Qingchen sat up and held out a hand to Ling Wu.
His hand was pale and slender, the knuckles distinct, curved in a gentle arc—a beautiful sight.
"Did I not tell you, Ah-Wu? No need for formalities in private. What are you kneeling for? Up you get."
She barely heard him. She stared at the outstretched hand, dazed. This scene... why did it feel like she'd seen it before? Head lowered, her heart hammered.
"Ah-Wu?" he called again.
Just as she came back to herself, she looked up—straight into his deep, dark eyes.
"Does Ah-Wu no longer wish to listen to her master?"
She shook her head in a panic. "No, no, of course not, Master. This disciple just hasn't come back to her senses..."
She rubbed her forehead, feigning a lingering headache, watching his reaction all the while.
She truly had no manners! Someone as exalted as Master—how could a mere disciple ever offend him! If her senior brothers ever learned she'd drunkenly sprawled into Master's arms, they'd surely mutter, "What a sin!"
Looking at Master's face, she felt her heart give a little tremble. Fresh from sleep, he had something extra about him. His face was already the finest in the immortal realm, but he usually carried himself so proper. Like this—lazy, relaxed—he seemed almost approachable.
"Does Ah-Wu remember her master's name?" Qingchen was thinking of that one murmur.
She nodded without a second's thought. "Of course!"
Master's kindness to her was mountain-high. Forget his name—she even knew exactly which color of brush he liked to paint with!
Then he said, "In the mortal realm, hearing 'Master' at every turn is rather inconvenient. Why not call me by my name down here from now on?"
"Absolutely not!" Ling Wu refused flat out.
What was wrong with Master? Had her crossing the line knocked something loose in his head?
"Why not?"
She said glumly, "Everything has its rank and etiquette—that's how a disciple shows respect for her master. And if the senior brothers ever heard me use your name, they'd charge me with gross disrespect for sure!"
Qingchen laughed despite himself. "Ah-Wu says she respects her master—yet now she goes over her master's head to worry about their verdicts?"
Because acting cute works on you! It's useless on those people!
In all these years, Master could count his punishments of her on one hand. The senior brothers'? Countless.
One day she'd started eating before they arrived: gross disrespect!
Another day she'd bowed to Master before they did: gross disrespect!
And one year she'd grown a sliver taller than Sixth Senior Brother—gross disrespect for that too!
...
Those wretches! Was growing fast a crime?
The more she thought, the angrier she got. She wanted to travel back to those years and stab each of them once.
"And if your master insists on it?" Qingchen wouldn't drop the topic. "What will Ah-Wu do then?"
She was stumped.
Was Master some kind of glutton for punishment? She'd offended him and he wasn't even angry—instead, he insisted she throw rank aside and use his name.
Well—if he insisted on making her his equal, it wasn't as if she couldn't manage.
Besides, it was his own request! If the senior brothers dared challenge her, she'd just invoke Master.
After much psyching herself up, she ventured: "...Qingchen?"
His eyes lit. The dejection vanished without a trace, replaced by a curling smile.
That smile stunned her all over again.
Honestly—he had quite the pretty-boy air!
She'd always thought Master's face was deeply deceptive. The day she first learned he was the War God, her jaw had nearly hit the floor.
In her experience, men who marched off to war were all brawn and bulging muscle. Someone slender and fair like Master? First time she'd ever seen it.
As a young fool, she'd once asked Eldest Senior Brother whether Master slew enemies on the battlefield with that face—charm them first, then strike! The answer had been a knuckle rap on the head.
That was also when she first learned how magnificent Master was in battle.
Used to seeing him hold a brush, she'd love to see him hold a sword someday.
"Say it again, Ah-Wu."
"Qingchen, Qingchen, Qingchen!" One call? She could manage a hundred.
The only person on all of Kunlun who could call Master by name—her, and her alone!
She floated off on the spot, ego swelling by the second.
The two of them were both laughing—one doting, one sly.
In the small hours, Ling Wu absolutely refused to get back into that bed.
The moment she heard Yunshu was next door, she shot off like a startled rabbit.
The cat demon was sleeping soundly, dreaming of who-knew-what, a thread of drool at the corner of her mouth, muttering away: "Did you all eat well?! Eat it—eat every last bite!"
Ha. A glutton, through and through!
Ling Wu pried open one of her eyelids, then flopped down beside her.
Fellow woman. No pressure at all.
They slept clean through to noon the next day.
She'd assumed the name-calling business had ended the night before. In fact, it had only just begun.
When a maid asked why she hadn't shared a room with her husband, Ling Wu's vision went black and she nearly keeled over.
What?! Husband! An unmarried young lady—what husband!
They couldn't possibly mean... Master!
Good heavens. Had she eaten the heart of a bear and the gall of a leopard—to claim herself married to Master!
She wasn't the only one baffled. Yunshu was equally lost.
"What did you two get up to yesterday? Why is this little maid saying that?" She couldn't help gossiping.
She could tell Qingchen had feelings for Ling Wu, but with Ling Wu's reaction time, that windowpaper definitely hadn't been poked through yet.
Ling Wu frowned. "How would I know?"
By the time she'd come to her senses yesterday, she was already in Master's arms. Close, yes—but hardly married!
Master's good name mattered, sure. But she was a woman, and she prized her own reputation like money!
Damn it all—if she ever found the rumor-monger, she'd tear their mouth apart!
While she fumed, the little maid went on: "You have no idea—when Master Qingchen said you were his wife, so many of my sisters were heartbroken!"
"You two always called each other master and disciple, so everyone assumed that was all you were. Who knew it was a little game between lovers!"
The maid was getting worked up. "I said it from the very start: master and disciple are a match made in heaven! They wouldn't believe me—kept saying they'd win the Daoist over. Hmph. Behaving themselves now, aren't they!"
Good heavens—why was this getting more explicit by the word!
What game? What wife?! And it was Master who'd said it?!
Ling Wu's head was splitting. This much news would take days to digest.
Yunshu, however, understood perfectly.
The answer was hiding in the question! Qingchen had started the rumor himself.
Tsk, tsk, tsk. Winking at a blind woman—devotion squandered on a fool!
Who knew how many years it would take this Ling Wu to puzzle out that feeling!
Yunshu almost pitied Qingchen.
So what if his cultivation was high and his rank exalted? In love, he still had to play the lapdog.
Ling Wu brushed the little maid off and sat at the stone table, one hand pressed to her forehead.
She took back her earlier words: she did not, in fact, have the power to tear Master's mouth apart.
She simply couldn't work it out. Perfectly fine one moment—the next, she'd become her own master's wife?