Immortal Paladin

Gu Jie blinked. The pain was gone, and with it, the world of the ship, the steady hands of Liang Na, the pressure of Zhu Shin, and the haunting presence of Nongmin’s hollow gaze. All of it dissolved like mist beneath morning light. When her eyes opened, she found herself standing barefoot in the center of a courtyard… a beautiful one, sun-dappled and serene, far removed from the chaos she had left behind.

A great Bodhi Tree stood at the courtyard’s heart, its leaves gently rustling in a wind that did not touch her skin. Around it, small shrubbery grew in patches of soft soil, each seeming to thrive with its own strange vitality. The sky above shimmered a soft lavender, neither dawn nor dusk, as if time itself had settled into a pause.

“Big Sis Jie!” a voice called, sweet and filled with joy.

She turned, startled.

Ren Jingyi came running up the cobblestone path… but she was not the little girl Gu Jie remembered. This Ren Jingyi was older, her childlike features refined into a young woman’s grace. Long golden hair flowed behind her like silken threads, and her crimson-and-gold robes shimmered with elegant embroidery. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she stopped before Gu Jie, hands outstretched.

She was tall now, almost Gu Jie’s height. And beautiful… far more than Gu Jie had imagined she might become.

A pang bloomed in Gu Jie’s chest. The little goldfish she had once teased and spoiled had grown up into a celestial maiden.

Ren Jingyi tilted her head. “What are you thinking, Big Sis? You looked… distracted.”

Gu Jie parted her lips, intending to speak her thoughts… but instead, her voice moved without her permission, spilling words she hadn’t consciously chosen. “I just remembered something… back in the time when Master found me. He was always such a strange man… getting annoyed over the smallest, weirdest things.”

A wistful smile curled at Ren Jingyi’s lips. “Come on, Big Sis… You’ve told me that story so many times.” She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like how Master picked me up from that goldfish stall. You kept saying it was run by some smelly old man, remember?”

“I am not a smelly old man!” a voice yelled from the far end of the courtyard.

Gu Jie blinked again and turned her head.

Jiang Zhen was kneeling in the dirt beside a row of flowering herbs, sleeves rolled up as he pressed seeds into the soil. His face was reddened with mild offense as he looked up, glaring at the two girls.

From the other side, Ren Xun sat cross-legged beneath a canopy of vines, his robes immaculate save for the dirt smudging his hands. His hair had grown longer, tied behind him with a silver clasp, and though he looked more regal than ever… like a young prince from a painting… There was still mischief in his smirk.

“Shut it,” Ren Xun barked lazily at Jiang Zhen. “You’re just lonely and sour because your precious disciple left for the expedition with the Jia Yun lass. And now you basically live here just to avoid moping around alone. Shouldn’t you get back to your sect? You know… do your actual duties as Sect Master?”

“I’m cultivating life, you brat,” Jiang Zhen muttered, turning back to his patch of earth. ”And they always nag me, I am tired of it.”

Suddenly, the air above them shimmered, and from the clouds descended Lu Gao, riding atop a strange curved sword that blazed with purple flame. His landing kicked up petals and dust as he stepped lightly onto the grass. His robes were travel-worn, yet he carried himself with the ease of someone deeply familiar with the place.

“Give him a break,” Lu Gao said with a grin, stretching his arms as he walked toward them. “The man’s older than all of us and twice as bored. He probably misses the chaos.”

Gu Jie stood in silence, watching all of them: her friends and her family, interact as if they had always been here. There was no tension, no looming threat, and no burdens on their backs. Just warmth, laughter, and camaraderie. It felt like a memory, but it was too vivid and too real.

Was this the future?

A possibility?

Or was it just a dream, carved into her mind by the Heavenly Eye… eyes?… now burning in her skull? She didn’t know. But she wanted it to be real. She needed it to be real. Almost everyone was here. Jiang Zhen was in the garden, grumbling about his plants. Ren Xun sunbathing under the vines, playing the prince with mud on his fingers. Lu Gao was acting like an arrogant sword immortal. Even little Jingyi… no, not little anymore… stood by her side, radiant and proud, golden-haired and sharp-tongued.

It was perfect. Almost.

But not quite.

Because he wasn’t here. And neither was the little ghost.

Gu Jie’s breath caught as the thought slipped into her chest like a splinter. The ache followed, growing sharper as her mind turned. The little ghost… the child that never stopped smiling, even after death. Her chest tightened. That loss hadn’t faded. It lived on, bone-deep and aching.

And then…

A figure stepped into the courtyard.

Gu Jie froze. Her hands curled tightly, but she couldn’t move. Her breath stilled.

There he was.

He looked exactly the same, except a bit younger. The same dark robes, the same smooth gait, the same face… young and composed… the same haunting stillness in his eyes. Shenyuan. The butcher. The one who had taken everything from her. Or almost taken everything from her.

The courtyard dimmed for a moment. Her vision swam.

Then…

Thwap!

Ren Jingyi slammed her palm against the back of Shenyuan’s head.

“Why are you late!?” she barked. Her tone was furious, her expression somewhere between an annoyed sister and a disappointed teacher. She grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him, lecturing like a matron. “We’ve been waiting forever! Do you know how long it took Big Sis Jie to calm down after she learned you might not come!?”

Gu Jie opened her mouth to speak… but her body moved before her will could catch up. Her voice slipped through her lips, quiet and gentle.

“Take it easy on Hei Mao, Jingyi’er…”

Her tone made the girl freeze mid-scolding.

Shenyuan… no, not him.. The young adolescent looked up and gave an awkward chuckle. He faked a cough and quickly put distance between himself and Ren Jingyi, his hand flying to his face, attempting to hide the deep flush climbing his cheeks.

It was Hei Mao, and not the monster that had stolen his body.

Hei Mao, with his boyish nervousness, his crooked grin, and the red scarf wrapped around his face, the very one their Master had given him since their fateful encounter. The scarf fluttered gently as he backed away, and Gu Jie noticed the embroidery near the hem: a black cat.

“Unfair,” Hei Mao muttered. “Jingyi’s hitting me for no reason. What did I even do to you, you smelly fish!?”

The last words exploded from him like a firecracker. His frustration was boiling over.

Ren Jingyi turned red, crimson really. “S-smelly? Me?” She sniffed herself furiously as she started panicking. “No way… do I smell? Do I smell?!”

Jiang Zhen burst out laughing from his garden bed. “Hahaha! Who’s the smelly one now, brat?”

“I… It’s not because I’m a fish that I smell, okay!?” Ren Jingyi shouted, stamping her foot. “I’m going to become a dragon, I goddamn swear!”

“Language!” cried Lu Gao, swooping down behind her. In one smooth motion, he picked her up by the back of the neck like a naughty kitten.

She yelped and spun with a haymaker. He caught it easily.

“It must be tough,” Lu Gao said solemnly, “smelling so fishy all the time.”

“You bastard!” she snarled, twisting in the air. “I’m a fair celestial maiden! Even my farts smell nice!”

Hei Mao took a shaky step backward and gagged dramatically. “Uegh. Heavens help us. She’s gone too far. She’s delusional.”

Gu Jie watched the scene unfold: chaotic, unfiltered, and absurd. It didn’t make sense. The dead were laughing. The lost were scolding each other. The broken were whole. And somehow, it all felt more real than anything she had ever known. She didn’t know if this was the future. A vision. A memory made manifest by the Heavenly Eye. But for this brief moment, she let herself believe.

Believe that the pain had passed.

That the dead could come back.

That laughter was still possible.

That, maybe, just maybe, there was a world where she could smile again with everyone.

“It’s all real,” said a voice beside her.

The courtyard froze.

Jiang Zhen’s laughter stilled, caught in the curve of his grin. Ren Xun, mid-scoff, hung like a sculpture. Lu Gao’s outstretched hand remained in place, holding a squirming, indignant Ren Jingyi. Hei Mao’s gagging expression lingered, comical and exaggerated. The entire world had stopped… like time itself dared not move forward.

Gu Jie turned.

Standing beside her was herself.

Or someone who looked like her.

No… not just looked. It was her. But... older. Wiser. Way prettier. There was a quiet grace in the way this other Gu Jie held herself, her back straight, her eyes steady with purpose. She wore dark robes lined with crimson serpents, just like Gu Jie’s own… but there was one glaring difference. Embroidered into her right sleeve, woven in shimmering thread, was a single golden dragon.

This Gu Jie was beautiful, more beautiful than Gu Jie ever dreamt of becoming.

“Who… are you?” Gu Jie asked, her voice hesitant, barely above a whisper.

The other Gu Jie smiled with the faintest trace of exhaustion. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

Gu Jie swallowed. Her chest tightened again. “His Majesty told me… he said Master is in danger. That he might die. What do I need to do? Just tell me. Anything. I’ll do it. Just tell me how to save him.”

“There is no saving him,” said the other Gu Jie. ”It will happen because fate has plans for him.”

The words landed like a blow.

Gu Jie felt her knees weaken. “Is… is he dead?” she asked, her voice cracking as tremors ran down her spine.

“You can’t know that,” said the other Gu Jie, softly. “And neither can I.”

“Then…”

“But you must understand something.”

The older version stepped forward, her eyes filled with something deeper than sadness… It was conviction. “Your Master doesn’t need to be saved. Not by you. Not by anyone. What he needs… is a place to return to.”

“A place…” Gu Jie repeated.

“A home,” the older her clarified. “That’s what you are to him. That’s what you’ve always been. Return to the Empire. Be strong. Be waiting. That is how you save him.”

Gu Jie’s voice rose, ragged and desperate. “There has to be more! Something I can do! I’m not just going to stand by!”

For a moment, the older Gu Jie flinched. Just a small flicker of pain crossed her face. But it was enough.

She knew.

Gu Jie knew.

“Your Master will die today,” the other said, her voice a whisper of finality. “And you can do nothing to stop it.”

The words didn’t echo. They didn’t need to. They simply stayed, like a weight in the lungs, too heavy to exhale.

“He faces a Great Enemy this world has never seen. Not in this age. Not in the age before. You must prepare… not just for his death.”

Gu Jie’s breath caught.

“…But for his resurrection.”

Silence followed. The wind refused to blow. The Bodhi Tree held its leaves in reverent stillness.

“You will forget this memory,” the older her said finally. “When you wake, you’ll think of home. You’ll feel longing. You’ll feel helpless. And you’ll pray. Not because it will change the outcome. But because he needs it. Because you need it. Because you must remember…”

She stepped forward, pressing a finger gently to Gu Jie’s brow.

“…Pray for him.”

The world unraveled like silk.

Light poured in. Sound returned.

The laughter. The shouting. The silly bickering about smelly fish and celestial maidens.

But Gu Jie didn’t laugh. She stood quietly in the middle of the frozen dream, her hand rising slowly to her heart.

And when the vision faded completely and her eyes fluttered open… drenched in soft golden light… There was only one thought in her soul.

“Please… come home, Master.”

…

..

.

When Gu Jie vanished… when the younger version of herself finally slipped from the dream… only she remained. The courtyard pulsed once, like a held breath being exhaled, and time began to move again.

Laughter rolled in first. Then voices. Jiang Zhen was chuckling. Ren Jingyi was still red-faced, flailing as Lu Gao held her by the collar. Hei Mao’s scarf fluttered as he adjusted it, muttering indignantly.

She stood silent at the edge of it all. No one noticed her… not truly. Not as she was. The world accepted her presence as if she belonged there, as if she had always belonged there.

Then, from her left, she felt a presence.

“Yaaaawn*… man, what time is it…?”

Da Wei strolled in, looking disheveled and vaguely confused, stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes as though he’d just woken from a deep nap. His steps were lazy, his robes were rumpled, and he wore no shoes. His hair was tied loosely behind his head, though a few strands had escaped to dance over his face.

A chorus of voices greeted him at once.

“Master!”

“You’re late!”

“Where have you been?”

He waved them off sleepily, catching sight of her as he stepped forward. He tilted his head, scrutinizing her face.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly. “You look… erm… worried?”

She met his gaze. Her smile came softly and small. “Just reminiscing about the past, Master.”

“Ugh. I hate reminiscing,” Da Wei mumbled, already half-turning away as he stifled another yawn. “I want a vacation.”

The words weren’t even cold in the air when another presence arrived.

“You can rest when you’re dead,” came the dry voice of Nongmin. He approached with measured steps, his dark imperial robes catching the light with every movement. Behind him trailed General Zhu Shin in armor, and Sikao Biaoji, who carried a stack of scrolls so high it nearly blocked his face.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Nongmin added.

Da Wei groaned audibly, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on. The Holy Ascension Empire can take a break or two, right?”

“As if,” came a blank voice from the courtyard steps.

Lady Alice had arrived… rosy pink hair catching the sunlight, though several strands shimmered into a deeper red at the tips, betraying her shifting mood. She was frowning, her arms were crossed, and her mood was just as sour. “I swear, Dave and Joan would be so disappointed in you,” she added, tone sharp. “They are busy doing what needs to be done… and here you are, slacking off.”

Da Wei threw up his hands. “Give me a break! I’ll get to it after I sleep for ten years! Is that so much to ask? Just ten years? That’s like a blink to us, right?” He sauntered into the courtyard center, spinning once like a lazy dancer before plopping onto a wooden bench. “Let’s have a barbecue party or something! Just once! Come on, Jie, back me up here!”

Gu Jie laughed. A rueful, knowing laugh. It was so him, wasn’t it? That wild spark. That need to rest only after saving the world… then trying to save it again in his dreams.

From behind, Lu Gao piped in, his voice entirely too casual. “I did buy groceries.”

A beat of silence. Then Jiang Zhen clapped once. “Well, hell. That settles it.”

“No it does not!” Lady Alice snapped.

Ren Jingyi, still in Lu Gao’s grip, raised a hand. “Can I roast fish?”

“You’ll be the fish then,” Hei Mao said, still adjusting his scarf, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Seriously? You? Roast fish? Isn’t that… erm… uh…”

“I am not! What? Spit it out!”

The courtyard erupted again.

And then there was more laughter.

“Also,” cried Ren Jingyi, “Fish eat each other all the same, okay!?”

“I didn’t say anything!”