First of all, I want to sincerely thank everyone who stayed with this story until the very end.
(｡•́︿•̀｡)♡
Whether you followed each chapter from the beginning or discovered it later and binged it all at once—thank you. Truly.
Translating this novel has been quite a journey for me. It's not only the first full novel I've ever translated, but also the first time I found myself pouring so much of my thoughts and emotions into something like this.
In the beginning, I was simply translating.
Not word-for-word, of course, but I didn't go out of my way to explore the deeper meaning behind each line. I followed the story, kept it accurate, and made sure it flowed. That was it.
But everything changed after I received a review from LiberiumK. (Thank you, if you're reading this!) As I mentioned in the opening notes, their feedback made me realize something important: without knowing it, my subconscious had already been picking up on subtle hints the author left behind, connecting dots that weren't explicitly stated.
That review helped me see how much more there was to uncover. So I went back and began to rewrite, reflect, and refine.
And the result… well, I think you've already seen it (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
Let's talk about that process, starting from one of the earliest moments in the novel—Chapter 3: Undercurrents in the Shadows.
There's a scene where Su Min sits down to sort through her memories. The original line goes: "Now she finally had a chance to sort out her life story, and her face quickly turned ugly when she recalled it. Because she found that she seemed to be unacceptable in this dynasty. The extermination of her family was nothing to her, anyway, she had never seen those people. But what is more troublesome is her identity, which will make it difficult for her to move forward."
On the surface, that line moves quickly. It hints at her pain, but doesn't linger. But Su Min, as we come to understand her later, isn't someone who brushes things off so easily. Even though she transmigrated into this body—one that shares her name and appearance—she inherited every memory. From infancy to present day.
That kind of immersion would leave a mark on anyone. So I decided to bring out Su Min's emotional depth here. Perhaps the author didn't fully define her character at this point, or maybe they chose to unfold her complexity more gradually. But even so, I felt this scene deserved more weight. Here's how I chose to shape it:
Now that she finally had a sliver of peace to sift through the memories she had inherited, Su Min's heart grew heavier by the breath. This wasn't just some unfamiliar land—this was a dynasty that had marked her for death. The Su Clan had been exterminated, the name erased from records and memory alike. And she remembered it all.
Every moment from infancy to the age of fourteen—every fear, every humiliation, every long night staring at the walls of a prison cell too cold for a child. Even if those memories hadn't originally belonged to her, they were carved deep into her bones now, threaded through her soul like old scars that wouldn't fade. She was Su Min, in every sense that mattered.
But even with all those memories—no, because of them—she knew she could do nothing right now.
From this:
"It seems I need to find a place to hide for a while. As the saying goes, people are gone and the tea is forgotten. Who will remember me after more than ten years?"
After thinking for a while, Su Min decided to hide away. After a decade or two, the world would probably have forgotten her.
To this:
"All she could do now was hide, and endure. She exhaled slowly, forcing down the tightness in her chest.
'Ten years,' she murmured, almost to herself. 'Twenty, if needed. Let them forget me. Let them think the last Su is already dead.'
Her eyes gleamed, not with grief, but with quiet resolve.
'I'll take it all back when I'm ready.'
And when she did, not a single soul who had wronged her—past or present—would be spared."
This wasn't just about revenge. It was about survival, about quiet strength, about enduring the loneliness of being forgotten but never surrendering. That nuance mattered to me.
Still in the same chapter, there's another moment:
Su Min narrowly avoids being caught by the soldiers while hiding in the temple. The original reads, "At this moment, a noisy sound of footsteps startled Su Min, who then jumped up, landed on a tree, and rushed deep into the mountains with the help of branches, landing in a bush and looking around cautiously."
It reads as if she's in perfect shape, nimble and ready to escape. But let's be honest—how could she be?
After her family was branded as traitors, they were imprisoned and tortured for weeks before being executed. Su Min may have avoided the worst of it, but she wasn't spared entirely. Light punishments, deprivation, neglect—these things still leave a mark.
Even with a healing-oriented cultivation method and innate talent, she had only just begun. Hours of cultivation couldn't undo everything overnight. She wouldn't be at her peak, not yet.
So I made small changes to reflect that.
Subtle, but enough to remind readers: this is a girl who survived hell. And she's still healing.
Moving on to Chapter 4: Background and Army, this was another chapter where I began to deepen my approach.
The original lines read:
"This gave Su Min a weird feeling, and she kept searching for information about this world in her mind, but soon her face turned a little ugly. What was life like for young ladies in ancient times? They read books, wrote, and learned how to take care of their husbands and children. Not knowing much about this world, she couldn't find any useful information."
It was serviceable—but it felt like something was missing. By this point, I had already started to understand Su Min differently. Her soul, while new to this world, was now intertwined with memories that weren't hers—yet lived inside her.
So I chose to write it like this:
Su Min sifted through the inherited memories of this body. Though she'd never lived through those early years herself, they clung to her soul like old bruises. The past Su Min had seen too much and understood too little—until now.
The original Su Min, that girl who'd been born into a noble family, knew little about life beyond mansion walls. Her days.....
Her grip tightened. "Even with all her memories, I still know nothing about how this world truly works."
Why this change? Because it mattered.
Su Min may have been a programmer in her old world, someone logical, methodical, maybe even detached. But now, she carries the full emotional weight of a noble girl raised under strict expectations—then suddenly branded as a traitor's daughter.
I also took the opportunity to expand on what life might have looked like for a young lady of her background. After all, her father once served as Minister of Rites. This wasn't a simple family. Their world was built on restraint, reputation, and ritual—and I wanted readers to feel that weight, to understand that Su Min wasn't just wandering blindly through history. She was carrying a lineage that had been shattered.
Then, still in Chapter 4, we reached a turning point—the mountains.
In the original version, Su Min simply escapes to the forest. But I asked myself, is that all? She's just been marked by the Emperor. Her clan was executed. She has nowhere to go, no one to trust, and nothing to hold onto except a faint hope and the broken pieces of someone else's life.
So I slowed the moment down. I added scenes where she fell, where she stifled a cry, where she hallucinated faint echoes of someone who came before her—maybe a memory, maybe something more.
(｡•́︿•̀｡) Because grief isn't always loud. Sometimes it's just lying face-down in the dirt, trying not to sob too hard in case someone hears you.
These moments are small, but they are the ones that stay with us. They show Su Min not just as a cold schemer or distant transmigrator, but as someone trying—clinging to fragments of her own identity while being overwhelmed by another's.
I also began hinting at her past life more clearly. She was fresh out of university, working as a programmer. She probably loved her games, maybe played strategy sims or cultivation browser games during long work nights. That's where her divine abilities came from. The things she chose in the game weren't random—they reflected her personality, her aspirations, her quiet desire to protect something.
So I folded that into her actions. I let her hesitate. I let her grieve. I let her remember.
Not everything needs to be explained in long inner monologues—but sometimes, a single scene of trembling hands or a flicker of hesitation can say more than a hundred lines of exposition.
In that moment, Su Min wasn't a savior, or a genius tactician, or the last hope of her clan. She was just someone trying to breathe. Trying to survive.
By the time I reached Chapter 33: The Cards Are Laid Bare, my understanding of Su Min—and how I wanted to portray her—had matured. This was the moment she chose to reveal her identity to the manager of the Fuding Merchant Guild's southern branch. A pivotal scene, but in the original text, it read simply:
"She was not unaware of the mess that happened back then. After all, the most profound memory she inherited from her body was when she was imprisoned. However, she was a family member of an official and a female family member. She did not suffer much in prison, but she still knew everything that happened."
While this gave us the facts, it didn't go far enough. At this point in the story, the emotional cost of Su Min's survival should have been palpable—not brushed off.
So I rewrote it. Or rather, I let Su Min remember.
She was well aware of what had happened back then.
Not just in the detached way one might read about tragedy from a dusty scroll—no, the memories were hers. Ingrained. Not learned, but lived.
Though she had transmigrated into this body the day it was nearly dragged back to the brothel by hounds, something deeper had bound her to it from the start.
Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could recall the scent of iron bars, wet straw, and blood. The stifling dampness of the prison cell clung to her skin like mold—cold and inescapable.
The girl she'd once been, the original Su Min, had huddled on cracked stone, her hair matted with ash and soot, her nails torn from clawing at the walls during those first nights of screaming.
She remembered the sound of her cousin choking on his own blood in the next cell over. The way her aunt—once a dignified woman in the Su household—had whispered lullabies through cracked lips, until silence took her, too.
And her father... The last image of him was not his execution, but his face as he turned, half-knelt, hands bound behind his back, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, and smiled at her through the bars. A smile full of grief and apology.
"Endure," he had mouthed. And then he was taken away.
Even though Su Min hadn't been touched the way others were, I wanted to show that survival is not the absence of suffering. Sometimes, being spared is its own kind of punishment—especially when you live with the echoes of what you couldn't stop, couldn't undo.
The Emperor may have spared her body, but only so she could become a vessel, a resource to be used later by the one lurking behind the veil—the Demon Queen who fed on innocence and talent to prolong her own cultivation. That was not mercy. That was calculated cruelty.
And that matters.
Because Su Min is not cold. Not truly.
She's someone who remembers. Who feels, even when she doesn't show it. And those feelings shaped her ambition—not into something petty, but into a fire burning just beneath the surface.
So when she faced the merchant manager, her gaze calm, her words careful—what she carried with her wasn't bitterness. It was purpose.
This section of the novel is one of my favorites, because by now, Su Min no longer needs to prove anything.
She doesn't crave validation. She doesn't need pity.
Her pain doesn't define her—but it fuels her. It gives her clarity.
That's why I chose to end the passage with this:
The past had burned. The ashes remained. And she carried them like embers in her chest, banked but still smoldering—waiting for the right breath of wind to reignite.
Someday, they would see what rose from that fire.
And none would be spared its light.
(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Chapter 101: Wanting to Owe a Favor, held more weight than the surface tension between two cultivators might suggest.
It was in this chapter that something changed—not loudly, not dramatically—but with a quietness that made it all the more real. This was where Xie Yingying softened.
Originally, the text presented the facts:
Su Min was surprised. Xie Yingying seemed different. Gentler. Less guarded. What Su Min didn't know was that Yingying had done some digging... and what she found had made her reconsider.
That's fine. Functional. But I felt there was more beneath the surface—especially for Xie Yingying, whose entire character up to this point had been defined by distance, wariness, and calculated detachment, especially around other cultivators.
So I created Extra 1: After Meeting With Her—a quiet interlude where we step into Xie Yingying's private world. Where we see what she discovered, and more importantly, how it made her feel.
Xie Yingying didn't suddenly fall in love. And in that space of recognition, something gentle bloomed.
Maybe a crush. Maybe admiration. Maybe the first fragile thread of something deeper.
So I wrote that extra chapter to reflect this transition. In how her tone shifted without her noticing.
This was where her feelings began. Not with a dramatic rescue or grand gesture. But with understanding.
By the time we reached Chapter 102: Valley of Death, the emotional current beneath the story had shifted. This wasn't just about cultivation anymore. Not just revenge or power.
It was about choices. Bonds. Promises made without ever being spoken aloud.
This chapter was especially meaningful to me because of one moment—when Xie Yingying offers to seal herself with Su Min.
At a glance, this might seem like a practical suggestion. A cultivator's strategy to preserve strength and time. But under the surface, this was something far more personal.
In the original, the offer comes and goes quickly. Su Min declines. Yingying accepts her choice. But I felt the emotional implications deserved more time, more weight—especially after what we saw in Chapter 101.
So I rewrote the scene with care.
"After this… do you want to seal yourself with me?"
It was such a quiet question. Yet one that carried the weight of trust, companionship, and a kind of affection Xie Yingying herself hadn't fully named yet.
She wasn't just offering a plan—she was offering a place beside her.
And Su Min's response? It wasn't cold. It was measured.
It came from someone who had long decided what kind of road she would walk—and who knew the cost of detours.
"…So you dug that far back," she murmured. There was no anger. Only quiet astonishment. Not because the memory had faded, but because someone else had chosen to carry it too.
That line was important to me. Because it shows what kind of person Su Min truly is.
Not distant. Not emotionless.
But someone who treasures memory deeply, even when she pretends not to. Someone who can't forget—not just the grudge, but the kindness shown to her.
She just doesn't know how to accept it.
Su Min knew exactly what Xie Yingying was offering: a fragment of her Sealing Crystal, something precious and rare. It was an act of immense trust. Maybe even affection. A gesture that said, "When you wake, I want to wake beside you."
And yet, Su Min turned it down.
Not out of pride. Not to keep distance. But because her path had been chosen long ago—when she made her account, back in her old world. She had selected the "Longevity Route," not just for power, but because somewhere in her heart, she had always prepared to walk alone.
She would cultivate quietly, endure quietly, and when the time came, she would walk forward while the rest of the world turned to dust.
But that doesn't mean she wasn't moved. That doesn't mean she didn't recognize the depth of the offer. Even if she couldn't return the feeling, she respected it.
This was also a moment where I wanted to show that Su Min is not a person without feelings. She remembers her father's last words. She remembers the prison. The humiliation. The silence. And most of all, she remembers the grudge.
Forget? She had endured because she remembered.
That line says everything about her.
In a way, this scene is the perfect reflection of their bond:
Xie Yingying, cautious but softening, finally extending something genuine.
Su Min, resolute and already burdened by memory, unable to accept—but grateful, nonetheless.
In Chapter 103: Golden Core Heavenly Tribulation, the stage is set for chaos. The Colden Core Corpse King is brewing in the shadows, and Su Min's thoughts are already half-turned toward the incoming storm. But between the tension and the tribulation, the story gives us a brief moment of stillness. Of breath. Of connection.
It was only a few lines in the original:
"Xie Yingying exhaled in relief. At least Su Min wasn't completely clueless. Their conversation continued, but Su Min grew increasingly cautious. Xie Yingying, however, was remarkably candid, sharing details about her sect and background. Su Min, on the other hand, had to carefully mask her origins, sticking to her 'Su Min' identity."
A functional exchange. But I saw something more in it. I saw an opportunity. Not for exposition, but for bonding. So I wrote Extra 2: Moonlit Fragrance—a quiet chapter, with no cultivation, no danger, no battle. Just two women sitting beneath the moon, trading pieces of their past like incense in the dark.
In many ways, this chapter is about vulnerability.
Xie Yingying opens up first—not in dramatic speeches, but in the way someone slowly lets their walls down, testing the air with every word.
Su Min, by contrast, remains cautious. She doesn't lie outright—but she can't tell the full truth either.
But she listens. And in doing so, she gives something back.
Not words, but presence.
They sat like that for a long time. Quiet. Still. Two ghosts beneath the moonlight, living anyway.
This line was incredibly important to me. Because Su Min and Xie Yingying aren't just cultivators. They're survivors.
Each of them carries wounds that the world can't see. But here, under the moonlight, they didn't have to pretend. Even if they didn't speak all their truths, they acknowledged each other's existence in full—for the first time.
I ended the extra with this line:
Companions, if not yet friends.
Because that's how it begins.
Not with declarations. Not with instant trust. But with mutual recognition. A willingness to sit beside someone, and stay—even in silence.
( ˘︶˘ ).｡*♡
In Chapter 110: Preparations Before Forming the Golden Core (Part 1), there's a quiet moment. A small one, really. Su Min remarks on the gift Xie Yingying gave to her.
But I couldn't stop thinking about why she left them. About what she was actually giving.
It's one thing to prepare for a self-sealing. It's another thing to give away part of your wealth to someone else—to trust them with not just tools, but with the fruit of your past, the resources your sect entrusted to you, your own safety net.
That wasn't just an act of convenience.
That was love, even if she couldn't say it.
So I wrote Extra 3: The Valley of Parting—a slow, quiet chapter set three months after Settled, at the edge of farewell.
In this chapter, we see that Xie Yingying already knows.
She knows her feelings, even if she won't speak them aloud.
She watches Su Min—not just as a cultivator or ally, but as someone she has come to care for deeply. She watches the wind catch in her hair, the way her brow furrows when she's lost in thought. And it hurts, because she already knows what the answer will be.
"Do you want to seal yourself with me?"
She asks twice.
And Su Min refuses, twice.
It's not a rejection of her. Not entirely. But for Xie Yingying, it still stings. There's a small, silent hope that Su Min might choose her—not for strategy, not for survival, but for companionship. For her.
Xie Yingying looked away first, her chest aching with something she couldn't name.
That line was the key.
Because sometimes, the heart knows something before we can name it.
Su Min is still blind to her own heart.
But she's not emotionless. Not indifferent.
Her fingers close around the silk pouch. The warmth of Xie Yingying's skin lingers. She says thank you—but doesn't know what she's really thanking her for.
Because she hasn't learned yet what time means. What absence means.
To her, years are just fuel for cultivation. The path stretches endlessly before her, too young to understand that the highest summits are often the loneliest
Not yet.
But she will.
"Don't die," Xie Yingying says softly.
"I don't plan to." Su Min's smile is sharp, but her heart is already heavier than she realizes.
And so they part.
This was the first parting that mattered.
The first wound Su Min wouldn't feel until years later.
The first name she would carry with her through silence, through blood, through victory.
She would tell herself this was just an alliance of convenience. It would take her a decade—maybe longer—to admit the truth. That Xie Yingying had been the first to slip past her armor. The only one who ever did.
When I wrote this extra, I wasn't trying to rush the romance. I was trying to honor the slow ache. The long silence that only eternity can bring.
Because Su Min is immortal—but immortality means nothing if you don't know what it's costing you. (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)💧
In Chapter 113: Return to Prince Yong's Mansion, Su Min stands in a familiar hall—but nothing else is familiar anymore.
This is her third time comeback here. Her third audience with a man bearing the title of Prince Yong.
And yet, none of them were the same man.
When I came to this chapter, I didn't want to simply move the plot forward. I wanted to pause. To let that quiet ache breathe. Because this is where Su Min's immortality begins to feel less like a blessing, and more like a burden.
Before now, she had endured suffering, yes. She had experienced war, betrayal, hunger, exile. But those were storms—violent and immediate.
This moment?
This was erosion.
Time itself was becoming her first enemy. And she was only just beginning to realize it.
The original lines were short, efficient. A brief note of recognition, then onward.
"This was already the third Prince Yong she had seen. No wonder the Heaven Court forbids immortals from falling in love with mortals."
But I saw an opportunity here. To make this the beginning of Su Min's long, slow reckoning with eternity.
To let her remember the first Prince Yong, who rose from nothing in the ashes of rebellion.
To let her remember the second—his son—who stabilized the region, but lacked the fire to shape it.
And now, the third.
Three Princes Yong. Three eras. And her, unchanged.
She is beginning to understand what immortality really means.
Not just power.
Not just cultivation stages or transcendence.
But loss.
Endless, recurring loss.
"The more she lived, the more she lost."
That's what I wanted to emphasize here. That no matter how calm Su Min seems, no matter how composed, she is not made of stone. She remembers. She mourns.
But she does so quietly.
Toward the corridor where sunlight touched empty air.
That's the kind of detail I love. A moment that means nothing on the surface—but tells you everything about her heart.
When I rewrote this chapter, I wanted to show that Su Min isn't emotionless—far from it. But she has learned, little by little, that emotions are a liability when no one stays. She doesn't build walls out of pride, but out of preservation.
"Some part of her had stopped reaching for connection. Not because she was cold, but because she still remembered the warmth—and what it cost to lose it."
That was the line that defined this entire scene for me. Because Su Min's journey is about healing—but also about enduring.
This moment is subtle.
But for the first time, she understands what eternity means.
Not as a goal, but as a burden.
And perhaps—though she doesn't know it yet—this understanding will be the first step toward why she will later come to cherish Xie Yingying not as a temporary companion, but as the one who stayed. The first one she dares to hope might still be there when the world changes again.
In Chapter 119: A New Era, Su Min steps out from the ruined hall, not with pride or arrogance—but with silence. And breath.
That's where I knew Volume One had reached its true ending.
This wasn't just the final confrontation with the Emperor and the Demon Queen.
This was closure.
Not a happy ending, not a clean slate. But closure—for the girl who had once been chained, silenced, and nearly forgotten. The Su Min who had burned silently for decades beneath the skin of a wandering healer, a strategist, a cultivator.
The original version of the chapter delivered the facts clearly—bones uncovered, techniques destroyed, debts settled.
After walking out of the hall, Su Min also breathed a sigh of relief.
"Little girl, now the grudge is over. You can rest in peace, and the creatures of this world can breathe a sigh of relief. By the way, go see if there are any scrolls left by the old witch. It's better not to keep her evil magic."
Su Min slowly closed her eyes when she said this. The next moment, a huge perception enveloped the entire palace. Su Min's face became a little gloomy. Then, she waved her hand, and the square in front of her was smashed to pieces, revealing the densely packed bones inside.
This palace is filled with countless skeletons, and a large part of them have some blood connection with the dog emperor.
"These are all the skills here. I also got all the skills from the palace maids and guards. It's better to cut off the inheritance of the old demon queen. There are not many normal ones left."
Su Min sighed when she said this, and then she left the imperial city and came out. Now everyone knew that she was going to settle the accounts, so naturally no one dared to come in and disturb her.
But I felt it was time to finally pause. To look back—not only through Su Min's eyes, but through the lens of everything we've traveled with her across 100+ chapters.
She never cried in front of anyone. But she mourned. She remembered.
"You don't have to keep running," she whispered. "We're not prey anymore."
This line, to me, was one of the most important things I added. Because I didn't want Su Min to just defeat her enemies. I wanted her to outgrow them.
This moment wasn't for the world. It was for herself.
And for the Su Min who once huddled in a jail cell and whispered to herself just to stay sane.
There was also a gameplay reason I wanted to emphasize the destruction of the Demon Queen's legacy. In the original game lore, that woman becomes a long-term threat in the background—reemerging between 120–130 years after her awakening, a hidden endgame boss who hunts the player when they least expect it.
But Su Min wasn't going to wait. Not in this lifetime.
She had already seen what that future held, and she would burn it down before it could begin.
"It hadn't been her hand that struck the final blow. But the grave was still hers to seal."
And now, the palace is quiet.
The sky is clearing.
And Su Min is… tired.
Not weakened. Not diminished. But finally allowed to rest.
She spent decades cultivating in silence, healing others while nursing her own fury. This victory wasn't about revenge alone—it was about honoring memory. Her clan. Her name. Her stolen childhood.
"I didn't forget. Not one face. Not one name. Not one betrayal."
If you've followed her until now, you know that her anger was never loud—it was disciplined. She sharpened it into action. Into strength. Into survival.
Volume One ends not with a triumphant cheer, but with ash in the wind, and a woman walking forward. Alone, again—but no longer running.
"The living still have work to do," she said. "And I still have bones to bury."
Su Min is not yet done. But she has, at last, reclaimed her name.
And with it, a future of her own making.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Next the Volume 2. In Chapter 127: Seeing Yingying Again (Part 1)
"Yingying said she'd reach out a decade before the Golden Core Avenue opened… and yet, centuries have flown by."
This line marks the first real shift in Su Min's awareness of time.
In Volume 1, time was her weapon. Her shield. Her debt to repay. But here, time becomes something else entirely—a weight. One that creeps in quietly, catching her off guard.
When she touches the pendant and hears no voice, only the echo of a promise made lifetimes ago, something stirs. She realizes that she's been waiting—without ever admitting it.
In the original version, the scene is straightforward: a jade pendant trembles, Su Min realizes the years have passed, and she departs. But I wanted this moment to breathe.
This isn't just about plot progression. This is the first emotional echo of their bond since Xie Yingying sealed herself. For Su Min, who has spent the last few chapters immersed in sect management, cultivating quietly, and suppressing her own softness, this pulse from the pendant is like the past calling back—not to haunt her, but to remind her what still matters.
"That time… that sealed mansion beneath the silver moon…"
Even now, she remembers. Not just the moment, but the feeling.
And that's what I wanted readers to feel too.
Then comes the second pulse.
"She's in danger?!"
This moment needed no grand declarations, no melodrama. The emotion is quiet—but unmistakable. She takes off without hesitation. Not because it's expected of her. Not because she's a hero. But because it's her.
Because it's Xie Yingying.
This chapter is short in structure, but monumental in tone.
We've crossed into a new stage of their relationship. Not yet romantic in words. But undeniable in action.
Su Min has lived through dynasties, buried emperors, and outlasted generations of rulers. But this one woman, still lives in her thoughts. Still pulls her from the sky with a single flicker of jade.
That alone speaks volumes.
This section—Chapter 128: Seeing Yingying Again (Part 2)—marks not only the emotional reunion of Su Min and Xie Yingying, but also the moment the world realizes: a storm has returned.
The fluctuations in this mansion nowadays are unprecedented in the world, and now there is extreme greed in everyone's eyes.
It seemed as if the opportunity to enter the Jindan stage was right in front of him, and he could just kill the cultivators inside.
"Everyone, kneel down!!!"
But at this moment, a cold voice sounded in the sky. Almost in the next moment, a huge pressure came down from the sky, and everyone felt their feet go weak and they all knelt on the ground.
"Golden Core Stage???"
"How is it possible? Even a being in the Golden Core stage wouldn't have such terrifying power."
At this time, exclamations were heard one after another, especially from the royal family. They were extremely horrified, even their Golden Core stage ancestors could not give such a terrifying pressure.
After all, Su Min's configuration was all top-notch, with the Heavenly Dao Foundation and the Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulations. A person's coercion was directly linked to their overall attributes, and it was indeed impossible for an ordinary Golden Core to make this group of people kneel down with coercion alone, but she was different.
In the original, the structure flows in a fairly straightforward manner: first, the greedy crowd reacts to the mansion's fluctuations, then Su Min's arrival forces them all to their knees. After that, someone exclaims "Golden Core stage?!" followed by a more technical explanation of her cultivation level and why her presence is so overwhelming.
But I chose to divide the full passage into two parts and restructure the order of the elements for both emotional and narrative impact.
The original explanation of Su Min's "configuration" (her Heavenly Dao Foundation and the Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulation) comes quite early, right after the cultivators kneel. It works, logically, but emotionally, it undercuts the power of the moment. We're told why her presence is terrifying before we get a real sense of it.
So, in my version, I postponed that explanation.
Su Min hasn't just returned. She's come back to a world smaller, greedier, unaware of the weight she carries.
And so I chose to reshape the scene around atmosphere, weight, and controlled wrath.
The spatial fluctuations emanating from the hidden mansion were unprecedented, igniting unbridled greed in the eyes of all present. To them, this was a golden opportunity to break through to the Golden Core stage—and the cultivator inside? Just kill them.
Yet, they didn't know. Couldn't know.
That they were poking the sleeping tail of a dragon.
Then—
"All of you—kneel!!!"
The voice was neither loud nor shrill—just cold.
Utterly frigid.
Like divine judgment given form.
A second later, the entire sky ignited with invisible pressure. The clouds parted in a blaze of crimson qi. Screams echoed as cultivators crashed to the ground, knees buckling under the crushing weight.
"Golden Core?!"
"Impossible! Even Golden Core experts shouldn't have this level of power!"
Shocked cries erupted, especially from the imperial envoys. Their own Golden Core ancestor couldn't compare to this crushing aura.
This wasn't just the pressure of a Golden Core expert.
It was rage.
It was fury given weight.
It was a celestial mountain crashing onto mortal ants.
We needed the world to feel it—the reminder that some cultivators don't just grow strong. They become forces of nature.
And for Su Min, it wasn't even about posturing. It was about fear.
Fear that something might have happened to her.
So I allowed that tension to color how her might is described. Her pressure isn't just "strong," it's furious. Her presence isn't just powerful, it's like divine punishment.
The Earth Demon Ancestor scene becomes less slapstick, more dignified in its humiliation.
He isn't just a clown flying through a wall. He's a desperate man, one step away from Golden Core, shattered by the gulf between his ambition and Su Min's reality.
A single word from her—"Scram"—carries more weight than a full duel. That's the power of her presence now. And it's more intimidating than violence.
Su Min's presence darkened the sky.
Nanming Lihuo cloaked her form, her foundations were peerless—Heavenly Path Foundation Establishment, Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulation. An ordinary Golden Core cultivator couldn't suppress a crowd like this with mere pressure, but she was no ordinary Golden Core. In this place, she was the heavens.
I first let her power be felt. The pressure descends. The cultivators collapse. Her aura ignites the sky. There's no technical breakdown of her strength yet—just the overwhelming sensation that the heavens themselves are moving. It's not until after this awe settles in that we get the reason behind it: her impossible foundation, her perfect tribulation, her utter singularity.
By delaying the reveal, I wanted the reader to experience Su Min's presence the same way the crowd does—first with shock and fear, and only then with realization. The goal was to shift from cause → effect to effect → cause, making her entrance feel more mythic.
Only after the storm passes does her tone shift. The sky quiets. Her voice softens. This transition matters. It reminds us that she's not just a force of nature, but a person. A woman moved by something deeper.
And that's why I separated this second part, and why the sequence was restructured. It lets her enter as a storm, and leave as something far more human.
Here, we slow down. The world fades. The cultivators, the mansion, the onlookers—they no longer matter.
It becomes just the two of them.
When Xie Yingying steps out, not with arrogance, but with relief, you feel the years in every exchanged glance. You feel that despite all her teasing and distance, she'd been waiting too.
"Not 'I would have.' Not 'I meant to.' Just: I told you I'd come."
And in that moment, Su Min is no longer a myth. She's just a woman who kept a promise. That's the core of this rewrite: not power but intimacy. Not spectacle, but trust earned through the passage of centuries.
The final act of this chapter expands on the original's rough idea—Su Min inviting Xie Yingying to her sect—but now reimagined with sincerity and growing vulnerability.
"You're dangerous."
"To enemies, sure."
But the way Su Min looked at her said more: 'Not to you. Never to you.'"
This isn't just about rebuilding legacies. It's about sharing something. About inviting someone into your world, your future.
Su Min isn't just asking for a cauldron, or a legacy manual. She's asking Xie Yingying to come home.
And for the first time, Xie Yingying considers that her home might not be a mountain or sect—but a person.
When I reached Chapter 130: Bold and Unrestrained Su Min, I ended up making a few deliberate changes.
In the original version, the focus leaned toward comedy. Su Min was rough, unladylike, and unfiltered—clearly different from what Xie Yingying expected of a female cultivator. The Prince Yong even described her as "manlier than all his subordinates." It was fun, light, even a bit slapstick. But something about it felt like a missed opportunity.
So I changed it.
Instead of playing it entirely for laughs, I rewrote the scene to reflect something deeper—something that had been building quietly in Su Min all along.
After all, this was a woman who carried not only her current soul, but the memories of another life. The original Su Min had been a noblewoman, a daughter of the Minister of Rites, raised with perfect posture, flawless etiquette, and a smile that never cracked. She knew the rules. She could've played the game better than anyone else. But she didn't. She refused to.
That contrast fascinated me.
Rather than treating her wildness as a joke, I wanted it to feel like defiance. Not just a personality quirk, but a choice—a deliberate rejection of the world that had destroyed her family, even after they played by every rule. Maybe it was the Su Min from Earth who gave her the backbone to rebel. Maybe it was the pain of seeing obedience and grace repaid with blood. Either way, her refusal to "act like a female cultivator" wasn't just eccentricity. It was rebellion. Survival. Grit.
That was something I wanted readers to feel.
Then came Chapter 133: The Eastern Azure Wood.
This was one of those sections that, on the surface, didn't seem like much. A brief conflict, some bandits, a rare treasure. It served its purpose in the plot—moving the characters deeper into the ruins, providing a cultivation opportunity, and giving the two leads a reason to intervene.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that this chapter was hiding something more. A quiet shift in Su Min's heart. A moment of decision—not because of strategy, or necessity, but because of her.
( •᷄⌓•᷅ )੭
In the original, Su Min was mostly passive. The encounter was resolved with a bit of bluff, a reward handed over, and then off they went. Functional, but hollow.
So I rewrote it.
Instead of treating the fat cultivator like a side gag or the disciples as faceless thugs, I leaned into the emotional current running under the scene. Su Min doesn't just step in to save someone. She does it because Xie Yingying reacts. Her presence shifts the mood. That brief flash of hunger in Yingying's eyes—a rare crack in her icy composure—is what moves Su Min to act.
She notices. She always notices.
(*≧ω≦)
I wanted that to show. That even in a moment where the stakes seem low, Su Min is paying attention. And that she's beginning to change—not just protecting Xie Yingying out of duty, or alliance, but making choices based on her needs. Her wants.
It was a tiny gesture, really. Telling those disciples to scram, giving away a resource they could've used later. But Su Min didn't hesitate. Because in that moment, Xie Yingying's desire mattered more than calculation.
And then, the crystal scene.
(´ｰ`)
This one made me pause a little longer. Originally, it played like a minor info dump. Xie Yingying says she needs the treasure, Su Min says "that's too long," and they move on. Done.
But in the context of their growing bond, that didn't sit right with me.
So I changed it.
Now, the crystal becomes more than a cultivation item. It becomes a mirror—a way to show how far Su Min has come emotionally. She sees Xie Yingying's longing, hears the uncharacteristic crack in her voice, and her response is immediate. Quiet, but telling. She doesn't say anything flowery. She just puts the crystal in Yingying's hands and keeps walking.
That's Su Min for you.
No declarations. Just action.
And Xie Yingying, usually so guarded, doesn't argue. She accepts it. She understands what it means. Even without saying a word.
(*ﾉωﾉ) Moments like this—subtle, unspoken—are some of my favorites to work on. They're the kind that readers might skim over if they're rushing to the next fight, but for those who linger… there's depth to be found.
That's why I adjusted the tone here. Not to over-romanticize, but to let the emotional growth breathe. To hint at how their relationship is changing, even if neither of them has admitted it out loud yet.
Then came Chapter 145: Yin Body, Yang Soul—A Solar Sovereign Physique?
This was one of those chapters that demanded more than translation. It needed tuning—adjustment not of facts or plot points, but of emotional weight.
For a moment, the two of them looked at each other in silence, especially Xie Yingying's expression was very subtle.
Su Min always felt that she was being questioned a little bit.
....
"The inheritance is done, let's go. There is nothing good here anymore, let's prepare for the Golden Core Heaven Ranking."
Su Min smiled when she said this, but just when she was about to leave, her hand was grabbed by Jie Yingying, and then under her puzzled gaze, the latter spoke very seriously.
"Excuse me, are you a pervert?"
"???"
Looking at Xie Yingying's serious face, Su Min was confused. What was this guy doing? If a stranger dared to hold her hand and say this, she would have slapped her in the face.
But looking at Xie Yingying's serious expression, she felt a little hesitant to do it.
"What do you mean?"
"Humans are divided into body and soul. Men are yang and women are yin. But you have a yin body and a yang soul. Otherwise, you would never be able to activate your solar body. Isn't this similar to tadpoles, which grow through metamorphosis?"
....
Soon, Xie Yingying looked at Su Min with a confused look in her eyes and said, although she didn't know where Su Min got the solar energy from, there was no doubt that Su Min was a real solar body at least during that period of time, and it was a very special solar body.
Because she had just checked and found that Su Min had a Yin body and there was nothing wrong with her.
"Go away, go away, go away. I can only maintain this for a few minutes a day. What the hell are you practicing for?"
In the original, the tone was oddly casual. Xie Yingying's shock was played off with a strange joke about metamorphosis, and Su Min's Solar Sovereign Physique was treated like a convenient power-up. The "curse of Yin and Yang never meeting" was broken… and no one really felt the weight of it.
That didn't sit right with me.
So I rewrote the scene with more silence. More breath. More heat.
Because for Xie Yingying, this wasn't just a surprise—it was a moment of rupture. For the first time, she came into direct contact with the one thing her Lunar Sovereign Physique had always yearned for, and been denied: the Solar counterpart.
And it was Su Min.
Not some idealized cauldron partner, not a distant myth. Su Min, standing there with radiant qi still clinging to her skin, clueless to the fact that the power she'd just wielded was unraveling something inside Xie Yingying that had always been tightly bound.
The silence between them was no longer awkward—it was charged. Every look, every question, every unspoken feeling came loaded with that sudden, inexplicable pull. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
For a long moment, the two women simply stared at each other.
Especially Xie Yingying.
Her expression was… complicated. Dark eyes wide, lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling just a fraction too fast. Something primal and unreadable flickered in her gaze—something that made Su Min feel abruptly, uncomfortably seen.
I kept Su Min grounded, matter-of-fact. She didn't feel what Xie Yingying felt. To her, it was just a tool—another trump card in her arsenal. But for Xie Yingying, it was everything. A call from something ancient and biological and deeply personal.
From:
Su Min didn't know how Jie Yingying felt, because she wasn't a true sun body. So she wasn't deeply touched, but the roar of the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth was too scary. If she didn't shut it down, it would probably spread out from the Golden Elixir Avenue soon.
Even some powerful people who have been self-proclaimed for many years may come to take a look despite the five signs of aging. If they can hear the truth in the morning, they can die in the evening.
To:
She didn't understand the look on Xie Yingying's face. To her, it had just been power—raw and overwhelming, yes, but ultimately just another tool. She hadn't felt the way the Grand Dao sang between them, hadn't tasted the centuries-old longing etched into the very fabric of their physiques. If she had, she might have recognized the hunger in Xie Yingying's eyes for what it was.
But the roar of the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth was too scary. If she hadn't shut it down, the phenomenon would've rippled beyond the Golden Core Avenue.
Some long-sealed powerhouses might've even risked the Heaven-Man Five Decays to investigate. To hear the Dao in the morning and die at dusk—some would consider it worth it.
From this:
Seeing this scene, Xie Yingying put away the rippling feeling, but it was not Su Min's fault that she was confused. Because this was also what she heard in the inheritance, compared with Su Min who was not loved by her uncle and grandmother and was sent away with a sealed ancient book.
It is obvious that what Xie Yingying obtained is more complete, and she even has many inherited memories.
To this:
Seeing Su Min's blank look, Xie Yingying suppressed her rippling feeling. But it wasn't Su Min's fault that she was confused. Because this was also what she heard in the inheritance, compared with Su Min who was not loved by her uncle and grandmother and was sent away with a sealed ancient book.
It is obvious that what Xie Yingying obtained is more complete, and she even has many inherited memories. She knew the legends. Knew the weight of what had just passed between them. And that made it all the more unbearable.
And this:
"Are you… a pervert?" became "Are you… metamorph?"
Weird? Yes. But also telling.
Xie Yingying's mind was grasping at straws, trying to intellectualize what her body and soul already knew: that Su Min had touched something no one else could. She was trying to explain it in her own way—through theory, through structure, even if the question itself made no sense. She wanted to understand, because the alternative was terrifying.
Because if it wasn't science, if it wasn't soul structure, then what was it?
Xie Yingying, stepping closer not to attack, but to reach. Su Min, backing away not out of fear, but out of discomfort—with herself, with what she felt (or didn't), and with the potential that this connection might become something she couldn't control.
When she snapped and told Xie Yingying to back off, it wasn't just because she needed to protect her trump card. It was because for a second, Su Min saw something in Yingying's eyes that made her want to answer that pull. And that scared her more than any battle.
(´-ω-`) Three minutes a day. It doesn't sound like much.
But for Xie Yingying, those three minutes were enough to awaken something that wouldn't go back to sleep.
This chapter was the hinge point of their dynamic. Before this, their connection was growing. After this, it was burning—fueled by a force even they didn't fully understand.
Chapter 147: The Five Elements Emperor's Masterpiece, was originally meant to be a quiet transition.
Alchemy, preparation, the calm before the next storm. The chapter ended with a simple line: Su Min seated before the furnace, Xie Yingying watching her with a smile.
Functional. Peaceful. But it didn't say anything. Not after what had just happened in Chapter 145.
So I added more.
( •͈ᴗ•͈) You see, resonance might be described in terms of qi and physique, but it doesn't just disappear after the power fades. It lingers—in the body, in the air between them, and most of all, in Xie Yingying's mind.
I didn't want to jump straight into a confession or romance. That wouldn't be true to her. Xie Yingying is deliberate, proud, emotionally repressed—she doesn't even trust her own feelings, let alone Su Min's. But this chapter gave me a chance to let her guard slip. Not in words, but in silence.
The added lines were about noticing.
How Su Min sat. How she moved. How she didn't react. The grace and weight of her focus. That quiet strength that made it harder and harder for Xie Yingying to pretend this was just admiration.
(*´-`) Her thoughts begin as denial—"It's just respect. Just appreciation." But they unravel quickly. There's warmth in her chest that has no name. A memory in her body that refuses to fade. The kind of subtle, almost domestic longing that sneaks up on someone who never expected to feel it.
It was important to me that she didn't say anything out loud. She doesn't confess. She doesn't flirt. She just watches. Feels. Gets overwhelmed by it. And then she runs—using the old excuse of duty to avoid staying in that space a moment longer.
That's how you know it's real.
(｡•́︿•̀｡) I also liked showing that nothing happened yet after the resonance. No talk. No follow-up. Just tension—hanging in the air like mist that won't clear. Because that's so true to life, isn't it? Sometimes the most important moments aren't followed by anything dramatic. Just… distance. Uncertainty. That ache of "what now?"
By writing this extra moment, I wanted to show that Xie Yingying remembers. That her heart is already shifting, even if her mind hasn't caught up yet. And that Su Min, for all her calmness, might be aware too—even if she won't say it either.
Two people circling each other, too brave in battle, too scared to name what they're becoming.
This is where the romance really starts, if you ask me. Not when they kiss. But when they begin to look at each other differently.
Next is Chapter152:The Young PlayWild.
And the author… skipped everything. (*￣︿￣)
I get it. Plot-wise, it was time to move forward. But emotionally? Relationally? You can't just say "they spent decades doing all kinds of things together" and then move on like that!
This wasn't just any pairing. Su Min and Xie Yingying had gone from allies to taoist partners, to something that could only be described as fated. And then suddenly, boom—a whole era of their relationship reduced to a footnote.
So I wrote three extras.
(Extra 4, Part 1: Moonlace Bloom – Where doubts fade to certainty… and feelings finally get 'consummated'.)
This one was close to my heart. Because before anything could progress between them physically or spiritually, they needed clarity—real clarity. Not just "our bodies resonate" or "our physiques match." But:
—Do I want you, or do I just want what you give me?
—Are these feelings mine, or something stirred by fate and bloodlines?
And by the end of this chapter, they find their answer. Quietly. Gently. Not through grand declarations, but through shared understanding.
The most important intimacy starts with honesty.
(｡•́‿•̀｡)♡
(Extra 4, Part 2: Burning Through the Moonlight [NSFW] – After confessing their feelings, things escalate… slowly)
Whew. This chapter took me four days to write.
Why? Because I didn't want it to be just another cultivation bed scene. I wanted to show what it meant to them—especially to Xie Yingying.
The moment Su Min activated her Solar Sovereign Physique during their first intimate dual cultivation, it shattered Xie Yingying's restraint. Not just because of resonance, but because that light filled something in her she'd never known was missing. And she... she fell. Fully. Messily. Repeatedly.
They had manuals. Techniques. Rituals. But none of it mattered. They weren't making love as cultivators—they were making love as people. Desperate. Human. A little unhinged.
Decades passed before Xie Yingying could truly control herself again. And I felt that deserved to be shown, not skipped. The fact that she lost herself in that desire speaks volumes—about how much she'd held back all her life, and how powerful Su Min's presence was to her.
Was it indulgent? A little. But sometimes, you need to write about women wanting, too.
(≧∀≦)
(Extra 4, Part 3: The Experiments of Sun and Moon – The actual cultivation experiments. You know. The innocent kind.)
After all that ahem intensity, this extra let me breathe. It focused on the lighthearted, scholarly part of their bond—what happens when two geniuses share a bed and a lab.
They tested resonance thresholds, mapped qi circulation overlaps, compared Solar and Lunar scripture compatibility, and argued about meridian theory over tea.
This wasn't fanservice—it was foundation. Their partnership wasn't just physical or romantic. It was intellectual. Spiritual. Equal.
You can't become lifelong Taoist partners without also being comrades in curiosity.
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`)
In short, Chapter 152 may have skimmed past decades, but I couldn't. Those years mattered. To Su Min. To Xie Yingying. To me.
They deserved to be written.
Chapter 153: The Art of Cowering
This was one of the chapters where I took a bit more liberty than usual. Not to alter the meaning, but to bring out the feeling I got while reading it.
One scene in particular stood out: Su Min shielding Xie Yingying from Yao Xian'er's spiritual pressure.
"It's her. She is indeed a mortal. But she makes me feel very strange. I..."
Before Xie Yingying finished speaking, she saw the woman glanced at her. For a moment, Xie Yingying felt as if she saw a tall figure who had come from a distant era and experienced the vicissitudes of time.
"Be calm and stick to your heart."
At this moment, Su Min took a step forward and stood in front of Li Yingying.
...
Looking at Su Min who was protecting Xie Yingying behind her, Yao Xianer withdrew her gaze and said nothing more.
...
"Are you okay? You have to know that what we have here is just a trace of spiritual consciousness. She can still have an impact on you. She is really not simple."
Su Min retracted her eyes and looked at Xie Yingying behind her. The latter was now frowning and looked at the mysterious woman with great fear.
"Nothing happened, she is dangerous"
"Um."
In the original text, it was already intense, and the image was clear. But I couldn't help but feel there was something deeper waiting to be drawn out—something quieter than drama, but warmer than action. So I made a few adjustments. Added a little breath. A little space. A little closeness.
"It's her. She is indeed a mortal. But she makes me feel very strange. I—"
Before she could finish, the white-robed woman turned her gaze toward them.
...
Then, like a shield sliding into place, Su Min stepped forward.
"Stay calm," she murmured. "Guard your heart."
And just like that, the weight lessened.
Su Min's figure blocked the woman's gaze, intercepting it without hesitation.
....
"You okay? We're just projections here, and she still affected you. She's no joke."
Su Min turned to Xie Yingying, her voice calm, she just turn her back—protective, shielding. As if part of her still worry Yao Xian'er will look at their direction again.
Xie Yingying's expression remained grim, her gaze still on the place where that oppressive presence had been. But slowly, she exhaled, and nodded.
"I'm fine. But she's... dangerous."
Su Min watched her for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The faint pallor in Xie Yingying's cheeks hadn't fully faded.
"Yeah," she said softly, eyes narrowing in thought. "She is."
Su Min doesn't say "Don't be afraid." She just steps forward. She shields.
And then, after it's over, she doesn't move away immediately. Even when Yao Xian'er turns her gaze elsewhere, Su Min still keeps herself between them, as if silently promising, if she looks again, I'll still be here. (;ω;)
There was something about that moment that felt quietly beautiful to me. Protective, steady, understated. I wanted to reflect that with more than just words—I wanted the weight of it to linger.
Xie Yingying looked up at her. For a long second, she didn't speak.
"…You blocked it," she finally said. Her voice was soft, unreadable. "Even when you didn't have to."
Su Min shrugged one shoulder, downplaying it. "Instinct."
But Xie Yingying smiled faintly. Her fingers brushed, barely, against the back of Su Min's hand.
"Liar," she whispered, "you just couldn't bear to see me hurt."
Su Min said nothing, but the flicker of heat in her gaze betrayed her.
And then, there's Xie Yingying. Reserved. Proud. But when she says "You didn't have to," and Su Min answers with "Instinct," it's clear neither of them really believes it's that simple. (≖ᴗ≖๑)
I added a line here—Xie Yingying brushing Su Min's hand, calling her a liar in a soft voice. It wasn't in the original, but the feeling was. Simple words, but they shift the tone of the whole scene from reactive to intimate. This is also one of the moments where the reader can start to feel their bond without needing it spelled out. (Plus, it hints at how their dynamic works—Su Min the calm, steady one; Xie Yingying the possessive but quietly vulnerable one.)
Then came Chapter 155: Discussions About Su Min's Physique, and honestly... I had fun with this one. (￣▽￣*)ゞ
In the original, there was already a sense of pride coming from Xie Yingying—she knew more about Su Min than anyone else present. But when I read it, it didn't feel like just pride. It felt a little territorial. A little smug. Almost like, "You can stare and speculate all you want, but none of you know her like I do."
So I leaned into that feeling and let it bloom.
I reworked the moment to show Xie Yingying's subtle jealousy and quiet possessiveness—not in an overtly dramatic way, but in a way that hinted: Su Min isn't just powerful. She's mine to understand. Mine to protect. Mine to stand beside.
And more than that, Xie Yingying never says it outright, but the line between admiration and affection is already blurring here. Her inner voice is warm, even when it's a little biting.
That knowledge wasn't something she would share. It was hers. Just like Su Min.
It felt like such a quiet, pointed declaration. No fanfare. No announcement. Just that tiny thought, tucked into the rhythm of her gaze. I didn't have the heart to downplay it. (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
It was important to me that this moment wasn't just an exposition dump about Su Min's power. It was a glimpse into how Xie Yingying views Su Min—how much she knows, how much she keeps to herself, and how fiercely she guards the parts of Su Min that no one else sees.
I think this was also the chapter where Xie Yingying's possessive streak really started to become clear. Not just jealous of attention, but protective over what parts of Su Min are hers alone. And Su Min... lets her be like that. Doesn't protest. Doesn't push back.
That balance between them—Su Min being steady, quiet, and a little resigned, while Xie Yingying burns just a bit hotter, just a bit closer—was something I really wanted to bring to life.
Now, Chapter 156: The Crimson Blazing Bird was where I let myself be just a little cheeky. (≖ ͜ʖ≖)
The original line was funny on its own—Su Min getting annoyed at the strange nickname spreading through the crowd, while Xie Yingying quietly laughed on the sidelines. But I thought… what if the nickname came from her?
Because honestly, doesn't that fit?
Xie Yingying, the one who knows Su Min best. The one who has studied her flames up close—too close sometimes. The one who, despite her usual aloofness, has a dry sense of humor that only surfaces in private moments.
So I rewrote the moment with that lens: not just Su Min reacting to a silly nickname, but Xie Yingying being the secret instigator. A tiny little act of mischief wrapped in affection.
"Crimson Blazing Bird?!"
"What kind of half-baked, ancestor-defiling nonsense is that?!"
Su Min's outrage felt so in character that I leaned into it fully. She's not someone who takes mockery lightly—especially when it sounds like something out of a cultivation-themed roast battle. But it's also very her to get all worked up about something trivial like this while missing the very obvious culprit standing right next to her. (≧▽≦)
Because let's be honest: when you're dating the most terrifying alchemist in the realm, you're allowed a little teasing privilege, right? (ﾉ∀`)
By the time I reached Chapter 161: The Age of Darkness, The Fallen Immortals, I felt like I had already walked alongside these two for lifetimes.
This scene wasn't a flashy confrontation or a major breakthrough—it was just the aftermath. One of those moments where everything slows down, the stakes are still there, but the emotions get to breathe.
In the original version, Xie Yingying gives up her spot in the tournament without much ceremony. But when I read it, I saw the weight behind that decision. She didn't just withdraw—she chose Su Min. Quietly. Willingly. Without needing anything in return.
So I rewrote the scene with more focus on what wasn't said out loud.
It opens with Su Min waking up—tired, sore, still recovering—and the first thing she sees is Xie Yingying watching her. Not worried, not scolding, just... watching. With that half-smile of hers. Like she's always been there.
"You forfeited?"
"Of course she did."
That was the heartbeat of the scene for me. Not just the words, but the unspoken comfort that comes from trust built over time. Su Min's surprise fades quickly, because part of her already knows the answer. And Xie Yingying, for all her sharpness, doesn't make a show of it. She just says it plain: "I left the opportunity to you."
But I wanted to go one step further—not just what she did, but why. Because if she'd fought Su Min at that moment, it wouldn't have been a fair fight. Su Min would've had to use everything she had left, maybe more. And Xie Yingying knew that.
"Some battles weren't worth winning."
That was a line I added after sitting with the scene for a while. I didn't want it to sound noble or overly romantic. Just real. Just like her.
Because I think this is also the chapter where Xie Yingying starts to reveal a different kind of love—one that isn't shown in declarations, but in restraint.
It's a different kind of intimacy here. One shaped by exhaustion, trust, and the knowledge that even in a world built on power, sometimes the strongest choice is stepping back.
And in this case, it let me show that in their relationship, Su Min is the steady one, always pushing forward, while Xie Yingying is the one who quietly guards her—even if it means giving up a fight that could have earned her glory.
Because what mattered more to her was Su Min.
And she didn't need to say it out loud. (〃´-ω・`)ゞ
Chapter 164: The Five Elements Emperor and the Inheritance, was a quiet turning point—and one of those moments that felt so much larger than the lines on the page.
In the original, Su Min is offered a mysterious surge of life force and, without hesitation, gives it to Xie Yingying. No fanfare, no discussion. Just a swift, deliberate act. Her only condition? "Don't let her know it came from me."
And that was already touching, but I wanted more than just the act itself. I wanted the after—the consequence not just to the body, but to the heart.
So I expanded Xie Yingying's reaction. Not as a sudden realization, but as something softer, instinctive. Her body registers the change immediately—five hundred years of life is no small thing. But her mind can't find the source. No one else seems affected. No divine light or booming voice points her in the right direction.
And yet…
Her gaze darted across the arena before—without conscious thought—lingering for half a breath in Su Min's direction.
That was the line I built everything around.
Because in that single glance, I wanted to show the bond between them moving underneath the surface. Not spoken. Not explained. But felt.
Xie Yingying doesn't know what Su Min did. But something in her stirs. Her heart turns toward Su Min in a way she can't rationalize—and she doesn't try to. She just notes the feeling and lets it pass.
I love that kind of tension. That almost knowing. Because love—real love—isn't always fireworks and confessions. Sometimes it's a breath. A glance. A thread that tightens just a little more without breaking.
Yet something deeper than reason tugged at her attention before slipping away like mist.
This wasn't a scene where I wanted her to discover the truth. In fact, I liked it better that she didn't. That she couldn't. Because Su Min didn't do it for credit. She didn't want gratitude. She just did what felt right. Quietly. Intimately. And that's the kind of love that resonates most with me—not loud or performative, but deeply rooted.
There's a kind of tenderness in not needing to know everything. In just feeling that someone is with you—even when you don't see the hand that caught you.
And so, Chapter 165: The Nascent Soul Pill is Complete marked the end of Volume 2.
This one felt like an exhale—like the final stretch after a long climb.
The Nascent Soul Pill had been Su Min's goal for dozens of chapters, and the tension of every encounter before this moment had been leading here. So when she finally opens her eyes and holds the finished pills in her palm, it felt… right.
She doesn't boast. She doesn't even rest. She just tosses a pill to Xie Yingying like it's no big deal.
Take one.
Except it is a big deal.
For someone like Xie Yingying, whose entire sect would have bent over backwards to obtain a fifth-grade pill like this, it's a priceless treasure. But from Su Min, it comes without ceremony. Without transaction. Just trust. Just... here. For you.
So I leaned into that intimacy in my version. I wanted the scene to feel warm but grounded. Familiar, even. Like two people who've been through so much together that a moment like this doesn't need to be dressed up with big speeches. It's just Su Min flicking a legendary pill like a candy, and Xie Yingying catching it like it's the most sacred thing she's ever held.
What, you wanted me to feed it to you by hand?
Of course Su Min teases her. Of course Xie Yingying pretends to be annoyed. But there's affection in every word, every gesture.
They've earned this ease between them.
And then, as they prepare to enter seclusion, I wanted the mood to shift—subtly but unmistakably. The doors close. The arrays activate. The world fades away.
The scent of osmanthus wafted from the incense dish on the table. Neither of them had lit it.
That line was my own addition. I wanted something symbolic—an unspoken signal that something had changed, that this wasn't just another cultivation session. It's celebration. It's peace. It's trust. And yes, it's the beginning of something more.
Because let's be honest: after everything, they deserve a moment that's just theirs. No battles, no politics, no secret inheritances. Just the two of them.
It's closeness. It's how they finally allow themselves to feel everything they've been suppressing through all the chaos. It's how they choose to seal this chapter of their lives.
Their celebration isn't loud. It's private. Earned. Intimate.
And I couldn't imagine a more fitting end to Volume 2. (〃ω〃)