Bai Jue—once a fearsome war god and future Jade Emperor—now stood silently in front of a lacquered bedroom door in the mortal world.
On the other side was his wife, Yang Mi.
His gentle, graceful, currently-silent wife.
He had faced demon lords, suppressed chaos storms, and quelled celestial uprisings. But nothing—absolutely nothing—terrified him more than this door staying shut.
Three days had passed since Su Jin barged into their bedroom, grabbed Yang Mi by the hair, and beat her recklessly in a jealous fury. Bai Jue had returned too late. He had sealed Su Jin's powers, cast her out of the mortal realm, and locked every celestial gate that could connect to this house.
But that hadn't stopped the damage.
Yang Mi hadn't screamed. She hadn't wept.
She just lay silently on the bed while Bai Jue knelt by her side and applied the healing salve, his hands trembling as he wiped away the blood.
She never asked what happened. She never mentioned the name "Su Jin."
But she had heard enough in that room.
The way Su Jin screamed about her love for Bai Jue. About how she was the one meant to be his bride. About how Yang Mi was nothing but a mortal placeholder.
Yang Mi hadn't said anything. But since that moment, her silence had been colder than winter in the ninth realm.
And so, Bai Jue panicked.
By day four, Bai Jue had turned the mansion upside down trying to win back her attention.
He had the maids replace all the bedding with silk dyed in her favorite lilac shade. She walked past it.
He personally cooked sweet lotus porridge—poorly, and burned his sleeve in the process. She ate two bites. Never said a word.
He summoned the most skilled mortal seamstress to craft her a new cloak. Yang Mi wore her old one to the market instead.
And so… Bai Jue followed.
Dressed in plain brown robes, hair tied back simply, he trailed her through the bustling capital marketplace, ducking behind vendor stalls and baskets of dried persimmons like a lovesick thief.
She visited her usual places—the calligraphy shop, the tofu stall, the temple bookstore.
But she didn't smile. Not once.
Then she turned into a small side street and entered a modest tea house.
Bai Jue's brows furrowed. The pastry shop? She used to go there before they married, but rarely since.
He stayed across the street, watching through the steamed window.
That's when he saw him.
A mortal man—young, broad-shouldered, with soft eyes and a kind smile—approached Yang Mi's table.
Bai Jue leaned forward.
The man bowed slightly. "Forgive me, miss. I've seen you here a few times. You always order the walnut sesame cake. It's my favorite too."
Yang Mi blinked, a little startled, but not hostile.
"I'm Ren," the man said. "Would it be alright if I sat?"
She didn't answer right away.
But she didn't say no.
Bai Jue nearly choked on his own breath.
He summoned a minor breeze to try and blow the man's hat off, but Yang Mi casually pressed it back down for him.
Bai Jue stormed home.
That evening, Bai Jue summoned his three most loyal subordinates to his study.
General Jun knelt first. "My lord, you called?"
"I need solutions," Bai Jue snapped. "She won't speak to me. She won't even look at me. And now she's having tea with strange men."
The room went quiet.
General Fei coughed. "With all respect, Your Grace… perhaps if you told her the truth—about who she is, and what Su Jin really is—"
"No." Bai Jue's voice cracked. "Not yet. If I force it now, it'll break her."
"Well," said Elder Yun thoughtfully, "when mortal women are upset, some men kneel outside the door all night with a guqin."
"I've been kneeling for three nights straight," Bai Jue said bitterly. "My knees are flatter than a celestial biscuit."
"Perhaps... a song?" suggested Fei.
"I recited poetry," Bai Jue muttered, rubbing his temples. "She fell asleep halfway through."
"A public display of love?" said Jun.
"She threatened to move back to her cousin's house if I did that again."
The aides exchanged terrified glances.
Bai Jue slammed his palm on the table. "I'm the most powerful being in the Three Realms, and I am losing to a walnut pastry vendor!"
The next morning, Yang Mi returned from the marketplace with a small box of pastries.
She passed Bai Jue in the corridor without a word.
But Bai Jue noticed—her sleeve brushed lightly against his.
Hope flickered.
That evening, he prepared a low table in the garden with her favorite tea, a lantern, and a small handwritten note that read:
"I don't deserve your words, but if I may borrow your silence... I'll sit with you anyway."
She didn't come.
But the tea was half gone when he returned.
By the sixth day, Bai Jue had memorized her entire schedule. He watched from windows. He paid the servants to report on her moods. He even asked the head chef for advice.
"She likes warm food, but not too salty," the chef said. "Also, don't talk too much when she's sad. Just stay nearby."
Bai Jue nodded like it was sacred law.
He stopped pushing. He just began waiting.
And when Yang Mi came home that night, she found him asleep on the garden bench—head tilted, arms folded, a bowl of her untouched favorite fruit beside him.
She paused.
And for the first time in nearly a week… her lips moved.
She whispered, "Fool."
Then quietly placed her shawl over him before walking inside.
He didn't stir.
But a smile curved on his lips.