He was diligently considering how to obtain the eight million eight hundred and eighty thousand merits when, the next day, Ling Wen invited him to the Ling Wen Treasure Hall.

Ling Wen was a celestial official who oversaw personnel matters, managing promotions and advancements. The entire hall, from floor to ceiling, was stacked with documents and scrolls, a truly awe-inspiring and terrifying sight. Every official exiting Ling Wen’s hall carried documents taller than themselves, their faces pale with either utter exhaustion or numb resignation. Entering the hall, Ling Wen turned, getting straight to the point, “Your Highness, the Emperor has a request. Will you assist him?”

There are many Zhenjuns and Yuanjuns in the Celestial Realm, but only one Emperor. He never needed to ask for help. Xie Lian was taken aback, “What is it?”

Ling Wen handed him a scroll, “Recently, a group of wealthy believers in the north have been frequently praying, indicating unrest.”

Wealthy believers typically fall into three categories: those with money who donate generously; those who spread religious teachings; and those with unwavering faith. The first category is the largest, as wealthy individuals are often more devout; the third is the smallest, as such individuals are usually highly cultivated and close to ascension. This clearly referred to the first category.

Ling Wen continued, “The Emperor is currently preoccupied with matters in the north. If you’re willing to go in his stead, all merits offered by these believers will be given to you. What do you say?”

Xie Lian accepted the scroll, “Thank you.”

This was clearly Jun Wu helping him, yet phrasing it as a request. Xie Lian understood this, but couldn’t find better words than “Thank you.” Ling Wen said, “I only handle the arrangements, thank the Emperor yourself when he returns. Do you need any divine treasures?”

Xie Lian, “No need. If I had treasures, I’d lose my power upon descending to the mortal realm and wouldn’t be able to use them.”

Xie Lian had been demoted twice, losing his power. In the Celestial Realm, it’s different; it’s filled with spiritual energy. But in the mortal realm, he’d need to borrow power, which is inconvenient.

Ling Wen pondered, “Perhaps borrowing a few martial officials to assist you would be best.”

Xie Lian knew the current war gods either didn’t know him or disliked him, “No need. You can’t borrow them.”

Ling Wen had her own plan, “I’ll try.”

It didn’t matter whether she tried or not. Xie Lian neither agreed nor disagreed. Ling Wen entered the spirit communication array, announcing, “Everyone, the Emperor has urgent business in the north and needs personnel. Which war god can spare two martial officials?”

Immediately, Mu Qing’s voice floated out, “I heard the Emperor isn’t in the north, he’s probably borrowing them for the Crown Prince.”

Xie Lian thought, “Are you always watching the spirit communication array…”

Ling Wen thought the same, wanting to slap Mu Qing out of the array, but smiled, “Xuan Zhen, why do I keep seeing you in the array? Congratulations.”

Mu Qing calmly said, “My hand is injured, recovering.”

The other officials thought, “You usually split mountains and seas, a silly clock couldn’t hurt you that much?”

Ling Wen wanted to trick two officials into helping first, but Mu Qing guessed it, ruining her plan. No one responded. Xie Lian said, “See? I said you couldn’t borrow them.”

Ling Wen, “If Xuan Zhen hadn’t spoken, we could have.”

Xie Lian smiled, “Your words were ambiguous. People thought it was for the Emperor, so they responded, but if they knew it was for me, they might refuse. I’m used to being alone. I’ll go. Thank you.”

Ling Wen bowed, “Good luck. May the heavens bless you.”

Xie Lian replied, “No prohibitions!” He left.

Three days later, in the north of the mortal realm.

There was a small tea shop by the road, small but with a beautiful view: mountains, water, people, and a city. Everything was just right. The tea server was idle, sitting at the door, watching the scenery, smiling. He saw a man in white robes, dusty, as if he’d walked a long way. The man paused, then slowly walked back, lifting his hat, looking at the sign, smiling, “‘Meeting Small Shop,’ interesting name.”

The man looked tired but smiling, making others smile too. He asked, “Excuse me, is Yu Jun Mountain nearby?”

The tea server pointed, “It’s in this area.”

The man exhaled, “Finally here.”

It was Xie Lian.

He’d left the Celestial Capital, intending to land near Yu Jun Mountain. But his sleeve got caught on a cloud, and he tumbled down, landing somewhere unknown. After three days of walking, he’d finally reached his destination.

He sat by the window, ordering tea and snacks. He heard crying and drumming outside.

He saw a procession with a red palanquin, the people’s expressions serious, sad, angry, and fearful, but not joyful. It was strange. The tea server saw it too, shaking his head.

Xie Lian watched the procession leave, thinking. He was about to look at the scroll when he saw something shiny.

A silver butterfly flew past.

It was translucent, leaving a sparkling trail. Xie Lian reached out. The butterfly landed on his fingertip, its wings shimmering, beautiful and ethereal, like a fragile dream bubble. Then, it flew away.

Xie Lian waved goodbye. Two people were now sitting at his table.

They were eighteen or nineteen-year-old boys. The one on the left was taller, with sharp features and a rebellious gaze. The one on the right was pale, refined, and cold, seeming unhappy. Their faces were grim.

Xie Lian blinked, “Who are you?”

The one on the left, “Nan Feng.”

The one on the right, “Fu Yao.”