The Central Continent is divided into three sects and four great families, with the Yun Family and Wu Family being two of the four.
Yun Zhi, Wu Zhaoyan, and Yu Xiaowu were close in age, all doted upon by their respective sects. The children had known each other since childhood, so close that they could casually stay at each other's sects for months at a time.
Yu Zhiling spent the journey reminiscing about their past relationship, but she only retained vague emotions—no concrete memories of Zhuo Yu.
Still, she could tell Yun Zhi was endlessly good-tempered, while Wu Zhaoyan seemed childish and hot-headed. At least, during their two brief conversations, he hadn’t seemed particularly willing to engage.
When Mo Zhu escorted her to Yan Shanqing’s residence, she had just settled into the pavilion in the courtyard. As Mo Zhu adjusted a cushion for her back, an irritating voice cut in.
"You’re living the good life, aren’t you? Food served to you, clothes dressed on you, even carried around. No wonder you’ve been unwilling to leave Yingshan Sect all these years."
A gentle voice promptly interrupted him. "Zhaoyan, don’t speak like that."
Mo Zhu didn’t react, but Yu Zhiling peeked out from behind her disciple.
Yun Zhi was still wrapped in his heavy crane-feather cloak and white robes, his face pale and sickly. Beside him stood a young man in dark blue robes, his sharp features cold and intimidating when unsmiling. Handsome, yes, but the arrogance radiating from him made Yu Zhiling itch to punch him.
The Wu Family’s patriarch, spoiled rotten since childhood, Wu Zhaoyan had been even more of a troublemaker than Yu Xiaowu back then. Yet someone always cleaned up his messes. Now, with his cultivation reaching greater heights, his temper had only grown worse.
"Zhuo Yu, you look absolutely ridiculous half-crippled like this."
Yu Zhiling ignored him, ducking back behind Mo Zhu and nudging him to readjust the cushion.
Wu Zhaoyan exploded. "Yu Xiaowu, you’re ignoring me?"
Yu Zhiling pushed Mo Zhu aside and frowned. "You noticed, yet you still had to ask?"
Wu Zhaoyan snarled, "Yu Xiaowu, draw your sword and fight me outside!"
Yun Zhi hastily grabbed his arm. "She just used Frostwind Slash—how do you expect her to fight you now?"
At the mention of Frostwind Slash, Wu Zhaoyan stiffened, his aggressive aura deflating. He glanced at Yu Zhiling, muttering curses under his breath.
"Idiot. Have you lost your mind? Do you even know what that technique does? Reckless fool."
He stormed into the pavilion and sat across from her, summoning servants with a jade token to prepare a meal.
Yu Zhiling pouted but didn’t take his scolding to heart. Some deep part of her knew Wu Zhaoyan cared—he was just childish and sharp-tongued.
She tugged at Mo Zhu’s sleeve. "Weren’t you going to practice sword forms? Your lightning tribulation is coming soon—you should focus."
Before Mo Zhu could respond, Wu Zhaoyan eyed him.
"Is this your disciple? Where are his manners?"
Mo Zhu didn’t even look at him, murmuring flatly, "Greetings, Immortal Lords."
The words were perfunctory, his gaze immediately returning to his master.
Wu Zhaoyan barely knew Mo Zhu, only that he was Yu Zhiling’s disciple. Unlike Yun Zhi, who had discreetly kept tabs on the boy, Wu Zhaoyan was unaware of Mo Zhu’s aloof nature.
"Young man—"
Yun Zhi cut in. "Zhaoyan, Mo Zhu isn’t much for words. Don’t pick on him. Didn’t you say you wanted to have a meal with Zhuo Yu?"
Yu Zhiling brightened, grinning. "You wanted to eat with me?"
Wu Zhaoyan’s face flushed red and then paled. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Yun Zhi’s lying. How can you believe him?"
Yun Zhi sighed, quietly pouring tea for everyone.
Yu Zhiling swayed playfully. "I’ll always trust Yun Zhi. He looks honest—unlike you."
"Yu Xiaowu, don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re injured!"
"Go ahead and try. I might be immobile, but my spiritual power works just fine. I could still beat you twice over."
"You—!"
Wu Zhaoyan was fuming, but Yun Zhi pressed a calming hand on his shoulder, sliding a cup of tea toward him.
"Arguing with her again? You’ve never beaten Zhuo Yu. Drink some water."
"Yun Zhi!"
Yun Zhi remained unruffled. "I heard you. Lower your voice—what will your disciples think of your dignity?"
He seemed accustomed to Wu Zhaoyan and Yu Zhiling’s constant bickering, playing mediator with ease. He deftly redirected their conflict onto himself, though unlike Yu Zhiling, Yun Zhi’s patience was boundless. Wu Zhaoyan only dared to snap at him, never actually raising a hand.
But with Yu Xiaowu? They’d draw blades and fight for days—though it usually ended with her thrashing him single-handedly.
Yu Zhiling marveled once more at her own terrifying strength.
Mo Zhu’s gaze never left her, catching the smile curling her lips. He knew her well after caring for her so long.
Even without her memories, she unconsciously relied on and trusted Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan.
Mo Zhu lowered his eyes. His emotions had been slipping too often lately.
Servants arrived with food, and Yu Zhiling remembered Mo Zhu, tugging his sleeve again.
"Mo Zhu, are you going to train or stay and eat with me?"
Mo Zhu snapped out of his thoughts, forcing a smile to mask his unease. "This disciple isn’t hungry. Please enjoy your meal, Master. I’ll go practice. Call if you need me."
He couldn’t stay. His emotions were too volatile—listening to her banter with them, he might reveal something he shouldn’t.
Yu Zhiling cheerfully stuffed a handful of candies into his palm.
"Off you go, then. I’ll summon you when I’m done. Keep your jade token on."
"Understood."
As Mo Zhu straightened, his eyes met Yun Zhi’s and Wu Zhaoyan’s.
Yun Zhi was as serene as ever, his gaze gentle and unreadable.
But Wu Zhaoyan narrowed his eyes, something dark flickering in his stare—a silent understanding passing between them.
Mo Zhu’s throat tightened. He gave a curt nod and turned to leave.
At the courtyard gate, he glanced back one last time. His carefree master was already devouring her meal, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel, not once looking his way.
Yun Zhi washed his hands in a basin held by a disciple, paying Mo Zhu no mind.
Wu Zhaoyan lounged in his chair, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on Mo Zhu with detached amusement.
Mo Zhu coolly averted his gaze and shut the gate behind him.
Only then did Yu Zhiling react to the sound, pausing mid-chew to glance at the closed door.
"Being so diligent in cultivation lately deserves some reward..."
On the mustard seed boat, apart from taking care of her, Mo Zhu spent almost all his time cultivating, earning a considerable amount of merit points for his master. Since he attended to her so meticulously, she realized she hadn’t given him any reward yet.
Feeling guilty, the master nodded to herself and decided that once she could walk again in a few days, she would personally select a divine weapon for her young disciple.
Wu Zhaoyan scoffed coldly when he saw her staring longingly: "He’s already gone. What are you looking at?"
Yu Zhiling turned and glared at him: "None of your business. My disciple is good-looking—can’t I admire him?"
Her mouth was still full of food, making her words muffled. Wu Zhaoyan barely understood her, and his barely relaxed brows furrowed again.
Yun Zhi returned to his seat at that moment. "Stop bickering, you two. It’s been a while since we’ve gathered like this—let’s just enjoy the meal."
Yu Zhiling focused on eating, muttering under her breath: "Hear that? Could you at least have some gentlemanly manners and not argue with a girl? You’re as infuriating as Zhongli Yang."
Wu Zhaoyan rolled his eyes, wiped his chopsticks, and retorted sarcastically: "You call yourself a girl?"
Yu Zhiling: "..."
If she weren’t half-paralyzed right now, she would’ve kicked him hard enough to send him flying from the peak of Yingshan Sect all the way down to the foot of the mountain.
A piece of braised fish landed in her bowl—courtesy of Yun Zhi.
"Zhaoyan bought it. Didn’t you like this before?"
Yu Zhiling instantly forgave Wu Zhaoyan.
Wu Zhaoyan’s face flushed red again, and he shot Yun Zhi a fierce glare.
Seeing the tension between them ease, Yun Zhi sighed softly and began eating leisurely.
"Zhuo Yu, after this meal, Zhaoyan and I will be leaving. If you ever need anything, you can summon us. You still have the jade token, right?"
Yu Zhiling looked up, her words still muffled: "Why leave so soon? Stay a couple more days."
Wu Zhaoyan snorted lightly: "You think everyone’s as idle as you? Does the Yun Family have nothing to do? The Wu Family? Or the Immortal Alliance?"
Yu Zhiling: "...Oh."
She really wasn’t as busy as Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan. With no duties in the Immortal Alliance and Yan Shanqing handling sect affairs, Yu Zhiling—having been in this world for nearly two months now—spent her days eating, drinking, and occasionally pushing her little disciple to work harder.
Yun Zhi ate with refined elegance, speaking calmly: "Zhuo Yu, what are your plans next?"
Yu Zhiling blinked in confusion: "What plans?"
Yun Zhi replied: "About Immortal Fuchun’s matter."
Yu Zhiling’s chewing slowed to a stop.
The previously lighthearted atmosphere instantly turned heavy. Even the mocking expression on Wu Zhaoyan’s face vanished as he fixed his gaze on Yu Zhiling across the table.
Both of them—and everyone else—knew that Yu Zhiling had forgotten her past, which was why she seemed so carefree and lively now.
None of them mourned her amnesia. Having witnessed what she was like in the decades before and how she had been just before Fuchun’s death, they believed forgetting was the best outcome for her.
Yu Zhiling seemed at a loss, remaining silent for a long moment.
Wu Zhaoyan rapped his knuckles on the table, his voice cold: "Why bring this up during a meal? She should just rest while she’s injured. It’s not like she’s needed right now."
Yun Zhi, ever composed, always assessed situations objectively and made the most rational judgments.
He said: "But she won’t stay amnesic or injured forever. Her memories might return one day, and her wounds will heal soon. Since we know the mastermind is after her, Zhuo Yu, you need to prepare."
Yu Zhiling swallowed the fish in her mouth and took a sip of tea.
"I know." She stirred the soup in her bowl absentmindedly, her voice barely audible: "I know he wants to kill me—and both of you. He wants to release the demons trapped in the Four Slaughter Realm. You two should be careful too."
She wasn’t a fool. She could figure that much out.
Wu Zhaoyan sneered: "Worry about yourself first. The Frostblade of the Heart’s Clarity Dao is formidable, but you’ve already unleashed it twice, Zhuo Yu. He’ll definitely find a way to force you into a third strike—that’s the surest way to eliminate you. Don’t you have any plans?"
Yu Zhiling murmured: "I won’t use it a third time."
Wu Zhaoyan scoffed: "You wielded it the second time for Nan Du. Next time, it might be Bei Du. If he sets up the Eightfold Slaughter Array again, what will you do?"
"I... I won’t sacrifice my life for others."
"What if he targets Yingshan Sect?"
The moment those words fell, Yu Zhiling froze.
Crack—
She crushed the corner of the table with her bare hand.
Wu Zhaoyan pressed his lips together. "See? Just the hypothetical alone makes you lose control. Yingshan Sect is your weakness. How do you know he won’t exploit it?"
Yun Zhi lowered his lashes, speaking softly: "Zhuo Yu, Sect Leader Yan and the others are highly skilled, and the sect’s defenses have been strengthened. If anything happens, just summon Zhaoyan and me. We’ll come to your aid. Don’t ever use the Frostblade a third time."
Wu Zhaoyan stayed silent. Yun Zhi waited until a faint, muffled sound escaped her.
"...Mm." Yu Zhiling paused, then repeated: "Mm. Okay."
The meal wasn’t as lighthearted as she’d imagined. Yun Zhi’s words struck her like a hammer to the heart.
She had been so focused on pushing Mo Zhu to cultivate and earn her life-sustaining merit points—after all, she wasn’t Zhuo Yu. Those matters had nothing to do with her. She was just Yu Zhiling.
So why, upon hearing the truth behind Immortal Fuchun’s death, seeing Yan Shanqing and the others besieged at the Zhongli Family, or even just now when Yun Zhi mentioned the potential danger to Yingshan Sect—why did killing intent surge within her?
Yu Zhiling glanced at Wu Zhaoyan and Yun Zhi across the table. One wore a cold, grim expression; the other remained impassive. Neither feared the mastermind’s schemes—both were early-stage Mahayana cultivators, powerhouses capable of dominating the Central Continent.
Yet they worried for her. Because she was different.
The fatal flaw of the Heart’s Clarity Dao could elevate her to the pinnacle of the Central Continent—or hurl her back into the abyss. Her vulnerabilities alone could compel her to unleash the Frostblade a third time.
Yu Zhiling didn’t possess Immortal Fuchun’s selfless love, willing to die for a village of commoners.
But she had enough weaknesses—if even one of the Yingshan Sect members were taken hostage, it might drive her to desperation.
That was why Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan were anxious.
Afraid she would truly wield the Frostblade a third time.
And walk the same path as Immortal Fuchun.
After the meal, Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan departed separately.
Before leaving, Yu Zhiling received repeated reminders from the two of them, which all boiled down to one point:
—She must never use the Frostwind Slash again. The mastermind behind everything would reveal himself in due time, and she was not to seek him out alone.
Yu Zhiling’s ears were practically calloused from their nagging. By the time the two left, the sky was already painted with the glow of sunset.
Yan Shanqing was still occupied with sect affairs and hadn’t returned yet. Since Yu Zhiling couldn’t move around much, she decisively settled in the pavilion to enjoy the breeze, casually plucking a citrus fruit from the table to cleanse her palate.
It was then that the system’s notification chimed in her mind.
[Ding! The male protagonist has mastered the "Profound Clarity Sword Art." Host’s merit points +50. Current merit value: 1450 points. Keep up the good work.]
Yu Zhiling immediately tapped her jade token.
The other end answered almost instantly. "Master, have you finished eating?"
Yu Zhiling hugged the token and called out, "Mo-Mo!"
Her voice was so loud it nearly ruptured Mo Zhu’s eardrums, leaving his ears ringing.
She had given him yet another nickname.
So far, Yu Zhiling had called him "little brat," "inky dumpling," "good baby," "little disciple," "sweetheart," and "precious cub." He had no idea where she came up with so many endearments.
The young man fell silent for a moment but didn’t move the token away. Instead, leaning against a tree, he responded softly, "Mm. Master, I’m here."
Yu Zhiling popped a citrus segment into her mouth and giggled. "Your master must’ve done eight lifetimes’ worth of good deeds to get a hardworking disciple like you."
If she’d ended up with a lazy, unmotivated disciple, she would’ve abandoned the mission on the spot and thrown herself off the nearest tall tree.
Mo Zhu chuckled, his voice warm and tender. "Master, are you full?"
"Full? The day isn’t even over yet, and I’ve already eaten so much. I’m gonna get fat, waaah!"
Her melodrama was relentless, leaving her little disciple no choice but to play along.
"You’d still look beautiful even if you gained weight."
Yu Zhiling sprawled across the long bench, clutching the token as she asked playfully, "Really?"
"Mm. Really. Master is beautiful no matter what."
"Good baby!"
Even though she knew her little disciple was just humoring her, any girl would be over the moon hearing such words!
Her laughter traveled through the token to Mo Zhu’s side. The dense forest was silent, the warm golden light filtering through the leaves and casting shadows on the young man’s chiseled features. The smile on his lips was impossible to suppress.
He wanted—no, needed—to see her.
"Master, should I come pick you up?"
Yu Zhiling chewed on another citrus segment and grinned. "Aren’t you supposed to practice swordplay today?"
Mo Zhu replied calmly, "I’ll meditate on the mental techniques tonight. I’ve already trained enough with the sword today."
Yu Zhiling nodded eagerly. "Alright, come get me then! I’m still at Big Brother’s place."
Mo Zhu softened his voice, answering almost in a whisper, "Okay, Master."
Night was falling. It was time to bring her home.
Yu Zhiling lounged in the pavilion, waiting for Mo Zhu to fetch her.
She could sit for much longer now. Ning Hengwu had scoured the best healing elixirs for her, and Mo Zhu’s meticulous care had sped up her recovery. In just seven days, she had improved significantly—she’d likely be able to attempt walking within a month.
Yan Shanqing’s courtyard was empty, the vast space occupied only by her solitary figure. Yu Zhiling gazed past the pavilion’s eaves at the sky, where the setting sun melted into gold and twilight clouds merged like jade.
Quiet moments always invited introspection.
She could feel her emotions clearly. She wasn’t the real Yu Xiaowu, yet she couldn’t help but be affected by Yingshan Sect’s affairs—whether it was dependence, trust, or hatred. These feelings belonged to Yu Xiaowu, not Yu Zhiling.
She had only been here for a little over a month…
Yu Zhiling had a premonition that her mission would be completed soon. Five thousand merit points seemed within easy reach—Mo Zhu’s talent was undeniable, and in cultivation, he could very well become the next Zhuo Yu.
But once her task was done… would she be willing to leave?
Before she could ponder further, the courtyard gate creaked open, and Mo Zhu stepped in.
"Master, I’m here."
Yu Zhiling snapped out of her thoughts and struggled to lift her head, waving cheerfully to signal her location.
"Sweetheart, over here!"
Mo Zhu smiled helplessly. Of course he knew where she was—Yu Zhiling couldn’t even stand, let alone go anywhere else.
He entered the pavilion, and Yu Zhiling immediately stretched out her arms.
"Carry me on your back. The meridians on my back have healed a lot."
Mo Zhu nodded. "Alright."
As she settled onto his back, she peeled another citrus segment and held it to his lips.
"Want some?"
Mo Zhu didn’t particularly like citrus, but if she was offering, he’d eat it.
He parted his lips slightly, taking the segment from her fingers. His lips brushed against her fingertip, catching a whiff of the fruit’s sweet fragrance.
A tingling sensation spread from his lips, and the citrus in his mouth suddenly seemed tasteless. He froze for a second before realization dawned, his lips curving into a slow, unmistakable smile.
Yu Zhiling, oblivious, continued munching on another segment, comfortably nestled against his back.
"Mo Zhu, have you been taking your medicine lately?"
By now, Mo Zhu was used to this line of questioning. "Yes."
"Feeling any better?"
"...Mm. Much better."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "But you still look seriously ill."
Mo Zhu had wanted to say countless times that he was not, in fact, sick at all. But he knew Yu Zhiling wouldn’t believe him—his little master had her own unique way of interpreting things.
It seemed he’d be taking this "calming tonic" for life. Though, admittedly, his sleep had improved significantly.
Suppressing a sigh, Mo Zhu obediently accepted the next citrus segment she fed him.
Her stomach was a bottomless pit—even after a full meal, she could rest and start eating again. Today, she’d already devoured two feasts and peeled three more citrus fruits on the way back to Listening Spring Cliff, though Mo Zhu had helped her finish half.
Pushing open the gate, Mo Zhu carefully set Yu Zhiling down on the soft couch in the courtyard. She flopped back with a contented sigh, patting her slightly rounded belly.
"Bliss," she declared.
Mo Zhu poured her a cup of tea, lifting her gently to bring the cup to her lips.
"Master, drink some water. You’ve had too much citrus today—it’ll make you heaty."
Yu Zhiling happily sipped from the cup he held, then immediately collapsed back onto the couch.
She patted the space beside her. "Sit down. Aren’t you tired standing?"
Mo Zhu settled next to her, resting his hands behind him as he leaned back slightly, tilting his head to gaze at the setting sun.
"Master, did you enjoy your conversation with the two Immortal Venerables today?"
Yu Zhiling’s expression soured. "No."
Mo Zhu hesitated. "...Why not?"
"We talked about some unpleasant things. But it’s fine—even if Master wasn’t happy, Master still ate her fill!"
She patted her belly again, emphasizing that while her mood had shifted from cheerful eating to silent eating, eating itself had never stopped.
Mo Zhu laughed again, propping himself up with his hands as he reclined further, eyes fixed on the sinking sun.
He knew she loved dusk. On the mustard-seed boat, she would often lean by the window to gaze at the sky, and in those moments, she was serene.
This time, she remained just as quiet—so quiet for so long that Mo Zhu thought she had fallen asleep.
He was about to rise to fetch a blanket for her when a soft voice drifted beside him.
"Mo Zhu, do you hate me?"
Mo Zhu froze, turning back to look.
Yu Zhiling’s eyes were open, wide awake, meeting his gaze as she repeated, "I wasn’t kind to you in the past. Do you… hate me?"
Seeing the caution and guilt in her eyes, his heart ached with bitterness.
He leaned down slightly, cradling her face with one hand, speaking with utmost care. "Master, I don’t hate you. Not at all."
Yu Zhiling’s lips pressed together. Their faces were close, his palm still warm against her cheek—a posture that should have been intimate, yet the air carried no trace of tenderness.
She was filled with unease; he was steeped in sorrow.
Mo Zhu, seeing her fearful remorse, spoke again with conviction. "Master, I don’t hate you—not even a little. I… I adore you."
Yu Zhiling’s lashes lowered as she murmured, "Mo Zhu, whether you hate me or not… can you promise not to hate Yingshan Sect?"
"Master…"
She couldn’t ignore the way her heart had raced earlier when Wu Zhaoyan posed his hypothetical question.
The vision she’d seen at the Zhongli Family resurfaced in her mind—Ning Hengwu lying in a pool of blood, Yan Shanqing missing an arm, Xiang Wuxue pierced by countless arrows, surrounded by corpses.
Today, Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan’s words had reminded her: the original novel’s ending, the moment Mo Zhu’s character had collapsed entirely.
—Torrential rain poured as Mo Zhu walked down the stone steps of Yingshan Sect, sword in hand. Blood washed over the pristine hem of his robes, and behind him, the sect lay in ruins, littered with the dead.
Was what she’d seen an illusion—or the original ending?
Mo Zhu’s hand trembled, his breath cold and uneven. He saw the fear on her face—not fear of his vengeance against her, but fear of what he might do to Yingshan Sect.
His lips parted several times before he found his voice again.
"Master… you don’t trust me?"
He sounded on the verge of tears, his heart aching not just for her pain but for the disbelief in her question.
It pained him that she carried the weight of blame alone, unaware of the truth.
It terrified him that she would even ask—hadn’t his actions made his stance clear?
When Yu Zhiling lifted her gaze, a tear fell from his eye onto her cheek, scalding hot.
Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she took in his shaken expression, the tears clinging to his lashes, the unsteady hand still cupping her face.
Mo Zhu whispered, "You… you truly don’t believe me? How could I ever raise a hand against Yingshan Sect?"
Yu Zhiling’s chest tightened. She realized what she’d done—projecting an unfounded future onto him.
The sight of her disciple crying shattered her. She quickly cupped his face, wiping his tears away.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I do trust you. You’d never do such a thing."
"Master, please believe me…"
Mo Zhu buried his face in the crook of her neck. She lay on the divan while he sat at its edge, bending over her, enveloping her in his embrace. His nose brushed the soft skin of her throat, tears dampening her collarbone. Her heart ached even more, and she hurried to soothe him.
"I believe you, of course I do. Don’t cry, my dear."
"You believe me, and I swear…"
His voice dropped too low for her to hear.
Yu Zhiling kept murmuring comforts. "I truly trust you. Please, don’t cry anymore."
But where she couldn’t see, though tears still fell, the fragility in Mo Zhu’s eyes had vanished. His expression was icy, brimming with killing intent.
"I swear… I’ll kill it."
The one who had stolen her place, the one who’d made her disappear for ten years—he would drag that person out and flay them alive.
The woman beneath him continued to comfort him, stroking the back of his head, nuzzling his cheek. "Don’t cry, don’t cry. It was wrong of me to doubt you."
Mo Zhu held her tighter, inhaling her scent. His act had worked—she hadn’t noticed. He wanted her sympathy; Yu Zhiling could never resist his vulnerability.
She hugged him back, gently patting his back.
Outside the courtyard, a figure turned and walked away.
He moved silently, expressionless, until he reached the edge of Listening Spring Cliff. There, another person approached.
The two faced each other across a short distance.
Yan Shanqing’s gaze was cold. Ning Hengwu raised a brow. "Elder Brother, finished speaking with Little Five?"
But Yan Shanqing shifted the topic abruptly. "Hengwu, you know about Mo Zhu and Little Five, don’t you?"
Ning Hengwu’s expression hardened. "You saw?"
"Yes." Yan Shanqing remained composed. "That boy has developed feelings."
The way he’d clung to her—no disciple should act so intimately with their master.
Ning Hengwu asked, "Do you think he’s worthy?"
Yan Shanqing shook his head. "No one is."
Ning Hengwu fell silent for a moment before pressing, "What will you do?"
This time, it was Yan Shanqing who hesitated.
When no answer came, Ning Hengwu spoke first. "Send Mo Zhu away on a demon-hunting mission. Distance might dull these feelings—"
"Hengwu."
Yan Shanqing cut her off.
Ning Hengwu paused. "Elder Brother?"
Yan Shanqing asked, "Has Little Five been happy lately?"
"…Yes."
Truly happy—smiling more in these days than she had in decades.
"Who spends the most time with her now?"
"…Mo Zhu."
"Does she rely on him?"
"…Yes."
"Then do you think Little Five feels nothing?"
Ning Hengwu’s pupils constricted.
Her pulse quickened, realization dawning as she sharply retorted, "That’s impossible!"
But Yan Shanqing shook his head. "I raised her. When she was little, she’d ride on my shoulders and cling to me. But as she grew, even a hug became rare. She’s a woman now—has she embraced me since her return? Or Third Brother?"
"Little Five is too close to Mo Zhu. Even if her feelings aren’t deep yet, she’s already crossed a line."
With that, he walked past her.
Ning Hengwu suddenly called after him, "But how could Mo Zhu ever be worthy? As you said, her feelings are faint—she might not even realize them. We can still sever this."
Her voice was resolute as she turned toward Yu Zhiling’s courtyard.
Yan Shanqing caught her arm. "Hengwu."
"Elder Brother!"
He said softly, "Little Five is happy."
It felt like a heavy hammer striking Ning Hengwu’s heart, jolting her awake with a ringing in her ears.
Yan Shanqing released her hand and said softly, "Hengwu, as long as she’s happy... She hasn’t been this happy in a long time."
With that, Yan Shanqing left.
Ning Hengwu stood alone on the mountain peak, gazing at the mist-shrouded valleys below. The Listening Spring Cliff towered high, where white cranes circled in the distance.
What was Yu Zhiling like when she was with Mo Zhu?
A carefree, mischievous little tyrant, spoiled and pampered, always ordering Mo Zhu around—yet the young man tolerated it all without complaint.
Ning Hengwu had always believed Mo Zhu was unworthy of Yu Zhiling. Whether it was the taboo of a master-disciple romance or his identity as a snake demon, she feared Yu Zhiling would face ridicule in the Central Continent. Deep down, she looked down on Mo Zhu.
As a disciple, he was acceptable. As a lifelong partner? Impossible.
But she had overlooked the most fundamental question.
She assumed she knew what was best for Yu Zhiling—but what did Yu Zhiling herself think?
With Mo Zhu, Yu Zhiling seemed genuinely happy.
Yan Shanqing’s words had made his stance clear—he wouldn’t interfere.
Ning Hengwu turned her gaze toward the distant courtyard, where a bonfire flickered at the corner. She could guess—Yu Zhiling was hungry, and Mo Zhu was roasting something for her.
Perhaps sweet potatoes, chestnuts, or even duck.
Mo Zhu obeyed her every whim, doting on her without hesitation.
If Ning Hengwu stepped in now, if she interfered again, Yu Zhiling and Mo Zhu’s relationship would face obstacles. She could still push Yu Zhiling toward Yun Zhi or Wu Zhaoyan instead.
Childhood sweethearts, equals in status and standing.
What could a mere seventeen-year-old boy offer against two Central Continent immortals?
—"Xiaowu is happy."
That was what Yan Shanqing had said.
Ning Hengwu stood there for a long, long time.
When a white crane landed beside her, tilting its sharp beak as if to peck at this strange, motionless cultivator, she finally stirred.
The crane flapped its wings in alarm, soaring back into the sky above Listening Spring Cliff.
Ning Hengwu turned and walked away, leaving Yu Zhiling behind.
Status didn’t matter. "Worthy" or not—it wasn’t their place to decide for Yu Zhiling.
If she was truly happy, then so be it—whether he was her disciple, a snake demon, or just a seventeen-year-old boy.
As long as Yu Xiaowu was happy.
