Yu Zhiling felt utterly mortified.
Upon waking, she realized what she had done to Mo Zhu—she had vented her emotions on him, yet he hadn’t moved an inch, letting her hit him without showing a trace of anger.
The room was empty now, and the courtyard outside was eerily quiet. There were no footsteps, no sound of Mo Zhu practicing his swordplay—just silence, as if everyone had vanished.
A pang of unease struck Yu Zhiling’s heart. She struggled to sit up and tentatively called out, "Mo Zhu?"
No response came after the first call.
Had he really left?
Her lips pressed together, her anxiety growing. She called out a few more times, her voice trembling.
"Mo Zhu, are you there? Are you outside?"
Normally, he wouldn’t let her call for so long. But this time, she had already called out several times.
Had she angered him by hitting him? If someone had lashed out at her for no reason, she would have been furious too.
Her lashes lowered as she tried to push herself off the bed, the emptiness around her making her frantic.
But she had forgotten her injuries weren’t fully healed. The moment she tried to step down, she collapsed, her back slamming against the edge of the small table beside the bed. The sharp corner dug into her shoulder blade, and she gasped in pain.
Her body ached, and her heart felt sour and heavy. She rubbed her eyes, struggling to crawl back onto the bed.
Just then, the tightly shut door swung open.
She lifted her head and saw the tall, poised figure of the young man at the entrance. He was still in the same black robes from earlier, his hair tied high in a ponytail, a faint red mark visible on the right side of his neck.
"Master, don’t move!"
Mo Zhu’s eyes widened in alarm when he saw her on the floor. He rushed forward and scooped her up.
Yu Zhiling mumbled, "I… I just wanted to find you."
Mo Zhu’s heart clenched. Worried about the injury on her back, he carefully laid her face-down on the bed.
"Master, Miss Liu and Fucui went out earlier. I followed them to the front hall to lock the doors and wasn’t here to watch over you. Did you hit anything? Let me check."
Yu Zhiling turned her face away, shaking her head. "I’m fine, Mo Zhu."
"You must have hurt yourself. Let me see, alright?"
"Really, it’s nothing. There’s something I need to say to you first."
Seeing her determination, Mo Zhu forced himself to calm down.
"What does Master wish to say?"
Yu Zhiling glanced at him hesitantly, her gaze lingering on the scratch marks on his neck. She bit her lip. "I… I didn’t mean to."
Mo Zhu’s expression remained unchanged as he sat by the bed. "It’s alright. They’ll fade by tonight."
Still aching, Yu Zhiling suppressed her pain and focused on him instead, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Mo Zhu, does it hurt? Did I hit you anywhere else?"
Mo Zhu sensed her insecurity—the way she spoke so carefully, as if afraid of upsetting him. His heart ached, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against hers.
"It doesn’t hurt. Not at all. I’m a Flying Serpent—my flesh is tough. If Master wants to hit me, she can. Just don’t hurt yourself, alright?"
Yu Zhiling whispered, "I’m really sorry. My emotions were all over the place today."
"There’s no need to apologize." Mo Zhu stroked her soft hair, softening his voice further. "Master, did you dream of the past again? Like what happened with the Zhongli Family?"
He wasn’t a fool. He could piece together the truth from the fragmented words she had muttered in her sleep.
Yu Zhiling knew she couldn’t hide it from him—and she didn’t intend to.
"Yes. I dreamed."
"What did you see?"
Yu Zhiling fell silent, as if transported back into the nightmare—surrounded by ice and snow, the metallic tang of blood filling her nose, the person in her arms struggling to breathe. The sword Zhuo Yu had been the one to kill Immortal Fuchun, who had been on the verge of becoming a demon.
Mo Zhu didn’t rush her. He waited patiently for her to speak.
"I dreamed of my master’s death. She was tricked into using the third Frostwind Slash, shattering her spirit. A demonic cultivator had planted a demon seed in her soul. It was devouring her from within. If she died, the seed would fully bloom, taking over her body."
"I… my master clung to her last breath, afraid to die—afraid she’d lose her mind and become a demon. When I arrived… she begged me to shatter her soul."
Mo Zhu had guessed as much.
Yu Zhiling said nothing more, and neither did he.
When he had first pieced together the truth, he had felt the same terror as her. Immortal Fuchun had died from the third Frostwind Slash—a technique that left no survivors.
But—
Little Yu had also been the one to shatter her master’s soul, delivering the final blow to her dying master.
Now he understood why Yan Shanqing and the others had been so desperate to keep Yu Zhiling from remembering the past.
Mo Zhu tilted his head back slightly, his throat tight. The woman in his arms remained silent, and the sight of her sorrow twisted his heart.
"Master, it’s all in the past now."
Yu Zhiling rubbed her eyes, unsure why she felt so devastated. She could only attribute it to lingering emotions from the original owner of this body.
"I’m sorry, Mo Zhu. I won’t hit you again."
Mo Zhu hushed her gently. "Master, you don’t need to apologize to me. You’ve done nothing wrong. It really didn’t hurt."
Yu Zhiling murmured again, "I’m truly sorry."
She had slept for a long time, and her voice was hoarse. The weight in her chest made her words thick with unshed tears.
Mo Zhu lifted her, settling her against his chest, and brought a cup of water to her lips.
"Master, let’s not talk about this anymore. Have some tea to soothe your throat."
After drinking a sip, she shook her head. "No more. That’s enough."
Mo Zhu didn’t let go. He continued holding her, gently patting her back. She was unusually still, but her breathing remained uneven, as if her emotions hadn’t settled.
After comforting her for a while, he finally spoke cautiously. "Master, may I ask you something?"
"Mm. Go ahead."
Mo Zhu: "Who is Gui?"
Yu Zhiling stiffened.
Her reaction sent a jolt of panic through him, confirming his suspicions. Suppressing the dark surge in his chest, he kept his voice soft.
"Master, is Gui very important to you?"
"...Yes. Very important."
Yu Zhiling nodded.
Mo Zhu’s smile strained. "Is it a man or a woman?"
"Probably… a girl?"
Probably?
Yu Zhiling explained quietly, "I’ve never met Gui. We only communicated through letters—"
Mo Zhu frowned. In the cultivation world, jade tokens were used for communication. Why would a cultivator like her rely on letters, something only mortals used?
She didn’t even know whether this person was male or female.
Suppressing his frustration, he pressed further. "Then, Master, where is this ‘home’ you mentioned? You said you wanted to go back."
Yu Zhiling had been too overwhelmed earlier, blurting out things she shouldn’t have. Now, she wished she could slap herself—at least she hadn’t mentioned the system.
She hesitated, unwilling to speak, but Mo Zhu refused to let her off.
"Does Master not trust this disciple? Does she not wish to speak with me?"
Yu Zhiling: "..."
Wait a moment, let me think of something.
The master's mind raced frantically, and just as the young man was about to press her again, she finally gave an answer.
"I have a secret hideout."
"...A secret hideout?"
Yu Zhiling lifted her head from his embrace, blinking her eyes as she tried to spin a convincing tale. "It's my own little nest. I bought a house outside, and none of you know about it. When I'm in a bad mood, I go there to stay for a while. That place is my secret hideout."
Mo Zhu: "..."
He truly couldn't believe her nonsense.
Mo Zhu had been troubled before asking, but now, after hearing her answer, his heart felt even more stifled.
An unknown person was someone she deeply cared about. An unknown place was her sanctuary, a refuge she could retreat to at any moment. She wouldn’t even tell him the truth—perhaps she couldn’t, or perhaps she simply didn’t trust him enough.
Why couldn’t she trust him completely?
Yu Zhiling sensed something off about her little disciple—his lips pressed tightly together, his expression cold, clearly not in a good mood.
She shrank back slightly. "Um, I should get down first..."
"Why should you?"
The moment she tried to move, before she could even slip out of his embrace, a hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. Caught off guard, Yu Zhiling lurched forward from the momentum, her body pressing flush against his chest.
"Mo Zhu?"
Mo Zhu stared into her eyes and asked, "Master, who is more important to you—me or Gui?"
Don’t hesitate. Please, don’t hesitate in front of him.
Couldn’t she just firmly say the answer he wanted to hear?
But Yu Zhiling blinked, her lips parting slightly, her gaze confused.
She hesitated.
She was seriously considering—was Gui more important, or was this little disciple of hers more important?
She didn’t notice the unevenness in Mo Zhu’s breathing, nor the faint trembling in the young man’s hand as it rested against her waist.
Yu Zhiling murmured softly to herself, "Do I really have to choose? But both of you are important to me."
Both were important?
Yan Shanqing and the others could hold important places in her heart—they were her family, the senior brothers and sisters who raised her. Mo Zhu wouldn’t feel jealous of that. He wanted her to care for him, but he also wished for her to be surrounded by people who loved her.
But—
Gui. A stranger. Someone so unknown that even Yan Shanqing and the others had never mentioned them. Someone even Liu Guizheng didn’t know about. How could such a person hold a place in her heart comparable to his?
She didn’t even know whether Gui was a man or a woman, yet she had already reserved a space in her heart for them—one that rivaled his own.
"Master."
"Huh?"
"Does Gui know where your home is?"
"Of course."
Her heart wasn’t in good condition, and Gui was her emergency contact on her wristband. If her heart rate ever became irregular, Gui would receive an alert. More than once, Gui had been the one to call an ambulance for her.
Yu Zhiling didn’t see anything wrong with her answer. She was being honest, after all.
But the more honest she was, the more truths she revealed, the harder they were to accept.
Gui knew where her home was. Only Gui knew.
That was a place shared solely between her and Gui.
Mo Zhu tightened his grip around her waist, unconsciously pulling her deeper into his embrace, as if he could meld her into his very bones and blood—so that they would never be separated, so that they would belong entirely to each other.
Yu Zhiling frowned and squirmed slightly.
"Mo Zhu, you’re hurting me. My waist aches."
Mo Zhu snapped out of it and loosened his hold.
Yu Zhiling grumbled, rubbing her waist, "You pressed too hard. How are you so strong? You nearly broke my tailbone. If I end up paralyzed, you’ll have to take care of me—bring me tea, pour me water."
"Master, I’m sorry."
Mo Zhu didn’t move, one hand still hovering near her waist. He turned his head away, steadying his breathing, unwilling to let his emotions show. She liked gentle-tempered people, and he had been trying so hard to suppress his feelings.
But the jealousy, the bitterness, the possessiveness—they still gnawed at him.
Yu Zhiling quietly removed his hand and rolled off his lap, flopping onto the bed. While he wasn’t looking, she shot him a glare.
This little disciple of hers was acting strange. What was he so angry about earlier? Did he think she hadn’t noticed?
Once her injuries healed a bit more, she’d be able to walk again. Then she wouldn’t need him carrying her around anymore.
Yu Zhiling lay on her stomach, one hand reaching awkwardly behind her to rub her waist. Mo Zhu had pressed right against the bone—he was a man, a Flying Serpent with brute strength, and that one press had nearly snapped her poor old waist in half.
Mo Zhu heard her muttering complaints under her breath. Suppressing the unease in his chest, he forced a gentle smile and coaxed her.
"Master, it’s my fault. Let me take a look. Didn’t you hit your back earlier too?"
She frowned, looking genuinely pained, and mumbled a refusal. "No need. It hurts too much. I’ll do it myself."
"Master, I’m sorry. Let me help, alright?"
Now fully aware of his actions, guilt and remorse flooded him. He knelt beside the bed, his large hand resting lightly on her lower back.
Yu Zhiling stayed still, accustomed to ordering him around. "A little lower."
"Does it hurt here?"
"Mhm. My shoulder blade hurts too. Must’ve hit it."
The edge of the table beside the bed was sharp, and she had knocked right into the corner. The impact had nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Mo Zhu touched her shoulder blade carefully, watching her expression. When he saw Yu Zhiling’s delicate brows pinch together—
"Master, does it hurt here?"
"Mhm."
Mo Zhu’s frown deepened. "Master, I was wrong. I should’ve been watching you more closely. Let me get some medicine, alright?"
Yu Zhiling rested her chin on the embroidered pillow and grumbled, "Once I can move again, the first thing I’m doing is beating you up."
"Alright, Master. I’ll go get some ointment for bruises. It must be bruised by now."
Worried about her injury, Mo Zhu quickly left the bed. There was a medical clinic just across from the Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion.
Yu Zhiling lay on the bed, silently massaging her waist.
Demonic beasts were often tall, brimming with vitality, and unnaturally strong. Whenever Yu Zhiling sparred with Mo Zhu, she could clearly feel the sheer force behind his sword swings. She often marveled at how much raw strength this young Flying Serpent possessed—without spiritual energy, even Zhuo Yu might not be able to defeat him in pure combat.
But with spiritual energy? She, Yu Zhiling, could take on ten Mo Zhus.
Mo Zhu returned quickly with the medicine.
He closed the door behind him, then shut the wide-open window halfway before approaching the bed. After a moment’s thought, he drew the bed curtains closed.
Yu Zhiling: "Huh? What’s this for?"
Mo Zhu sat at the edge of the bed and replied calmly, "The window faces the courtyard wall, and beyond that is the marketplace."
"Who would dare climb the walls of the Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion?"
"Better to be cautious."
Still, it was daytime, so even with the curtains drawn, enough light filtered through. She wasn’t afraid.
If Yu Zhiling had known Mo Zhu would draw the bed curtains shut at night, she would’ve kicked this rebellious disciple first.
Mo Zhu watched as Yu Zhiling lay on her stomach, her back turned to him, and felt his heartbeat quicken slightly.
Yu Zhiling’s sleeping robe was in two pieces—a top and bottom. The embroidered quilt covered her from the waist down, and the loose robe could easily be pushed up.
He hesitated for a moment before carefully grasping the edge of her robe.
"Master, let me apply the medicine for you."
Yu Zhiling frowned slightly. "Aren’t Miss Liu and Fucui here?"
Mo Zhu replied, "They went out and won’t be back until evening. They had some matters to attend to."
Yu Zhiling hesitated, but the pain was too much to ignore. After a long internal struggle, she finally gave a muffled, reluctant nod. "...Alright."
He slowly lifted her robe, pushing it up to her shoulder blades.
Yu Zhiling pulled the quilt over her waist, keeping her eyes closed and saying nothing.
Mo Zhu pressed his lips together, understanding that she was avoiding unnecessary intimacy.
Focusing on her injury, he examined the bruise on her shoulder blade. Her fair skin made the large contusion stand out starkly, already turning a deep purple.
Mo Zhu’s frown deepened, regret gnawing at him. If only he had stayed by her side, she wouldn’t have fallen.
He had washed his hands thoroughly beforehand—he would never dare touch her skin without ensuring he was clean. Carefully pouring the medicinal liquid into his palm, he reassured her softly, "Master, it’ll be alright."
"Mmm."
Yu Zhiling buried her face in the soft pillow, hearing him rub his hands together before feeling his warm palm press against her back.
The medicine was meant for bruises and sprains, needing to be warmed before application. As the liquid heated up, it grew uncomfortably hot, and Yu Zhiling instinctively shrank back.
"Does it hurt?"
"...Mmm."
Her response was muffled.
In another world, she would’ve endured far worse pain without complaint—heartache that had brought her to her knees, yet she never shed a tear.
But here, she had grown softer, more willing to voice even the slightest discomfort, knowing someone would comfort her.
True to form, her little disciple soothed her. "I’ll be gentler."
Yu Zhiling didn’t respond, silently accepting his words.
Mo Zhu carefully massaged her back, circling his palm over the bruise on her shoulder blade. When she didn’t protest again, he continued.
The pungent scent of the medicine filled the air, and Yu Zhiling mused inwardly—it seemed remedies for bruises smelled the same in every world, no different from the camphor oil she’d used before.
Her disciple’s touch was light, and soon, Yu Zhiling relaxed, stretching out comfortably.
What had begun as a straightforward application of medicine gradually took on a different tone.
In the dimly lit bedchamber, her jade-like back contrasted sharply with the black fabric of his sleeves. Her delicate shoulder blades were elegantly defined, and the faintly red medicinal liquid stood out starkly against her skin.
Stretching lazily, she didn’t notice as the quilt slipped slightly lower. The ties of her undergarment were a soft green, and though her frame was slender, years of sword practice had given her waist a resilient strength, the faint outline of her muscles just visible.
Mo Zhu hadn’t meant to look. But the injury was near her shoulder blade, and he hadn’t wanted to ruin her robe, so he’d pushed it up to expose her entire back.
Now, he regretted it. He should’ve just cut the fabric, revealing only the injured area—he could always buy her a new robe later.
Mo Zhu turned his head, taking a deep breath. The room, which hadn’t felt warm earlier, now seemed stifling.
Yu Zhiling noticed his sudden pause and turned her head slightly. "What’s wrong? Is the smell too strong? Should we open the curtains?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "No, it’s fine."
"You’re sweating. Are you hot?"
"...A little."
"Then let’s open them?"
"...No need. This disciple isn’t hot."
Yu Zhiling: "..."
So, was he hot or not?
Mo Zhu swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. He poured more medicine into his palm, warming it before gently kneading her shoulder blade again.
His hands trembled slightly as he worked, his gaze drifting to her face. Her eyes were half-lidded, as if she were on the verge of sleep.
She was completely unguarded around him, showing no wariness. Over time, he’d grown accustomed to her reliance on him—her trust that he would stay by her side, even allowing him to sleep near her, though they kept a respectful distance.
Mo Zhu averted his eyes, watching as his broad hand moved over her slender back, his fingers tracing downward until they reached the dip of her waist.
There, a faint imprint of his fingers lingered—unintentional, but unmistakable. He poured the last of the medicine onto his palm, massaging the bruise gently. "Forgive me, Master. I was careless earlier. Let me help ease the pain."
Half-asleep, she mumbled praise, "You’re such a good boy."
The "good boy" remained expressionless, noting how his hand nearly spanned the width of her waist. The contrast between their sizes was striking—her delicate frame belied the strength she wielded with a sword, her posture always upright, radiating unwavering confidence.
She was the revered Zhuo Yu Immortal, capable of anything.
And yet, he couldn’t suppress the growing hunger within him. He knew he should focus solely on tending to her injury, but this was the woman he loved.
His desire for her was overwhelming. Love easily bred longing, and as a demon, his nature was inherently passionate.
Once indifferent to such urges, he now craved her touch, her presence, her reliance on him.
Softly, he called, "Master?"
Nearly lulled to sleep by her disciple’s skilled hands, she responded drowsily, "Mmm? What is it?"
"The medicine’s applied. Should I massage it in a little more?"
Yu Zhiling: "Hm?"
She roused slightly, turning to look at him.
A flicker of conscience made her hesitate. "Aren’t you tired? I’ll be fine after resting."
"Not at all. It’s my fault you’re hurt. Helping you makes me happy."
Yu Zhiling reached up, scratching his chin affectionately. "Such a good disciple! But your master wants to sleep now. You should rest too."
Mo Zhu lowered his eyes. "Alright."
He carefully pulled her robe back down, covering her back, then turned away, exhaling slowly, his hand clenched into a fist.
Yu Zhiling yawned, issuing one last order. "Good boy, tuck me in."
"Yes."
He draped the quilt over her, shielding her completely from view. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. The sharp scent of medicine clung to his hands, but the heat coursing through him was far harder to ignore.
The youth seemed to realize something, his body suddenly stiffening.
Yu Zhiling turned her head to look at him, motionless as he sat on the bed, and tentatively asked, "What's wrong with you?"
There was something off about this child. Her master shifted slightly, moving closer to him.
After the curtains were drawn, the light inside the bedchamber dimmed. Unlike the Flying Serpent with its heightened senses, she could only make out his vague silhouette, unable to discern the changes in the youth's expression.
"Mo Zhu, you—"
Before she could finish, a brocade quilt was flung over her head, covering her entirely.
Yu Zhiling: "?"
"Master, the medicinal scent on me is too strong. I’ll take my leave for now. Call for me if you need anything."
His words came out in a rush, and before he even finished speaking, he was already hurrying out, his footsteps uneven and frantic.
Yu Zhiling yanked the quilt off her head, her cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth.
"Mo Zhu!"
But the room was already empty.
The master shifted slightly, only to wince in pain, her face contorted. She quickly settled back down, not daring to move again.
This child!
What had she done to upset him this time?
After waiting for what felt like an eternity, the wayward disciple finally returned.
Yu Zhiling glared at him and demanded fiercely, "Why did you run off? It’s not like I was going to hit you."
Mo Zhu met her gaze, his throat bobbing slightly.
"...It’s nothing."
He stepped forward, and Yu Zhiling caught the fresh scent of soap, noticing he had changed into a new set of robes.
"You bathed? It’s not even evening yet—what’s with bathing in broad daylight?"
Mo Zhu avoided her eyes as he helped her sit up, murmuring, "I just… felt a bit hot earlier. Broke a sweat."
Yu Zhiling’s eyes lit up in understanding.
Ah, her little disciple was fastidious about cleanliness. That made sense.
Mo Zhu suddenly called out to her, "Master?"
"Hm?"
"You’re two hundred years old."
"..."
Yu Zhiling raised her voice indignantly, "What’s wrong with being two hundred? Don’t bring up a lady’s age! And so what if you’re seventeen? You’ll be two hundred one day too!"
Mo Zhu: "..."
Mo Zhu clarified, "That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to ask… have you ever thought about finding a cultivation partner?"
Yu Zhiling eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you asking that?"
"I was just curious."
Mo Zhu’s heart raced, his throat tight. He had been mulling over this question the entire time he was bathing.
For powerful cultivators, after an intense battle, it was common to feel certain… physical urges. Yet Yu Zhiling, a high-level cultivator who had reached two hundred without marrying, was quite the exception.
Among the current six Great Ascension cultivators—
Yun Zhi was embroiled in the Yun Family’s internal strife and the affairs of the Immortal Alliance. With his frail health and uncertain lifespan, he had never taken a wife.
Wu Zhaoyan had been infatuated with Zhuo Yu since childhood, and despite his family’s objections, he had remained unmarried.
The other three Great Ascension cultivators had all taken wives before they even reached a hundred.
Only Yu Zhiling remained.
Back when Fuchun was still alive, she had once tried to arrange matches for her disciples. But Yu Zhiling—then known as "Little Five"—had fled at the mere suggestion, using Yan Shanqing and the others as shields, claiming she’d only consider a cultivation partner after her senior brothers and sisters had married.
After Fuchun’s death, she had never given the matter another thought.
"Master, have you ever considered it before?"
Yu Zhiling: "...Not really."
She didn’t know if Zhuo Yu had, but the old her certainly hadn’t—back then, her sickly body made it uncertain how many days she even had left.
Mo Zhu pressed his lips together, unwilling to let it go. "What about in the future? Would you ever take a cultivation partner?"
Yu Zhiling gave him a strange look.
Mo Zhu’s heart pounded nervously, waiting for her answer, praying she wasn’t as cold-hearted as those who cultivated the Path of Emotionlessness.
But then she suddenly asked, "Are you worried that if I take a cultivation partner, I’ll abandon you?"
In Yu Zhiling’s eyes, Mo Zhu was a sensitive little bun.
Mo Zhu: "..."
Mo Zhu closed his eyes and sighed. "No. I’m not stopping you from choosing a partner. You’re free to."
Yu Zhiling rested her chin on the pillow, arms folded beneath it.
"Let’s not talk about me—I’m not looking for a partner anytime soon. But what about you? My eldest senior brother’s disciples are already engaged, and my third senior brother is arranging matches for his disciples. Have I been neglecting you?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "There’s no need."
He was starting to regret bringing this up.
But once Yu Zhiling got an idea in her head, she wouldn’t let it go. Completely ignoring his refusal, she mused aloud, "Whether you like it or not, as your master, it’s my duty to help you look."
Mo Zhu: "This disciple doesn’t need it."
Yu Zhiling dismissed his dismissal. "You’re a disciple of the Yingshan Sect, my personal disciple—your status is special. There are plenty of young ladies from the three sects and four families around your age."
Mo Zhu: "I don’t want one."
Yu Zhiling: "Whether you want one or not, I should at least put out some feelers."
Mo Zhu felt helpless. His original intention had been to gauge her thoughts, afraid that his master was as unfeeling as those who cultivated the Path of Emotionlessness—rendering all his efforts futile.
But somehow, the conversation had veered in this direction, and the mere thought of her choosing a partner for him made his chest ache.
"Master, let’s not talk about this. Are you hungry—"
"Mo Zhu." Yu Zhiling cut him off again, suddenly lifting her head to look at him. "Tell me, what kind of girl do you like?"
Mo Zhu’s heart twisted. The way she kept pushing him away, as if eager to marry him off, left him deeply unsettled.
His voice dropped lower. "Master, I don’t want to marry."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "Not now, but I can keep an eye out. What if you meet the right one?"
What if he met the right one?
He already had. The one he loved beyond reason, the one he could never replace—but she seemed utterly indifferent, as if his affections were wasted on a statue.
Mo Zhu stared at her face, his dark eyes unreadable.
Yu Zhiling pressed on firmly. "Tell me. I’ll help you look. As my disciple, you’re worthy of anyone—no one would dare gossip."
Mo Zhu asked quietly, "Worthy of anyone?"
"Of course!"
Oh, child, don’t be insecure. Even if you’re of demon descent, you’re still royalty—a prince!
Mo Zhu fell silent for a moment, and Yu Zhiling gave him an encouraging look.
Go on, little bun, speak your heart! Your master will play matchmaker for sure!
The little bun swallowed hard, lips parting slightly before he finally spoke in a calm voice.
"I like someone older than me."
"Oh-ho! An older woman, huh? Any specific age gap?"
Mo Zhu: "At least a hundred years older."
Yu Zhiling hesitated. "That’s… quite a gap."
Mo Zhu remained expressionless. "I prefer a significant age difference."
Yu Zhiling respected his preferences. "Alright, noted. Must be a hundred years older."
Mo Zhu continued, "She should wear green robes."
His master praised, "Green is lovely—fresh and vibrant. Good taste!"
"She should have willow-leaf eyebrows, double eyelids, phoenix eyes, a high nose bridge, fair skin, and use orange blossom perfume."
"…Wow, such specific criteria for a partner. Your master has taken note."
But something felt a bit off.
"She must wield a sword—be a sword cultivator."
"That’s wonderful! You can spar together, and if there’s any sword technique you don’t understand, you can always ask your master."
Mo Zhu: "…"
Mo Zhu gritted his teeth. "She can only like me, belong to me alone. She must sleep with me every night and never leave my side."
Yu Zhiling tried to reason with him. "Child, you must give the girl some personal space."
Mo Zhu coldly refused. "I don’t care. I’ll follow her wherever she goes. I’ll only love her, and her alone. She must stay with me, and she must feel the same way."
Yu Zhiling reluctantly nodded. "Alright, anything else?"
She still hadn’t caught on!
Mo Zhu was so furious his teeth itched, his breathing heavy.
"Master."
"Hmm?"
"You could quickly ascend by cultivating the Path of Emotionlessness with the Jiang Family, or perhaps join the Zen Sect to pursue Buddhism."
Yu Zhiling: "?"
Mo Zhu tucked her in. "This disciple will prepare the meal. Rest for now."
Yu Zhiling: "…………"
The door closed, leaving the room silent.
Yu Zhiling: "Honestly, this child!"
She lay still for a moment before struggling to shift her body, stretching her arm toward the small table to reach the water jug.
Half her body leaned out of the bed curtains—he had forgotten to move the table closer earlier—and now Yu Zhiling grimaced, unable to reach it no matter how she strained.
Sunlight streamed through the latticed window, reflecting off the bronze mirror and casting a glare into her eyes. Yu Zhiling blinked, momentarily blinded.
A gust of wind blew the window shut, allowing her to finally open her eyes and see the figure reflected in the large bronze mirror opposite her.
A green inner robe, delicate willow-leaf brows, phoenix eyes with double eyelids, a high nose bridge, and luminous fair skin.
Over a hundred years old, dressed in green, a sword cultivator, with these exact features.
Yu Zhiling suddenly frowned, realizing something unsettling.
What he described…
Sounded exactly like her.
