsome-faced, with an arrogance written between his brows — spoke up: "Junior Sister Zhao, this is your husband from the mortal world?"
Her husband from the mortal world.
Those words stabbed into Chen Yang's ears like needles.
Zhao Yanran gave a small nod, then turned to Chen Yang. "Chen Yang, these are my Senior Brothers — Senior Brother Yang, Senior Brother Lin, Senior Brother Li." She introduced them one by one, her tone as detached as if she were introducing strangers.
"Let's go inside and talk." Chen Yang was silent for a moment, then pushed open the door and led them in.
The room's furnishings were sparse, but clean and tidy.
Every day when Chen Yang returned from the fields, he swept and tidied carefully, as though always ready for the mistress of the house to come home.
With four guests standing inside, the space felt especially cramped.
The three Senior Brothers furrowed their brows slightly, seemingly ill at ease with the humble surroundings.
Zhao Yanran's gaze moved over every familiar object in the room, and a faint ripple passed through her eyes.
"Have a seat — I'll go get some water." Chen Yang turned toward the kitchen.
"No need." Zhao Yanran stopped him. "We'll say what we came to say and leave."
Chen Yang's body went rigid where he stood.
He turned around and looked at Zhao Yanran. "Leave? Where are you going?"
Zhao Yanran avoided his gaze, her voice dropping a few notes. "Chen Yang, I came back this time to make a clean break with you."
A clean break?
Chen Yang's heart sank.
The eldest of the three, Senior Brother Yang, spoke: "Brother Chen, Junior Sister Zhao is no longer an ordinary mortal. She has exceptional talent in cultivation and has been taken on as a registered disciple by an Elder of Jade Bamboo Peak. Those who walk the path of cultivation must sever all worldly ties in order to pursue the Great Dao with an undivided heart."
"And so?" Chen Yang's voice was dry.
Zhao Yanran drew a deep breath and finally met his eyes directly. "Chen Yang, let us part ways."
The air went still.
Chen Yang stood frozen, as though he hadn't understood what she said.
"Three years ago I went up the mountain seeking an immortal fate. My original intention was to learn some immortal arts and come back so we could live a better life." Zhao Yanran continued, her voice trembling faintly. "But along the way I met with misfortune — I was struck by a rare poison. If not for my three Senior Brothers risking themselves to save me, using a secret art of the sect to purge the poison, I would have died long ago."
"Purge the poison?" Chen Yang caught the unnatural note in her words with sharp instinct. "What kind of secret art?"
Zhao Yanran's cheeks flushed with an unnatural redness, and she lowered her eyes.
Senior Brother Yang took over: "The Qin Valley Secret Art requires three cultivators of pure-yang body to merge their Spiritual Energy with the poisoned person's in order to dissolve the toxin. For this reason, Junior Sister Zhao has become the cultivation partner of all three of us, to share the immortal path together."
Merge their Spiritual Energy.
Become cultivation partners.
Chen Yang finally understood.
His wife — Zhao Yanran — had spent three years away and had become the cultivation partner of immortal cultivators.
Not one, but three.
A scorching heat surged from his chest straight to the top of his head. Chen Yang felt the world spin around him and nearly lost his footing.
He gripped the edge of the rough wooden table, his fingers going white from the force.
"You're saying... the three of you..." He couldn't finish. Something had lodged itself in his throat.
Zhao Yanran's eyes glistened with tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. "Chen Yang, I'm sorry. I know this isn't fair to you. But now that I have become cultivation partners with my three Senior Brothers, I can no longer be your wife. The path of cultivation is long, and I don't want to hold you back..."
"Hold me back?" Chen Yang suddenly laughed — a laugh full of bitterness. "For three years you sent no word at all. I toiled in these fields day after day, kept this home, waited for you to return — and you say you're afraid of holding me back?"
The three Senior Brothers showed visible displeasure. The one surnamed Li stepped forward: "Brother Chen, please show some respect. Junior Sister Zhao is now a cultivator — the gap between you and her is like that between clouds and earth. The fact that she came back in person to make a clean break with you is already a testament to her regard for the old bond."
Chen Yang's gaze swept across the three of them and finally settled on Zhao Yanran's face. "So you came back today just for this? To tell me you've become another man's woman and to sever all ties with me?"
Zhao Yanran bit her lip and nodded.
She drew a document from her sleeve and placed it on the table. "This is the separation agreement. I've already signed and sealed it. You... press your thumbprint as well. The fields and the house — I want none of it. It all goes to you. And also..." She gestured to Senior Brother Yang, who reluctantly produced a small cloth pouch from inside his robe.
"These are fifty spirit stones. They can be exchanged for a great sum of gold and silver — enough for you to live out your days in the mortal world without want." Zhao Yanran pushed the pouch forward. "Consider it... a small compensation from me."
Chen Yang looked at that pouch of spirit stones and felt a profound, bitter irony wash over him.
Three years of waiting, and what he got in return was a separation agreement and a pouch of "compensation."
He was silent for a long time — long enough for the sun to tilt westward, its orange light filtering through the window lattice into the room, casting dappled shadows across the pouch of spirit stones.
At last, he extended his hand — roughened and calloused from years of labor — and pressed his thumbprint onto the separation agreement.
"I wish you a smooth path on your immortal journey." Chen Yang's voice was so calm it was unnerving, without the slightest trace of emotion.
Zhao Yanran seemed stung by his composure. A flash of pain crossed her eyes.
The three Senior Brothers visibly relaxed.
"It's getting late. We'll set out back to the mountain tomorrow." Senior Brother Yang said, his tone brooking no argument. "Junior Sister Zhao mentioned you have a spare room — we'll impose on you for the night."
Chen Yang said nothing. He simply nodded.
He gathered his things and moved into the small room in the west wing, giving up the main bedroom to Zhao Yanran and her three cultivation partners.
Night fell, and the small village sank into silence.
Chen Yang lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the dim outline of the ceiling beams in the darkness, unable to sleep.
From the east wing came the faint sounds of murmuring and laughter, piercing the quiet of the night like needles, stabbing into his heart.
He closed his eyes and tried to shut out those sounds, but it was no use.
He didn't know how much time had passed when the door was pushed open quietly.
A slender figure slipped inside, carrying a faint, familiar fragrance.
"Chen Yang?" Zhao Yanran's voice was barely above a whisper.
Chen Yang did not respond, feigning sleep.
He felt Zhao Yanran sit down at the edge of the bed. Her soft sigh was unusually clear in the silence.
"I know you're awake," she said. "I... I came to check on you."
Chen Yang remained silent. Zhao Yanran's hand gently passed over his hair, the touch tender enough to break one's heart.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "I know this isn't fair to you. But you don't know how cruel the world of cultivation is. I'm just a weak woman — without someone to rely on, I simply couldn't survive. My three Senior Brothers have treated me well. They saved my life and gave me the chance to keep cultivating..."
Chen Yang finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Then why did you bother coming back? Couldn't you have just sent the separation agreement by letter?"
Zhao Yanran was quiet for a moment. "Because I still have feelings for you. Not a single moment of these three years have I forgotten you. But I have already been with my Senior Brothers as husband and wife, and I have no face to be your wife anymore... And the path of cultivation is long — I didn't want you to spend your whole life holding onto a hope that will never come back."
"So you brought them here to cut off that hope completely?" There was a sardonic edge to Chen Yang's voice.
Zhao Yanran's hand trembled slightly. "Not entirely... I also wanted you to understand that I am no longer the Zhao Yanran I used to be. We... can't go back."
In the darkness, Chen Yang could hear her quiet, muffled weeping.
In that moment, the anger and humiliation in his heart strangely subsided, replaced by a deep, heavy sorrow.
"Then what are you doing here now?" he asked. "Comforting your pitiful ex-husband?"
Zhao Yanran was silent for a long time. When she spoke again, there was a thread of resolve in her voice. "Chen Yang... do you want to come up the mountain with me?"
Chen Yang froze, almost certain he had misheard.
"I can ask my Senior Brothers to bring you back to the sect," Zhao Yanran said urgently. "You're a bit older, but perhaps some Elder would be willing to take you as a disciple. And even if not... you could work as a laborer in the sect. It would still be better than staying here."
Chen Yang fell silent. His gaze pierced the darkness, trying to make out Zhao Yanran's expression.
Leave this place filled with memories and pain?
Leave the land he had farmed for so many years?
Enter a world entirely foreign to him — full of humiliation, yet perhaps also full of opportunity?
A faint cough came from the east wing, as if in reminder.
Zhao Yanran stood up, her voice hurried. "Think it over and give me your answer in the morning. I... I have to go back."
She slipped out of the room without a sound, leaving Chen Yang alone in the darkness, facing a decision that was about to change his life forever.
Outside the window, the moon emerged from behind the clouds. Its cold, clear light spilled into the small room, illuminating the complex, flickering light in Chen Yang's eyes.