After returning from the Celestial Realm, Ling Wu resumed her shut-in ways—not stepping out her door.
The senior brothers went on as ever: the demon-hunters hunting, the cultivators cultivating.
Only Eldest Senior Brother looked suspiciously idle, dropping by for a chat now and then.
But once the topic turned to that girl, he threw caution to the winds and talked from dusk till dawn, and from dawn till dusk again.
Ling Wu couldn't stand it. One fine day she planted a kick squarely on him and sent him back to his own peak.
Afterward Ji Xunzhi came to settle the score, and she dodged him all over the mountain.
And really, it wasn't her fault. She asked about Master and Wenyao—he wouldn't answer. She asked who Songluo was—his lips stayed sealed. She asked which girl Master had met during his love trial, and whether that mortal had gone on to reincarnate—silence again.
Everything she cared about, he refused to discuss.
What was the use of him, then!
Before leaving, he murmured, “Little Junior Sister, ask no more about these things. They're in the past, and Master would rather not revisit them. Don't make him unhappy.”
Hah—as if she were dying to listen!
Ling Wu sniffed, peeled off her invisibility talisman, and went back to her desk.
These days, apart from Eldest Senior Brother's chatter, the rest of her time went to her books.
Except—staring at the volume open to its first few pages, she felt a wave of melancholy.
Who knew there were this many talismans in the world? For months she had drawn at least four a day—nearly two hundred in all. Never mind how many she'd memorized; she felt her hand was about to stop being hers.
And after all that, she wasn't even halfway through the first book.
Pain. So much pain!
Had she known the talisman path was this brutal, she'd have steeled herself back then and forced herself into sword cultivation instead.
No matter how many forms a sword style had, it was only a matter of turning the wrist. Whereas talisman-drawing demanded the hand and the brain at once—one wrong stroke and the whole talisman was spoiled.
She rubbed the space between her brows, swept the books back into her storage bracelet—too vexing to look at.
After some deliberation, she decided to go out for a walk.
The senior brothers were all away anyway; no one around to mock her.
And the evening air was pleasantly cool—perfect walking weather.
Her stroll carried her all the way to the rear mountain.
There was a peach grove on the rear mountain, Sixth Senior Brother's favorite practice ground.
His stated reason: blades have no eyes, and it would be terrible to hurt someone. Ling Wu found his concern highly suspect. Every blade of grass on Kunlun had a spirit—was hurting the trees any better?
She hurried forward to inspect the damage. If the sight was gruesome enough, she'd go file a complaint against Sixth Senior Brother with Master.
But the moment she stood before the grove, she forgot herself entirely.
The imagined carnage had never come.
Kunlun's immortal mist never cleared, its flowers never wilted; it was spring in the mortal realm all year round, brimming with life. And the peach grove outshone even the rest.
A cool breeze stirred, lifting a snowfall of petals that settled on hair, on shoulders, in cupped palms. To stand among it was to stand in a fairyland.
Rubbing a petal between her fingers, Ling Wu suddenly saw Qingchen in her mind's eye.
Beautiful scenery deserved a beautiful man—and Master was the one person she could picture among peach blossoms.
If he were half-reclining in a tree with a cup of wine—ah, just imagining it was a feast for the eyes!
Ling Wu slammed the brakes on her runaway thoughts. Something was seriously wrong with her these days—why did Master keep drifting into her head? And in scenes like this! Utterly scandalous!
Then she took two more steps and saw, in the flesh, the very scene she had just imagined.
Master lay in a peach tree in full bloom, white robes hanging loose, one hand pillowed behind his head, the other holding a small flask of peach-blossom wine, drinking alone beneath the moon.
Petals veiled his face; Ling Wu couldn't read his expression. She could only feel the melancholy that hung about him.
Even the rainy season in the mortal realm was cheerier than Master, she thought.
A long moment passed. Then she heard a single soft sigh.
For no reason she could name, seeing him like that made her own chest tighten. Strange. Very strange.
Was he sad?
She couldn't work it out, and turned to go. Everyone knew you didn't disturb a person in their fragile hours—she had to run before Master noticed her.
Halfway out, she stopped. The Kunlun night was cold, and Master was dressed so thinly. What kind of disciple left him like this?
Back in the mortal realm, fine—she'd been asleep and knew nothing. But now Master was right in front of her. If he caught a chill, the fault would be hers, and a heavy one.
So she turned back.
Sure enough, Master had fallen asleep. Eyeing the wine flask he'd tossed aside, Ling Wu had no time to wonder what it tasted like; she went straight to his side.
He leaned against the trunk, head tipped back, eyes closed, his features softer than she'd ever seen them under the moonlight.
Ordinarily she wouldn't dare look at him this directly—but asleep, he was hers to study, and she looked her fill.
Petals had settled in his long hair and on his robes. Up close there was the faint scent of wine. Those refined brows and eyes, that air of an exiled immortal—he was truly a figure stepped out of a painting!
If only he hadn't opened his eyes, she could have looked closer.
“M-Master!” She bowed hastily, head down.
Qingchen said nothing, only looked at her with those gleaming eyes.
“Master, your disciple was just passing by. She didn't mean to disturb you.” Her head dipped lower.
Master's alertness was something else—he'd woken the instant she approached. Was that simply standard issue for a God of War?
But Qingchen stayed silent for another long moment.
Just as Ling Wu was racking her brain for something appropriate to say, a pair of boots appeared before her.
Master had come down!
Her heart lurched; panic tangled in knots. Master, if you mean to kill or flay me, just say so—stop standing there in silence!
“Is Ah-Wu fully recovered?”
Before she could answer, he reached out and raised her up. “No need to bow when you see me in private.”
Ling Wu protested at once: “How could I not!”
If the senior brothers saw that, she'd be done for all over again.
“This master says you may, and so you may.”
Seeing protest was useless, Ling Wu changed tack: “Then in front of my senior brothers and the other immortals, your disciple will still bow properly.”
He had only said no bowing in private. Worst case, she simply never sought Master out in private again. Done.
Qingchen nodded, letting it stand.
Ling Wu marveled inwardly: Master really had drunk too much—his head wasn't clear. In all the Eight Wastes, where was it written that a disciple bows to no master? If word got out, her backbone would be public property for every gossip to snap!
Master said these things without a thought for consequences.
“Did Ah-Wu come looking for me specially?” Qingchen asked.
“Your disciple was just passing by.” Honesty being her greatest virtue, and fearing he'd think her unfilial, she added, “But your disciple also turned back specially.”
“Oh?”
After several winding false starts, Ling Wu finally worked up her courage: “Your disciple saw that Master's clothes are thin, and the night is cold, and Master has been drinking. She was afraid the chill would get into his bones. If he truly means to sleep, Master should really go back to his rooms.”
Immortals were people too—how could they not feel the cold? Besides, Master had led armies in his early years; who knew what old wounds he carried? At his age, a man ought to study the art of nourishing life!
In short, she had concluded that Qingchen's constitution was not so ironclad as it looked.
That part she'd never dare say. Master was a male immortal, after all. He had his pride.
Qingchen smiled faintly. “Ah-Wu is kind to think of it.”
At the praise, embarrassment and delight warred in her chest—embarrassment because she'd really only been passing by; delight because she evidently hadn't disturbed him, and surely there'd be no punishment.
“Now that Master is awake, your disciple's mind is at ease. Only—Master mustn't treat his body so carelessly again. When Master is well, your disciple is well; when Master is unwell, your disciple aches right along with him.”
Qingchen arched a brow. “Is Ah-Wu sincere?”
“Heaven and earth bear witness!” Ling Wu swore. “So—Master should go back and rest. Your disciple takes her leave first.”
Qingchen looked at her, neither agreeing nor refusing.
“Master?”
Faintly, she heard a sigh, there and gone.
“Ah-Wu has grown distant from me.”
Ling Wu blinked, not understanding.
Distant? She attended him every day—where was the distance? If she treated him the way she treated her senior brothers, sniping at every turn—now that would be distant!
“When you were small, Ah-Wu came to find me every single day. You wanted me to coax you to sleep. Not like now—bowing at every turn, and standing so far away.” Qingchen's tone was faintly aggrieved.
Ling Wu turned to stone on the spot. He knew that was childhood!
How old had she been? An age of knowing nothing! A little girl—never mind being coaxed to sleep, she'd have happily slept in Master's room outright, scared of ghosts as she was!
If the senior brothers hadn't drilled the difference between men and women into her, she'd have climbed right into Master's bed.
The embarrassing memories flooded in like a burst dam. She shook her head hard, shoved the worst of them down, and recovered somewhat.
“Ah-Wu.” Qingchen called her again, eyes still aggrieved.
She ventured, carefully: “Does... Master still wish to coax your disciple to sleep?”
Now it was Qingchen's turn to freeze.
Ling Wu pressed on: “Well—your disciple has had her coming-of-age, but before Master she will always be a child. If Master wishes it, she can still be coaxed to sleep by him.”
The corner of Qingchen's mouth twitched. “What a remarkable mind Ah-Wu has.”
“Master taught her well.”
Caught between laughing and crying, Qingchen pressed a hand to his brow and waved her off. “Enough. Go back, Ah-Wu.”
“Then Master—” She looked up at him, meaning unmistakable.
“I'll return shortly. I won't sleep out here. Ah-Wu may rest easy.”
With that promise, Ling Wu ran like the wind.
Only after she'd left the peach grove did her taut shoulders come down.
She patted her chest and let out a long breath.
Close call, close call—she'd nearly been punished by Master.