With Chapter 166: Return to Eastern Mulberry Land, we officially step into Volume 3.
I like to think of this chapter as the start of a new arc—not just plot-wise, but emotionally.
And right out of the gate, we get this gorgeous little moment with Xie Yingying.
The original line had her being a little proud—saying that soon, Nascent Soul cultivators and beyond would line up for Su Min's pills. But in the rewrite, I decided to lean harder into her possessiveness. Because let's be honest: Xie Yingying is so that girl. Quietly competitive. Emotionally loyal. Secretly smug when others finally realize what she's always known.
"Even Divine Transformation ancestors—lining up with treasures in hand—begging your Grand Elder for a single pill."
That's not just flexing on behalf of her sect. That's flexing on behalf of her girl.
And it's so subtle, too. She doesn't grab Su Min's hand and declare her superiority out loud. No. She just watches these stunned junior cultivators, and remembers.
So now, when she looks at these junior disciples fumbling to process just how powerful their Grand Elder is? She feels it.
"Wasn't Su Min's rising prestige… well. That was practically the same thing, wasn't it?"
That line was one of my favorites to write. Because by this point, it's no longer about proving anything. It's just natural. Su Min's prestige is hers. Her legacy is tangled in Su Min's future, and vice versa.
With Chapter 203: Sect Conference, we step into Volume 4.
And we begin with absence. I didn't add any new action scenes to this one. Just a room, a memory, a question: Where is Xie Yingying?
That's all it takes.
The original goes like:
"Ask the current sect master to come see me. I have something to ask."
After carefully feeling it, with her current soul power, naturally no one in the entire sect could detect it, but this also made her realize that Jie Yingying was not here. This was not good news for her. What on earth did that guy encounter?
Just as Su Min was thinking, a sound of breaking air came from the sky. Luo Ya also rushed over quickly.
...
"No, Master Xie left a special life jade here before he left. If she is in danger, she can activate the life jade to call for help, but now everything is very peaceful."
"I see."
Su Min's frown relaxed when she heard this.
Because for Su Min, who has always moved through chaos with clarity and precision, the unknown is far more dangerous than any enemy. She can block sword strikes. She can refine poisons into panaceas and burn the sky with one breath. But she can't fight silence.
And that's what makes this chapter hit so differently.
"Xie Yingying's presence—always faint, cool like moonlight, but quietly reassuring—was nowhere to be found."
That line was meant to evoke the way someone's presence becomes part of your background—not loud, not demanding, but always there. The moment it's gone, everything tilts just slightly off-axis. That's the kind of bond they have. And in this scene, Su Min doesn't lash out or fly into panic. She tightens her sleeves. She controls her breath.
The unease is real.
I added more subtle movement here—tightening shoulders, a breath held too long, qi swirling under her skin—because Su Min doesn't say she's worried. She doesn't need to. We feel it in every quiet shift, in every word she doesn't say. Especially when Luo Ya speaks of the life jade still intact.
"She never acts carelessly. But for her to stay gone this long..."
It's a haunting moment. Because we know how much Su Min trusts Xie Yingying's judgment. So if she's worried, something really is off.
And it also marks a thematic turning point. Su Min's power has reached new heights. She's no longer bound by sect politics or petty squabbles. But as her sphere of influence expands, so does her loneliness.
Xie Yingying is the one person she allows herself to worry about. To need. So the beginning of Volume 4 opens with a reminder: even with all her strength, there is one thing she cannot bear.
"If someone dared touch her... if anyone so much as laid a hand on her—"
This isn't just foreshadowing. It's a promise. Su Min may have ascended, but if anyone thinks her feelings have dulled, they're in for a rude awakening.
Because this volume won't just be about power. It's going to be about what happens when the person you protect isn't there to be protected.
And Su Min? She will burn the sky before she lets anyone else take her from her.
(｡•́︿•̀｡)
Let's step to Chapter 204: Reunion with Yao Xian'er.
This was one of the turning points I chose to shape more emotionally. In the original, the exchange between Su Min and Yao Xian'er leaned more toward plot exposition. It was functional, fast-paced, and left little room for the emotional nuance that had been building between characters across the story.
So I made some deliberate changes here—Not to overwrite the author's intent, but to deepen what was already there.
For instance, the original phrasing:
"About that little wife of yours."
"Um?"
....."
…was brisk and efficient, but it left Su Min's protectiveness implied rather than expressed. I reworked this into a slower burn. A pause, a glance, a subtle shift in her breathing. She hears "your little wife," and that alone tightens her expression. It's not that she panics immediately—Su Min isn't the type—but that thread of unease, wound tightly under the surface, starts to unravel. I wanted that to come through quietly, not with overt lines but with pacing and tension.
I also leaned into Yao Xian'er's complexity. In the original, she shares the tale of a past Lunar Sovereign Body and their fall. It's informative, but her emotional distance makes it read like ancient history. So I gave her a quieter tone, a sort of half-sorrow that seeps through even when she keeps her words sharp.
"She tried. Desperately. Until her pride turned to obsession, and her obsession gave birth to inner demons."
These lines weren't in the original text, but they bridge the emotional gap between her memories and the current threat. I didn't want readers to think Yao Xian'er was just another "wise senior" offloading exposition. She's lived through this once. And now, a mirror of that tragedy is unfolding again, this time with Su Min and Xie Yingying.
Another detail I added: Yao Xian'er teasing Su Min just lightly—
"Look at you. I never thought I'd see the day when the future Empress of Five Element Holy Body was tethered by moonlight."
It's not just banter. It's her recognizing the depth of Su Min's care, and maybe reflecting on her own past regrets. That's why I slipped in that, it's subtle, but fits the mood. A soft tease between heavy moments.
And as for Su Min… I rewrote her reaction to Yao Xian'er's final explanation with a long, slow exhale.
"Troublesome," she echoed dryly. "That's putting it lightly."
Because that's Su Min. Always steady, but inside, always carrying the weight of those she's trying to protect.
`
You know, I just remembered something from an earlier chapter. The first time Su Min and Xie Yingying saw Yao Xian'er during the Golden Core Avenue arc. At that moment, Yao Xian'er was wearing pure white robes, which were described as resembling mourning clothes (or funeral attire).
That detail really stood out to me… and now, thinking back, I can't help but wonder: Was the author already hinting at something deeper back then? ( •̀_•́ )✧
Now that we've learned about Yao Xian'er's past—that she once had a partner she loved in her previous life, and that she was forced by tragic circumstances to kill and seal her away—it all kind of starts to click, doesn't it?
That white mourning robe might not have just been for aesthetic or intimidation. It could've symbolized the grief she still carries... the unresolved pain from that loss.
And let's not forget.
In that same scene, it was written twice in the original version and four times on my version how Su Min protected Xie Yingying from Yao Xian'er's overwhelming pressure.
First as a reaction, and then again with even more emphasis. That repetition felt intentional, almost like the author was subtly linking Su Min and Xie Yingying's bond to something Yao Xian'er herself once had... (｡•́︿•̀｡)
So yeah, now that we know what we know...It really does make sense, right? ( •̥́ _ •̀ू )
The foreshadowing was already there, quietly waiting for us to connect the dots.
Chapter 205 – The Sighing Holy Sons
This chapter was where I leaned further into Su Min's voice. In the original, her frustration was mostly internal and brief. The situation was clear: she'd been given a jade slip that would later guide her to face a remnant soul of dangerous origin, and Yao Xian'er had more or less passed the responsibility to her without much ceremony.
But I wanted to bring out not only Su Min's irritation, but also her understanding. Her response isn't just annoyance—it's a quiet acknowledgement of what it means to carry the burdens left behind by others, especially from the past. So I restructured and expanded the scene to reflect that.
Take this line, for instance:
"That guy is in charge of killing but not burying?"
I rewrote it to:
"That woman just… kills someone and leaves the mess for others to clean up?"
It's not just word choice. The pause, the phrasing, the way Su Min curls her fingers around the jade slip—all of it is meant to slow down her reaction, to let her emotion filter through the dialogue and gesture instead of rushing to the next plot beat.
The original narration also said:
"Of course, she could only complain in her heart…"
But Su Min is more than just quietly unhappy. So I let her mutter a complaint aloud, even if it's playful:
"If this were her first life, I'd have beaten her up already."
This line works as both a small, cathartic outburst and a way to show how she still respects Yao Xian'er deep down. It's how strong personalities like hers cope—with dry humor, not just sulking.
I also chose to expand on the ambiguity behind Yao Xian'er's expression when she handed over the jade slip. In the original, it was described as "a complex and indescribable expression," but that felt like an opportunity missed. I gave that moment more weight:
"Not cold, not resigned. Just quiet. Complicated."
I wanted the reader to pause there. Because Su Min pauses there. Even if she doesn't want to, she understands. The bond Yao Xian'er once had with the previous Lunar Sovereign is never fully explained in the original, but the potential is powerful. It echoes what Su Min has with Xie Yingying—perhaps not in shape, but in depth. The contrast, the parallel, is something I emphasized intentionally.
"Maybe this wasn't just delegation. Maybe it was her version of atonement."
That's the emotional undercurrent I added to this chapter. It's not just that Su Min is now responsible. It's that, in being handed this task, she steps into a long line of people who've made mistakes, who've loved and lost, and who still hope someone else can make it right.
And lastly, I changed her closing thought from:
"She had to clean up the mess herself."
to
"Guess I'm the designated cleaner now."
It's subtle, but the word "designated" has a tired finality to it. A bit of sarcastic resignation. Still, beneath the complaint, I made sure Su Min's resolve stood clear:
"If there was even a sliver of threat, Su Min would be there first…"
Because no matter how frustrating the task, Su Min had already chosen to protect Xie Yingying, even from shadows of the past. And that, I felt, deserved more space on the page.
Chapter 211 – Lin Daiyu Uproots the Willow Tree
This chapter gave me the rare opportunity to show Su Min's vulnerability. Not the physical kind. She's an alchemist, strategist, and a cultivator with a steady will. But when it comes to charm magic—especially charm magic that preys on unspoken desire—her calm façade cracks just slightly. And that, I felt, was worth slowing down and expanding.
The only problem was that it was her anchor point, a guarantee that she would not lose herself in this immortal road. But now it was a bit troublesome, because she had not seen anyone use charm on her, so she really couldn't say whether it was effective or not.
"Why don't I just use a one-for-one strategy and defeat her with my abundant reserves of elixirs."
At this time, Su Min had already begun to think wildly in her mind, mainly about the last time she fought with a late-stage spirit transformation expert. He didn't even start to fight, but was confused by her and lost his way, and then he directly admitted defeat and surrendered.
You have to know that Su Min herself can't do this kind of thing. Those who can reach the late stage of transformation are definitely people with strong character. The so-called women are just passing clouds. To be fascinated by such a woman, Su Min can only say that the charm of the woman should not be underestimated.
The only pity is that both illusion and charm are effective against a single person, and bystanders can't see anything at all.
In the original text, Su Min muses on the possibility of falling to charm techniques and how humiliating that would be. But the narration moves fast, almost brushing aside the psychological impact. I decided to lean into that anxiety instead.
Her line:
"Why don't I just use a one-for-one strategy and defeat her with my abundant reserves of elixirs."…became:
"Maybe I should just trade blow for blow and overwhelm her with my pill reserves?"
The new line keeps the intention, but now it sounds like she's trying to distract herself—grasping at a logical fallback because emotionally, she's flustered.
I wanted to show how rare that is for her. Su Min isn't used to being off-balance. And the idea that someone could reach into her soul and stir things she'd buried? That terrifies her more than any sword technique.
Her panic spirals a bit—
"What if, heaven forbid, she liked it? What if she thought it was Xie Yingying?"
That wasn't in the original. But it fit. Charm techniques don't just attack the surface. It reaches into your repressed emotions, your buried longings.
The original text touched on this only lightly. I chose to center it.
And for the next half of the scene—the actual clash—I leaned into comedic timing paired with character consistency. The Buddha-light moment was already there in the original, but it was rushed. So I gave it breathing room and an audible beat for the reader:
"Golden Buddha light erupted around her body in radiant waves."
"Xuan Mengyin's lips moved soundlessly: 'You've got to be kidding me.'"
That exact moment of comedic whiplash was the natural climax of Su Min's earlier panic. She was spiraling over losing herself in charm magic… only to reflexively activate a cultivation method that literally severs worldly desire. The irony was too good not to savor.
And here's where tone was key. I didn't want the moment to be slapstick. It had to remain true to both characters: Su Min's cautious dignity, Xuan Mengyin's pride, and the crowd's delight.
"Su Min, radiating divine light and chanting silently like a monk cornered at a brothel…"
That was the line I added to underline the absurdity of the situation from an outside perspective, while still letting Su Min keep her internal grace.
As for Xuan Mengyin, I gave her some dry self-preservation:
"She could already hear the nicknames forming. 'The temptress who couldn't tempt.' No thank you."
That line wasn't in the original, but it helped round out her character—not as a one-dimensional seductress, but as someone with enough sense to pick her battles.
Chapter 212 – What Are You Fighting With? Motherly Love?
This chapter was originally short and efficient, closing the aftermath of the battle and transitioning toward the next arc. In the original version, Su Min gives a brief statement, assigns responsibility, and heading to refine more pills.
But I saw something more there.
I saw the kind of worry that doesn't shout. The kind that gnaws at the ribs and speaks in silence. That quiet panic when someone precious hasn't come back, and you don't know if it's because they're strong—or because they're in danger.
So I slowed the pace. I gave Su Min space to feel what the original brushed past.
"Because the most urgent matter had already taken root in her heart: the Snow Plains."
That line wasn't in the original, but it marks the shift. Her responsibilities, her duties—those still matter. But something deeper is already pulling her away. The jade pendant, once a lifeline, now just sits there. Not broken. Not glowing. Just silent. And in a story where even artifacts have voices, that silence says everything.
"She was many things: alchemist, strategist, cultivator.
But patient?
Not when it came to Xie Yingying."
This was where I let her worry rise to the surface, not as weakness, but as proof of connection. The original version didn't focus much on her emotions, but given how much we've seen her care for Yingying, this moment needed more heart.
I also made a deliberate choice in phrasing her exit:
"There was no time to bask in her so-called victory—or reflect on the strange, awkward tension of winning a fight where her opponent hadn't dared to use her best move."
This acknowledges the previous battle's odd rhythm. Su Min won, but it didn't feel like a win. And that lingering discomfort gives her even more reason to leave quickly, not for pride or relief, but because she's already thinking of someone else.
When it came to the ending, the original line was:
"Being able to protect one side is already the limit."
I rephrased that slightly to carry the weight of both realism and responsibility:
"As for saving the world? She wasn't that capable yet. Protecting one region was her limit."
This version keeps her grounded. She's not a flawless heroine. She's someone doing her best with the power she has, balancing duty and devotion in a world that constantly asks for more.
Chapter 213 – What Does It Feel Like When Your Home Becomes a Tourist Attraction?
This chapter originally served as a light transitional moment. Su Min revisits places tied to her past: Wei Wu Province, the Southern Borderlands, and her early years of struggle. But the original text offered only the briefest glimpse into her internal state. The narration mentioned she had been chased, that she'd broken someone's legs, that she'd outlived everyone she once knew.
"Southern Borderlands?"
Hearing this, Su Min couldn't help but sigh. If her previous life was her anchor, she would never forget it for a moment, but Southern Xinjiang was really a place that was so far away that it was strange and yet familiar to her.
When I rushed over there, I encountered some chieftains who wanted to do something to me. Unfortunately, I broke their legs on the spot, and now those people are dead.
It was factual. It was clean. But it lacked the ache.
So I rewrote the chapter with that ache in mind.
"The Southern Borderlands, huh…"
Her past whispered through that name like an old song she hadn't heard in centuries. It was where she'd once fled with nothing. Where she'd fought tooth and nail just to survive. Where her name had meant nothing—and then, suddenly, everything.
She could still remember the scent of wet bamboo and stone. The cries of hawkers in the market streets. The dusty road where she had once broken a chieftain's legs for wanting her to be his concubine.
Everyone from that time was gone. Even those who'd touched cultivation hadn't lived long. Golden Core cultivators were rare, and few reached Nascent Soul.
Her heart should've been untouched by this.
Should've been.
But a flicker of memory curled beneath her ribs like a slow-burning coal.
Su Min is many things: sharp, calculated, often emotionally reserved. But she's also someone who remembers—quietly, deeply. When she hears the name "Southern Borderlands," I wanted it to sting. Not in a melodramatic way, but like a bone-deep echo she thought she'd buried.
Soon after a few days, Su Min returned to the familiar yet unfamiliar place.
Weiwuzhou was where she spent her first few decades. Unfortunately, the people he knew at that time, even those who had entered the cultivation world, were now dead. Because among them, not to mention entering the Nascent Soul stage, there was not even a single Golden Core stage.
What's more, the lifespan of a cultivator in the Jindan stage is not enough. The only thing that made her feel relieved was that one of the flowers and plants she had been raising in her spare time actually survived.
...
The current 100,000-mile mountain range in southern Xinjiang was too different from what she remembered. Now that the heaven and earth were connected, this was the frontier bordering Yaoxinzhou. The so-called terrain was not unbreakable in the face of human power.
Therefore, the remote and uninhabited mountains in Su Min's memory were now forcibly penetrated from the middle. A passage leading directly to the Yaoxinzhou was forcibly opened up.
And as she returns to Wei Wu Province, the effect only intensifies. The place has changed. The people are gone. Even those who once cultivated are now dust.
A few days later…
Wei Wu Province.
The land of her beginning.
When Su Min stood at the edge of the Southern Borderlands, wind catching the edge of her sleeves, a strange ache stirred in her chest.
The mountains had changed. The borders carved open by violence. A direct path to Yao Xin Province now cut clean through what were once natural fortresses. Time had reshaped the terrain—but not her memories.
Here was where she had lived nameless and rootless.
Here was where she had become something.
Everyone from then was gone.
She had outlived them all.
That was the irony of her body, her cultivation—not a curse, but a choice.
That's where I chose to reintroduce something that hadn't been foregrounded in a while: her Immortality talent.
"It had been a min-maxer's dream. Late bloomer, but eventually unstoppable."
This backstory wasn't in the original text—but it was hinted at in the novel's lore, and mentioned in early chapter, I felt it deserved its own space here. Not just for exposition's sake, but to show how Su Min sees herself: as someone who once treated life like a strategy game, only to wake up trapped inside it.
"She clicked 'Confirm'—and never logged out again."
This line was meant to feel heavy, like an echo of a life she barely remembers living. Because now, that "build" is no longer an advantage. It's a burden.
In a game, immortality is thrilling. But in a world with no save points, no reset button, and no logout option, it becomes something else:
Loneliness.
That's what I wanted to bring out in this chapter.
"Yes, she was eternal. But eternity, in the end, was a kind of silence."
Not dramatic silence. Not theatrical. Just the slow erosion of human warmth. Su Min doesn't cry over her losses—she simply stops forming new attachments. Because she knows they'll leave. Or die. Or betray.
So when she arrives in her homeland and finds that one plant still surviving…
That's the crack in the armor.
"One of her plants had survived. Only one. But one was enough."
This is where her emotion doesn't speak, but breathes. This is where the concept of "home" shifts—from being a place, to a memory, to a fragile remnant still rooted in soil.
In short, I expanded this chapter not to make Su Min seem softer, but to show how deeply she feels despite appearing untouched.
Because the strongest walls are often built by the most wounded hands.
Chapter 216 – Tianhan Snow Plains
This chapter originally moved in a functional rhythm. Su Min is greeted by a descendant of someone from her past, acknowledges a bamboo demon that survived her old cultivation experiment, and prepares to enter the perilous snow plains.
The emotional weight was present—but buried. So I brought it forward.
First, in the interaction with Cao Yuzhou, I stripped away the surface politeness. Su Min doesn't reject him, but she doesn't welcome him either.
"Her tone was neither warm nor cold—simply neutral, like mist sliding past stone."
In the original, she simply responds with a flat "I see." I expanded that into a deliberate gesture of detachment. Not out of cruelty, but because Su Min has already buried too many people. Names are just echoes. Legacy, in this world, is less about family trees and more about personal power. She acknowledges the connection, but it means nothing anymore. That part of her life is over.
Then comes the bamboo demon.
In the original, it's a quiet moment of surprise and reflection. I leaned into the quiet grief that comes with unintentional legacy. Su Min never meant for those bamboos to thrive. She planted them out of idle curiosity, a flicker of kindness perhaps, but then she left.
Now, only one remains.
"She had nearly forgotten them. Just a flicker of effort from her centuries ago—and yet this one had survived. Not because of her. Because he endured."
This wasn't meant to be profound. But it is. Because survival in Su Min's world isn't loud. It's not rewarded with fanfare. It's quiet. It's lonely. Just like her. That bamboo demon is a reflection of her in ways even she might not want to admit.
And then we shift toward the Tianhan Snow Plains.
The original narration says plainly that only those at Golden Core or above can survive the spiritual ice storms, and that Su Min has nothing to worry about due to her strength.
I add some after that sentence:
"It wasn't the cold she feared. It was the silence."
That line reframes the entire journey. Su Min isn't afraid of frost or spiritual disasters. She's afraid of what it would mean to walk into a place where Xie Yingying might no longer exist.
"Somewhere in that frozen desolation…
Xie Yingying was waiting. Or worse—she wasn't."
This is the first time we see Su Min's protective instinct not just as strength, but as vulnerability. She is prepared to fight anything—but she doesn't know what to do with absence.
And so I ended this section with a line that flips her usual emotional detachment:
"For Su Min, who had long sealed her heart to everyone but one—
That was the only kind of cold she still feared."
Because for all her cultivation, wisdom, and power, the only thing that still hurts her is the thought of losing the person who slipped past her walls.
Chapter 224 – The Dao of Time
In the original version of this chapter, the narration focused primarily on pacing and logistics: Su Min senses danger, prepares, and moves to intervene before the evil soul awakens. The key elements were present—urgency, danger, determination—but the emotional core felt understated.
So in my rewrite, I slowed the pacing just slightly—not to delay action, but to deepen Su Min's emotional clarity.
The most important shift was in her tone:
"First, those three old monsters." Her voice was low. Calm. But a thin layer of frost glazed over her killing intent.
In the original, her declaration is straightforward: If they want to surround and kill Xie Yingying, don't blame me for taking action. Functional, yes—but not yet visceral. By adding the contrast between her calm exterior and the underlying fury, I highlighted what's been consistent since her introduction: Su Min does not rage easily—but when she does, it's deadly.
This is also the moment where I subtly affirmed her protectiveness toward Xie Yingying again, but with more precision. She isn't just rushing into danger. She's assessing, calculating, protecting. Her concern is strategic and personal all at once.
Another key change is the emphasis on time as both threat and opportunity:
The Evil Soul inside the tomb was only showing signs of awakening—it would take years to fully emerge. For cultivators, that was a blink of an eye. But to Su Min, it was a window.
In the original, this line is functional: "It may just be a blink of an eye for a cultivator, but if you want to do something, then it is more than enough." I reworded it into something more lyrical and character-driven. For Su Min, time isn't just a passive concept—it's something to be carved open and used. And she fully intends to.
When the narration mentions the Lunar Sovereign Blood Essence, I kept the idea that she wouldn't use it—but I emphasized why in a more thematic way:
With three divine treasures already in her body, its benefits were limited. But it could serve as a beacon.
This metaphor—the beacon—isn't just literal. It's emotional. Su Min doesn't need more power. She needs direction. This drop of Yingying's essence blood is both a tool and a tether. It reflects how Yingying is always at the center of her choices, even when she's not physically present.
Finally, the passage ends with a key shift in tone:
Thus, Su Min couldn't afford any variables.
Not now.
Not with Xie Yingying inside that tomb.
Three short lines. Deliberate. Each one narrowing her focus like the drawing of a blade.
Chapter 225 – Time Accelerates Again
This was a short but pivotal chapter. In the original, Su Min confronts three cultivators guarding the tomb's entrance, delivers a sharp line, and immediately makes her move. The structure is clean. The action flows. But there was room to raise the emotional temperature—not by adding words, but by making every word count.
Take the original line:
"Who do you think is in there, and who am I?"
It's a challenge, certainly. But it leans on rhetorical tone without much weight behind it. So I shifted to something more grounded and cold:
"Guess who's inside," she said coolly. "And guess who I am."
There's a subtle difference between "Who do you think" and "Guess". The former is confrontational. The latter is controlled, even amused—more characteristic of Su Min at this point in the story. She's not flailing or shouting. She's already made up her mind. The firebird is coming, whether they understand or not.
Then I expanded the firebird's arrival—not just as a visual, but as a sensory disruption:
A shrill cry echoed through the blizzard as a massive firebird, wreathed in radiant vermilion flame, tore through the snowstorm like a falling star. Heat surged in its wake, melting frost into steam.
This mirrors the emotional contrast: ice and fire, silence and fury. Su Min doesn't announce her intent. She simply acts. The visual here is not just spectacle—it's a physical metaphor. She is the firebird. She's not here to negotiate. She's here to burn through the fog, to pierce straight to the core—because Xie Yingying is inside, and time is running out.
Finally, I gave her exit line emotional gravity without stating it outright:
Without sparing the stunned ambushers another glance, Su Min plunged downward—straight toward the tomb buried beneath the ice.
This line is deceptively simple, but it's about momentum. There is no hesitation. No indulgence. Just resolve.
Chapter 226 – The Tomb.
Let's begin with the first confrontation:
"Now, it's just you left. Since you came here to hunt Yingying, you might as well stay forever."
In the original, Su Min's line is effective but a bit flat. I adjusted the structure to sound more deliberate and final. The phrase "stay forever" does more than just threaten—it condemns. It makes the tomb not a battleground but a grave, and Su Min the one who buries. That nuance is critical.
Then we have the voice—the first real emergence of the slumbering soul:
In the original, the line is tinged with pettiness.
"Nanming Lihuo, Five Elements Holy Body. Are you Yao Xianer's apprentice? She didn't even come to see me."
A somewhat resentful voice sounded beside Su Min's ears, which made her brows jump subconsciously. Should we say that this is the world of immortal cultivation where the ratio of men to women is completely unbalanced? Are these people's actions so wild?
But I chose to expand its emotional layering. This isn't just bitterness—it's a wound. A long-unspoken abandonment. So the voice becomes less antagonistic and more haunted.
"Nanming Lihuo… Five Elements Sacred Physique… Are you Yao Xian'er's disciple? She couldn't even come to see me herself?"
The voice carried more than anger—it carried grief laced with years of silence. Bitterness, but not hatred. And it making Su Min's eyebrow twitch.
This is also why Su Min's reaction is a bit sardonic:
Ah, the cultivation world—where gender ratios were skewed, and relationships were… complicated.
This one line acknowledges the often unstated context of Su Min's world: powerful women loving, hating, and haunting one another across centuries. It's not just comedy. It sets the emotional tone for what comes next.
Su Min's answer stays grounded:
"…I'm not her disciple," she replied calmly. "She simply entrusted me with the pendant."
This distance—this refusal to speak for Yao Xian'er—is important. Su Min isn't here to act as a substitute or proxy. She's here to bear witness. And that gives the ancient voice space to reveal itself.
In the original version the chapter ended with:
"Well, it seems that she doesn't know how to face me. Since you came with the jade pendant, you should know what happened."
And I rewrite it into
The silence lingered, and then came a dry scoff.
"Of course she wouldn't come herself. After everything… she still can't face me."
There it was—the undertone Su Min had suspected. Not jealousy. Not rivalry.
Regret.
"So be it," the voice said at last. "If she sent you, then you must already know… what happened."
This is where the real tone of the chapter crystallizes: regret. Not jealousy. Not anger. Just quiet hurt, shaped by the immortal passage of time. That's what I wanted to capture.
Chapter 227 – Chaos Body
This chapter stands at a crossroads of past and present, love and legacy. It introduces the fragmented soul of a powerful cultivator—once a lover, now a remnant—and reaffirms Su Min's priorities not through grand declarations, but quiet, steady conviction. My goal was to let the tension sit in the space between their words, and to let their emotional contrasts unfold in silence as much as in speech.
Let's begin with the remnant's entrance:
In the icy tomb, as that voice faded, a woman dressed in ice-blue robes slowly emerged from the darkness.
Rather than just describing her power, I chose to emphasize how Su Min felt it—a pressure close to despair, not because of hostility, but sheer weight of presence. This anchors the reader in the emotional landscape. Even though Su Min is calm and composed on the outside, her heart reacts instantly with a question:
"Where is Yingying?"
This is important. Su Min's first concern is Xie Yingying, not the danger, not herself. That's the emotional thesis of the entire chapter. It's not just about saving someone—it's about how deeply they've become her reason for acting.
---
"oh"
But the next moment, a very ambiguous voice came from the mouth of the girl in ice blue clothes, and then she held her chin with one hand and looked at Su Min with interest. Su Min was a little embarrassed by her stare, so she stopped her actions.
"It seems that you have a close relationship with her. There is even residual Taiyin energy in your body. That is her essence and blood. Don't worry. There is no problem with her for the time being. If the evil spirit wakes up, it will be a big problem."
I make some change on that part.
"My, you're awfully anxious. So protective... how sweet."
This teasing tone is light, but it hides a heaviness. I wanted the remnant's voice to feel like someone who's seen it all before.
The key moment is this line:
"There's still residual Lunar Sovereign essence clinging to your body. Essence blood, no doubt? A rare gift. Or was it shared in a… more intimate setting?"
This light teasing isn't gratuitous. It reveals both her perceptiveness and a trace of bitterness. The kind of bitterness only someone who once shared something sacred would understand—and now sees it passed on.
Su Min's reaction is beautifully understated:
"She's important to me," she said simply.
This is Su Min at her core: never verbose, never dramatic—but unflinchingly honest. She doesn't flinch from the implication, but she doesn't romanticize it either. That's exactly why it lands.
"Hm~ Clearly," the remnant mused, teasing but not cruel. "But don't worry, she's fine. For now. The evil soul sleeps... but if it stirs, well, you'll need far more than love to save her."
Then we get the remnant's self-revelation:
"That… was my greed."
This entire monologue—about loneliness, the single mark, and failure to choose—is where the chapter's themes crystallize. This is a warning, but not a threat. It's a confession shaped like a mirror.
What Su Min says in response isn't just rational, it's personal:
"I'm not short on options. 'Or time'."
This is where I brought in her Immortality trait. Other cultivators race against lifespan, gamble on singular inheritances, and fear every wrong step. But not Su Min. She has time, and that time gives her clarity.
It also lets her be generous.
"She deserves to ascend. If this path leads there, let her take it. I'll find another."
That sentence is the soul of the chapter. She chooses someone else's future over her own. Quietly. Without needing to make it a spectacle.
Chapter 228 – Taiyin Qi
This chapter is a quiet one in terms of action, but it contains several key emotional reveals and foreshadows the deeper arc of Su Min's evolving body and identity. It's also heavy with unspoken intimacy and thematic echoes of choice, burden, and potential. I adjusted phrasing and structure to amplify those currents, particularly around the following core themes:
"If Su Min were a man, she wouldn't have found it strange... But Su Min was clearly not a man..."
In the cultivation world, the exchange of essence blood is already a delicate metaphor. By pushing Jiang Xi's confusion and curiosity a little further—emphasizing how Su Min not only received Xie Yingying's essence blood, but somehow retained it—we lay groundwork for what Su Min truly is: a vessel built for convergence.
This isn't just about dual cultivation. It's about a body that refuses to discard intimacy, a body that holds on. And that's both literal and metaphorical.
Jiang Xi's surprise doesn't come from judgment, but respectful wariness. She senses something else, something hidden—a Chaos Body, perhaps, that even Su Min hasn't fully unlocked yet.
Possession part
Original:
"There's no hope. Just kill her."
...At this moment, Jiang Xi roared angrily...
The monster in front of her was simply the most primitive impulse...If Xie Yingying is in an important stage of enlightenment.
..and become you are not yours, and I am not mine.
In the original, there was enough to suggest urgency—Jiang Xi shouting, Su Min acting decisively—but something about the possession stakes felt a little glossed over. The phrase "you are not yours, and I am not mine" struck me, but I felt like the horror of it needed more space.
So, I rewrote that moment to emphasize not only the danger, but the emotional cost. Possession isn't just a risk—it's an erasure. Two souls devouring one another in silence, in a battlefield no one can enter, no one can save them from. I imagined Su Min not just acting to prevent it, but reacting in fear of witnessing it. Of being helpless outside while Xie Yingying suffers inside.
Here, I bring much-needed emotional depth to Su Min's decision to destroy the Evil Soul. What could have been just a tactical choice becomes an intimate, desperate act—rooted in fear for Xie Yingying's safety during her vulnerable state.
"She could endure many things. She had endured many things. But watching Xie Yingying suffer like that—watching her cry out in silent agony while Su Min stood helplessly outside—was a possibility she would never accept."
Rather than summarizing the danger of possession as a trope, I expanded on what it means: the loss of self, the possible fusion of souls, and the risk that "you are not you, and I am not me." This philosophical and emotional threat isn't just a cultivation risk—it's a violation of everything Su Min fights to protect.
I also expanded on the mechanics of possession:
It wasn't a battle of will—it was a war of pain. They would tear into each other, bite by bite, spirit devouring spirit, until one vanished completely.
This makes Su Min's choice more than logical. It makes it inevitable. Su Min isn't just angry because something tried to possess her. She's angry because Xie Yingying is vulnerable—and if possession succeeded, it wouldn't just kill her. It would erase her, piece by piece, until nothing remained.
"Would the woman she loved still be there?"
That's the moment Su Min goes from calculating strategist to desperate, furious protector. Her power surges from emotion, not ego.
The horror isn't in the physical act. It's in the emotional consequence: the idea that Su Min might be forced to meet Xie Yingying's eyes and not recognize her anymore.
This section is where Su Min's protectiveness reaches its breaking point. She's been calm through betrayals, quiet through wars, measured in her vendettas. But this? This hits the core of her fear.
So her fury isn't loud, but it's devastating.
Yao Xian'er and Jiang Xi's scene
This scene is, emotionally, the core of the chapter. It's not about cultivation. It's about love that lasted beyond death, beyond reincarnation, beyond failure.
Original:
"It seems that you survived and did not die together with that thing."
The next moment, a voice with a hint of teasing was heard from it. It was obvious that this jade slip had other functions.
"Yes, this little girl has a secret."
....
..."Help me take a look at her physique…"
...
"Well, if that's the case, you should also enter the jade slip. I have already prepared your body for you. Although it will not be a Taiyin body and may even require a complete reconstruction, it is also a good thing for you."
"Um."
With the last sound, the blue figure also entered the jade slip, and then the jade slip disappeared in this space. It was transported away by a special formation
I changed this part more substantially, not because the original was lacking, but because I wanted to shine a little more light on Yao Xian'er and Jiang Xi—not just as cultivators, but as lovers who once stood together. Their past had already been hinted at in earlier chapters, and it was never a happy one. Yao Xian'er had been forced to kill her. And seal her away. Their reunion, even in this small moment, deserved a little tenderness.
I wrote the dialogue to reflect a softer intimacy. A teasing tone laced with hidden relief. An unspoken forgiveness. Something like: I never stopped watching over you. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
The teasing between them:
"So you left more than just fragment of your power in that slip."
And Yao Xian'er's amused reply:
"You think I wouldn't keep an eye on you?"
It's affectionate, gentle, and deeply tragic. Because both of them remember everything—and neither expects a happy ending.
I also added:
"Then… it's settled."
There was a moment of silence. The cold stillness that followed felt both peaceful and heavy—like snowfall over a forgotten grave.
And followed by:
"...Come with me," Yao Xian'er said gently. "I've already prepared a new vessel. It's not your old Lunar Sovereign Body of course, and you'll have to start from scratch... but it's still a new beginning."
Jiang Xi closed her eyes, her smile soft and unbearably tired. "Mm."
With that single sound, her remnant soul turned into light and vanished into the jade slip. A faint glow pulsed once… then the slip disappeared entirely, drawn away by the teleportation formation Yao Xian'er had set.
The final line—
"And just like that, the lonely sovereign of the moon found her way home."
—wasn't in the original. But I wanted it to be there. Not for drama, but for closure. Jiang Xi's journey ended long ago, but this was her release. After lifetimes of waiting. After pain, and silence, she was finally allowed to rest. With the one she once loved.
I couldn't leave that unwritten.
Su Min's Reflection
This part is understated in the original, I rewrite adds the emotional lens it needed. Su Min didn't comprehend her Lunar Sovereign energy during dual cultivation—not because she lacked insight, but because she was too focused on Xie Yingying:
"There was no room for distraction, no space to question her own strange transformation or chase any fleeting insight into cultivation theory."
Instead, every moment was focused on attunement—to Xie Yingying's body, breath, pleasure, safety. The spiritual and emotional depth of their intimacy becomes the reason Su Min wasn't analyzing her own changes.
This expands her dual cultivation beyond technique into something far more human. She wasn't just practicing an inheritance. She was loving someone, completely and unreservedly.
Chapter 229: Yingying Emerges from Seclusion
Original excerpt:
"Looks like you're here to help me."
Thinking of this, Xie Yingying was also quite moved. The road of cultivation is to seize the fortune of heaven and earth. It is very difficult to have someone willing to go all the way.
Thinking of this, she was not in a hurry, but took the initiative to help Su Min protect the law. At the same time, she also realized that the aura of the few people who had chased her had completely disappeared. It was obvious that all this was Su Min's work.
Although she is only in the middle stage of the Spiritual Transformation, it is not impossible given her skill.
In the original version, Xie Yingying's thoughts were brief. She noticed Su Min's effort, felt moved, and offered her support during the cultivation process. The emotions were there, but subtle—almost too subtle for what I felt the moment was trying to convey. The line "It is very difficult to have someone willing to go all the way" is deeply meaningful in the context of this story, but it was stated so plainly that its emotional weight didn't fully land.
So, I reworked that section into something a bit more personal, a bit more reflective. I chose to expand on what "going all the way" actually means in a world like this. I wanted to draw out the intimacy of that silent gesture, that trust. The touch of hair, the quiet act of sitting beside someone not out of duty, but out of devotion—those are small details that make their bond feel earned.
I changed "she was not in a hurry, but took the initiative to help Su Min protect the law" into a quiet, physical action: "she sat down, her eyes calm, her presence solid, becoming Su Min's silent shield." It's not just a matter of technique. It's a statement of emotion, loyalty, and resolve.
Sometimes, I find that actions speak more strongly than internal monologue. Especially with a character like Xie Yingying, who has always been guarded with her feelings. By showing her doing, rather than thinking, I felt the moment came alive more fully. (´︶`)
I also added her small murmur—"She's reckless… but that's just like her"—because it gives us a glimpse of something tender.
Because sometimes, love doesn't declare itself. It shows up in the silence. In gestures. In the way someone chooses to sit beside you when they don't have to. I wanted to make space for that emotion, even if it remained unspoken (〃´∀｀〃).
Also, I wanted to give Xie Yingying more narrative weight in that moment. She isn't just reacting. She's making a choice. And that choice deserves the time and space to unfold, especially in a story where loyalty is never guaranteed and trust is hard-won.
Finally, at the end of the chapter, I included a short reflection on the "four pillars" of cultivation—especially the fourth: the Taoist partner.
This wasn't in the original at all. But I felt that after such a moment, readers deserved a little breath, a pause to understand the quiet significance of what just happened. Why it mattered.
Chapter 230: Come Hug Hug
This chapter was like a brief sunny clearing between storms—a moment of teasing, relief, and gentle affection before the next wave of danger arrived. In the original, the scene served that purpose well, but I wanted to lean deeper into the emotional subtleties of Su Min and Xie Yingying's relationship.
Original:
"Are you awake?" Seeing Su Min open her eyes and being frightened by her, Xie Yingying showed a hint of joy
.…"You're going to scare me to death first."
Looking at Xie Yingying, Su Min couldn't help but complain, because her soul was breaking through. So she almost blocked her perception of the outside world, which was because this was the Tomb of Taiyin.
Just looking at the three Half-Step Enlightenment Stage warriors outside who couldn't get in at all, you can see how safe it is. That's why I feel so relieved and try to get out as quickly as possible.
This line made me smile, but it felt like an opportunity missed. So I reframed it with a bit more playfulness and context:'
"You scared me half to death!"
Su Min instinctively scooted back, half-exasperated. During her soul breakthrough, she had blocked out nearly all external senses. But this was the Lunar Tomb, even those three half-step Dao Comprehension cultivators couldn't force their way in. She'd let her guard down.
Who would've thought the real danger was her own wife, waiting to startle her?
That little internal line helped remind us that their bond isn't just forged through cultivation and danger—it's also built on small moments, (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
I wanted their dynamic to breathe a little. For Su Min to relax, just a bit. For Xie Yingying to show her affection in the only way she knows—by pretending it's not a big deal. These scenes matter because they aren't dramatic. They're quiet, soft, and ordinary in a way that feels earned.
Then came the other thread—Jiang Xi and Yao Xian'er.
In the original, this section was mostly explanatory. Su Min updated Xie Yingying, and the story moved forward.
Original:
"Yao Xian'er took her away."
…"They are a bit similar to us, but I don't know the specific situation."
But to me, this wasn't just logistics. This was foreshadowing by reflection. Su Min and Xie Yingying see something of themselves in those two, whether they admit it aloud or not. One had to seal the other away. One waited for the right moment to bring her back. Their story didn't end well—but maybe Su Min and Xie Yingying's will.
That's why I added:
"Their relationship," Su Min said. "It's… somewhat like ours."
Not a dramatic declaration. Just an observation. And yet, it says everything.
Finally, I gave more room to Xie Yingying's pride.
Original:
"That's right, hey, you can't beat me now."
…Xie Yingying became as proud as a peacock...
I kept the tone but expanded on the undercurrent: how it's not just about a power gap, but about finally feeling like she's not in Su Min's shadow anymore. I added:
Though Xie Yingying had never said it out loud, Su Min knew. Being overshadowed had always stung, just a little…
Because that's real. Even in closeness, a little pride, a little envy, a little longing to be seen for your own strength… it all exists. And in this moment, Xie Yingying isn't afraid to show it. (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧
But Su Min doesn't resist it. She lets her have that victory. She smiles. And then—
Trouble returns.
I made Su Min's sudden shift in tone more intense, letting the warmth of the moment fade like sunlight behind storm clouds. A reminder that danger never stays gone for long in their world.
And that's how this chapter ends. With warmth. With tension. With two hearts quietly growing closer.
Chapter 233: A Princess Carry
This scene is brief on the surface, but it offered one of my favorite opportunities to nudge the dynamics between Su Min and Xie Yingying a little further. The original version was already charming—Su Min gets rescued in a "princess carry," reacts with deadpan awkwardness, and Xie Yingying gets a moment of mischievous joy. It works well.
Original:
In addition, the backlash of the elixir was about to come, and her body was shaky, but she soon realized that she was caught by someone.
"."
The space was a little quiet for a while, because Su Min was speechless to find that her posture was the legendary princess hug, and she was held in Xie Yingying's arms.
"Can you change your posture? And get out of here quickly."
Looking at Xie Yingying expressionlessly, Su Min was a little shy about her posture.
"Wow."
But after seeing her expression, Xie Yingying showed a look of surprise.
Because in her memory, Su Min had an extremely calm look, and could even respond to dirty jokes when chatting with others, but this was the first time she saw such an expression.
"I won't. Hehe, now you don't have the strength to resist me."
After a wicked laugh, Xie Yingying also flew out with Su Min in her arms. As for the latter, she had completely given up struggling, and she was indeed seriously injured now.
But I wanted to bring in a bit more texture—not just the humor of the moment, but the quiet shift in roles that this scene implies.
Instead of jumping straight to the physical comedy, I added a beat of silence, a soft moment of real fatigue as Su Min collapses from the backlash of overusing pills, and a gentle description of how she doesn't hit the ground.
But victory always came at a price.
Her body trembled as the aftereffects of forcefully drawing on too many pills surged through her veins. Her knees buckled,
This created a bridge between the tension of battle and the playfulness that followed. It gave her vulnerability room to breathe—before Xie Yingying swooped in to take the lead (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)
And she didn't hit the ground.
Strong arms caught her mid-fall, lifting her easily into a firm embrace.
"..."
A beat of silence passed.
Su Min slowly registered her new position, and her eyes twitched. She was in a perfect princess carry, nestled against Xie Yingying's chest. Her expression stayed perfectly blank, but a slow pink began to creep up her cheeks.
"...Can we not do this? At least change the position? Also, we really should leave."
Because Su Min is the type to pretend she's unbothered—even when she's very obviously bothered. And I think that's more charming than a dramatic outburst. (*ﾉωﾉ)
Then there's Xie Yingying. In earlier chapters, I tried to keep her restraint and calmness evident. But in these kinds of moments, her true personality slips out. She's possessive. She likes having Su Min in her arms and she's not shy about it.
So I leaned into that with lines like:
"Oooh~?"
Xie Yingying's eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly savoring the moment. "Since when does the mighty Su Min get embarrassed? Should I call this the hidden treasure of the Lunar Tomb?"
She hugged her tighter, the delight on her face practically glowing.
"Nope~ This is a rare treasure I picked up in the tomb. A wounded Su Min, fragile, silent, and unusually obedient. I'm keeping her."
Su Min gave her a look. It would've been sharper if her face weren't so red. Still, knowing she was in no shape to argue, and honestly, too tired to care, she sighed in resignation. "I'm going to remember this."
That's not just flirting—it's a subtle reminder of who takes the lead between them.
In their relationship, Xie Yingying is the quiet storm. On the surface, she's colder, more reserved, but emotionally? She's territorial. She gets jealous easily. She wants to claim Su Min, hold her, keep her. And in moments like this, she asserts that in playful, understated ways.
Meanwhile, Su Min—despite being the stronger cultivator for much of the story—isn't the one initiating affection. She receives it. She gets flustered. She sighs, but doesn't resist. She allows herself to be carried across the sky, silently filing away the memory like a debt to repay.
I ended the scene with this:
"Good," Xie Yingying grinned, leaping into the sky with her prize in tow. "Make sure you remember who carried you across the moonlight."
Because at the end of the day, that's what this whole chapter is: a playful but intimate moment that makes clear—without needing to say it outright—that in private, Xie Yingying is the one who leads. And Su Min? She lets her.
Chapter 249: Are You Even Capable?
This part originally contained just a light, almost throwaway comment:
"This is also why Xie Yingying likes to stick with her. Of course, it's not because she is greedy for her body, but it is really convenient to follow Su Min."
The phrasing made me pause. It was clearly meant to be a small joke—some deflection about how close the two of them always are—but I thought this was the perfect place to dig just a little deeper. Without changing the surface tone, I could peel back what was really going on beneath that casual line.
I started by elevating the description of Su Min. In the original, her usefulness is noted—she handles support, coordination, combat—but I wanted the reader to feel what it's like to fight beside her. So I wrote:
"Fighting alongside her was like operating within the eye of a storm, effortless coordination, absolute clarity."
This sets the stage for why people trust Su Min so naturally. Why Tian Hao doesn't question her judgment. And why, more subtly, Xie Yingying never strays far from her side.
Then I redirected the attention—not toward logistics, but emotions.
That throwaway line—"not because she's greedy for her body"—was funny, yes. But I felt like it also shielded a more intimate truth. The joke was a deflection. So I leaned into that: Xie Yingying says it's for convenience. But what's unsaid carries more weight.
I added lines like:
The truth was, Xie Yingying was… territorial. Possessive, in that quiet, elegant way of hers. And when Su Min was within reach, within sight, she was at ease.
Because that's who she is. She doesn't cling. She doesn't demand. But she guards. She watches. And she keeps Su Min close not out of neediness, but instinct. Instinct that says: this person is mine to protect.
I ended the passage with soft irony:
Not that she'd ever say as much aloud.
Certainly not because seeing Su Min disappear, even for a moment, made her chest tighten. Or because staying close meant no one else could draw near.
No, definitely not that.
No, she would always insist, almost too quickly, that staying close to Su Min was simply practical.
Just practical.
Of course.
Because that final repetition—of course—says everything. She knows. We know. But she won't admit it. (≖ᴗ≖✿)
This was one of those cases where a single joke in the original gave me room to open up a whole layer of emotional truth underneath, without losing the playfulness of the tone.