Chapter 291 The Thirty-Sixth Day of Entering a Xuanhuan Novel (Extra 1)

Chapter 291: The Thirty-Sixth Day in a Fantasy Novel (Extra Story 1)

Time moved especially slowly.

It had been a full thirteen hundred years since An Yi and Xie Xuandu had come down from the Taoist temple after the "All-Cultivator Prayer Assembly" in the capital.

Human dynasties had risen and fallen several times, and the landscape had shifted subtly, yet An Yi and Xie Xuandu remained exactly as they always had been.

Tianshan Town had now become Tianshan City, known for sitting right next to the Jiaolian Mountain Range.

On an old bluestone street along the river, east of the city, sat an unremarkable shop with no signboard—only an ancient wooden carving hanging above the doorframe, shaped like some indistinct, fuzzy thing, vaguely resembling a curled-up animal, making passersby wonder.

The shop's interior was simply furnished, yet everything about it felt refined.

The display shelves held no gold or silver treasures, just oddly shaped stones, herbs giving off a faint, refreshing scent, and a few scrolls with a subtle spiritual glow.

The shop was run by two men who were striking and impossible to forget.

One wore a plain-colored robe, his ink-black hair loosely tied up with a simple jade hairpin. His features were breathtakingly beautiful, as if he'd gathered all the world's radiance and moonlight, yet carrying a stillness born of centuries.

He often sat on a low couch by the window, reading or playing chess, his fingertips occasionally gliding across the pages, quiet and serene, like an immortal stepped out of a painting.

The other was handsome, with phoenix eyes that held a smile, flawless in every gesture.

He would always come up behind the handsome man who was reading, rest his chin on his shoulder, wrap his arms around his waist, and murmur something, making the man occasionally turn his head and smile back.

Those who passed by understood—this was a couple deeply in love.

A thousand years had left no mark on them.

"Closing up for the day." Xie Xuandu waved his hand, gently shutting the shop door, shutting out the deepening dusk and the drizzling rain outside.

He turned, walked to the chess couch, and casually squeezed in next to An Yi, pulling him fully into his arms with a contented sigh: "That three-hundred-year-old fleeceflower spirit actually wanted to trade its shed skin for a spirit-gathering talisman painted by your own hand—what a pipe dream."

An Yi allowed himself to be held, his gaze still fixed on the chessboard. He chuckled at the remark, and a black stone slipped from his fingers, breaking what seemed like an unsolvable position for the white pieces: "It's sincere at heart."

He paused, then added: "Besides, didn't you throw it three miles away last time because it was too noisy for you? It still dared to come back—that takes guts."

Xie Xuandu laughed softly, his chest rumbling against An Yi's back: "Who told it to bother you during your nap."

He said it with total confidence, then lowered his head, rubbing the tip of his nose against An Yi's sensitive ear, feeling An Yi's barely-there shiver, and his smile deepened: "My husband—how dare it disturb you?"

"I'm hungry." An Yi pushed away the hand that was trying to wander downward, said flatly.

"Alright, I'll cook." Xie Xuandu got up smoothly and headed toward the small kitchen in the back courtyard.

Outside the window, rain pattered softly; inside, lamplight glowed warmly, filled with the simple smell of home cooking.

"I got a message from Gan Feng a few days ago." Xie Xuandu picked up a piece of stir-fried bamboo shoot and put it in An Yi's bowl, mentioning it casually.

An Yi looked up at him: "Yeah, he's still looking."

A faint smile touched his lips—whether from wistfulness or regret, it was hard to tell: "Over nine hundred years ago, he became the commander of the Demon Suppression Bureau, reaching the peak of mortal power and prestige, yet he still can't let go of his obsession with becoming an immortal."

"They say that in recent years, he's traversed nearly every possible secret realm and forbidden land in this world, looking for every supposedly hidden inheritance."

Gan Feng was no longer that loud, system-dependent scholar from back then.

Time had forged him into a steady, imposing figure—a true guardian of order in the mortal world.

Under his command, the Demon Suppression Bureau had grown far larger and more influential than in any previous era.

His personal power had reached the ceiling of what cultivators in this world could imagine.

Yet the path to immortality was still as elusive as ever.

"He's stuck where we are." Xie Xuandu said flatly: "His power has long been maxed out, even overflowing, but ahead... there's no path."

An Yi ate quietly.

A thousand years of searching—wasn't it the same for him and Xie Xuandu?

His supernatural abilities, spatial control, water and ice manipulation, and his understanding and use of various laws—had all reached an inconceivable level.

Xie Xuandu's Dao arts and the spells he had refined and fused had also reached perfection.

They could even move mountains, fill the seas, and summon wind and rain.

But ascension? Transcendence? Going to a higher world?

No feeling, no call, no legendary heavenly gate, no tribulation lightning—not even a test.

An Yi set down his chopsticks, staring out at the misty rainy night, and said slowly: "I have a theory."

Xie Xuandu looked at him, his gaze focused.

"Maybe the 'ceiling' of this world is right here."

An Yi's voice was soft: "The rules themselves don't permit 'ascension' to exist. What's called becoming an immortal... maybe it's just something that belongs to a higher-level world, unrelated to this one."

Like a fish in a pond—no matter how powerful, it cannot leap into the sea on its own strength, unless there's a channel from the sea.

Or unless the pond itself connects to the sea.

And the world they inhabited might be a "pond" that was sealed, or not yet firmly connected to the "upper world."

Xie Xuandu, hearing this, showed no sign of disappointment. Instead, he smiled, reached over, and took An Yi's hand where it rested on the table.

"So what if it is?" His fingertips traced An Yi's slightly cool knuckles, his tone carrying a persistence that had lasted a thousand years and a hint of lazy contentment: "If I can grow old with you in this world, witness all the changes of the mortal realm, and savor every aspect of life—then I don't need this 'immortality.'"

He leaned closer, his phoenix eyes reflecting An Yi's serene features, and said with complete seriousness: "Besides, every day with An Yi is paradise to me."

An Yi looked at him, at those eyes that had remained fervent for a thousand years and reflected only himself, and smiled.

He turned his hand over and gently clasped Xie Xuandu's in return.

"Mm." He responded, then paused, adding: "This place is wonderful because you're here."

With him by his side, the long years would no longer be lonely.

Running a small shop, tucked away in the mortal world, watching flowers bloom and fall, clouds gather and scatter—that was wonderful too.

As for that elusive path to immortality, that higher-level world... perhaps one day they'd find the answer, in some future world, or perhaps never.

But what does it matter?

Outside the window, the rain gradually ceased, and a clear moon broke through the clouds, casting its soft glow upon the city's dark-tiled roofs and white walls, and through the latticed window, quietly enveloping the two figures nestled together inside the shop. A thousand years like an instant, an instant like a thousand years.

Gan Feng kept searching—that was his path.

And An Yi and Xie Xuandu had already found their own mortal paradise in each other.