He held her tightly, one hand pressing against the small of her back, as if someone had wronged him greatly.
Yu Zhiling was dressed lightly, wearing only a thin inner robe, and Mo Zhu wasn’t much thicker—their body heat seeped through the fabric between them. His face buried into the crook of her neck, and she felt his tears fall, trailing down her skin.
This little brat…
"Mo… Mo Zhu?"
Yu Zhiling was at a loss. His embrace grew tighter, his choked murmurs echoing in her ear.
After a moment of silence, she suddenly reached up and patted the back of his head, demanding fiercely, "Did that lunatic Zhongli Yang bully you? Did he make you suffer? Damn it, what does the feud between our families have to do with a junior like you? He’s just being petty!"
Her strength was considerable—she yanked Mo Zhu’s face away from her neck in one swift motion.
Caught off guard, the tears clinging to his long lashes trembled precariously as he lifted his misty eyes to look at her.
Yu Zhiling’s heart ached unbearably. She hurriedly cupped his face, wiping his tears away. "Don’t cry, don’t cry! Did Zhongli Yang take advantage of my unconsciousness to torment you? Just wait—I’ll blow up his house tonight!"
The urgency in her eyes was unmistakable. They were so close that Mo Zhu could see his own reflection in her pupils.
It was just like many years ago, when she had looked at him the same way, bending down to scoop up his younger self.
"Shizun."
He called her softly.
Yu Zhiling wiped his tears dry with her sleeve, instinctively responding, "Shizun is here."
Mo Zhu grasped her wrist. "I’m sorry."
"...Huh?" Yu Zhiling paused mid-motion. "Why are you apologizing?"
Why was he apologizing?
Because he had been wrong.
Mo Zhu gazed at her. She was truly beautiful when she smiled. The first time she had smiled at him, he had sworn to follow her for the rest of his life. That was why he had willingly come to the Central Continent with her, joining the Yingshan Sect despite his demonic origins.
Such a good person—how had he failed to recognize her?
She was…
She was her.
Even Yan Shanqing and the others hadn’t doubted her identity. Wasn’t that proof enough? She was exactly like Yu Xiaowu from their childhood.
She could wield the Zhuding Sword. Her heart was pure, allowing her to execute the Frostwind Slash.
If she had truly been that person from the past ten years, how could she possibly have performed the Frostwind Slash? That was the pinnacle technique of the Path of Clarity.
"Shizun… I’m sorry," Mo Zhu repeated. "I was wrong."
Yu Zhiling didn’t understand his apology. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly. "Mo Zhu, did the Zhongli family mistreat you?"
"No, no one bullied me."
"...Did I bully you?"
"No. You’ve never bullied me. Not once."
Yu Zhiling raised her other hand to feel his forehead, then suddenly leaned in, her phoenix eyes scrutinizing him intently.
They were so close their noses nearly touched, her breath brushing against his skin.
"...Did I knock your brain loose?" Yu Zhiling muttered, frowning. "My second senior sister is coming tonight, right? I’ll have her check your head."
Mo Zhu suddenly laughed—not the hollow smiles he had given her before, but a genuine one, his eyes crinkling at the corners, light dancing in their depths.
Yu Zhiling: "..."
"Who am I?" she asked flatly.
"Shizun."
"Is Shizun the most powerful person in the world?"
"Yes."
"Is Shizun a peerless beauty, with grace like jade, so stunning she could make fish forget to swim and geese fall from the sky? The number one beauty of the Central Continent?"
"Yes."
Yu Zhiling threw off the blankets, preparing to get out of bed.
Mo Zhu quickly stopped her. "Shizun, where are you going?"
Yu Zhiling looked horrified. "To find a doctor for you! We can’t delay treatment—the sooner, the better!"
Mo Zhu froze, then realized what she meant. A low chuckle escaped his throat as he tucked the quilt back around her.
"This disciple isn’t sick."
"Don’t refuse treatment out of fear. Don’t worry, Shizun has money—we’ll get you cured."
"This disciple really isn’t sick."
"Most mentally ill people say that."
Mo Zhu sighed and offered his wrist. "If Shizun doesn’t believe me, check for yourself."
Yu Zhiling hesitated before pressing her fingers to his pulse, channeling spiritual energy into his meridians to inspect his consciousness.
His soul was stable. His body was weak, but only due to superficial injuries—seven or eight shattered meridians, nothing too severe. Otherwise, there really didn’t seem to be anything abnormal.
Yu Zhiling remained unconvinced. "You know, some mental illnesses are hard to detect. Be good—when your second senior aunt arrives tonight, we’ll have her examine you properly."
Mo Zhu didn’t argue. If she was determined to believe he had lost his mind, he would humor her. "Mm, alright."
Though this little inkling might be mentally unsound, this version of him was far more agreeable than before—at least his smile was pleasant to look at.
Who knew how long this version of him would last?
Yu Zhiling sighed inwardly, then rubbed her stomach, deciding to prioritize her own pressing matter.
"Mo Zhu, I’m hungry."
Mo Zhu nodded, straightening up to tuck the blankets more securely around her. "I’ll bring you a meal."
His obedience was downright unsettling.
This brat had been acting strange since Lianhua Marsh. Yu Zhiling resolved to have Ning Hengwu give him a thorough examination tonight.
Alone in the room now, Yu Zhiling reached for the teacup on the small table, only to wince as pain shot through her body. She gritted her teeth, straining futilely for the cup.
A knock sounded at the door. "Zhuoyu."
Yu Zhiling struggled. "Come in."
Zhongli Yang stepped inside and immediately saw her pitiful attempt to grab the teacup.
Zhongli Yang: "..."
Couldn’t she just use spiritual energy to retrieve it?
Unable to bear the sight, he strode over and handed her the tea. "Drink."
Yu Zhiling accepted it, downing the contents in one go before finally feeling alive again.
She looked up at him. He was still wearing the same gold-trimmed purple robes from before she had lost consciousness, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion—clearly, he hadn’t rested in days.
"Are you alright?" Zhongli Yang’s gaze swept over her pallid face, his brows knitting together.
"I’ll live," she said, shooting him a glare before passing the empty cup back.
Zhongli Yang set it aside, then handed her a wooden box. "Take this."
Yu Zhiling opened it to find a dark brown root. "Ginseng?"
"Immortal Sprout," he corrected. "The forty thousand spirit stones will also be delivered to you tonight."
Yu Zhiling brightened. He was actually giving it to her?
Delighted, she tucked the Immortal Sprout away, planning to use it to cure Mo Zhu’s poison once Ning Hengwu arrived.
Noticing he was still standing, she gestured cheerfully to the stool opposite her. "Sit."
Zhongli Yang remained where he was, his expression grave.
Yu Zhiling: "...You have something to say?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, hesitation flickering across his face before he finally nodded.
"Zhuoyu… I’m sorry for how I treated you before."
Yu Zhiling: "..."
Yu Zhiling: "???"
Yu Zhiling: "Are you mentally ill too?!"
Zhongli Yang: "..."
Zhongli Yang didn’t fully understand her words, but he could tell she was insulting him. In the past, he might have bickered with her, but seeing her in this state, he couldn’t muster any anger.
She had truly helped him a great deal. Now wasn’t the time to argue.
Zhongli Yang sighed softly. "Forget it. Some things can wait. I have matters to attend to. If you need anything, call for someone."
"Master, I’m back."
The two voices overlapped, one after the other.
Zhongli Yang turned toward the door, where a tall young man stood, holding a tray in one hand and an oil-paper bag in the other.
Mo Zhu stepped inside and gave a slight nod. "Master Zhongli."
Though he addressed him, his gaze never once landed on Zhongli Yang.
Zhongli Yang knew the boy had a cold demeanor, so he wasn’t offended. Watching him set the meal on the table, he said, "I have business to attend to, so I’ll take my leave. Take good care of her."
"Mn."
Zhongli Yang turned and walked away. After a dozen steps, he suddenly remembered he hadn’t thanked Yu Zhiling for saving Nan Du City. He turned back.
"Zhuo—"
He swallowed his words before finishing.
The door was left open. Standing in the courtyard, he saw the young man lift the embroidered quilt, scoop Yu Zhiling into his arms, and carry her to the table, gently seating her in a sandalwood chair.
Sensing someone’s presence, Mo Zhu glanced up, his eyes meeting Zhongli Yang’s in the courtyard.
This time, he didn’t even offer a polite nod—just a fleeting look before turning back to Yu Zhiling, carefully feeding her soup with meticulous movements.
Zhongli Yang frowned, an uneasy feeling stirring in his chest.
He knew Mo Zhu was Yu Zhiling’s disciple, and it made sense for the boy to care for his master. But…
Wasn’t this crossing a line?
Seventeen was young among cultivators, but in the mortal world, it was old enough to marry. Yu Zhiling was also an unmarried woman. Shouldn’t they maintain some distance?
Perhaps Mo Zhu was just too young to understand, and Yu Zhiling hadn’t taught him. Zhongli Yang decided he’d have to find time to talk to her about it.
Without disturbing them, he left.
The door remained open.
Yu Zhiling sipped the chicken soup Mo Zhu fed her, then glanced outside. "Mo Zhu, what were you looking at earlier?"
Mo Zhu replied indifferently, "Nothing. The wind’s picking up. Should I close the door, Master?"
"No, the room reeks of medicine. Let it air out."
"Mn." He brought another spoonful to her lips. "Master, drink."
Yu Zhiling took a sip, the rich flavor bursting on her tongue. She forgot for a moment that the one feeding her was the cold, ruthless protagonist of the original story. Happily swinging her legs, her jade-white feet peeked out from under her skirt.
Mo Zhu glanced down, then looked away. After finishing the meal, he untied the oil-paper bag he’d brought.
"Do you want candied fruit?"
"Yes!"
Mo Zhu handed her the bag. Yu Zhiling hugged it, popping one piece after another into her mouth. He’d bought plenty of sweet dates—such a thoughtful little disciple, always knowing how to please his master!
Meanwhile, Mo Zhu walked to the bed, retrieving Yu Zhiling’s Qiankun bag. She was careless and hadn’t set any protective spells, so he opened it easily, retrieving what he needed before returning to her side.
Kneeling, he lifted her foot, resting it on his knee—a stark contrast of pale skin against dark fabric.
Yu Zhiling startled and tried to pull away. "Mo Zhu!"
Mo Zhu tightened his grip on her ankle, pulling her back. He took out a clean silk sock.
"Master, put these on first."
Yu Zhiling squirmed. "I-I can do it myself…"
Mo Zhu looked up. "Can you bend down?"
She couldn’t.
Her meridians were badly damaged. Walking was already difficult. Small movements were manageable, but bending would strain thousands of meridians—too painful to bear.
Yu Zhiling shook her head meekly. "Then… you do it."
Her foot rested on Mo Zhu’s knee. His robes were thin, and she could feel the firm muscle beneath.
After putting on her socks, he fetched an outer robe. Yu Zhiling obediently stretched out her arms for him to dress her.
As he bent to tie the sash at her waist—his high ponytail swaying—Yu Zhiling couldn’t resist reaching out to grab it.
The smooth, ink-black strands slipped through her fingers. She sniffled and whispered, "How do you wash your hair? It’s so soft."
Mo Zhu answered plainly, "Master’s hair is beautiful too."
Yu Zhiling sniffed again and withdrew her hand.
Confirmed. He was definitely sick in the head—seriously ill.
Since when did the stoic, taciturn protagonist from the novel say things like this?
While his condition was this severe, Yu Zhiling decided to cherish this rare, obedient version of her disciple.
Once dressed, Mo Zhu noticed her staring at him while munching candied fruit. He could guess exactly what she was thinking—probably diagnosing him with another mental illness.
He paused but didn’t bother correcting her. Instead, he glanced outside. The sunlight was warm today.
"Master, would you like to sit in the courtyard?"
"...Sure."
The medicinal stench in the room was overwhelming, and opening the door wouldn’t air it out quickly.
Mo Zhu bent down, one arm around her waist, the other under her knees, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.
He settled her on a reclining chair in the courtyard, then pulled up a wooden stool beside her.
Yu Zhiling studied his profile—the sharp angles of his face even more striking from this angle.
A sour feeling rose in her chest. How could someone be so unfairly good-looking? High nose bridge, flawless from every angle, and in the original story, he’d been so dedicated to his goals that he never even had a love interest.
Sure, his "goals" involved thirty-six ways to kill the Jade Purity Immortal, but still—a male lead so devoted to his cause, untouched by romance, was undeniably appealing.
Noticing her stare, Mo Zhu turned.
"Master, what are you thinking?"
Yu Zhiling sighed. "Nothing. Just admiring your… dedication."
"Dedication?"
"To abstinence."
With a face like his, if he’d been the slightest bit flirtatious, his harem would’ve spanned continents.
Mo Zhu didn’t quite follow but leaned back lazily in his chair. "Why do you say that, Master?"
Yu Zhiling’s curiosity flared. Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered, "Just between us—I promise I won’t tell. When you were training in the Central Continent, did any girls confess to you?"
"...Confess?"
"It's just... writing you a letter to confess feelings, inviting you out for a meal, giving you a little scented sachet, things like that."
Mo Zhu understood, and the smile on his lips faded slightly. "Does Shizun wish for me to have such things?"
"It wouldn’t matter if you did."
Yu Zhiling thought he was just shy. After a moment of contemplation, she realized Mo Zhu was still young, and the esteemed Lord Zhuoyu likely hadn’t taught him these things.
As his shizun, she was practically his guardian—imparting proper education about relationships was her responsibility.
Yu Zhiling wriggled slightly closer to him, lowering her voice. "Mo Zhu, you’re at that age where romantic feelings are natural. There’s no need to be shy about emotions. If you like someone, you should pursue them bravely."
"And then?"
"Well... it’s normal to be in a relationship. You’re old enough to seek a cultivation partner now. Shizun won’t object."
The last trace of a smile vanished from Mo Zhu’s face.
Yu Zhiling hurried to clarify, "I’m not mocking you! I’m just sharing some wisdom from experience."
Mo Zhu studied her. "Shizun, do you have experience?"
"...Huh?"
"Are you well-versed in matters of the heart? Or... has Shizun ever liked someone?"
Yu Zhiling blinked. "Liked someone?"
Mo Zhu pressed, "Have you?"
Yu Zhiling wasn’t sure whether Lord Zhuoyu had ever been in love, but she certainly hadn’t. She shrank back slightly and ventured, "Probably... not?"
Mo Zhu fell silent, his gaze so intense it made her uneasy.
Just as she was about to speak, he suddenly smiled.
"Mm, this disciple understands." Mo Zhu reached out, brushing aside a stray lock of hair the wind had blown across her eyes. "I’ve never been close to any women, nor has anyone ever confessed their feelings to me."
Yu Zhiling felt a pang of sympathy—his icy, coffin-like expression must have scared them all away. She tried to console him, "It’s alright. When you’re ready to settle down, Shizun will help arrange things for you."
Mo Zhu responded flatly, "Yes, Shizun."
Unfortunately, Yu Zhiling didn’t notice his subdued mood. She lazily curled up in her lounge chair, basking in the sun and popping candied fruits into her mouth one after another.
Mo Zhu sat upright beside her, listening to the crisp crunch of sweet dates between her teeth.
He tilted his head toward the sky. The sun blazed overhead, its brilliance almost dizzying.
Suddenly, it struck him—at seventeen, he was but a fleeting moment in Yu Zhiling’s two centuries of life. By the time she had made her name across the Central Continent, he hadn’t even existed.
For cultivators, who lived for centuries or even millennia, age meant little. Yet she seemed fixated on it, calling him "little brat" and speaking to him as if coaxing a child, her gaze always tinged with an inexplicable fondness.
She didn’t see him as a man at all—only ever as a child.
Mo Zhu turned to look at her.
Yu Zhiling’s eyes were closed, sunlight spilling over her face. Her skin was so translucent under the glow that it gave him an odd sensation—as though...
If he blinked, she might vanish.
After waiting so long to find her, how could he let her slip away?
