Having secured the male lead's promise, Yu Zhiling immediately got to work, scribbling out a page-long plan in the courtyard.
When Mo Zhu came to deliver her evening medicinal brew, he had barely pushed open the door before a sheet of rice paper was thrust into his face, blocking his view.
Mo Zhu: "..."
The paper was pulled aside, revealing a small face peeking out from behind it.
She tilted her head with a smile, looking up at him, her eyes glimmering with scattered light as if she were genuinely delighted to see him.
Mo Zhu's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.
Yu Zhiling shook the paper in her hand. "This is the plan I made today! To become the top swordmaster, we need intermittent relaxation and persistent effort!"
Mo Zhu's gaze fell on the paper.
How to Raise a Successful Disciple.
Her handwriting was small and delicate, densely packed across the page. It outlined his schedule for the next month—when to rise, when to practice swordplay, which techniques to train, and for how long. Yu Zhiling had noted it all down.
She had him completely figured out.
Mo Zhu said nothing, his expression utterly blank.
Yu Zhiling explained, "Though the tasks are heavy, your master will be with you every step of the way. I’ll rise as early as you do and supervise your training daily."
She thumped her chest with confidence, utterly convinced she could stick to it.
Mo Zhu didn’t take the paper. Instead, he walked to the stone table and set down the medicine. "Master, drink your medicine first."
Yu Zhiling’s freshly built confidence crumbled instantly. Her face twisted into a pained grimace, her delicate brows knitting together.
Mo Zhu gave her a look—one that brooked no argument—and she reluctantly trudged over.
"How many more bowls of this do I have left?"
Mo Zhu almost laughed. A cultivator afraid of medicine—what a sight.
"Three. You’ll finish them tomorrow."
Yu Zhiling steeled herself, pinched her nose, and downed the brew in one go, then held out a hand to Mo Zhu.
Understanding, he retrieved a bag of candied fruit and handed it over. She clutched the bag, sitting cross-legged on the bamboo bed, popping one piece after another into her mouth.
The young man silently gathered the porcelain bowl and was about to leave when a hand tugged at his sleeve.
He lowered his gaze. "Master, is there anything else?"
Yu Zhiling chewed and swallowed before shooting him a resentful glare.
Listen to that—completely devoid of emotion, no different from her system. If anything, he was more robotic than the system itself.
"Master?"
"Have you eaten?" Yu Zhiling suddenly asked.
Mo Zhu hadn’t expected the question and froze for a moment. "...What?"
Yu Zhiling pouted and pulled out an oil-paper package from her qiankun pouch. "I just roasted these."
Mo Zhu noticed the pile of ashes in the corner of the courtyard. She must have lit a fire recently—the sweet, earthy scent of roasted sweet potatoes wafted through the air even before the paper was unwrapped.
Yu Zhiling scooted back and tugged Mo Zhu down to sit beside her. The bamboo couch was spacious, leaving plenty of room even with two people seated side by side.
"I’m not hungry."
The young man frowned and made to stand.
Yu Zhiling yanked him back down. As a cultivator, her strength was formidable, and she easily pinned him in place before wriggling closer.
"But I already roasted them," she muttered, pulling the small table over and unwrapping the oil paper. "Just keep me company while I eat, alright?"
Mo Zhu thought she was insane. The nature of their relationship was something she should understand without him spelling it out.
He tried to leave again, but something held him back. Glancing down, he realized the hem of his robe was trapped beneath Yu Zhiling.
She was busy peeling a sweet potato, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was sitting on his clothes. "They’re really sweet. I waited for you before eating any, or else I’d have finished them already."
She handed the first peeled potato to Mo Zhu.
Mo Zhu: "...This disciple doesn’t want any."
Yu Zhiling shoved it into his hand. "Yes, you do."
The sweet potato steamed in his palm. Yu Zhiling blinked up at him expectantly while Mo Zhu stared at it impassively.
She explained earnestly, "It’s organic and all-natural. Definitely not poisoned."
Mo Zhu: "..."
Of course he knew it wasn’t poisoned. As a tengshe, his senses were sharp—he could detect toxins with a single whiff.
Yu Zhiling had already peeled a second one and was happily munching away, her eyes urging him to try his.
Mo Zhu glanced down at the sweet potato in his hand. Now wasn’t the time to break their façade—he still hadn’t uncovered the truth about the bracelet, and some pretenses had to be maintained.
Pursing his lips, he took a tentative bite. The flavor was overwhelmingly sweet.
With his robe trapped under her, Mo Zhu couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. The two sat in silence, master and disciple. He wanted to put distance between them, but the slightest movement tugged at the fabric beneath her. Resigned, he stayed put.
"The parasite in your body..." Yu Zhiling suddenly spoke up, hesitating before pressing on. "Has it been... manageable lately?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she sensed the temperature around the young man drop, a chilling aura seeping into the air.
Yu Zhiling swallowed but forced herself to continue. "I’ll help you remove it. You... you have to believe me. I’ll find a way as soon as possible."
Zhuo Yu had planted a Heart-Devouring Parasite in Mo Zhu. According to the original text, it flared up every three months, and only the pills provided by Zhuo Yu could suppress it—otherwise, the victim had to endure days of agony.
Mo Zhu had never asked for the pills. In the three years he’d been away, he’d borne the pain alone.
And the only cure for the Heart-Devouring Parasite was the Immortal Sprout—a herb that had vanished from the Central Continent centuries ago.
Holding onto a sliver of hope, Yu Zhiling had mentioned it to Yan Shanqing the day before when he visited to check on her medicine. She’d only said she needed the Immortal Sprout and asked him to help search for it.
Now, she stole a glance at Mo Zhu and repeated, "Believe me. I really will free you from this parasite."
Mo Zhu’s voice was flat, a humorless chuckle escaping him. "The Heart-Devouring Parasite can only be cured by the Immortal Sprout. As far as this disciple knows, the herb has been extinct for ages. How exactly does Master plan to help me? Or have you somehow found the lost Immortal Sprout?"
Yu Zhiling caught the mockery in his tone. This little brat really is a firecracker—one spark and he explodes.
She took another bite of sweet potato and mumbled, "We... we have to try. I’ll do everything I can to find it. I won’t lie to you."
Mo Zhu fell silent, the fury in his chest growing harder to suppress.
What was she playing at? This sudden concern, these promises, this care—when half his suffering had come from her. She had always stood in the way of his plans. She was hypocritical, scheming.
And yet here he was, eating roasted sweet potatoes with her?
Mo Zhu abruptly stood, yanking his robe free. Yu Zhiling nearly toppled off the couch, barely catching herself before looking up at him in confusion.
"Mo Zhu?"
Their eyes met.
She still held the sweet potato, a smudge at the corner of her lips. From this angle, her eyes looked even larger, dark pupils filled with nothing but bewilderment. He couldn’t detect a trace of calculation in them.
"Mo Zhu, what’s wrong?"
Mo Zhu suddenly turned his face away, breaking eye contact.
He shut his eyes briefly, forcing down the rage inside. When he opened them again, he was once more the cold, unreadable young man from before.
"Nothing urgent. This disciple will retire first."
Having said that, he turned to leave.
"Wait!"
Yu Zhiling grabbed his sleeve again.
Mo Zhu paused and glanced back.
Yu Zhiling rose from the couch, retrieved a paper bag from her Qiankun pouch, and shoved it into his hand. "Take this. I made a lot today—roasted chestnuts. They're delicious."
Roasted chestnuts?
The young man’s expression turned complicated, but Yu Zhiling patted the Qiankun pouch at her waist. "I still have plenty. Take these as a snack. Rest early tonight—I’ll wake you tomorrow morning for sword practice."
Mo Zhu wasn’t sure how he ended up leaving with that bag of chestnuts.
Back in his quarters, he opened the paper bag to find plump, glossy chestnuts split open at the seams, their cracks almost mocking him.
He tossed them carelessly into his Qiankun pouch.
The courtyard was silent as he pushed open the door and headed for the bathing chamber, shedding his robes along the way.
The dim room was lit only by an oil lamp, moonlight spilling through the half-open window and casting a glow over the young man’s tall, lean frame as he stripped off his outer and inner garments, baring his torso.
At this age, his body was still filling out—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and well-defined muscles that belied his slender appearance when clothed. His waistline was smooth and taut, but the perfection of his form was marred by a crisscross of old scars, lending him a wild, untamed air.
He had endured all these years for one purpose: to uncover the truth of what happened back then. If not for his plans, he would have killed Zhuo Yu long ago—how could he have silently played the role of her so-called disciple?
And now, a clue had emerged.
The serpent bracelet had resurfaced.
Mo Zhu lowered his gaze with a derisive snort, shedding the last of his garments before stepping into the hot spring.
After bathing, he dressed in fresh robes, dried his dripping black hair, and extinguished the lamp. Lying on the bed, he didn’t close his eyes but instead listened to the faint rustling from next door.
The two courtyards were adjacent, and his bedroom shared a wall with Yu Zhiling’s. Without a barrier in place, his keen senses could just make out the sounds from her side.
Very soft, but she was still...
Cracking chestnuts.
Crunch, crunch—one after another.
Mo Zhu smirked. If he recalled correctly, Yu Zhiling’s training plan was set for Chenshi (7–9 AM). She had said she would come wake him.
The next morning, mist curled over Listening Spring Cliff, and dew glistened in the pale dawn light.
Mo Zhu pushed open his courtyard gate as white cranes circled the cliffs, their cries clear and melodious.
Passing Yu Zhiling’s tightly shut gate, he paused and glanced at it.
Even the mountain birds were awake—yet she was still asleep.
He didn’t call for her, simply walked away with his sword.
By the time sunlight streamed through her window, the spacious bed was a mess of tangled quilts, her dark hair fanned across the embroidered pillow. The light fell over her sleeping face, and her brows furrowed slightly as she stirred.
Yu Zhiling fluttered her lashes, groggily opening her eyes.
Still half-asleep, she realized she’d forgotten to close the window again last night. Through it, she could see the lush greenery of her courtyard.
She rolled onto her back, rubbing her temples.
Judging by the sky, it was probably Sishi (9–11 AM)—around nine o’clock.
Nine o’clock...
Nine...
Wait—
Yu Zhiling jolted upright.
Her eyes widened in horror as she scrambled for the training schedule she’d written yesterday.
—Daily practice: Arrive at the back mountain at Chenshi (7 AM). Begin with 10,000 sword swings to build foundation.
Chenshi—7 AM.
She had never moved so fast in her life. Yanking on her robes, she cast a cleansing spell, tidied herself up, and bolted out the door.
Mo Zhu’s courtyard gate was closed from the outside—not only was he naturally gifted, but he also trained diligently, often rising before Chenshi.
Yu Zhiling’s face fell. I’m doomed.
She had been so confident yesterday—now karma had come to slap her in the face.
When she finally reached the back mountain, the crisp sound of swordplay reached her before she even saw him.
Hesitantly peeking out from the bamboo grove, she had barely stuck her head out when a flash of sword light shot toward her.
Her mind blanked—she didn’t even react in time. But the instincts of a Mahayana-stage cultivator kicked in, and Yu Zhiling summoned her sword, Zhuqing, in an instant. The emerald blade sliced through the air, arriving just in time to block the silvery strike.
With a flick of her wrist, she deflected the sword energy effortlessly.
The residual force of the clash sent a gust of wind rippling past, tousling the strands of hair framing her face and making the tasseled earrings at her lobes sway.
Blinking, she finally processed what had just happened—and clenched her fists.
This unfilial disciple!
He scared her on purpose!
To be fair, Mo Zhu’s strike hadn’t carried killing intent—unlike the two slashes he’d sent her way when he first returned to the Yingshan Sect.
"Shizun, you’re late."
The young man sheathed his sword, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. Yet there was a faint trace of amusement in his gaze, as if laughing at her earlier panic.
Yu Zhiling pressed a hand to her chest, glaring at him. "What was that for? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Unconsciously, her tone carried a hint of petulance, almost like she was whining—something Mo Zhu didn’t miss.
He stiffened, suddenly realizing he’d just teased her. Frowning, he wiped all traces of mirth from his expression.
Yu Zhiling’s gaze dropped to the sword in Mo Zhu’s hand—Yuhan. It wasn’t his lifebound sword. If she remembered correctly, in the original story, Mo Zhu always wielded a different blade in his later appearances.
His true lifebound sword was the Yingshan Sect’s ancestral treasure. The novel never explained how he obtained it—only that after a time skip, he reappeared as its master.
"Shizun, what are you looking at?" Mo Zhu asked abruptly. "Weren’t you going to teach this disciple? I’ve already followed your plan—10,000 sword swings at Chenshi."
Wait, what?
He actually did 10,000 swings?!
Yu Zhiling’s eyes darted to his arms. Today, he wore a fitted black robe with narrow sleeves, his hands—strong and veined—gripping the sword with practiced ease.
That last strike had been powerful. The residual energy alone had felt like a typhoon.
Numbly, she gave him a thumbs-up. "Tell me, young master—is there anything left for this shizun to teach you?"
Mo Zhu slid his sword back into its sheath, tone casual. "What does Shizun plan to instruct me in today? Wasn’t it one sword manual per day?"
Yu Zhiling’s eyes widened. "Oh no—I forgot the manual!"
Mo Zhu: "..."
She patted his shoulder and immediately sprinted off.
"Wait here! I’ll go grab it—I’ve prepared a new one for each day!"
Watching her retreating figure, Mo Zhu shook his head and laughed.
If anyone else had claimed they could master a sword manual a day, he would have scoffed at their arrogance.
But these words came from Yu Zhiling’s mouth. Even if Mo Zhu disliked his master, he had to admit that Yu Zhiling had the right to say such things.
The Zhuo Yu Immortal was exceptionally talented, capable of memorizing sword techniques with just a glance.
It seemed only Yu Zhiling had the privilege to speak like this.
Such a formidable person—what a pity she had a black heart.
Mo Zhu quietly averted his gaze and leisurely wiped the long sword in his hands.
Yu Zhiling moved swiftly, teleporting back to the courtyard to retrieve the sword manual she had selected the day before, then teleporting back again.
Mo Zhu was still standing in the woods, not having left. Yu Zhiling let out a relieved sigh and unfolded the manual in her hands, offering it to him.
"Learn this."
Mo Zhu took it and glanced down. When he saw the name of the technique, he froze for a moment before raising his inscrutable eyes to Yu Zhiling.
"Master."
Yu Zhiling blinked rapidly. "Mhm, mhm!"
Hurry up and practice! Once he mastered this, his progress would surely skyrocket!
Every move he practiced was a boost to her merit points!
But Mo Zhu handed the manual back. "This one won’t do."
Yu Zhiling was puzzled. "Why not?"
Mo Zhu answered succinctly, "This is the Yingshan Sect’s secret technique, created by its founding ancestor. Only the personal disciples of the elders are permitted to learn it. I am not a personal disciple."
Yu Zhiling: "…………"
She gaped at him. "You’re my only disciple! How are you not a personal disciple?"
Mo Zhu narrowed his eyes slightly. "Master never gave me a disciple jade token."
The Zhuo Yu Immortal had accepted Mo Zhu as her disciple but had never bestowed upon him the jade token that served as proof of his identity. Strictly speaking, Mo Zhu was not officially recognized as her personal disciple.
Every master was required to give their disciple a jade token—it was a symbol of status.
Yu Zhiling cursed inwardly—why hadn’t the system told her something so important?
On the surface, she maintained a forced smile, trying to salvage some dignity in Mo Zhu’s eyes. "Ahaha, the jade token? Maybe I just forgot. I’ll give it to you now."
She quickly searched her mind for how to form the token.
Before Mo Zhu could react and step back, Yu Zhiling grabbed his arm. With a flick of spiritual energy, she sliced open the fabric over his chest and swiftly drew a drop of his heart’s blood.
Mo Zhu didn’t cry out in pain, only furrowed his brows slightly.
She hadn’t hesitated to take the protagonist’s heart’s blood, but when it came to her own, she took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself before closing her eyes and gritting her teeth to draw a drop.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt!!
Just before her expression could twist in pain, she turned away, her hands trembling as she merged the two drops of blood while inwardly wailing about the agony. Her fingers moved swiftly, forming the necessary seals.
Behind her, the young man glanced down at the wound on his chest. The fabric had only been torn slightly—she had taken just one drop, and the injury would heal quickly.
Mo Zhu frowned and cleaned the blood from his robes, then turned his gaze to the woman standing with her back to him.
From behind, her figure was slender, her thin shoulders trembling. He could hear her sharp intake of breath—as if she was...
In pain.
Mo Zhu’s expression stiffened. She was already a Great Ascension cultivator—how could she still be afraid of drawing a single drop of heart’s blood?
Yu Zhiling turned back around at that moment.
"Here, your disciple jade token."
She extended her hand, a dark green jade plaque resting on her palm.
"I’ve fused the disciple token into this jade. It carries my spiritual pressure—anyone who sees it will know you’re my disciple. As long as you wear it, I can find you even from thousands of miles away. Mo Zhu, from now on, you are my rightful disciple."
Mo Zhu’s breath hitched, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Yu Zhiling’s face.
"Master, do you understand what forming this token means? It means that anyone who sees it will know we are master and disciple."
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Of course I know."
"I am a demon."
Very few outside knew that Zhuo Yu’s disciple was a demon. She had never revealed to the Central Continent that her disciple was a snake.
Yu Zhiling frowned in realization. "Why bring that up again? Of course I know you’re a demon. Don’t say such things anymore. You’ll be my only disciple. With this token, your standing in the Central Continent will be easier. People will have to show you respect out of deference to my status."
To Mo Zhu, these words sounded like a promise.
He was Yu Zhiling’s disciple. With the jade token, she became his backing when navigating the Central Continent.
Mo Zhu had no desire to become an elder of the Yingshan Sect or an immortal of the Immortal Alliance. He cared nothing for the status Yu Zhiling held. From the beginning, all he sought was the truth.
He still hadn’t taken the token. Yu Zhiling’s arm was growing sore, and she sighed inwardly—the protagonist really was too reserved.
"Take it."
She stepped forward without hesitation and fastened the jade plaque to Mo Zhu’s waist, her slender fingers deftly tying a perfect knot.
She stood so close, almost pressing into his embrace. When Mo Zhu lowered his head, he could catch the faint floral scent on her—something delicate, though he couldn’t place it. He had little experience being near women.
He didn’t retreat, allowing Yu Zhiling to stand before him and affix the token.
Then she stepped back, nodding in satisfaction.
"Perfect. It suits you."
Mo Zhu looked down. The jade plaque at his waist bore the fused disciple token. Anyone who saw it would recognize him as Yu Zhiling’s acknowledged personal disciple—the Zhuo Yu Immortal’s spiritual mark was unmistakable.
He should have hated this. The feeling of being bound to her was something he disliked, and he had no need for Yu Zhiling’s status to seek personal gain.
But when his eyes met hers—
She was smiling, her eyes curved in genuine delight.
Not a trace of deceit.
Mo Zhu suddenly recalled what he had heard before.
She had lost some of her memories. She no longer remembered the past.
The young man closed his eyes, suppressing the chaotic thoughts in his heart. When he opened them again, his expression was calm.
Whether her change in attitude was due to her amnesia or some ulterior motive, now was not the time to act against her.
Mo Zhu replied flatly, "Thank you, Master."
His voice remained indifferent, betraying no hint of joy.
Yu Zhiling grumbled inwardly—with that foul temper, no wonder the protagonist in the original story didn’t even have a love interest. He was so terrible with words, incapable of even a simple compliment—it’d be a miracle if he ever found one.
She handed the sword manual back to him. "So, can you practice it now?"
Mo Zhu accepted it.
Pursing his lips, he asked one more question. "Master, this is the Yingshan Sect’s secret technique, one of eleven volumes. Are you certain you wish to teach it to me?"
"Of course." Yu Zhiling answered without hesitation. "You’re my only disciple. All my techniques are yours to inherit."
She completely missed the implication in his words.
By teaching him the Yingshan sword techniques, he would only grow stronger. Both of them knew the truth of their relationship—did she not fear the day he became powerful enough to kill her?
But the hostility and frustration in Mo Zhu’s heart dissipated the moment their eyes met. She was clueless, remembering nothing, her attitude toward him shifting inexplicably. It made him think again of—
That green-robed immortal he had first met.
He could bring himself to strike at Zhuo Yu, the revered immortal who had tormented him for the past decade, yet he couldn’t turn the blade toward the person who had once saved him from despair at their first meeting.
Pathetic.
He cursed himself.
Mo Zhu suddenly turned away—one more glance would have betrayed the turmoil in his heart.
"Master, this disciple wishes to practice alone for a while. Please leave."
Yu Zhiling: "…?"
But Mo Zhu seemed to be fleeing from something, hastily retreating as if chased.
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Yu Zhiling shouted after him, "You little brat! Who’s the master here, you or me? How dare you abandon me again!"
Fuming, Yu Zhiling plopped down under a tree, pulling out a handful of chestnuts and angrily cracking them open, stuffing them into her mouth one by one.
After eating for a while, she was still seething. Grumbling, she muttered, "And he says he’s going to practice alone—probably just sneaking off to slack! If he doesn’t want to train in the Yingshan Sect’s secret techniques, he could just say so. Did he really need to make up an excuse—"
[Ding. The male lead has mastered the first volume of the Yingshan Sect’s secret techniques. Host’s merit points +30. Current merit value: 260 points. Please continue your efforts.]
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Yu Zhiling silently set down the chestnut in her hand.
Alright, then.
He really was practicing!
