Chapter 42: When Enemies Cross Paths

Qingchen's words were like a thunderclap, setting Ling Wu's ears ringing.

Over and over, one line repeated in her head.

—"When you ascend, I will take you as my bonded companion."

Her jaw hung open, her face full of disbelief.

Had she misheard? What was her master saying?

Events had swerved so far off course that Ling Wu could not calm down at all.

The immortals stand in ranks as thick as hemp, the old verse went.

Only one such divine being was in this room, but the line still applied.

Measure her against him any way she liked, she fell hopelessly short. To speak of a match was laughable—she did not merit having someone that good even look her way.

He really was drunk, talking without a thought in his head.

Ling Wu swallowed. "Master, this disciple will go fetch you a cup of sobering soup."

One more word of nonsense and she was going to make a scene!

"No need." Qingchen declined in a level voice. "These hundred-odd years, I have been on Kunlun the whole while."

Fact-checking, live and in person.

"As for why I do not attend those banquets"—he rubbed his temples, unhurried—"you saw it yourself, Ah-Wu. One appearance and they pour a mountain of wine into me. I cannot hold my liquor, so I simply decline them all."

Ling Wu believed every word he said, ten parts out of ten.

"Well done, Master. Those immortal friends of yours are utterly without shame; best to keep well clear of them." At the rate he had drunk today, he would never be sober again.

"That said—" Qingchen's tone turned, his eyes crinkling. "My word has always held. Once Ah-Wu ascends—"

"Master!" Ling Wu cut him off in a panic, scrambling up from the floor, her eyes wilder than they had ever been. "It is terribly hot in this room. This disciple—this disciple can hardly breathe. I will go get some air and come straight back!"

That much was no lie: her whole face was frighteningly red, even the tips of her ears gone pink.

Anyone who did not know better would have thought she was the drunk one.

She could not listen to another word. A master and his disciple—it was against every propriety! Such things were not going to happen to her!

The mental image of her senior brothers calling her "Master's wife"—she shuddered just to think of it.

The door opened and shut. Qingchen watched the fleeing silhouette, and his eyes darkened.

Just how much longer was he expected to wait?

The air outside was fresh; the scenery, beautiful.

Ling Wu's mood, however, was far from fine.

Out of one peril, straight into another.

The peril in question was Wenyao.

What was this lady—no, this immortal—doing here?

Those fairies had discussed her so freely that Ling Wu had assumed the subject herself was nowhere in the vicinity.

By seniority, Wenyao counted as one of the old guard. Let a pack of junior fairies chew over her behind her back, and with that temper there would be havoc to pay—she had connections, too. If she took it seriously, not one of those fairies, nor their masters either, would escape.

Tsk. No amount of striving beat being born well.

Take Wenyao. Take herself.

But the woman did not seem to have noticed Ling Wu. Four or five little maids were clustered around her, chattering in turns; all Ling Wu could see was her pretty brow knitting faintly at whatever they said, displeasure crossing her face.

Today she was dressed with quiet plainness: a moon-white robe, its only ornament a half-open orchid embroidered in silver thread at the collar. Her long black hair was pinned up with a single magnolia hairpin, a few loose strands falling at her neck, swaying gently with her movements—a different creature entirely from their first meeting.

If Ling Wu did not know her temper, she might genuinely have been taken in by the gentle facade.

Playing at serene contentment! As if she had ever shown mercy when she was striking people!

A few silent jibes later, Ling Wu looked away.

Keep staring, and Wenyao was bound to notice her. She had no wish for another face-to-face with that lady.

One wrong word and the woman might strike her again, and her poor little frame could not take it.

And of course, the thing you fear is the thing that comes: from a distance, Ling Wu saw Wenyao tilt her head toward this side, as if sensing something.

Sweet heavens!

Ling Wu's heart quivered in spite of itself. She flung herself forward, her knees meeting the earth in intimate contact.

Begone, demons and monsters! Do not come over here!

Just remembering what Wenyao had said to her last time made her head ache.

Ranked last in all the Celestial Realm at rising above a rivalry—and last at tolerating her master.

Perhaps the prayer worked, for when she raised her head again, Wenyao had left the spot.

Ling Wu patted her chest in relief and let out a long breath.

"Ah-Wu, why are you kneeling on the ground?"

Her heart jolted again. Why was her master out here too? And he had witnessed her in so graceless a posture!

She scrambled up from the ground. "I just saw a little clam spirit. Only from down there could I get a proper look."

Ling Wu, oh Ling Wu—to lie with so straight a face. Was that not a kind of progress?

She could hardly tell her master she had seen his admirer. Who knew whether he might raise that topic again? Third time is the limit—one more, and she might actually say yes.

Seeing him clear-eyed and sober, she pressed on: "Master, have you recovered from the drink?"

She wanted out of this Dragon Palace this instant. Guyuan behind her, Wenyao ahead—if those two ever joined forces to make trouble for her... bah!

Qingchen made a low sound of acknowledgment, his tone languid. "I woke just as you went out."

"When you did not come back for so long, I thought you had lost your way again. I forgot to tell you before you left: call my name in your heart, and the shared-sensation spell will answer. Wherever you go from now on, I will be able to find you."

So that was the incantation he had woven before the banquet. She was moved and rueful at once. "Provided Master does not get drunk first."

Otherwise she could scream in her heart until her throat burst and still not wake a sleeping man.

Qingchen laughed out loud. "I cannot tell, Ah-Wu, whether you are worried about me or scolding me."

"Concern, of course. Wine harms the body. Master shoulders heavy duties and has a mountain of affairs; how could he let wine get in the way." Ling Wu herself could not follow the logic of it.

A war god laid low by wine fumes? Her worry was perhaps superfluous.

Qingchen seemed pleased with it regardless, his smile growing brighter. "Duly noted."

Ling Wu caught his mood and smiled too.

"Any lingering discomfort, Master?"

This was no place to linger.

Qingchen shook his head. "Sound in body and mind."

"In that case—" Ling Wu met his eyes, trying to convey her meaning by look alone. "Let us go home to Kunlun."

Her master could, in fact, be taught!

"Although—" Qingchen drew out the syllable, then went on. "Of the four sea Dragon Palaces, only the West Sea's scenery is finest. Immortals have come from everywhere today for a single glimpse of it. Ah-Wu has no interest at all?"

With two walking plagues stationed on the grounds, where would she find the nerve to wander?

She stepped forward, took his sleeve in both hands, and shook it, wheedling. "Oh, Master, the Dragon Palace may be lovely, but it sits at the bottom of the sea without a ray of sun; your disciple cannot even tell what hour it is! Nothing like our Kunlun—fine hills, fine waters, fine views. And the peach grove behind the mountain is simply enchanting~~"

The speech was delivered so feelingly that Ling Wu nearly believed it herself.

Qingchen smiled helplessly. "Very well. A fine tribute to Kunlun. Let us hope that once we are back, you stay on the mountain a good while."

That was a jab at her recent trips down the mountain, sneaked off behind his back!

Her master held grudges, all right!

Ling Wu was itching to be home. Though he did not understand why, Qingchen formed a seal and took to the clouds with her, leaving without so much as a word of farewell to the other immortals.