Volume Two: A Season of Turmoil Twists and Turns Chapter 111: Agony Beyond Endurance — The Bitter Fruits of a Doomed Fate

Fang Wanshan’s hands trembled as he stood before the door, too afraid to open it. He feared this might be the last time he saw Rushuang, he feared that once inside, Rushuang would no longer be there—that the calm yet warm life they shared was about to end.

With a piercing scream, Fang Wanshan threw the door open without hesitation. On the bed lay Rushuang, drenched in sweat, her face pale as death, reaching out weakly to him. Fang Wanshan grasped her hand tightly and broke down in tears.

“No, no, please don’t die! We don’t want the child anymore, just stay alive!” he sobbed desperately.

Rushuang was already too weak to respond. Before closing her eyes, she whispered one final sentence, “Give my life... to her...” Her words were cut short as she slipped away.

“No, no, please, why is heaven so cruel to me? Rushuang, Rushuang!” His cries could not bring her back.

Tears flowed uncontrollably, his heart shattered, grief unbearable. The midwife shook her head sadly—this poor woman had lost both her life and child in childbirth. Suddenly, Fang Wanshan wiped his tears away, pushed the midwife out the door, closed it firmly behind her, took several deep breaths, and bit his finger, forming a hand seal.

Though helping Rushuang become human again at the cost of nearly all his spiritual cultivation had drained him, Fang Wanshan summoned every ounce of his soul power and remaining cultivation. He forcibly infused his celestial and life souls into Rushuang’s womb. Despite the cost, he was determined that this child must be born.

Under the control of Fang Wanshan’s celestial and life souls, the child shifted position in Rushuang’s womb. With his soul power, it took less than the time it takes for incense to burn.

“Wah~ wah~ wah~” The child cried out at birth, and with the newborn’s arrival, Rushuang’s blood spilled onto the bed like a crimson flood, each drop falling to the floor.

Fang Wanshan’s soul power was nearly exhausted; his life and celestial souls were severely damaged from being separated from his body for so long. Before he could hold his child, he collapsed unconscious.

When he opened his eyes again, over thirty days had passed. Fang Wanshan’s parents, knowing he could not bear the blow, fed him thin porridge daily to sustain his life.

Rushuang was gone. After his eyes closed, Fang Wanshan never saw her again—not even in dreams. It was as if the woman who had been his constant companion had never existed beyond his imagination.

Yet, gazing upon the swaddled infant and the embroidery Rushuang had crafted before her passing, Fang Wanshan often contemplated ending his own life. Perhaps their earthly fate could no longer be renewed, but maybe, beyond this world, they could meet again. Still, if he died, what would become of the child? Of his parents?

This torment—the unbearable longing to die but being unable, to see her but never again meeting—plagued Fang Wanshan for a lifetime. Thankfully, as the child grew, bearing an increasing resemblance to her mother, his heart found some solace.

This child was Fang Hua, a name Rushuang had chosen when she first conceived. It was not only beautiful but unisex—a boy would grow to be dignified and talented; a girl, a peerless beauty of unmatched grace.

Fang Hua lived up to her mother’s hopes. She resembled Rushuang not only in appearance—pure and flawless—but was also bright and perceptive from an early age.

Yet the cursed consequences of their ill-fated bond did not end with Rushuang’s death. Instead, these consequences ultimately fell upon Fang Hua. Around the age of six or seven, the clever and innocent Fang Hua began to emit a faint and fragile aura of demonic energy, mirroring her mother’s hidden nature.

Though both her parents were human, Rushuang’s body concealed a demon’s heart, her demonic aura suppressed only by Fang Wanshan’s mastery of Taoist cultivation. But young Fang Hua, harboring a demon’s heart herself, had no one to dispel her demonic aura. It was eventually detected by a wandering Taoist priest.

As the Taoist prepared to exorcise her, Fang Wanshan clung to Fang Hua desperately, begging for her life. He took full responsibility, willing to exchange his own life for hers. The Taoist, moved yet wary at Fang Wanshan’s resolve, asked for the truth behind Fang Hua’s origins.

Upon hearing the full story, the Taoist sheathed his sword. He gazed silently at the frightened, tearful Fang Hua and the graying, weathered Fang Wanshan, unable to find words.

Finally, the Taoist sighed and used half a lifetime’s cultivation to dispel Fang Hua’s demonic aura. Fang Wanshan, overwhelmed with gratitude, prostrated himself repeatedly, thanking the Taoist for saving their daughter’s life.

Freed from the demonic aura, Fang Hua was no longer a demon and would no longer attract the attention of the Taoist sect. Watching his lively and adorable daughter, Fang Wanshan felt some peace, believing he had honored Rushuang’s memory—ensuring their daughter could live a normal life, enjoying the tranquility of the years.

But heaven was not yet done with them. The curse had only just begun. When Fang Hua reached her early teens, her once delicate features began to change. The beautiful resemblance to her mother grew elusive. By fifteen or sixteen, she sprouted a dark beard, transforming from a budding beauty into a rough, squinting tomboy.

Though Fang Hua’s appearance became strange, Fang Wanshan seemed to accept the ravages of their cursed fate. He told himself that no matter what, as long as he still breathed, he would care for his parents and Fang Hua alongside Rushuang.

Though Rushuang was gone, every smile, every gesture, every word she spoke was deeply etched into his mind—never forgotten.

After listening to Fang Wanshan’s long tale, Yang Chengzi, like the wandering Taoist before him, was at a loss for words. Fang Hua herself heard about her mother for the first time from her father and wept bitterly.

Even though her mother was a demon, and she was one too, Fang Hua longed to be embraced by her mother, to share all the coldness and grievances she had endured over the years. She wished to see what her mother truly looked like—the woman who had made her father vow never to remarry, never once to look at another woman. Yet all of this was but a distant dream, for her mother was gone.

“Fang Wanshan, you defied heaven and have paid the price, but Fang Hua is innocent. Do you still remember the appearance of that wandering Taoist?” Yang Chengzi asked.

Fang Wanshan nodded. “Her current appearance resembles that Taoist in about eighty percent. Father is sorry.”

Fang Hua shook her head tearfully. “No, Father. If I were you, I would have married Mother too. She made you long for her day and night, never to remarry. She must have been a woman worthy of a lifetime’s love. Father, don’t blame yourself—I don’t blame you.”

“So it must be because Fang Hua was still young when the Taoist dispelled her demonic aura. Though he used half a lifetime’s cultivation to cleanse her, the residual Taoist power lingered in her consciousness. Over time, as she grew, this leftover power made her resemble that Taoist more and more, eventually shaping her features into the mask of the Ten Officials,” Yang Chengzi explained.

“Ah, Taoist, can she ever return to her original appearance?” Fang Wanshan asked eagerly.

Hearing the cause of Fang Hua’s transformation, Fang Wanshan grasped Yang Chengzi’s hand with hope. Yang Chengzi shook his head.

“I can’t guarantee it. Fang Hua is already a grown young woman, no longer growing. If there were a way to purge the residual Taoist power from her consciousness, perhaps she could regain her original features. But that’s only my guess—I’ve never tried.”

Fang Wanshan’s hope flickered and nearly died. “Taoist, do you know how to purge the residual Taoist power in her consciousness?”

“Either let her become a demon again, or accompany us to Puxian Temple to find a great monk. Buddhist teachings can resolve all things. We are also seeking that monk on this journey. For Fang Hua, it might be a chance.”

“Where is this Puxian Temple?” Fang Wanshan asked.

“We know such a temple exists but not its exact location. We’ve been asking and searching along the way. Yutai Town sees many travelers; perhaps someone knows. We plan to stay here a while longer, hoping to find its precise whereabouts.”

Fang Wanshan glanced at Yang Chengzi, then at Fang Hua. Before he could speak, Fang Hua said firmly, “No, I won’t go there. I won’t leave. I will stay and take care of you all in Mother’s place. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But…” Fang Wanshan’s words faltered. Seeing Fang Hua’s resolution, he recalled what Rushuang once told him: “If the day comes when I am gone, I will leave you a child to care for you well.”

Yang Chengzi stayed no longer. Though a Taoist accustomed to life and death, he did not wish to linger in this place. His eyes red, he left, telling them, “I’m staying at Cuiwei Tower. If you need anything, come find me.”

Thus, the story of fate, loss, and hope intertwined around Fang Wanshan and his family, binding them to a destiny both tragic and tender.