Chapter Forty-Nine: The Undying Exquisite Heart

Three days had passed since Zhou Ning’er’s death. The Zhou family did not hold a wedding for her, but instead sent invitations throughout all of Sanjiang County.

Today, Sanjiang witnessed the quietest wedding in its history. News spread everywhere—Jiang Pingchuan was to marry Zhou Ning’er. Scarlet draperies hung from end to end across the marketplace, red carpets unfurled, lanterns illuminating every corner. Tonight, it was here that Jiang Pingchuan would wed Zhou Ning’er.

By the banks of the Pu River, Jiang Pingchuan lay quietly on the grass, holding the purple skull in his hand. A gentle breeze stirred the flowers and grasses, which swayed as if keeping him company in his daze.

He gazed at the purple skull, recalling Zhou Ning’er’s words—she was still waiting for the man from her dreams to come for her, clad in a deep red battle robe and cloud-walking boots.

At that moment, Jiang Pingchuan had clearly noticed the purple skull at Zhou Ning’er’s waist; its lips were upturned in a smile. Why, then, did it now look as it always had—expressionless?

The more he looked, the angrier he became. Why hadn’t the purple skull protected Zhou Ning’er? Why had it left her body? If only it had always hung at her side, nothing would have happened. He could not bring himself to believe he was the cause of her death.

To Jiang Pingchuan, all this was the purple skull’s fault.

“Tell me, why didn’t you protect her?” he shouted, gripping the skull tightly. The flowers and grasses beside him bent low, as though fearing his anger would turn on them.

The purple skull glowed softly, as ever, but offered no response. Yet in its reflection, Jiang Pingchuan saw Zhou Ning’er’s image—her lips moved, telling him it was not the skull’s fault, but his own. She died because Jiang Pingchuan failed to protect her. That voice buzzed incessantly in his ears, unsettling his mind.

“No, it’s not true! It wasn’t me, Ning’er, it wasn’t me!” he screamed, standing as tears streamed down his face. The harder he tried to banish that voice, the louder and clearer it grew.

They insisted—Jiang Pingchuan was the one who killed Zhou Ning’er, her death entirely his doing.

He had believed that by defeating the man in black, he would rid Sanjiang County of a great scourge. Instead, he lost the woman he loved. Everything was his fault.

“It wasn’t me! All of you, leave! You won’t disturb my heart, it wasn’t me, you can’t shake my resolve!” he shouted, hurling the skull from his hand. A purple arc traced the sky.

A splash sounded as the skull struck the river, sinking slowly to the bottom. Jiang Pingchuan stood there, a vacant smile on his lips. At last, the voices in his ears were gone.

That damned nightmare had come for him, seeking to drown his spirit in guilt and destroy his resolve as a cultivator.

Jiang Pingchuan drew a deep breath. Tonight, he would break his vows—he would marry Zhou Ning’er, defying the Maoshan sect’s ancient commandment against worldly attachments. He did not know how his parents had dared to flout tradition and unite in marriage years ago, but as Jiang Tianhao’s son, he would follow his father’s example. Tonight, he would make Zhou Ning’er the second female disciple ever to wed within the Maoshan sect.

“Why torment yourself so?” came a voice behind him as he prepared to leave the riverbank.

He stopped, face darkening as he turned to see Old Yu. If not for this woman stealing his Dao Crystal, if not for the wound she dealt him at the crucial moment, he would have returned in time to save Zhou Ning’er. Her death lay at the hands of Old Yu and Qian Yuhe. He had not expected her to appear before him again.

“What, you’ve come to comfort me?” he asked, pointing at himself with a self-mocking smile.

Old Yu only shook her head, resignation in her eyes. The Jiang Pingchuan before her was changed; Zhou Ning’er’s death had struck him too hard—he was lost.

“I’m not here to comfort you. You’re a cultivator; you know your own path. I am not qualified,” she said quietly, opening her palm. The purple skull reappeared before Jiang Pingchuan, but now its mouth turned downward in displeasure, almost as if scolding him—so much like Zhou Ning’er herself.

“You’ve lost your way. Can’t you see Zhou Ning’er’s soul resides within this skull? Can’t you wake up? When you threw it away, you truly abandoned her,” Old Yu said gravely to the dazed Jiang Pingchuan. She spoke the truth—though he had restored Zhou Ning’er’s body, he had nearly cost her soul.

Old Yu didn’t know the skull’s origin, but she could sense its strange power. When Jiang Pingchuan cast it into the Pu River, she caught it beneath the waters—within, Zhou Ning’er’s soul was hidden.

By her innate gift, Old Yu felt Zhou Ning’er’s anxiety inside the skull; Zhou Ning’er feared Jiang Pingchuan would destroy himself with guilt because of her death.

“Ning’er?” Jiang Pingchuan stepped forward, taking the skull in his hands. The moment it touched his palm, the skull’s lips curled into a faint smile.

Jiang Pingchuan smiled as well. He knew it was Zhou Ning’er’s smile. Before it, he could no longer maintain his stern facade. Looking at the purple skull, he felt as if he faced Zhou Ning’er herself.

“Do you love her?” Old Yu asked softly. Jiang Pingchuan only smiled, saying nothing, but she knew his silence was assent.

Watching the pair, Old Yu thought of herself and Qian Yuhe. She met him a thousand years ago, but could not keep him. Back then he was but a great white crane, greedily eyeing her and her brood at the river’s edge. No matter how often she drove him off, he always returned, cautious but persistent.

In time, Qian Yuhe achieved his full cultivation and assumed human form. Yet by then, she could not give him what he sought, and he left her, heartless, to pursue his own path.

Since then, she had never seen him again. She did not know what hardships had led him to return to Sanjiang County, to become a scribe, to master corpse-raising arts, to transform into the man in black. Looking back, Old Yu thought herself a fool—how could anyone know her so well?

“I can guard her soul for a thousand years, until you return to revive her,” Old Yu said softly.

Jiang Pingchuan looked up at her, surprised. She smiled and nodded again to assure him of her sincerity.

“How will you help me?” he asked, not doubting her, but unable to fathom what means she possessed to preserve Zhou Ning’er’s flesh and soul for so long. Not even the most advanced Maoshan arts could keep a body intact for three years.

“I possess an Undying Exquisite Heart. If Zhou Ning’er’s soul and body are placed within it, I can preserve her for a millennium. But her soul will slowly fade over those thousand years—you must find a way to revive her as soon as possible,” Old Yu explained, pressing a hand to her chest. She had cultivated for ten thousand years to gain sentience, born with this heart. One heart, one life—it could protect only one person.

“What will become of you if you use it?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, realizing the cost.

She smiled. “I will die—but not until you have revived her.”

“Why help me?” he pressed, unable to understand why she would sacrifice her life for Zhou Ning’er’s sake.

“It is his last wish. When you bring Zhou Ning’er back, only then can he rest in peace,” Old Yu replied, turning to gaze at the tranquil waters of the Pu River, a gentle smile on her lips. This was his last desire—something she had never fulfilled for him in her lifetime.

This time, it was the only thing she could do for him. She had waited for so long; even if it cost her life, she wanted Qian Yuhe to know she was of use to him.

“Come to the wedding tonight,” Jiang Pingchuan said, smiling at the skull in his hands. His heart felt light; tonight, Zhou Ning’er would be his bride.

“Congratulations,” Old Yu said, but Jiang Pingchuan was already walking away, waving once as he headed toward Sanjiang County.

Tonight belonged to Jiang Pingchuan and Zhou Ning’er—their wedding night.