The copper coin landed squarely, wedged perfectly between the stone tiles.

The Hall of Wind-Catching fell into silence.

"Ah well, there's no helping it. Seems like fate has spoken," Li Mo slapped his thigh and sighed with exaggerated resignation.

"Even this could get me picked? Guess I’m the one going, then."

Pojun frowned at Li Mo, never expecting such a stroke of luck—or misfortune. He turned to the others.

"Any objections?"

The group exchanged glances before Dong Changtian finally spoke up.

"Ah, what’s done is done. We’ll just have to do our small part."

Pojun brightened, only for Dong Changtian to add,

"Bring it all out."

A few blade-hunters carried in a large chest filled with an odd assortment: carefully packed rations, a saddle stirrup, fine liquor, and even an exquisitely crafted urn...

"Brother Li Mo, go in peace."

"Sniff... Sob..."

"When you come back alive, we’ll climb trees for bird eggs together..."

Tearful farewells were waved at Li Mo.

"What kind of emotional nonsense is this? Do you want me back or not?!"

Li Mo’s eye twitched violently.

Staring at the chest, he felt like surviving the trip would somehow be rude.

"Enough. No more shirking," Pojun massaged his temples. They said the people of Mocheng were united, fearless in the face of death.

But in the end, mortals were just mortals—no different at their core.

He strode to the door and snapped,

"Report to me by high noon tomorrow."

---

The moon hung high.

As the year’s end approached, a light snow drifted through the evening air. After leaving the Hall of Wind-Catching, the group decided to have hotpot at Li Mo’s place, since he’d be leaving at dawn.

Li Mo agreed—he still had things to discuss with them. Who knew when he’d return? Elders like Dong Changtian and Qi Tiezhu, though lively now, were aging. Without breaking the boundary between mortal and celestial, their vitality would fade swiftly.

"Eh? That candy shop’s gone?"

"That was Wang Mazi’s place after he came back from the Earth City. Lines used to stretch for miles. The first time I tasted candy, it was Brother Li Mo who bought it for me."

"Now it’s a nut shop. Run by Wang Mazi’s grandson."

Walking the transformed streets with these old-timers, listening to their nostalgia, Li Mo noticed another "Brother Li Mo" in their stories.

Probably just someone with the same surname.

He’d once asked the old village chief’s name, but Dong Changtian would always wave it off, saying the chief didn’t want to be remembered after passing.

Yet their bond was unmistakable.

"That river’s gone? The fields too..."

Dong Changtian had eagerly suggested catching fish for the hotpot.

But when Li Mo led him to the spot, the river and farmland had vanished, replaced by bustling new streets.

"Now we’ve got waterwheels outside the city for irrigation—Brother Li Mo’s invention. Who carries buckets anymore?" Dong Geyu shook his head.

"So much has changed..." Dong Changtian suddenly seemed wistful.

"Change for the better. It’ll keep improving," Li Mo smiled, picking up a stick and swishing it twice.

"I’ve written down my plans. Follow them as needed. The future’s only getting brighter."

"Should be brighter. Good, good."

Dong Changtian nodded, then eyed the stick. "That’s a mighty straight stick you got there."

"Want it?"

"Pfft, at my age? Only if it weren’t so straight."

Laughter followed. No fish, no bird eggs, no potatoes—just groceries from the market.

They say when places change but people remain, the past lingers like a dream.

Yet one place defied time: the blacksmith’s forge where Li Mo first arrived.

Dong Changtian’s group had preserved it exactly as it was, untouched.

After moving back, Li Mo—now a swordsman—would occasionally indulge in smithing, rising and resting with the sun.

Ying Bing stayed by his side, day after day, year after year.

Here, time stood still.

People used to wonder: how could an ordinary blacksmith and a celestial being—one even the Tianzu avoided mentioning—live together so seamlessly?

What did he have that deserved her?

But over time, they understood.

Li Mo carried a quiet brilliance, one that only years could reveal, growing brighter with time.

Creak—

The heavy wooden door opened, releasing the aroma of hotpot through the light snowfall.

"I’m home."

"Mm. Dinner’s almost ready."

Ying Bing’s dark hair was braided over one shoulder, her indigo dress simple and washed soft.

Her lips, tinted red from sampling the broth (though the base was Li Mo’s recipe), pursed slightly—she still doubted her cooking.

Nodding at the group, she ushered them in.

When Li Mo reached for peanuts, her chopsticks tapped his hand.

"Wash first."

"...Right."

Sheepish, Li Mo headed to the water vat.

Dong Changtian, Qi Tiezhu, and the others—though frequent visitors—couldn’t shake their awe.

Who’d believe this woman had single-handedly ended the last celestial calamity?

Seeing her like this, the world felt upside-down.

"You too."

"Oh! Right."

Under her gaze, the elders lined up like scolded children.

Seated around the table—Li Mo and Ying Bing sharing one bench, the rest squeezing onto others—they ate and drank merrily as the snow thickened.

Li Mo sipped his wine. "Hope you’ll all still be kicking when I return. Wouldn’t do for me to survive the battlefield only to find you’ve gone ahead."

"Not a chance."

"I might be gone two, three years. Worst case—"

A light step on his foot cut him off.

Ying Bing frowned. "Say ‘pew pew.’"

"...Pew pew."

"Brother Li Mo, no need to spit so hard. I haven’t eaten yet," Qi Tiezhu winced.

Dong Changtian waved it off. "Enough gloom. Next time we meet, we’ll give you a big red envelope—for the wedding."

Li Mo blinked. "What wedding?"

"Yours, obviously."

"Right, right! If we’re all well, it’s time to make it official."

"......"

"How about we consummate the marriage first and hold the ceremony later?"

"???"