Transmigration; Married to My Ex-Fiancé's Uncle-Chapter 283; Celestial King

But something felt wrong. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Long Tian sat up, his hand moving to the space beside him where she should have been. The sheets were cold. Not the coolness of an hour’s absence, but the deep chill of a bed left empty for many hours.

His heart seized with immediate panic.

He rose quickly, his form shifting fluidly in the water as he pulled on his robes. "My love?" he called out, swimming to the adjoining chamber that served as her dressing room, though she hadn’t had the strength to use it in weeks.

Empty. Her morning tea sat untouched on the table, cold and forgotten, though she’d barely had the strength to lift a cup in recent months anyway.

A tendril of unease coiled in his chest, tightening into dread.

"Xiao Yu," he called urgently, summoning one of his wife’s attendants.

The young celestial maiden appeared immediately, swimming through the doorway and bowing low, her tail elegant even in her haste. "Yes, my lord?"

"Where is the lady?" His voice was sharp, edged with fear.

Xiao Yu’s face paled slightly. "My lord, I... I haven’t seen her this morning. I assumed she was still resting in your chambers. She’s been so weak lately, confined to bed..."

"She’s not in bed," Long Tian said, his voice rising. "She’s not in our chambers. She’s gone."

Xiao Yu’s eyes widened in shock. "Gone? But my lord, she can barely move, she couldn’t have....."

"Send for Mei," Long Tian commanded, the water around him rippling with his agitation. "Immediately."

"My lord, Mei has also been absent since last night. We thought perhaps she was attending to some special duties for the lady..."

"Find her. Now. Search the entire palace. My wife is missing and she’s in no condition to be anywhere but in bed!"

Xiao Yu fled, her tail propelling her swiftly through the water, and Long Tian stood alone, that tendril of unease blossoming into full terror.

His wife had been dying, there was no other word for it. The illness had started five years ago, right after their daughter Shuyin had disappeared. What had begun as worry and grief had somehow transformed into a physical ailment that no celestial physician could diagnose or cure. She’d grown weaker, paler, spending nearly all her time confined to their bed, unable to maintain her form in the deeper waters. Some days she couldn’t even shift to her tail, lying there in her half-form, too exhausted to move. He’d held her through countless nights, felt her growing frailer in his arms, and watched helplessly as she faded.

He’d consulted every healer, every alchemist, spent fortunes on rare remedies from the darkest trenches and the brightest shallows, but nothing had worked. It was as if her very life force was draining away, consumed by the grief of losing their daughter combined with something darker, something more sinister.

And now she was gone. Somehow, impossibly, she’d left their bed while he slept.

He moved through the rooms with increasing urgency, searching for any sign, any clue. In her study, he found her correspondence neatly arranged, though she hadn’t been strong enough to write in weeks. In her wardrobe, he found... a missing traveling cloak. The sturdy one she used for journeys beyond the palace, not the delicate silks she wore within the underwater realm.

She’d left. Deliberately. Planned it.

But how? She could barely sit up without assistance. How could she have left their bed, dressed herself, left the palace, all without him waking?

Unless she’d used what little remained of her power. Unless she’d burned through her life force to do this.

His conversation with Long Chen last night.

The memory suddenly hit him. He’d spoken with their son late in the evening, and for the first time in five years of searching, they’d finally had concrete news. Long Chen had found Shuyin. Their missing daughter was alive, well, living on the surface, married to a mortal named Lu Yuze. After five years of desperate searching, of following every lead, of checking every corner of every realm, they’d finally found her.

His wife had been lying beside him in bed during that conversation, her eyes closed. He’d thought she was asleep, too weak to stay conscious. But the conversation had been right there, in their shared chambers.

She must have heard everything.

"No," Long Tian whispered, his heart constricting with fear. "No, my love, no..."

Their daughter. Long Junyao. His precious, mischievous daughter who had slipped away for what she’d probably thought would be a brief adventure to the surface. She’d always been curious about the human world, always wanting to explore beyond their realm. He’d meant to teach her the proper way to travel between worlds, had meant to show her how to return safely, but she’d been impatient, just like her mother at that age, and had gone off on her own.

And then she’d vanished. Five years of searching. Five years of his wife slowly dying from the grief and worry, convinced their daughter was dead, that she’d never see her baby again.

If his wife had heard them talking about Shuyin being alive, being safe, being on the surface and settled...

She would have gone to her. Even dying, even barely able to breathe, his wife would have found the strength somehow, would have burned through every last bit of her life force to cross from sea to land to see the daughter she’d thought lost forever.

The thought was terrifying. A journey from the depths to the surface in her condition would kill her. The transformation from mer-form to human legs, the crossing between realms, the energy expenditure, any one of those things could be fatal. All of them together, in her state?

It was suicide.

Long Tian’s hands trembled as he moved quickly to his study, the water swirling around him as he propelled himself forward. The guilt that had been his constant companion for five years twisted deeper. He should have taught Shuyin better, should have been more careful, should have anticipated her adventurous nature. He should have found her sooner. Should have prevented his wife from deteriorating like this.