#shangxian

[lush--lush]

Manhua redraw

[foxghost]

It's out today!

[pommiigranate]

Hold up I never put my mianwus here

[danmeinews]

Seven Seas revealed the cover for the Vol. 4 finale of Three Hundred Years of Longing by Mu Su Li! ⚔️💕

[welcometogusu]

Издательство Seven Seas анонсировало обложку финального четвёртого томика новеллы «Три века без бессмертных» [Му Сули]

Ожидаем в сентябре ~

[bellaroles]

Shangxian has one of the best time-manipulation plotlines I've ever read. It's a very refreshing take for me. It's been ages since I read something this mind-blowing. It has some of Diana Wynne Jones' full-circle kinda plot to it that I hardly found anywhere else and also the execution is flawless. A bit of a slow start at first but with a little patience, the pay off at later chapters is so satisfying!

[yuedianxia]

Wu Xingxue

[fateandloveentwined]

chapter 84, wildfires

Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years (shangxian)

He looks at his frosted fingers. Through the translucence, the cool, white light evinces. He replies, “I am looking… I am looking at the blood it has stained.”

The spectre answers, “There is blood? It looks clean. Plainly so.”

He laughs again. His gaze centres on the depths of the eyelashes, and in the shadows no light passes through. He says, “It’s only that you cannot see it.”

The spectre asks, “Then only you can see it?”

“Yes.”

“How much blood?”

“… too much.”

To much, so much that it is hard to count. But even though it is hard to count, he remembers everything.

It shouldn’t be. His memory couldn’t be considered exceptional, and for many things, he glances at them and lets them pass. They rarely get to his heart. Yet he remembers, clearly and patently, the mortals he killed with his sword. Every profile, every pair of eyes that closes, every time he feels the thrumming life weaken and quiet, slowly fade out and finally return to the eternal void — he remembers every instance with clarity.

The silence of death stands out from every silence in the world. It makes all clamour and vivacity come to a stop, it immures people in the endless fog, as if besides himself, there is no other man.

As such, in the depths of the stillness, he has never had a good night of rest.

It makes him think of the many moments of people dying.

Now, with thousands of souls crying wailing ceaseless above his head, he still gets caught in the confines of the silence that only death feels.

It's the kind of overbearing desolation across his earth. He laughs standing amidst.

He hears the spirits murmuring speculations, saying to him, “You seem to have black fog over your body.”

Wu Xingxue scrutinises himself and agrees, “I see it.”

It is black, smoke and fog apparitions encircling his fingers, arms, shoulders, and even his whole. The black fog makes the spirits cower a little. They are half fearful, half disgusted, and again the scene descends into agitation. The entire enclosure stirs to an incessant rising sea of fury.

They ask, “What is that!?”

“What is that abomination!”

…

Wu Xingxue gazes quietly at the black air twining about his whole. He answers after a long while. “It’s the air of the evil.”

This is one of the distinct paradoxes in the world — the limpid, ethereal aura of the xian and the winding, convoluted strands of the evil mo aura materialising on the same person — and to have it appear on the king of lings, it feels like the greatest irony.

And yet really it is the most congruent thing of all.

Really, there is nothing more harmonious…

he says in his heart.

Is there some devil that kills more than him on this earth? On what grounds — to have stained the same immeasurable volumes of blood, those mo’s would have been exterminated beyond repair. And yet regally he sits atop the nine ethers of the skies, anchored and firmly watching over humanity.

On what grounds — all because that Dao of the skies demands compassion and iniquity, demands blessings and calamities?

This isn’t just.

— chapter 84, wildfires

original excerpt:

他看着自己手指上结了霜，透着冷冷的白，答道：“我在看……这上面沾有多少血。” 灵魄说：“有血么？明明很干净。” 他又笑起来，双眸落在眼睫深浓的阴影里，不透一点光。他说：“你们看不见而已。” 灵魄道：“那你就能看见？” “嗯。” “有多少？” “……太多了。” 太多了，多到难以计数。可即便难以计数，他却全都记得。 他明明算不上记性很好，明明很多事扫一眼就过，并不入心。唯独剑下杀过的人记得清清楚楚，每一张面孔，每一次阖眼，每一回感受那些蓬勃跳动的生命在他剑下慢慢微弱、安静，最后归于永久的死寂，他都记得清清楚楚。 死亡的静同世间任何一种安静都不一样，它会让所有喧闹都戛然而止，它会把人困在望不到边的云雾里，好像除了自己以外，再没有第二个人。 所以……他在安静无人的时候，从来都睡不好一场觉。 那会让他想起太多人死去的瞬间。 但如今，即便头顶有数千灵魄哭叫不休，他还是陷入了只有死亡才有的寂静里。 那种孤寂漫天席地，他笑着站在那里。 他听见灵魄们议论纷纷，同他说：“你身上好像有黑色的雾。” 乌行雪扫量着自己，道：“看到了。” 一些黑色的、烟雾似的东西正萦绕着他的手指、肩臂，甚至整个身体。那黑雾让灵魄们有些瑟缩，他们半是畏惧、半是厌恶，再次陷入了躁动里。整个封禁之地都被搅动得震荡不息。 他们问：“这是什么？！” “这是什么东西？” …… 乌行雪静静地看着那些黑气缠绕满身，良久之后答道：“邪魔气。” 那是世间独一无二的矛盾场景——缥缈澄澈的仙气和丝丝缕缕的邪魔气出现在同一个人身上……出现在灵王身上，就像一种莫大的讽刺。  可偏偏又再合适不过。 真的再合适不过了…… 他在心里说。 世上还有比他杀人更多的邪魔么……凭什么同样沾血无数，那些邪魔会被斩杀殆尽。而他却端坐于九霄的云层上，安安稳稳地俯瞰人间呢？ 凭什么……就凭那灵台天道要善要恶，要福要祸么？ 这不公平。 —— 第84章 山火

不见上仙三百年，木苏里

previous translations: he knelt amidst, and kissed the earth (panguan), and chapter 60, fragmented souls (shangxian)