The rain fell without relent, torrential and unceasing, as though someone had pricked the very sky and let it leak.
They found themselves within a vast palace, sprawling over multiple levels, yet no one ventured upstairs. Instead, they lingered in scattered clusters on the ground floor, maintaining an uneasy distance between one another—neither too close nor too far.
The downpour had chilled the hall to a biting cold. In the cavernous space, only a single brazier—an ominous "Nether Cauldron"—emitted warmth, and most lingered far from it, their faces blue with cold, bodies trembling uncontrollably.
"Welcome to the Nine Death Palace," a voice, soft yet carrying an unshakable authority, drifted down from above, sending an elderly man into a faint from sheer fright.
The woman wore robes of black and a veil that shrouded her features, descending the stairs with deliberate grace.
"Who!" she demanded suddenly, eyes fixed on the blazing cauldron. "Who dares disturb the Nether Cauldron?"
Everyone flinched, glancing instinctively at the cauldron—no, at the man in white standing beside it.
He held a sword in his arms, unmoving, his gaze unbroken, seemingly oblivious to the woman's wrathful shout.
"You dare touch the Nether Cauldron!" she hissed, striking with a palm that cut the air like a blade. The man in white evaded effortlessly. A crystalline barrier materialized over the nearby couch, deflecting the lingering force of her strike.
"My lord!" the man in white bowed respectfully.
Another white-clad man emerged behind the first, taller by half a head, casting a casual glance at a sleeping woman in pink upon the couch. "I struck the chair, I moved the cauldron. If there's a problem, take it up with me."
"Such audacity!"
"Not bad," came the cool retort.
The black-clad woman sneered, her lips curling with malice. "We shall see how long your arrogance lasts."
"This place… what is it?" the taller white-clad man asked, warming his hands by the fire, droplets of rain falling from his hair with a hiss as they touched the flames.
"You're here. You won't leave," the woman said, her voice sharp.
"Charming hospitality," he muttered. "Kidnapped and held against our will, yet forbidden to depart. Quite the welcome."
"You are not guests," she replied, her tone dripping disdain. "You are prisoners, playthings of your master!" With that, she turned and ascended the stairs. "Soon, we dine. Eat your fill, for you may not see another meal."
From nowhere, a dozen black-clad maidservants appeared, arranging dishes upon a long wooden table.
"Do you think they chose us according to seats? The table's made for ten." A burly man with a tangled beard, months unwashed, commented.
"Could fit a few more if we squeeze. Two on either end easily," replied his lanky companion, sharing the same thug-like demeanor.
"Forget that. Let's eat; we've been freezing long enough." The bearded man strode toward the table. "Huh… not bad, looks plentiful."
"Big brother… it's not poisoned, is it?" the tall one hesitated.
The bearded man scowled, yanking the other by the ear toward the table. "Coward! Even if we die, we'll die full!"
The tall man whimpered, gingerly taking a seat beside the table, eyes wide at the feast, hands frozen.
The bearded man ignored caution, downing a pot of tea with loud gulps. Others mimicked swallowing motions, yet none could summon the courage to eat.
A small voice piped up, "Mama, I… I'm hungry," a five- or six-year-old girl clinging to her mother's neck.
"All right, let's eat." The young mother wiped tears, rose unsteadily, then stumbled. The child slipped from her arms.
In an instant, two men in white moved as one, sending forth twin currents of force. One caught the child, the other steadied the mother.
The mother knelt, clutching her daughter, tears flowing. "Thank you, immortals! Thank you!"
"They're not immortals," the bearded man muttered through a mouthful of chicken. "They're cultivators!"
Nearby, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl approached the table, frowning at the commotion, settling at the far end.
The taller white-clad man waved nonchalantly to the mother. "No trouble."
The mother, still clutching her daughter, bowed, then took her seat beside the young girl.
The previously unconscious elder stirred at the aroma of food, rubbing bleary eyes and scrambling to the table with surprising agility.
Though seated, only the bearded man ate. Others merely exchanged glances, hesitant to begin.
A stomach grumbled. The taller white-clad man's low growl echoed in the silent hall.
The bearded man shot a glance. "Even cultivators get hungry?"
"Even immortals need meals," he replied, rubbing his stomach.
Awkwardly, the bearded man resumed eating. Others hesitated, eyes lingering on the taller cultivator.
He ignored them, dispelling the crystal barrier from the couch, and seated himself beside the sleeping girl.
"Wake up."
The girl remained unmoving.
He poked her shoulder lightly. "Hua Manting! Wake up!"
Still no response.
He sighed, murmuring to himself. "The children are fine, yet a half-immortal has been out cold for half a day…"
He returned to the table, brought a steamed meat bun to her nose, and after a moment, her delicate nostrils twitched. Her eyelids fluttered open.
The taller cultivator smiled, withdrawing his hand. Hua Manting sat up, dainty and precise, like a fish hauled from water.
Squinting, she inspected the bun. "Did you wash your hands?"
"None of your business."
Hua Manting rolled her eyes, springing lightly to the floor.
A wave of dizziness struck, spinning her world violently, and nausea followed, like seasickness.
She landed on her knees, clutching the man's thigh for balance.
"Such a welcome!" he exclaimed.
Her senses were dulled, body uncontrollable. She clung to him desperately as he helped steady her.
"You're in too much of a hurry, Princess. Can't wait ten days… grabbing thighs, throwing yourself into arms," he muttered.
She seethed inwardly, unable to retaliate, only cursing in her mind.
"Xie Ziyin! You scoundrel!"
"Taking advantage! Shameless!"
"You'll pay!"
Xie Ziyin steadied her, concerned. Her head flopped backward like a puppet. Alarmed, he caught her and returned her to her shoulder.
"Better lie down a while longer," he said, unsure of what else to do.
"Don't move," she whispered, almost dreamlike.
Time passed. Hua Manting gradually regained her senses, vision clearing, limbs regaining feeling.
"I feel seasick," she said, standing carefully.
"This isn't a ship," Xie Ziyin replied, massaging his numb shoulder.
"When that strange mirror pulled us in, the world spun worse than any storm at sea," she said.
"So you think it's the mirror's doing?" he asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" she snapped, pinching his arm, only to find no flesh yielded under her fingers.
"Solid as stone," he remarked with a sly grin.
Hua Manting shoved him aside and stomped toward the table.
"Ah!" Xie Ziyin yelped in pain, caught off guard.
"You dared tease me!" she hissed.
Xie Ziyin lowered his voice. "Your elder brother wouldn't dare punish such a rare son-in-law."
"Really," she clicked her tongue. "Xie Ziyin, shameless as ever."
She ignored him thereafter. Their arranged marriage, a union of cultivation sects and mortal royalty, had been her source of protest from the start.
Yet the eleventh prince of the mortal world accepted it without objection, even relocating from Yundu to Lingshan Town at the foot of Wulü Mountain to facilitate "getting acquainted."
Perhaps he feared she might flee.
Hua Manting approached the young mother and child, seating herself nearby. Though the girl could sit alone, the mother clung tightly, afraid to let go.
Hua Manting extended a hand, enveloping the table in a soft pink mist. Touching it, she sensed carefully, then nodded. "Food is safe."
Xie Ziyin sat beside her, taking a bite of the bun he had retrieved. Hua Manting eyed the food with mild disdain, yet said nothing.
The others tentatively began eating, cautious at first, but soon chaos reigned as everyone vied for the limited dishes.
Xie Ziyin, quick and skilled, secured a full bowl of vegetables for Hua Manting, along with three meat buns, placing them before her.
"Xie Ziyin! One would think you grew up in an orphanage, so practiced at snatching food," she said in astonishment.
He ignored her, devouring his own bun and taking another.
Sichen, ever the composed attendant, quietly ate a single bun.
Hua Manting pushed a bowl toward Xie Ziyin. "Eat together. Sichen, you too."
Sichen declined politely. Xie Ziyin countered: "It's for you. We'll manage with less."
Hua Manting considered it too cumbersome to argue further, instead tending to a small boy who had caught her gaze. Eleven or twelve, fair-featured, staring with violet eyes.
She smiled, beckoning him. "Come eat, or the buns will be gone."
The boy hesitated until she gently took his arm, guiding him to sit by the elder man.
Yet he clung stubbornly to her sleeve. Hua Manting looked to Xie Ziyin.
He exchanged a brief incredulous glance, then surrendered, switching their seats to accommodate the boy.
Finally, the group settled, and Hua Manting shared her food with him.
Xie Ziyin leaned close, whispering with mock seriousness, "Save some maternal affection—you'll need it for ten or eight more children later."
Hua Manting recoiled. "Who said anything about bearing ten or eight children? Do you take me for a sow?"
She stamped her foot; he dodged swiftly, grinning, "Solid."
"Everyone, sit properly," the black-clad woman commanded, appearing at the foot of the stairs, flanked by maidservants carrying washbasins.
Her arrival ensured Xie Ziyin kept his ears intact.