On the immortal terrace grows a rare tree. Once every five hundred years, it bears a pair of twin fruits—both the reincarnated souls of immortal cultivators too obsessed, too stubborn, too damned to ever rest in peace.

Xue Ranran, frail since birth, dragged her ghost of a life into the world of cultivation in the name of survival. Her last-ditch gamble? Apprenticing under Su Yishui—a prodigy cloaked in cold grace, lips sharp as his sword.

From the moment she stepped across the sect’s threshold, the whispers never stopped. Su Yishui’s own master had once been the infamous demoness Mu Qingge—a woman soaked in sin, feared across realms, whose crimes piled so high even the heavens turned away. Two decades ago, Su Yishui led a righteous crusade to wipe her out, slicing his way through blood and betrayal, until the demon who raised him was dust scattered to the wind.

Ranran? She played dumb, kept her head low, and stuffed her belly high. Life was already hell—why chase immortality when a warm meal and a cold drink hit harder?

The sect teemed with beautiful senior brothers, dazzling enough to make her eyes sore. Her master, Su Yishui, may look like a fallen deity—but he wore frost like a second skin.

Beautiful? Yes. Safe? Not at all.

She had half a mind to run before he melted her spine into splinters.

Rumor had it the demoness, Mu Qingge, had spent her twisted life pining for him. Wanted him. Couldn’t have him. But now she’s back—reborn, rebranded, practically dripping virtue—and ready to rekindle that forbidden flame.

Ranran was charmed. Who wouldn’t be? This kind of twisted fairytale love was the stuff of legends. She even prepared a generous red envelope, planning to bless their messy reunion with silver and sarcasm.

Until Su Yishui shoved her against a wall, close enough for his breath to fog up her bones.

She stiffened, heart hammering, but bit back the tremble. “Immortal Master,” she said, voice low but defiant, “please, be loyal. Don’t let your lover down—again.”

But Su Yishui only stared at her like he’d fallen into a dream he couldn’t claw out of. His voice was a broken whisper, soaked in obsession:

“Qingge… how much longer are you going to lie to me?”

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