The ceremony ended. Standing on a red dress above the peripheral view of his bedroom, Julen let out a sigh. Below the mansion there were bodyguards going back to their post.
Stewards came into his chamber and put wine on the table.
"Master, please don't be sad. Missus is a good-hearted person. You'll learn a lot from the lady within her ruling. "
'Ruling'—that word echoed in his brain. Seeing the people around working like they were serving a royal lady, he raised the upper corner of his lips.
"Master, what's with that expression? I've been working here for decades. I wouldn't be working here for so long if Missus were an awful person. "
The breeze flowed through the curtains, giving the tense air a moment's release.
He kept his gaze outside. "It's… odd. This place. I should be used to quiet by now, but somehow—being here, nestled in the mountains—it feels too still."
Her hands moved, lightly tracing the hem of her uniform. A pause.
"That's normal," she said gently. "Places like this... they tend to stir something in people."
She glanced up at him, hesitant.
"Though," her voice dropped just slightly, "I guess it makes sense you'd feel it more than most. You're not exactly… human, are you?"
He couldn't help but scan the steward's looks—plain gray and white attire with a blue ribbon on the chest—simple and fashionable—her looks, too. But what added some style in it is the wearer's thought-provoking question. He put his hands behind him, looking into her eyes. "What makes you think I'm not human?"
She looked at her left side, approaching him courteously. "Missus is not a human. I can feel you aren't, too. "
"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows, paying full attention to her. "So does that make you a psychic or a good dog?"
She walked closer to him. "I'm a good servant. Nevertheless, both of you never came from this realm. Why do I think so? I've been here for decades. I've known Missus' habits, routines, and tastes in fashion, food, and music. Somehow, they aren't what normal people would admire. Once, I was running an errand to tend to the garden. She ordered that no one can enter unless a steward is fixed on their shift at that hour..."
Mira was wearing gardening gloves at that time. "Everyone, dismiss. "
They followed her order. The garden looked like it was freshly painted by an artist on a canvas— it was vibrant in green and warm colors.
Mira observed her surroundings, then opened the door of a small cottage inside the greenhouse. She managed to fit inside with her petite figure along the dwarf-like door.
Mei, who was leering from afar, thought she could be doing something inside the cottage. So, she followed the small pathway of the Missus' trails, then settled behind a wooden pillar near the cottage gate. She was itching—the vines curled up with a lot of tangles, yet she remained calm and waited for the Missus to come out of the cottage.
It's been quite a while. An hour? What is she doing inside this small plaything? she frowned.
Why would this maid watch over her Missus' movements? she reflected on herself. What would she be doing? If it weren't for her observation in the past few years that the Missus acted like nothing similar to mortals, she'd be doing no such thing.
Perhaps, she had some doubts about her Missus.
Or was her Missus actually acting odd beyond all circumstances?
This was her recollection. Looking back from the past to the present, the steward, named Mei, gossiped to a new person in the club—the Missus' freshly plucked flower for the manor— Julen Rong.
***
In the hallway, paintings glided through his lenses. They were of great artistry, portrait and landscapes in view. He looked at the window twice taller than him—the moonlight illuminating his skin.
Some stewards were closing the curtains, and he moved towards his pathway onwards.
"Well done, everyone!" a steward clapped his hands. Dressed in the same color as anybody else and gloved his hands with white, he bowed at the sight of the Missus' partner in accordance.
"Greetings, Master!" Although he looked stern in his attire, the wrinkle on his cheeks smoothened with his smile.
He smiled back. "And good evening, sir."
He punched his shoulder playfully. "Ha ha ha! Good one!"
He smiled even more.
"She likes good guys like you! No wonder she picked you!"
"Hahaha!" he itched his head. "I'm quite humbled!"
"Don't be. She may be older than you, but she can obey once you're finally close!"
A sweat dropped on his forehead. "Err… what? O-older than me? I-I have nothing to say about it. I don't mind the age gap between us…?"
"—Seven years."
"Oh? R-right!" I didn't even know that before!
"She's a senior to you."
"Yeah, I can see. "
"Don't be pressured, Master. "
He smiled.
"What a smiley guy!" he joked, patting his shoulders. "You won't feel inferior to her, trust me."
"Well, I guess that's good to hear!"
Fake. Fakeness.
After the chitchat, Julen stood in front of a door.
I guess that's it? He placed his palm on the door, slowly opening a small crevice. "I didn't mean to interrupt. "
She turned around and saw him... in his sleeping robe.
In the room, an incense burner was beside her desk.
What is she writing this late at night? Hands on his back, tight-lipped, he approached closer to her— and as he did—the words enveloped into a news article headline.
She stopped writing and looked at the guy who stood like a big trunk. Her expressions were neutral. Then she returned to adjust the incense burner.
The mellow whiffs bathed his robe. What is she doing?
She watched the shadow grow bigger and bigger behind her back. But she still ignored him. Her focus was on the paper she was writing on.
"Did I interrupt you?"
She nodded.
"Then I'll leave. "
She looked at him. This time around, the lamp illuminated his skin. Some shadows let his sculpted bones unveil in the dark—the white powder on his face was washed off, revealing his golden skintone. She noticed he's almost as tall as the grandfather clock beside him. "You look very casual today. Is this your usual you?"
He nodded.
"Oh. "
"I'm interrupting you, am I?"
"Oh..."
"I should leave. "
"Nevermind. "
"Pardon?"
"Well... since you're already here. You should just take a look at this. "
"Sure. "
"What do you think?"
"A famous male courtesan bid farewell to his performing days to turn a mediocre life into something more fulfilling," he read from the article.
She watched him frowning, enjoying the view. "One of my attendants, Cello, as my personal writer, took care of your public matters. I just had to personally revise it in case I don't like anything that causes errors in it. Also to you... you don't look pleased with it, so I'll revise it again. "
"How about I sit down with you?"
She nodded.
"I don't have an affinity for writing but this line sounds humiliating, " he pointed out. The line meant directly purposeful, enunciating his expertise in this field.
"Then... what do you want to change it with?"
When he took the pen from her grasp, her nerves were awakened— her skin tingled with the brushing of his skin on her fingers.
Her breath turned deep.
The ink was black, so was the evening sky.
On the paper, he revised some words. Words that would change the meaning of the context. He didn't grow up with a mediocre life. It was a lifetime of performance, and somehow he had to end it. He talked to the hostess and agreed a nullification of his contract.
Performing was his greatest affinity, not writing. Somehow, he defended the life he had been living.
Excelling in his talents made him proud. There was a sense of relinquishment in doing what he had been doing.
"Although you're just living a fake life in the mortal realm to get your goal, you're quite impressive, " Mira commented.
He lifted his head. "I just managed to think of a good way to survive in this world. And, the experience helped me gather intelligence."
"—A prince who was banished from the demon realm orchestrated a good life and gathered resources to get back on his feet. A deity who was banished from the heaven realm built a fortress in the mountains to redeem herself. What a pair!"
That voice was none of theirs.
From the end of the floor, small claws tapped with each step. A parrot, green with a streak of blue, walked in. From down there, the tall creatures looked like swaying towers—silent, strange, and unaware. The parrot tilted its head, glancing at them.
"Really dramatic," it squawked. "I've seen less tension in a stormcloud."
No one asked how long it had been listening.
"Cella? What are you doing late at night here?"
She ignored the big trunk on the left and focused on the one on the right instead. "I just came to deliver the responses from the radio broadcasting agencies — they've accepted the queries.'"
"All of them?"
She nodded. "You just have to wait for a while. They'll all publish the same write-up. "
"That's great then!" Julen understood the assignment quickly. Just call it, cleverness.
Cella flew on top of her desk, looking at him. "Not bad! So what's the catch, missus?"
Even a parrot addresses her formally! The people here are getting more interesting for me. I should roam around more to know all of them. It's quite daunting, but I'll keep a list.
***
Around the courtyard, birds chirped. Inks were used on his notebook, and the sunlight warmed his cup of tea beside him in a silver tray that kept it warm although he had been jotting down names since seven o'clock struck.
Mira looked at Julen from afar. She was wearing a white dress—too bright for the day— with lace gloves and an antique hat. The butler, Mr. Qiao, escorted her in the driveway.
"Are we off to Miss Scarlett's Vault, Missus?" Mira's outfit of the day gave hints to show where she wanted to go.
She nodded. "I want to buy something for our Rite of the Spirit Bond within the upcoming thirty days and nights. "
"That is...?"
"The Soulforged Seeds, Zhù Hún Zhǒng. "
His eyes widened. "The Soulforged Seeds contains rare herbal properties that act as a spiritual purifier, enveloping those who partake in it with a sensation as though they've been cleansed by the very essence of holy water. To activate its full potential in the ritual, however, it requires a substantial amount of spiritual energy. But your spiritual reserves are lacking... How will it work for you under such circumstances?"
"I'll be in seclusion to nourish my Qi. "
As soon as they arrived, Scarlett was chuckling on the phone. She curled the wire around her fingers, teasing the person on the other line. "You didn't have to do that! You could've just sent letters and flowers instead!"
She was... flirting in her shop—her skirt smooched up against the counter, anyhow not minding her corset that disoriented her waist to the lowest point of centimeters possible— sixteen.
Sweet... and unhealthy. Just like the boxes of chocolates on her counter and the ring on her finger— glistening as bright and blaring as the two hills on her chest squashed against her ribcage. Naturally, it took her a while longer to notice two esteemed guests at her doorstep.
The Soulforged Seeds on the table stirred more than passing interest. It brought back the old stories of Nüwaelin. Some said she had been a goddess, others a force older than names. The Silent Mother. Maker of stone. Walker beneath the obsidian moon. Her story survived—scratched into stone, buried in brittle scrolls, and it was passed down like a fading chant—in fragments, barely remembered.
Moreover, growing deep and strange, the trees of Yunlei Grove held memories. Working the land in silence—the Leiwen Kin, the forest folk bound to the old ways—they were the ones who harvested them with care. Brewing not for power, but to preserve what remained, following the rites, passing them down unchanged.
The records spoke plainly; the seeds endured until then.
***
Scarlett gave precautions upon using the seeds, which was in the hands of Mr. Qiao.
While they were looking above the sky, Mr. Qiao complimented the weather. "The view from here also looks nice, Missus. The daily hassle wears off after relaxing for a while!"
She agreed with his sentiments.
He offered to take her on a walk.
Along the streets, children were playing rock and scissors—the usual game for all ages—some, watching over their stalls for their parents; while others had just returned from school from a nearby academia in the town.
The townspeople—their livelihoods were at the cusps of their hands, making a living each day to feed their children and family.
Ordinary as they may have been, these mortals were prominent in the eyes of the immortals.
The mortals tend the earth; the immortals defend it. Such is the rhythm of things.
"The world is beautiful. It's just that certain circumstances ruin it."
She looked at him, casually tossing small rocks along the pathway.
"You get to enjoy breathtaking views and spend time with the people you love."
Inhaling the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby chimney, he replied, "Eat good food, drink liquor, swing on a hammock, too."
"Simple luxuries of life," she smiled. "Time itself feels like a dream—short and fleeting. Like taking a nap and falling into a beautiful dream you never want to wake from."
"That's the price of mortal life," he said, glancing at her, "just like you once said, Missus."
She nodded slowly.
"Like I've always said—the mantra of my life since I embraced the human condition… Not truly mortal, but learning to endure pain and carry on, without my celestial powers, shaped me. That's what made me part of this ongoing story of humanity."
***
It took a while for the two oldies to come back, and it was at the same time Julen finished listing all the people under the Missus' ruling—all in his notebook, serving as a guide for him.
He watched them from the foyer with a smile. First time seeing them come back ever since he was wedded to her—his greeting was simple and amateur—which was exactly fitting for him as he was still finding his footing in his relationship with the Missus.
Mr. Qiao took the signs and assured her, "Don't worry, I'll teach him well. "
She nodded.
Oops! Julen heard their whispers. Was it his special ability? He had just arrived from the foothold, yet he was already capable of himself—indeed, he was worthy of admiration!
Wasting no time, Julen began narrowing down the list—starting, naturally, with Mr. Qiao.
The middle-aged man who popped up in front of him last night, laughing contortedly as he was lit by the topic about their first arrangement of marital responsibilities—Mr. Qiao, the name topping off his chart for a good reason, and that reason was because of the natural sense of easiness of the Missus with him.
He thought of something, I should follow him. Through him, I'll learn how to develop our relationship with her.
Snapped the deal and walked out—and the reason…? He needed a kick-starter for his strategy. Whether it was someone with conflicting elements—Mei, for instance; a sarcastic sidekick like Cella, or a loyal dog like Mr. Qiao, the key details of each player were already written and etched into his brain.