Chapter 20: The Two Swear an Oath, Witnessed by Heaven and Earth

“Let’s talk inside,” Song Yeqing said. “Don’t let others overhear.”

He Yanxin, who had just stepped outside because he felt it wasn’t proper for them to be alone in a room together, replied, “Okay.”

Once inside, Song Yeqing looked straight at him and asked directly, “Can I trust you?”

Although this man had seemed like someone wealthy in the modern world—likely not the type to be greedy—this was a resource-scarce ancient era. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t turn on her for the things inside her storage space. After all, she had no idea whether the space would transfer ownership if she died.

As she spoke, the dagger on the weapons rack inside her space stirred restlessly. If the other party made any suspicious move, she could pull it out and throw it at his face in an instant.

He Yanxin was completely unaware of any of this.

At this point, Song Yeqing still didn’t fully trust him. But barring any surprises, they would likely be working together in this world, and perhaps eventually become each other’s support.

Of course, if he chose to leave, she wouldn’t stop him. She was confident she could raise the children well on her own.

So, instead of hiding things any longer, it was better to lay all the cards on the table. She would also voluntarily reveal a trump card that wouldn’t stay hidden much longer—this way, she’d keep the initiative in her hands.

The unexpected incident with the candy had simply accelerated her original plan.

“I can!” He Yanxin answered firmly, without hesitation.

Was that even a question? His very name carried the meaning of “faithful in word.” Yanxin—“word” and “trust.”

His parents had always taught him to be a person who keeps his word, someone honest and reliable. He had lived up to that for twenty-one years in his previous life.

“That’s not enough. You need to swear an oath,” Song Yeqing insisted.

As a Celestial Master, she deeply believed in the binding power of oaths.

One must not swear lightly—Heaven remembers. Even though breaking an oath might not get you struck by lightning (since ordinary people didn’t have the kind of karma that would make Heaven go out of its way to punish them), going against a vow could still cause one to lose something unknowingly.

“I can. But you have to swear one too.”

Although He Yanxin understood her reasoning, he still felt a bit uncomfortable about being distrusted—maybe even a little wronged. If they were going to make an oath, then they should do it together.

“Of course.”

“I swear on the chastity I’ve guarded for twenty-one years—”

Before he could finish, Song Yeqing interrupted, “That won’t do.”

He Yanxin was momentarily stunned. “What?”

“In this place, your chastity…” She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Instead, she tilted her head toward the main house where the two children were.

He Yanxin: …

Fair point, actually.

“Alright, then how should we do it?” he asked, clearing his throat and sitting up straight.

“No worries. Just follow my lead.”

She took out two cushions from her storage space and placed them on the floor. Then she guided He Yanxin to kneel on his left knee, while she knelt on her right.

Since they were going to be completely honest with each other, even though the ground beneath was solid, compacted dirt, it was still filthy—and she had just changed clothes today and didn’t want to wash them again.

But what surprised her was that he didn’t react at all to her producing objects out of thin air. Song Yeqing was puzzled.

Still, there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The sooner they made the oath, the sooner she could feel at ease. She was tired of being secretive all the time—she even had to put her toilet paper back in her space every time she went to the bathroom. It was exhausting.

What she didn’t know was that her ability to pull things from thin air had already been exposed to He Yanxin back in the modern world.

“I, Song Yeqing…” she began, motioning for He Yanxin to follow her.

“I, He Yanxin…”

And so, in this humble rural courtyard, two solemn oaths were spoken:

“I, Song Yeqing, do hereby swear to Heaven, in this time and place, that I will never commit any act that endangers the life or safety of He Yanxin. If I break this oath, I shall suffer a lifetime of burning heart and scorched lungs, and be confined in the underworld for a hundred years after death.”

“I, He Yanxin, do hereby swear to Heaven, in this time and place, that I will never commit any act that endangers the life or safety of Song Yeqing. If I break this oath, I shall suffer a lifetime of burning heart and scorched lungs, and be confined in the underworld for a hundred years after death.”

After finishing the oath, He Yanxin paid no mind to the consequences of breaking it, nor did he feel that Song Yeqing’s terms were too harsh.

After all, he had no intention of ever harming her—especially not in a way that endangered her life. So he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

Song Yeqing had used a formal Daoist method of oath-taking, one that bound both parties equally.

A person’s lifespan, unless affected by special circumstances, was usually predetermined and therefore couldn’t be used as part of an oath. So, the punishment would be to endure the pain of a burning heart and lungs while alive.

Song Yeqing stood up, opened the window, and looked toward the sky. She didn’t see the beam of golden light that should have appeared upon the oath’s completion.

So, had the oath taken effect or not? She didn’t know. Still, she visibly relaxed.

What neither of them realized was that, the moment they spoke the final word, a flash of golden light had indeed streaked across the sky.

The oath was sealed.

“All done,” Song Yeqing said as she turned around and put the cushions back into her space.

Next, she took out a solid wood tea table and two small gray fabric sofas, then pulled out half a case of bottled water and placed two bottles on the table. Finally, she called He Yanxin over to sit down—they were about to have a long conversation.

“As you’ve seen, I have a storage space.” Then she explained her identity in the modern world and why she had so many supplies inside her space.

However, she didn’t go into too much detail about what the space contained—just said there was food and some essential items. She also mentioned the permanent preservation feature.

He Yanxin opened a bottle of water and took a sip, feeling like the entire scene before him was surreal.

Two people in ancient clothing, sitting inside a traditional-style house, drinking water from modern plastic bottles, using a tea table and sofas made with modern craftsmanship.

It didn’t feel like ancient times—it felt more like they were on the set of a historical drama. The whole situation seemed absurd, like an especially bizarre dream.

If only it really was a dream—then all those things from the original host’s memory would be fake and never actually happen.

“Actually, I have something to tell you too.” He Yanxin put down the bottle of water and began to explain.

Do you remember the long, lonely memories he had received? When he transmigrated, he inherited twenty-seven years’ worth of the original host’s memories.

But the original host had died in battle just six months later—at the age of twenty-two.

Qizhou was located in the central plains of the Da’an Kingdom, filled with countless military strongholds. It had always been a strategically contested region.

The current emperor had no legitimate heir, so four years ago, he named the Third Prince—known for both virtue and ability—as crown prince.

His most beloved youngest son, the Seventh Prince, was named King of Qi and given Qizhou as his fief. The other princes were also given territories, but none as prosperous as Qizhou.

By granting Qizhou to the current King of Qi, the old emperor was being extremely cautious. After so many years of favoritism, he feared that once he passed, his beloved youngest son would be purged by the new emperor.

So he chose a rich, strategic fief to empower the young prince early—giving him the means to protect himself, but also cutting off any path to the throne. After all, with a crown prince already in place, any other prince trying to ascend would be labeled a rebel.

Though the emperor adored this son, even he had to admit that the boy wasn’t suited to be emperor.

The King of Qi? Well, he lived in extravagant luxury and had two main obsessions: rare treasures and delicate beauties.

Though he didn’t outright exploit the common people, he didn’t care about them either.

Of course, as the emperor’s most favored son, he didn’t need to steal from the commoners—everything he wanted would be handed to him willingly.

In short, he was an irresponsible ruler who cared little for the people and only about his own pleasures.

Sadly, the old emperor had judged his character quite accurately.

After the King of Qi took over Qizhou, the region suffered successive droughts and famines. The people were in constant misery.

And what did their “Heaven-appointed” ruler do about it?

Nothing at all.

After all, no matter how bad the famine got, it never reached the King’s Palace in the capital of Qizhou. Since it didn’t affect him—why would he care?

(End of Chapter)