“How dare you—”
Seeing Ling Wu looking so pitiful, Qingchen's fury broke loose.
He formed a seal to raise Ling Wu up, then struck at Wenyao without the slightest mercy—and so fast.
There was a scream, and Wenyao vomited a mouthful of blood.
And with that, Ling Wu's sense of cosmic justice was restored.
What did she say? Master protected his own. That fairy got exactly what was coming to her!
So much for “a man never strikes a woman”—it only ever applied to women who hadn't bullied her!
Qingchen didn't spare Wenyao a glance, all his attention on Ling Wu, his voice shaken in a way she had never heard: “Ah-Wu. I came too late.”
Too late again.
But it was all right—this time nothing had happened. Thank goodness.
He steadied himself, smoothed the panic from his face, and was once more the master she knew.
Ling Wu waved a hand. “Your disciple is fine. Good thing you came, Master.”
She leaned against him, quite dependently, and the warmth made her feel safe.
Her backup had arrived!
“It was this master's fault—chatting with the other immortals and neglecting Ah-Wu.”
Ling Wu winced inwardly. Master certainly knew how to take the blame. Really, it had been her own fault—wandering off without a word.
“Does it still hurt?” Qingchen looked at her injury and raised a hand, ready to pour immortal energy into her.
Ling Wu refused at once: “No need, Master! Your disciple will take some immortal medicine when she's home and be good as new!”
“Ah-Wu, don't be stubborn.”
Her face couldn't lie—white as paper. One look and anyone could tell it was an internal injury.
For some reason, Ling Wu kept noticing that Master's fingers trembled slightly as he channeled the energy into her.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to those dreams from a few days back.
She could no longer recall the dream woman's face—only that she had been drenched in blood, her breathing faint, about to slip away at any moment. And Master, just like now, had poured immortal energy into her, his fingers shaking beyond control.
Every time the dream reached that point, Ling Wu's heart ached so badly her whole body ached with it.
While she was lost in thought, Qingchen stopped. His voice, when it came, turned cold as ice on Wenyao: “Time and again you lay hands on what is mine. Do you truly believe I won't touch you?”
Wenyao clutched her chest, grief written all over her face: “Qingchen, I know you've held a grudge over what happened before. But this mortal girl's heart is not clean—can you truly not see it?”
Her again? Ling Wu nearly laughed out of sheer anger.
Still, she reckoned Master would never stand by while Wenyao hurled insults at her.
“My disciple's character—I know it better than you do. Even if her heart were not clean, I would count it a delight.”
Hearing that, Wenyao decided he had gone mad. She glared at Ling Wu and ground out: “She is Songluo, isn't she!”
Qingchen gave a cold laugh. “And you dare speak her name? Did you not kill her long ago?”
He weighed the words kill on his tongue, and a flicker of killing intent crossed the depths of his eyes.
“But this mortal's body—”
“Enough!”
Wenyao tried to struggle on; Qingchen cut her off.
He looked at her steadily and warned her, word by word: “Were it not for your master and the Heavenly Sovereign both standing in my way, do you truly believe I would not touch you? Why she died—I have not forgotten in a thousand years. You had best remember it too. What you owe her, I will collect with interest. Before your day of reckoning arrives, put away these crooked schemes of yours.”
“And my disciple. Lay a hand on her once more, and I will not be lenient.”
With that, he formed a seal and left with Ling Wu.
Even as they departed, Ling Wu could hear Wenyao's despairing scream behind them: “Qingchen! Is there not one shred of true feeling you hold for me?”
Having heard what she should not have, Ling Wu closed her eyes and played dead.
Any fool could see this was one heart singing to a stone. And yet this Wenyao simply would not wake up.
As for the history between her and Master—Ling Wu only learned it later from Ji Xunzhi.
Wenyao and Qingchen had grown up together; their masters were blood brothers, though their paths of cultivation could not have differed more. One trained in the Path of Heartlessness; the other, the Hehuan Sect. And so two disciples of utterly opposite temperaments were raised.
One silent and reserved; one bright and restless.
In a sense, their personalities completed each other—a well-matched pair. Or so Wenyao believed.
Both were prodigies besides; they even ascended one right after the other.
In time, the whole Celestial Realm took them for a match made and sealed.
Wenyao was proud by nature and drawn to strength. None of the male immortals who came courting could catch her eye—her heart held Qingchen and nothing else.
Qingchen, for his part, treated her no differently from any other immortal friend. She threw tantrums over it again and again; he simply cultivated on, and she was left to console herself.
Fortunately she was beautiful enough that the ordinary fairies dared not approach Qingchen anyway. She never once feared he would fall for another. And so the days passed, one after another.
The turning point came when the two went down to the mortal realm together for their love trials. Here Ji Xunzhi's account turned vague—something went wrong, he said. Down there, Master met someone else, tasted love for the first time, and realized he held no feeling of man-and-woman for Wenyao at all. When the trial ended, he told her so plainly, and told her to look elsewhere.
Wenyao went half-mad when she heard it. She simply refused to believe Master didn't love her. Someone as proud as she—who for thousands of years had refused countless suitors for his sake—could not possibly accept such an answer.
Afterward she only grew worse, pestering him daily and unsettling the entire Celestial Realm, until Master, sick of it all, moved to Mount Kunlun.
Ling Wu asked, “And she never thought to come down and look for Master?”
Ji Xunzhi answered only, “She doesn't dare,” and closed the topic there.
Ling Wu felt the story was full of holes, and Eldest Senior Brother's telling far from complete. But press him however she might, he wouldn't say another word, so she gave up asking.
That man had entirely too many secrets!
“And how long does Ah-Wu intend to keep pretending to sleep?”
Qingchen's voice sounded.
Ling Wu came back to herself and cautiously opened one eye. Master was watching her, perfectly at ease. Rather sheepishly, she extracted herself from his arms.
“Master, your disciple really did faint.”
“Oh? This master had no idea a fainted person could have such strength—enough to pull her master's collar askew.”
His picturesque eyes curved—a completely different face from the one he'd worn with Wenyao.
Her gaze slipped down: his collar was faintly creased. One more tug and that exquisite collarbone would be showing.
Plainly, this was Ling Wu's handiwork.
Wenyao's words had frightened her; she'd been nervous, and so... Ah, well. What's done is done. Apologize first.
“Master's clothes are too soft!” The words were out before she regretted them. She had meant to say the fabric was simply too fine—light, and soft, so that one little tug had left a mark.
Sometimes a person really did have to finish her sentences. This was what she got for talking in shorthand!
Qingchen couldn't resist teasing her: “So it is this master's fault?”
“Your disciple means nothing of the sort!” She paused, then added, “Only—Master should perhaps change into clothes that are harder to tug. Otherwise, if your disciple's strength grows, she may tear Master's wardrobe to pieces.”
A perfectly serious statement—and by the end of it, for no reason she could name, her ears had gone red.
If she really did tear his clothes, she'd be convicted of taking liberties with her master.
Taking liberties with Master. Thrilling to think about... no, wait. Sinful. Sinful.
“Ah-Wu may tug all she likes. This master has plenty of clothes. Enough to spare.”
This—this was not proper, was it?
Ling Wu swallowed hard. She stared at Qingchen, dumbstruck.
The room was silent. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, going far, far too fast.