"So, Clan Leader Zhongli, you're saying... you found nothing?"
Yan Shanqing's expression was dark, his aura icy as his pitch-black eyes fixed on Zhongli Yang seated at the head of the table.
Zhongli Yang remained silent.
Beside him, Zhongli Xun hesitantly spoke up, "Um... Sect Leader Yan, the alteration of the Lianhua Ruins' formation was sudden, and the appearance of the Eight-Blade Killing Array was indeed bizarre. The Zhongli Clan has dispatched nearly seventy percent of our disciples to scour the entirety of Southern Capital, and my elder brother hasn't slept for two days. But... we truly detected no traces of demonic energy."
Yan Shanqing slammed his teacup onto the table with a sharp clink, shattering the tense silence.
"The Lianhua Ruins are a forbidden ground in Southern Capital. You failed to notice the tampering with the music formation, and the Eight-Blade Killing Array takes at least a month to set up—yet you detected nothing in all that time. Should I commend the carefree nature of Southern Capital’s cultivators, or simply call you incompetent?"
His words were too harsh. The even-tempered Xiang Wuxue tugged at his sleeve. "Elder Brother."
After all, the Zhongli Clan of Southern Capital was one of the Four Great Clans, equal in standing to the Yingshan Sect. Openly mocking their clan leader like this was hardly appropriate.
Yan Shanqing scoffed and turned away.
He had always been fiercely protective. When it came to matters involving his junior brothers and sisters, his usual restraint vanished. He was never known for patience to begin with, and ever since learning that Yu Zhiling had used the Frostwind Slash, his anger and regret had simmered relentlessly—especially given the already strained relations between their sects. The two people he cherished most had both resorted to such self-destructive techniques for Southern Capital’s sake.
But why should they?
At the thought of Immortal Fuchun, Yan Shanqing's eyes reddened slightly, his grip tightening on the armrest.
At the high seat, Zhongli Yang remained wordless. Beside him, Zhongli Xun was too young to handle such tension, visibly flustered.
The only ones who had stayed silent throughout were Ning Hengwu and Zhongli Yang—one sipping tea impassively, the other pressing his lips into a thin line.
After a long pause, Ning Hengwu set down her cup.
"Clan Leader Zhongli, I heard the disciple originally assigned to investigate the Three-Eyed Python in the Lianhua Ruins was named Chang Xun, who fell unconscious the night before the Spirit Music Banquet?"
Zhongli Yang nodded. "Yes."
"Did you verify whether it was truly an accident?"
"We investigated thoroughly. It was indeed due to an old ailment. The boy has always been frail."
Ning Hengwu lifted her gaze, her beautiful eyes icy. "What a coincidence. The first time Little Five brought disciples to oversee the Spirit Music Banquet, this boy collapses from an old illness. And in all of Southern Capital, Mo Zhu was the only demonic cultivator available—who just so happened to enter the ruins right as the music formation was altered, the Three-Eyed Python awakened, and Little Five had to rush in to save the disciples?"
Zhongli Yang caught her implication, his brow furrowing. "You don’t trust me?"
Ning Hengwu replied coolly, "I only trust what I see."
"And what does Elder Ning propose?"
"Soul-searching."
The room fell deathly still.
Then Zhongli Yang slammed the table and stood. "Ning Hengwu, don’t think your status as a Yingshan Sect elder makes you untouchable! Those methods of yours are for dealing with vile criminals—not my Zhongli Clan disciples. Over my dead body!"
Ning Hengwu remained expressionless, her red lips parting slightly. "I wasn’t asking for your permission."
"You—!"
Zhongli Yang met her indifferent gaze. He knew all too well the darkness beneath this woman’s celestial facade. The principles of Yingshan Sect’s elders revolved around Yu Zhiling—their unconditional protection of her was absolute, and Ning Hengwu was the most extreme among them.
Though she walked the righteous path, her methods were no different from a demonic cultivator’s.
If anything had happened to Yu Zhiling, the fact that Ning Hengwu hadn’t torn the Zhongli Clan apart already was a miracle.
"In any case, I forbid soul-searching. Ning Hengwu, you are an elder of the Central Continent—keep those demonic arts to yourself!"
With that, Zhongli Yang swept his sleeves and stormed out.
"Elder Brother!" Zhongli Xun called after him fruitlessly. Glancing between his brother’s retreating back and the three seated elders, he could only offer an awkward apology. "Please rest for now. The Zhongli Clan has prepared quarters for you. I apologize on my elder brother’s behalf. We can discuss matters further tomorrow."
With that, he hurried after Zhongli Yang.
Ning Hengwu leisurely poured herself another cup of tea, utterly unperturbed.
After a moment, Xiang Wuxue asked quietly, "Second Sister, are you truly going through with the soul-searching?"
"Yes." Ning Hengwu’s reply was firm. "I don’t believe in coincidences like this."
Xiang Wuxue glanced at Yan Shanqing, silently urging him to intervene.
But Yan Shanqing didn’t move, his expression cold and unreadable. The room fell silent again, the three lost in their own thoughts, with only the occasional sip of tea from Ning Hengwu breaking the stillness.
Xiang Wuxue sighed inwardly and tried to lighten the mood. "About Little Five... could this be connected to what happened ten years ago?"
Yan Shanqing, slouched in his chair, looked up at that.
Xiang Wuxue continued, "Second Sister, have you found out why Little Five’s memories are fragmented?"
Ning Hengwu shook her head. "Her soul is intact. Aside from two old injuries in her meridians, there are no other wounds."
Her medical skills were renowned across the Central Continent, which only made Xiang Wuxue’s heart heavier. "Even you can’t find the cause..."
"Let’s set that aside for now," Yan Shanqing finally spoke, his brow furrowed. "Little Five has been the Central Continent’s strongest for a century. She knows exactly what the Frostwind Slash entails. After our master’s incident, she rarely left Yingshan Sect—even for necessary missions like suppressing the Four Slaughter Realms, she’d be gone for days at most. So when did she ever use the Frostwind Slash before?"
None of them knew. Worse, none of them knew what could have driven Yu Zhiling—a cultivator at the peak of the Mahayana stage—to resort to such a desperate technique.
The Frostwind Slash was a wound in all their hearts. Unless her life had been at stake, why would she use it?
Silence fell once more. Ning Hengwu set down her cup.
Meeting Yan Shanqing’s gaze, she said calmly, "Elder Brother already has a guess, doesn’t he?"
In truth, they all did.
Ning Hengwu continued, "Ten years ago. That month she went missing in the Four Slaughter Realms."
Yan Shanqing’s grip on the armrest tightened unconsciously. "We had no news of her that entire month. And when she returned..."
When she returned, she was like a different person—shutting them all out, meeting them only a handful of times, each encounter colder than the last. To avoid them entirely, she even sealed off the Listening Spring Cliff with a barrier.
Xiang Wuxue understood his meaning and frowned. "You still suspect that incident? But back then... we..."
His voice trailed off. Ning Hengwu finished emotionlessly, "My soul-searching art is unmatched in the Central Continent. At the time, I found no irregularities."
Xiang Wuxue continued, "We didn’t just search her soul—we even used the Soul Mirror, a divine artifact capable of revealing the essence of one’s spirit. There were no traces of possession in Little Five."
Yan Shanqing turned to Ning Hengwu and asked, "Are there any forbidden possession techniques that even soul-searching can’t detect?"
Ning Hengwu shook her head. "I don’t know. But memories reside within the soul. If it truly were possession, the possessor wouldn’t have the memories of the possessed. Yet back then, all three of us—including Old Fourth—tested her, and she remembered everything."
It was precisely because Ning Hengwu’s soul-searching yielded no results, and even their secret use of divine artifacts revealed no signs of possession, that they had no choice but to convince themselves that Yu Zhiling might have been affected by something in the Four Slaughter Realm, causing her to distance herself from them.
But now, after just three years in seclusion, she had emerged with no memory of the past—yet somehow, she had returned as the very version of "Little Five" they had longed for.
Yan Shanqing said, "Some answers can only come from Little Five herself. If we want to uncover the truth of what happened back then, she must recover her lost memories."
Xiang Wuxue murmured, "But… I truly don’t want Little Five to remember those things…"
Wouldn’t it be better if she remained carefree and happy, unburdened by the decades of torment she had endured? To no longer be the Immortal Lord Zhuoyu of the Central Continent, but simply Yu Zhiling of the Yingshan Sect—that would be truly wonderful.
Ning Hengwu sighed deeply. "Whether or not she remembers is not a decision we can make for her."
It all depended on whether Yu Zhiling herself wished to recall the past.
Perhaps, for her, forgetting everything would be the most unbearable outcome.
Yu Zhiling had always been a sound sleeper, and this night was no exception—she slept soundly until dawn.
The faint morning light seeped through the half-open window—Mo Zhu, knowing her fear of enclosed spaces, had deliberately left it ajar. A sliver of sunlight spilled onto her face, gently rousing her from sleep.
She awoke feeling utterly refreshed, her body light and comfortable.
Had there not been another person in the room, she might have rolled over and gone back to sleep.
With a start, she propped herself up on one elbow, only to find someone slumped beside her bed, his forehead resting against the back of her hand—or rather, her fingers curled around his.
He must have stayed there all night. The usually fastidious man now sat unceremoniously on the floor, his head pillowed against the edge of her bed. Exhausted from caring for her these past few days, he remained deep in slumber.
Yu Zhiling clutched the blanket, debating whether to wake him or let him sleep.
After a moment’s hesitation, she carefully tried to withdraw her hand—but the slightest movement made his long lashes flutter, his brow furrowing slightly. She froze, not daring to breathe.
Damn, was this little brat really so sensitive?!
She didn’t dare move another muscle, stiffening under the covers as she tilted her head to study him.
At this proximity, she could see every detail—the dark, curling lashes, the smooth skin, the sharp contours of his face, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He had the kind of striking features that belonged to a classic "beautiful man," but his usual plain attire and perpetually stern expression dulled the impact, making him appear more refined than dazzling.
But if he wore red…
Yu Zhiling’s imagination ran wild. She inched closer, propping her chin on her hands as she stared at his face.
Yes, replace that austere hairpiece with an ornate jade crown, keep the high ponytail, add a spiritual mark between his brows, and swap those dull black robes for something bold and vibrant—he’d turn heads everywhere. Could she pull off a "Miracle Mo Zhu" makeover?
She reached out and poked his eyelashes.
So thick. So curly. So unfairly perfect.
Delighted, she rolled onto her stomach, using both hands to playfully flick at his lashes and trace the bridge of his nose. The little ink-black dumpling didn’t stir.
Ah, the poor disciple, utterly at the mercy of his mischievous master!
Yu Zhiling giggled to herself. "Think you’re so cool, giving me that icy glare all the time? Hah! Acting all aloof—do you think it makes you—"
Suddenly, a pair of pitch-black eyes met hers.
Her brain worked at lightning speed. Without missing a beat, she amended, "—completely irresistible."
Mo Zhu’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Had he been awake this whole time?!
The now-very-much-awake ink dumpling blinked slowly, propping his chin on one hand.
His voice was soft. "Shizun… you like this disciple very much?"
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Was that a threat?
Mo Zhu repeated, "Shizun, do you like this disciple?"
Yu Zhiling clutched her chest dramatically. "Do you hear that?"
Mo Zhu paused. "Hear what?"
Yu Zhiling declared solemnly, "The sound of my heart beating for you!"
Mo Zhu: "……"
Yu Zhiling continued her theatrics. "This master adores you to death!"
Mo Zhu seemed genuinely amused. Even though he knew her words were insincere—she was always spouting nonsense—something in his chest softened anyway. He turned his face away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Yu Zhiling tilted her head. "You’re laughing?"
Mo Zhu nodded. "Mn. This disciple is laughing."
Yu Zhiling cupped her cheeks, grinning. "You look so pretty when you smile."
Mo Zhu had never laughed so freely in his life. "Shizun thinks this disciple is pretty?"
"Absolutely!" Yu Zhiling nodded enthusiastically. "Has anyone ever told you that before?"
Mo Zhu’s voice was quiet. "Shizun is the first."
When he was seven years old, she had said the same thing.
—"You’re so beautiful. You look just like your mother."
Yu Zhiling slapped the bed emphatically. "Then they’re all blind! My disciple is the most handsome man in the Central Continent!"
Mo Zhu’s smile lingered, his gaze never leaving her face.
Having successfully placated her little disciple, Yu Zhiling exhaled in relief. She glanced outside, noting the time, then flopped back onto the bed and stretched out her arms. "Help me wash up. It’s almost lunchtime!"
Even though Ning Hengwu had treated her injuries last night, her meridians would need time to heal. Walking was still difficult, and any strain could reopen her wounds.
Mo Zhu stood, lifting the quilt aside. "Forgive this disciple’s impertinence, Shizun."
"Mm, mm!"
Yu Zhiling looped her arms around his neck without hesitation—might as well take advantage of his obedience while he was still dutiful.
She weighed almost nothing in his arms, light as a feather. Though Mo Zhu deliberately kept some distance between them, the moment he lifted her, the softness of her body—so unlike a man’s—sent his heart stumbling.
But he quickly steadied himself, adjusting his hold to carry her more securely.
Yu Zhiling noticed a thin scab on his cheek and reached out to touch it. "Mo Zhu, are your injuries healing alright?"
She remembered how badly he’d been hurt in the Glimmering Blossom Abyss—whole patches of his scales had been torn away.
Mo Zhu placed her on the washstand in the water room, filling a basin for her as he spoke. "It's fine. The Tengshe clan has strong regenerative abilities, and the Zhongli family already provided medicine for their disciples earlier."
At the mention of the Tengshe, Yu Zhiling suddenly stiffened, stealing a glance at him.
Logically, Immortal Lord Zhuoyu shouldn’t know that the male lead was a Tengshe—after all, in the eyes of the world, the Tengshe had long been extinct. But she, armed with omniscient knowledge from the start, had always known Mo Zhu was a Tengshe.
Mo Zhu had revealed his true Tengshe form to save her. She hadn’t thought much of it yesterday, but now that he’d brought it up himself…
Yu Zhiling feigned shock, covering her mouth. "Ah, you’re a Tengshe? Really?"
Mo Zhu: "…………"
He glanced at her. "Shizun."
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Her act had barely begun before being ruthlessly exposed.
Pouting, she relented. "Fine, fine, I get it. So you’re a Tengshe—big deal. I’ll keep your secret. It’ll be just between the two of us."
She blinked innocently, trying to charm her way out of the situation.
Mo Zhu wrung out the towel, tilting his head to look at her. He seemed to be smiling, but the smile only made her more uneasy.
Yu Zhiling shrank back. "I mean it…"
But Mo Zhu kept smiling.
No way…
Was he going to silence her?
But his illness wasn’t even cured yet! Wasn’t the sickly Mo Zhu supposed to be the most obedient?
"Shizun."
His voice was light, almost like a polite prelude to a murderous act.
He suddenly raised his hand toward her.
Yu Zhiling squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a shrill scream. "Ah—ah! Senior sisters and brothers, save me—waaah!"
But instead of fangs piercing her neck or a blade plunging into her heart, what landed on her face was a warm, damp towel.
Yu Zhiling: "?"
Mo Zhu: "Shizun, wash your face."
Yu Zhiling: "…Oh."
What should have been a dramatic confrontation between the two of them had turned into her own personal comedy.
Mo Zhu’s eyes still held obvious amusement.
He was definitely laughing at her in his heart!
Flustered, Yu Zhiling grabbed the towel. "You… get out. I need to change."
"Mn. Call me if you need anything, Shizun."
"…Yeah, yeah."
Mo Zhu left, closing the door behind him.
Yu Zhiling sat on the wooden stool, staring blankly at her reflection in the bronze mirror.
Her face was expressionless, but inside, she was seething.
"You little brat!!"
Mo Zhu stood outside the door, not intentionally eavesdropping, but his Tengshe-enhanced senses still caught the commotion inside.
She seemed to be in a frenzy, muttering incoherently—mostly curses directed at him.
Leaning against the wall, Mo Zhu’s lips curved into a slow smile.
She had seen his true form. The moment he’d turned back to find her in Lianhua Xu, he’d already considered the consequences.
But now that he’d confirmed she was the one from the very beginning, exposing his Tengshe identity didn’t matter anymore. She would never harm him, and she’d guard his secret well. That was enough.
He trusted her.
Listening to her endless grumbling, he wondered where she found so many words to scold him—even when talking to herself, she made it sound like a lively debate. Despite her weakened state, she radiated energy.
So the cold, formidable Immortal Lord Zhuoyu he’d first met wasn’t her true self.
This was the Yu Xiaowu that Yan Shanqing and the others had been waiting for.
After a long while, he finally heard her clear her throat.
"Mo Zhu."
"Mn, Shizun."
"I’m ready."
"Alright."
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was still seated on the stool, now dressed in a simple green robe.
She must have talked herself into a better mood, because when he entered, she didn’t avoid his gaze. Instead, she stretched out her arms, dark eyes fixed on him.
"Carry me out."
She issued the command with shameless ease.
Mo Zhu’s throat bobbed slightly before he replied softly, "Okay."
Yu Zhiling nestled in her disciple’s arms as he carried her into the courtyard. The day before, Xiang Wuxue had crafted a new daybed for her, now adorned with soft quilts and a thin gauze canopy to ward off insects.
Mo Zhu set her down and handed her a plate of food. "Shizun, I’ll go wash up and change first."
Yu Zhiling took the food, beaming. "Go ahead, go ahead."
It was normal for the male lead to have some cleanliness quirks. After spending so much time with Mo Zhu in Tingchun Cliff, she’d noticed he never wore the same clothes two days in a row.
Mo Zhu had barely left when, after shelling just two chestnuts, another visitor arrived in the courtyard.
She glanced up, frowned at the sight of the newcomer, and promptly flopped back onto the daybed.
"Why are you here again?"
It was Zhongli Yang.
With Yan Shanqing and the others now in Nan Du, Zhongli Yang’s workload should have lightened. He’d probably rested a bit yesterday—today, he looked more put-together, the exhaustion on his face slightly eased.
Zhongli Yang ignored her jab and made to sit on her spacious daybed, only to be smacked away by a pulse of spiritual energy.
"Move. This is the daybed my third senior brother specially made for me!"
Zhongli Yang: "…He used wood from my Zhongli family!"
Yu Zhiling tilted her head. "So? Got a problem with that?"
Zhongli Yang rolled his eyes. "You really haven’t changed. Just as domineering as when you were a kid."
That unapologetic, bratty attitude was exactly the same as her childhood self.
He didn’t press the issue, pulling over a chair instead and fixing her with a dark stare.
Yu Zhiling: "…What? You want my third senior brother to make you a daybed too? He’s busy."
Zhongli Yang’s temper flared again. "Zhuoyu, must you always have the last word?"
Yu Zhiling clamped her mouth shut and noisily cracked another chestnut.
Finally silent, Zhongli Yang asked, "Where’s Mo Zhu?"
Yu Zhiling didn’t answer, giving him a strange look.
Zhongli Yang continued, "He went to change, didn’t he? Zhuoyu, I came to discuss two things with you."
Yu Zhiling stayed quiet.
Zhongli Yang: "First, your second senior sister wants to perform a soul search on my Zhongli family disciples. I want you to stop her. You know soul-searching is forbidden in the Central Continent—it’s a dark art. If she, a righteous cultivator, keeps using these crooked methods, it’ll tarnish her reputation."
Yu Zhiling paused mid-chestnut crack at his words.
Ning Hengwu… wanted to perform a soul search?
Soul-searching not only reveals a person's spiritual essence but also exposes all their memories. This technique, if mishandled, could have unpredictable effects on the subject—severe cases might even cost both parties their lives. It has always been a method associated with the demonic clans. The Central Continent, harboring deep disdain for demons, naturally rejects such forbidden arts. No wonder Zhongli Yang was so furious.
Seeing her remain silent, Zhongli Yang grew impatient. "What are you doing? Why aren’t you speaking?"
Yu Zhiling frowned, pointed at her mouth, then gestured toward him.
Zhongli Yang recalled his earlier words—
"Will you die if you don’t speak?"
He scoffed in exasperation. "You never listen to me normally, but now you choose to obey? Must you always oppose me?"
Yu Zhiling rolled her eyes at him.
Strangely, she had disliked Zhongli Yang from the moment they first met, as if they had some unresolved feud. His constant cold demeanor only fueled her childish defiance, making her instinctively antagonistic toward him.
She attributed these feelings to Immortal Lord Zhuoyu’s lingering emotions—perhaps the original Zhuoyu and Zhongli Yang had clashed in the past.
Zhongli Yang spoke again. "The second matter… Zhuoyu."
Yu Zhiling looked at him.
His brow furrowed slightly. "I know Mo Zhu is your only disciple, but he’s a man now—seventeen is no longer a child."
Yu Zhiling: "?"
Zhongli Yang: "There should be boundaries between men and women. You should teach him. If you’re unwilling, I can speak to him myself."
Yu Zhiling: "??"
Zhongli Yang: "It’s inappropriate for you two to be alone in the same room. And in public, maintain some distance. He’s too close to you."
Yu Zhiling: "???"
Zhongli Yang’s frown deepened as if recalling something. "You… you’ll have your own family someday. Don’t let your relationship with him grow too intimate. Many in the Central Continent are watching you—rumors could spread."
More importantly, he had spent the entire night debating whether to interfere. But he couldn’t shake the memory of the boy’s gaze in the courtyard—cold, disdainful, as if Zhongli Yang meant nothing to him.
Yet when Mo Zhu looked at Yu Zhiling, there was unmistakable dependence.
Since their arrival in Nandu, Zhongli Yang had noticed it. Though Mo Zhu wore a cold expression toward Yu Zhiling, he allowed her proximity. His attitude toward her was unlike his usual aloofness. Zhongli Yang had caught him staring at her multiple times—perhaps even Mo Zhu himself wasn’t aware.
Yu Zhiling also frowned.
Admittedly, Zhongli Yang had a point.
She had grown up in a more open world. Since arriving here, she had treated Mo Zhu like a child, fully embracing her role as his master. But she’d overlooked one thing—
This wasn’t the modern era. Here, being alone with a man or embracing him carried far greater implications.
And she wasn’t truly Immortal Lord Zhuoyu. Mo Zhu wasn’t her real disciple.
At seventeen, he was considered a man in this world—old enough to marry.
Seeing her hesitation, Zhongli Yang’s expression softened. "Think about what I’ve said. He’s a man now. You need to teach him. If you can’t bring yourself to do it, I’ll find time to instruct him."
He was referring to matters of intimacy. Since Mo Zhu was male, Zhongli Yang—also a man—could address it more comfortably. Yu Zhiling found the idea acceptable; it would be awkward coming from her.
She nodded. "Fine, I’ll be mindful. You can talk to him when—"
"Master."
Mo Zhu stepped into the courtyard, clad in fresh black robes, his hair tied high with a jade crown. His gaze was icy as it swept past Zhongli Yang.
Ignoring him, Mo Zhu walked straight to Yu Zhiling.
"Master, the sect leader sent word. He wishes to see you in his quarters."
Without waiting for a response, he bent to lift her.
She flinched, pressing a hand between them.
Mo Zhu paused, his eyes lifting to hers. "Master?"
Yu Zhiling glanced between Zhongli Yang’s stern face and Mo Zhu’s equally cold expression. Clearing her throat, she said, "Um… Mo Zhu, could you fetch me a cane? I can manage on my own."
Mo Zhu replied, "Master, you’re still unwell."
"You could—"
"I’ll carry you."
Zhongli Yang cut her off.
Yu Zhiling: "…Huh?"
He stepped forward, turning his back to her. "Climb on. I’ll take you."
Yu Zhiling: "……"
Mo Zhu’s face darkened completely as he glared at Zhongli Yang. "Sect Leader Zhongli, my master and I are teacher and disciple. You and she are peers—unmarried, of marriageable age. Isn’t this inappropriate?"
Zhongli Yang met his gaze. "What’s inappropriate? We’re merely friends. You and she are master and disciple."
His tone turned sharp. "Mo Zhu, many eyes are on your master. Plenty covet Immortal Lord Zhuoyu’s position. Her decade-long absence from suppressing the Four Killing Realms has already drawn criticism. Don’t give them more ammunition."
"My relationship with Master isn’t like that."
"Perhaps not to you, but others won’t see it that way. And more importantly—" Zhongli Yang’s voice dropped, cold and deliberate. "You’re a demon."
That was the crux. In the Central Continent, over ninety percent of people held prejudices against demonic cultivators.
"Mo Zhu, in ordinary households, boys your age are already marrying. You’ll have your own family someday. If Zhuoyu hasn’t taught you to keep distance from women, I’ll make time to educate you."
With that, he moved to lift Yu Zhiling.
"Stop!"
Yu Zhiling couldn’t take it anymore. She practically leaped upright.
Zhongli Yang: "?"
Yu Zhiling: "!"
A medical miracle?!
Caught between two glowering men, Yu Zhiling chose independence.
Testing her weight, she found the pain bearable—until she moved too abruptly, and the delayed agony flared.
A hand steadied her arm.
Then, in a blur of black, the youth knelt before her.
Before she could react, he had hoisted her onto his back with practiced ease, adjusting his hold to minimize her discomfort.
Without sparing Zhongli Yang a glance, Mo Zhu said coolly, "I am my master’s disciple. If there are lessons to be taught, she will teach me. Who does an outsider think they are to lecture me?"
Zhongli Yang snapped, "Mo Zhu!"
But the young man was already striding away, carrying her without looking back.
Yu Zhiling was on his back, momentarily stunned before she realized what was happening and instinctively struggled.
"Mo Zhu."
Mo Zhu's hands were steady as he lifted her, cradling her legs securely. She found herself seated in the crook of his arms.
"Master, it's fine. We’re master and disciple—no one will think anything of it. You’re injured, and it’s only right for me to take care of you."
Yu Zhiling lowered her voice. "But he has a point. You’re already seventeen. One day, you’ll have your own family—"
"No, I won’t."
Mo Zhu’s tone was flat as he cut her off.
"...What?"
"No, I won’t."
He would never marry.
If he married, he wouldn’t be able to stay at Tingchun Cliff anymore.
Yu Zhiling wrapped her arms around his neck, her breaths filled with his scent. After a pause, she understood his meaning and couldn’t help but think how childishly stubborn he was being.
In the original story, he had no official romantic pairing, but now that the plot had changed, once he reached the Tribulation Transcendence stage and she had already slipped away, he ought to return to a normal life. Perhaps he’d slowly meet someone he liked.
After all, who could predict what the future held?
The two fell into silence. Mo Zhu carried her forward—Yan Shanqing lived in the eastern part of the Zhongli estate, quite a distance from where she was staying.
Yu Zhiling didn’t know what to say. She could keenly sense that Mo Zhu seemed angry, maybe because of Zhongli Yang… or perhaps…
Because of her?
At this moment, Yu Zhiling decided silence was golden.
Yet it was he who broke the stalemate.
"Master."
"...Hmm?"
"Do you also think that way? That I should keep my distance from you?"
"Well… Mo Zhu, I may have been careless before. For the past ten years, I’ve hardly paid you any attention. There are certain principles I should have taught you earlier."
Mo Zhu asked, "What principles?"
Yu Zhiling murmured, "That men and women should maintain boundaries, and that between master and disciple, there are proprieties to observe. Sometimes, we must be mindful of propriety."
Mo Zhu’s steps faltered slightly.
But after a brief pause, he resumed walking.
His expression remained indifferent. "True. But Master, you also once said that a dirty mind sees filth in everything. Even if I kept my distance, would that stop people from misinterpreting our relationship? As long as we know the truth of our bond, isn’t that enough?"
Yu Zhiling’s eyes widened.
Wow, the little protagonist’s philosophical insight had leveled up again.
He was even using her own words against her now.
But…
Damn it, he had a point.
Yu Zhiling weighed Zhongli Yang’s words against Mo Zhu’s, then glanced at her obedient disciple quietly carrying her. He had always taken such good care of her.
Right—why should she overthink their relationship? Mo Zhu was only close to her because his brain was wired wrong!
Once his condition improved and his misaligned instincts corrected themselves, he’d probably revert to that aloof young man who used to avoid her like the plague!
A well-behaved little disciple like this might soon become a limited edition. Yu Zhiling swiftly convinced herself.
"You’re right. We’re just a normal master and disciple. You’re my disciple, after all. Let them think what they want—we’re upright and beyond reproach."
Yu Zhiling wasn’t one to dwell on unnecessary worries. Once she reasoned things through, her mood brightened instantly, and she happily settled against her disciple’s back.
"My clever little disciple! Your wisdom far surpasses that fool Zhongli Yang!"
She meant it as praise.
But she never noticed that Mo Zhu’s face remained expressionless the entire time.
Little brat.
She called him that again.
