In the chapter The Turbulent Heavenly Continent, I made several adjustments to deepen the reunion scene between Su Min and Xie Yingying. The original version was straightforward, playful in tone, and hinted at their relationship through actions more than emotion. It presented Su Min's return with a bold gesture and transitioned quickly into the plot's urgency. But for me, this was a turning point—one where silence no longer held the weight it used to. Their feelings had grown too large for brief gestures and half-spoken words.
So I changed it.
Instead of "Clang, I'm back,"
I gave Su Min a softer reintroduction: "Guess who's back?"
Not only did this line reflect her mischievous nature, but it also set the tone for a reunion that felt real and earned—where the characters weren't just reacting with shock or hormones, but with longing, restraint, and quiet history. I brought in more touch-based narration, letting her warmth and Taiyang energy speak for her before the words did. This let the reader feel the weight of her return before the plot resumed its march forward.
This wasn't just about flirtation. In the original, Xie Yingying becomes briefly overwhelmed and then reverts to a practical tone. In my version, she doesn't just react—she remembers. Her body remembers the heat, her heart remembers the ache, and she chooses not to pull away. I wanted to show how much time had passed between them, not in numbers, but in the way their silence had changed. Even a teasing whisper like "You're not pulling away" becomes a way for Su Min to say "You still want me, don't you?" without forcing the words out loud.
Xie Yingying, who had always been composed and difficult to fluster, is now shown faltering—not in fear, but in ache. I rewrote her reaction to show vulnerability and emotional confusion, letting her body betray her calm. She leans back. She grips Su Min's sleeve. She asks "why did you stop?" not in accusation, but in raw, breathless honesty. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
Moments like these never existed in the previous chapters. Their relationship had always moved around the edges. But this was the first time they could say I missed you, not through implication, or masked in teasing, but directly. I felt this was important. After everything they'd endured, some things should finally be said aloud.
Another shift came when Su Min gave her the Taiying essence blood. The original description was brief, but I felt that something as precious as that deserved more reverence. Instead of jumping to the explanation, I lingered on Xie Yingying's reaction. Her breath hitching. Her pupils constricting. A moment of stunned silence. These were the quiet details that showed how much it mattered—not just to her cultivation, but to her. Her body's response, tied so deeply to her Lunar Sovereign constitution, added a layer of intimacy that didn't need to be spelled out.
Then came the plot.
Rather than abruptly introducing the looming crisis, I let it settle like a shadow over the warmth of their reunion. Su Min's voice softens. Xie Yingying asks, "Why are you back?" not as a demand, but as someone afraid of the answer. This allowed me to draw a more emotional contrast between the intimacy they'd just shared and the threat now looming over their world.
I also changed Su Min's reason for stopping her advance. In the original, she simply pulled back with no explanation. I softened that by giving her a teasing but grounded reason: "Because if I didn't, you'd tackle me, and we really don't have time for that." It gave her a bit of levity, but it also implied restraint—an awareness of the situation, a maturity that reflected her growth since they last met.
When Su Min finally explains about the Dark Rebellion, the weight isn't just geopolitical—it's personal. Their moment together had to end, and the war was the reason.
Finally, I added one more small gesture before Xie Yingying entered seclusion: she looked back and told Su Min, "Wait for me." A simple line, but one that carried all the trust, affection, and unspoken vows they had never had time to say aloud. And Su Min, who always carries too much alone, finally replies with a promise: "Always." (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
On the Chapter: Chaos Creation
There were several parts in this chapter where I made significant changes during translation. Not because the original was lacking, but because I wanted to bring certain emotional undercurrents to the surface—especially when it came to Su Min and Xie Yingying's relationship. The raw text was already rich, but I felt that some details could be deepened to resonate more clearly in the target language.
In the original, Tian Yang chooses to send Xie Yingying away to protect her, acknowledging the danger of their current battle and Su Min's reliance on her. The original phrasing was straightforward and situational. However, I chose to expand this section to reflect not just a tactical decision, but an emotional one.
I emphasized Tian Yang's perception of Xie Yingying as Su Min's emotional anchor, not just a comrade or cauldron, but someone Su Min had tied her fate to willingly. His fear was not only for Xie Yingying's safety, but for what might happen if Su Min lost her. That's why I wrote:
He truly didn't know what that woman might do in her rage, maybe Su Min would burn the world for her.
This wasn't explicitly stated in the original text, but I felt it was something Tian Yang would realistically consider, especially given how Su Min has been portrayed—protective, driven, and deeply bound to Xie Yingying. It was my way of showing that even side characters could understand the depth of their bond (´･ᴗ･`).
In the second part, the original had Su Min casually mention reaching "perfection" in her Chaos Physique and tell Xie Yingying to absorb some origin power later. It was functional—but in my version, I leaned more into their emotional dynamic.
I chose to highlight how Xie Yingying throws herself into Su Min's arms, not just affectionately, but almost desperately. I wanted to reflect her internal tension—the subtle fear that Su Min is changing, becoming something more distant, maybe even unreachable. That's why I added this line:
Her arms wrapped tightly around Su Min's waist, her face buried against the side of her neck.
...and her whispered, trembling observation: "You smell different. You feel… different."
This was never directly said in the original, but I felt it would add nuance to their relationship. Su Min comforts her, even spoils her a little here, which felt very in character. Their dynamic isn't loud or overly dramatic, but it has layers of quiet intensity. I let that guide the tone of the rewrite.
Also, I brought out the philosophical angle of the Chaos Physique more intentionally: that it is not just about absorbing power, but embracing the full spectrum of existence—both the divine and the corrupted. The original conveyed this, but I expanded it with metaphors and contrast, like:
But Chaos came before the Dao. And to perfect it meant embracing not just creation, but also everything discarded, corrupted, and cursed.
That felt important to clarify, especially for readers unfamiliar with cultivation terminology. I wanted it to hit emotionally as well as conceptually.
Lastly, I added emotional weight to Xie Yingying's reaction when Su Min tells everyone to leave. Her helplessness was something I thought deserved a moment of quiet spotlight. Hence:
She looked away, jaw tight, eyes glistening with a sheen of helplessness she wouldn't show anyone else.
I didn't want to make her "weaker"—rather, I wanted to show the depth of her worry, because it makes their bond feel more human. And bittersweet. (｡•́︿•̀｡)
On the Chapter: Speedrunning the Dark Continent
This scene originally moved at a brisk pace: Su Min announces her intent, everyone prepares to leave, and Xie Yingying expresses slight reluctance. But I felt this moment deserved more space—because it's not just a tactical separation. It's an emotional one. Especially Xie Yingying even if she don't say it outright.
So in my version, I slowed things down.
I gave more time to how Su Min speaks—calm, unshakable, and increasingly distant. Not cold, just... farther away. As if she's already walking a road no one else can follow. The others don't resist her decision, but not because they agree—it's because they're starting to realize they can't keep up anymore.
That shift, especially in Xie Yingying's reaction, became the heart of this scene in my translation. In the original, her line was just "What are you going to do?" followed by Su Min's response. But I wanted to draw out the hesitation, the helplessness behind that question.
For example, instead of the neutral line:
"What are you going to do?"
I rewrote it as:
"What are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice low.
This version isn't a huge change in meaning, but the tone is more intimate, restrained, and heavy with worry.
I also added internal tension to lines like:
She didn't want to go.
And gave her a physical reaction:
Her body trembled almost imperceptibly—whether from exhaustion or something deeper, even she didn't know.
These weren't present in the original, but I felt they were essential to show that her resistance wasn't just about protecting Su Min—it was about not being left behind, emotionally or spiritually.
Likewise, I expanded Jiang Xi's role. Originally, she simply pulled Xie Yingying away with little elaboration. I gave her a quieter, more sympathetic tone to emphasize that someone like Jiang Xi understood what Xie Yingying was feeling. I wanted her to be a soft voice of reason, not just a force of action.
"We can't help right now. If we stay, we're just giving her more to worry about."
I also layered in the unspoken fear that threads through Xie Yingying's heart:
That this distance wasn't temporary. That Su Min was moving beyond them. Beyond her.
This wasn't stated in the original, but I felt it would naturally rise in someone as prideful and emotionally guarded as Xie Yingying. She's always followed closely behind Su Min's footsteps, but now—for the first time—it feels like she might not be able to keep up.
(｡•́︿•̀｡)
In the last moment, as Xie Yingying ascends with Jiang Xi, I added a quiet, unresolved image:
Her heart was still facing the woman below. And she didn't look away.
Lastly, I shifted the very end of the scene to be more visually and emotionally symbolic. In the original, the chapter closes with Su Min preparing to act. I retained that structure but emphasized the solitude she steps into:
As they left, the dark tides of the universe surged forward again, and Su Min closed her eyes. The others had retreated. Now it was her turn to shape the darkness.
It's not tragic, not yet. But the melancholy of distance, of change—of someone rising beyond what love can follow for now—is what I hoped to evoke in this rewrite. (｡•́︿•̀｡)
On the Chapter: The Method of Longevity
In this chapter, Su Min modifies a cultivation method originally designed for endless reincarnation through self-severance—a brutal but potent path to power. The original text conveyed the basics clearly: Su Min simplified the method so it could only be used once, trading infinite potential for one more life.
But I saw an opportunity here to go beyond technique and dive into the emotional reasoning behind Su Min's actions. So I rewrote the dialogue to center around Su Min's quiet desperation. She wasn't just tinkering with a method. She was buying time for someone she couldn't bear to lose.
This is why I added a more personal exchange between her and Yao Xian'er. Instead of just stating facts, I allowed them to speak around their emotions, as close friends or allies might—neither fully confessing, but both aware.
"You're thinking of her, aren't you?"
No name was needed. The silence said enough. I wanted the reader to feel that Su Min's entire motivation had become clearer—not just the pursuit of power, but the preservation of love. That was never stated outright in the original, but I felt it under the surface. I only brought it closer to the light.
(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
I also clarified some of the cosmological mechanics. The original version mentioned that Su Min's modified method "lost its essence," but didn't fully explain the consequences. I reframed this as:
"Now, it can only be used once. At most, someone gets a second life. But it loses the essence of eternal progression."
...which makes the stakes clearer. It's no longer a path to immortality. It's a shelter, a moment of breathing room in a world that won't wait.
One of the more important shifts I made was giving Yao Xian'er a moment of reflection—not just as a strong cultivator, but as someone who understands that her way isn't for everyone. In the original, she simply says the method could be useful for Jiang Xi and stores it away. In my version, I let her process that choice:
She would never use this method—she had to forge her own path, no matter how perilous. But she didn't expect everyone else to do the same.
I really believe this contrast was needed. Su Min and Yao Xian'er are both powerful, near-untouchable figures, but here they're acting on something deeply human: the desire to protect. Not through violence or overwhelming strength, but through gentle contingency.
Lastly, I added this quiet admission from Su Min:
"She can't keep pace with me otherwise."
This wasn't said in the original, but I felt it was implied. Su Min is moving toward something immense, something that Xie Yingying—without intervention—could never catch up to. She knows it. And it hurts.
The technique she modified is, in the end, not a cultivation trick. It's a gift.
A way for the one she loves to remain by her side, just a little longer.
(｡•́︿•̀｡)
The next portion of the chapter originally delivered some practical exposition. Su Min had collected sealing crystals, was preparing to face future dangers, and explained her strategy of using severance and suspension for herself and Xie Yingying. There was also a brief mention of the Golden Crow's possible path forward.
But to me, this scene deserved more than logistics. It was the emotional foundation for what Su Min was really doing: preparing for separation.
So I slowed the scene down and expanded its emotional texture.
Instead of simply saying Su Min turned and left, I added a short transition scene—her footsteps echoing through the sealing chambers, the subtle tension in her pacing, the long-term foresight behind her actions. Rather than explaining the method outright, I chose to begin with her walking alone, her thoughts not focused on technique, but on time. On what it means to have time when others don't.
These weren't just technical plans. They were choices shaped by love, by fear, by a future only she might live to see. That's the real crux here—not power, not logistics, but the loneliness of immortality. She had time. The others didn't. And that truth haunted her steps.
(╥﹏╥)
In the original, Su Min says:
"After you enter the late Mahayana stage, you must kill yourself... then I can keep you alive."
While this is technically accurate in cultivation terms, it felt harsh. So I softened the line to:
"Not die," Su Min said gently. "Just pause. Wait."
I wanted the idea of self-severance to feel less like death and more like a promise. A way to meet again. Because for Su Min, this isn't about resurrection—it's about preservation. She's trying to hold onto someone she loves in the only way she can.
That's also why I added:
"Will you be there when I wake up?"
It's a simple question, but one that says everything about their bond. And Su Min's response—"I will. I promise."—carries more emotional weight because we, as readers, already suspect the truth (I also add this as "flashback", it mirror when Xie Yingying sealing herself again, and Su Min pick her up 300 years later). She'll still be there because she can, because time can't touch her. But Xie Yingying? She's still mortal. Still finite.
I made sure that unspoken fear crept in quietly:
That was a truth even Xie Yingying wasn't ready to hear.
On the Chapter: Slaying Immortals
This section of the original was packed with action—the clash of forces, the shockwave, the acknowledgment of immortal strength. But what it didn't quite linger on was what I believe to be the core of the scene:
Xie Yingying's fear.
Originally, she's briefly described as startled, her hands pale, her heart almost leaping out. But those beats passed too quickly. The emotional gravity of seeing someone you love clash with two immortals and emerge unscathed, deserved more space.
So, I paused the battle, slowed down the reaction, and let Xie Yingying feel it fully.
Her fear is not tactical. It's not rooted in Su Min's odds of winning or losing. It's primal. The kind that clutches your chest when someone you love disappears in a flash of light and might not return.
Not because of the pressure—but because for a heartbeat, she thought she'd lost her.
That line is something I added to capture what wasn't fully said before.
I kept Tian Hao's shock and his reference to the Nether Prison mostly intact, though trimmed and restructured slightly. His awe is still part of the moment, but it now plays second to Xie Yingying's perspective. She's the emotional lens here.
The original ended with:
"But now it seems that her worries were unnecessary."
I felt this conclusion was true—but emotionally thin. Instead of simply brushing off her concern, I wanted to acknowledge that even when her fear is unfounded, it still matters. Her heart doesn't operate on logic. And her fear is part of her love.
No matter how high Su Min soared, Xie Yingying would never stop fearing for her.
Never stop wanting to reach her.
On the Chapter: The End of an Era
The original version of this scene was direct, almost blunt. Su Min tells Xie Yingying, "If you can't improve, you can kill yourself," then follows with a practical offer to prepare a safe place, noting limitations of Mahayana cultivators and lifespan.
But I wanted to deepen that scene into something more than an exposition of plan and consequence.
Because, by now, readers know the stakes.
What they may not fully realize is how deeply Su Min feels the burden of time—and how fiercely she wishes she didn't have to watch Xie Yingying wither while she endures.
That's what this rewrite focused on: making space for the emotional unspoken. Not just logistics, but love, loneliness, and the quiet ache of watching someone finite walk beside you when you're eternal.
Of course the original version fits Su Min's cold pragmatism—but at this point in the story, I felt it no longer reflected the full truth of her character.
Su Min is no longer the solitary alchemist who once lived only for revenge. Now, she's someone with people to protect. With someone she can't bear to lose.
So I softened the language, not to weaken Su Min's decisiveness, but to show the quiet grief behind her offer.
"I'm offering a way to live longer... You don't have to disappear."
The word choice here matters. She isn't demanding Xie Yingying take action—she's pleading. Because the price of doing nothing is unspoken but unbearable. Xie Yingying will die, and Su Min will live on.
And that imbalance terrifies her.
Another significant change was in tone. The original was very systems-focused: explaining the limits of sealing for Mahayana cultivators, the unreliability of relying on Xie Yingying, and technical discussion of secret-blocking and heavenly senses.
I kept these points, but reframed them as contextual conclusions rather than the focus. The mechanics remain important, but I placed them at the end of the section. Why?
Because this moment is not about rules.
It's about love and time.
"I don't want you to disappear."
That's what the entire rewrite pivots on. Not plans. Not seals. Not escape routes. It's about what Su Min can't say—the terror of eternal life when the one who anchors you is mortal.
I also added internal conflict:
"Because if she did, Xie Yingying would follow her to the ends of time. And Su Min wasn't sure her heart could take that."
This line didn't exist in the original, but it builds on established themes: Su Min's protective nature, her fear of dragging others into her endless path, and her unwillingness to force Yingying. It's not just about power disparity—it's about grief deferred.
The moment Su Min touches Xie Yingying's cheek is a quiet emotional climax. We're deep into understated love here—a confession that never needs to be spoken aloud.
"They didn't speak of love. They didn't need to. It filled the space between them, weightless and impossible."
Xie Yingying's response was also reworked to reflect quiet agency. She's not just passively agreeing. She chooses to stay, even knowing what it might cost.
"Then let me stay by your side a little longer."
In that line, I wanted to show how much strength it takes to remain when you know time is against you. She knows she can't keep up forever, and still, she walks beside her.
Together.
For now.
And that's all either of them can ask.
( ･ᴗ･̥̥̥ )
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To be honest, the author never clearly stated Su Min's gender in her first life—the modern-day one—before she transmigrated. I just personally assumed she was a woman, even though there's a moment in the middle of the novel where Xie Yingying mentions something about Su Min having a "Yin body, Yang soul," which Su Min herself echoes near the end of the story.
Why do I still see her as female? Mostly because she was too calm, in my opinion. Even after realizing this world wasn't just a game but a real one, she never showed any discomfort or rejection about her gender. She only complained about her "character build," not the gender itself (´･ᴗ･ ` )
Another reason is because I've seen male characters with pure Yin physiques before—like Mo Su from True Heir of Chaos: From Villainess to Empress. And if I remember correctly, there's also a female character named Pei Xihe (I forgot the novel's title) who had a female companion with an ice attribute and a male character who loved her. In the end, she became the young mistress of the Golden Crow Clan, which suggests she had a strong Yang-aligned physique. So it's not strange to me for a male to have Yin traits or a female to lean toward Yang.
Another key moment is during the Five Elements Mountain arc, when Su Min takes the shape-shifting pill. Based on the description, it's a pill that allows the user to transform into anything. Personally, I think it brings out a form that reflects the user's true nature. And what form did Su Min take? A bratty little loli. Mischievous, young at heart, and kind of a gremlin—that's the shape her mind settled into. Considering how broad the pill's effects are [it can even hide or mask the user's original identity], I believe it could have transformed her into a male if that had reflected her true self. But she didn't. She stayed female.
To me, that's a strong hint from the author that Su Min's soul leans toward Yin, not Yang. So in the end, I chose to write Su Min clearly as a woman from the very beginning.
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