Once this thought took root, Yu Zhiling began to see her little disciple in a different light.
Seated in her wheelchair, the injury on her back wasn’t severe, and she didn’t feel like lying indoors, so she followed Mo Zhu outside. The kitchen of the Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion wasn’t particularly large. While Mo Zhu prepared the meal inside, she sat by the entrance, watching him.
It was clear he wasn’t very skilled—he only knew how to make simple dishes, and even that was something he’d learned later, just to take care of her. A beam of light streamed through the half-open window, falling across his face. His sharp profile was exquisitely carved, and he worked with such focus that, if they were in her world, Yu Zhiling would’ve been more than happy to befriend such a handsome young man.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice Mo Zhu approaching until he was right in front of her.
"Master, have some snacks while you wait. The congee will be ready soon."
"Huh?"
A bag of sunflower seeds was pressed into her hands. She clutched them, staring at him blankly, her dazed expression unbearably cute. Mo Zhu crouched down in front of her, his heart softening.
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing well-defined forearms. He brushed the tip of her nose, leaving a smudge of flour there.
Mo Zhu chuckled. "Master looks silly."
"...You little rascal!"
Yu Zhiling’s competitive spirit flared up. She grabbed his hand, rubbing the flour off his fingers and smearing it onto his face. She then cupped his cheeks, kneading and pinching them while the obedient "flour dumpling" let her cover his face in white powder.
Yu Zhiling tugged at his cheeks, pulling them outward. "Dare to call me silly again?"
Mo Zhu raised a brow, playing along with her theatrics. "I wouldn’t dare."
Yu Zhiling huffed.
Mo Zhu clasped her wrist, pressing his cheek into her palm. His gaze locked onto hers, unblinking, his voice tender and lingering.
"I wouldn’t dare, Master."
Though his words said otherwise, his expression screamed, "I’ll definitely do it again."
Yu Zhiling stared at the faint dusting of flour on his cheek. Even like this, he was unbearably handsome—his bright, deer-like eyes, the way he nuzzled into her hand. Her throat tightened, her heart skipping a beat. Realizing what she was doing, she yanked her hand back.
"You—go finish cooking. I’ll wait in the courtyard."
She wheeled herself away before Mo Zhu could stop her, disappearing in a hurry.
The smile on Mo Zhu’s lips faded. With her gone, there was no need to keep up the act. His dark eyes fixed on the direction she’d left, his expression cold as he wiped the flour from his face.
She seemed to be avoiding him.
Yu Zhiling wasn’t exactly avoiding him, but now that the suspicion had taken hold, everything about Mo Zhu felt... off.
She wheeled herself under a tree in the courtyard, watching the thin trail of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney.
He liked people who wore green robes, were over a hundred years older than him, practiced sword cultivation, had willow-leaf eyebrows, phoenix eyes, double eyelids, a high nose bridge, fair skin, and wore orange blossom fragrance.
It wasn’t narcissism—this description sounded like he’d copied it straight from her face.
Was he teasing her because she’d nagged him about marriage, or was it... real?
Yu Zhiling shook her head. As a reader, she knew exactly how brutally Zhuo Yu had died in the original novel—utter annihilation, not even a strand of hair left behind. Mo Zhu hadn’t spared him a single trace.
Was this kid’s brain still not fully healed?
She sat in the courtyard for a while longer. By the time moonlight appeared, Mo Zhu had finished preparing dinner.
Limited by her wheelchair, she watched him tidy up, struck by how much her little disciple had changed. When he first returned to the sect, he’d been all thorns and edges. Being alone with him had been nerve-wracking—she’d feared her head might roll off her shoulders at any second.
Now, he accompanied her everywhere, stayed by her side as she slept, served her tea, peeled fruit for her, and never lost his temper no matter how much she pestered him.
Was he still mentally unwell, or did he actually... like her?
The mere possibility sent a shiver down her spine. Her first thought was that she must be dreaming—how much fake wine had she drunk to hallucinate something like this?
Her character was the villainess in this story. Did he have some kind of twisted preference? Stockholm syndrome, maybe?
Mo Zhu was clearing the table when Yu Zhiling wheeled herself over, tilting her head to study him.
Could it be...
That her overwhelming care and strict guidance had melted her little disciple’s icy heart?
Mo Zhu had just finished setting the table and turned to help his master eat when he met her sparkling gaze.
"...Master, time to eat?"
Yu Zhiling wheeled herself to the table, eyeing Mo Zhu as he took his seat beside her. Her eyes narrowed.
Mo Zhu: "..."
Mo Zhu asked, "Why are you staring at me? Is there still flour on my face?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "No."
Mo Zhu: "Then what is it?"
Yu Zhiling: "I’m checking if you’re grateful."
Mo Zhu: "?"
Yu Zhiling leaned in, deadly serious. "Has Master treated you well? Since you returned to the sect, have you felt the overwhelming, powerful care I’ve showered upon you?"
Mo Zhu thought of the sweet potatoes she’d given him, her unwavering protection, how she—who was afraid of the dark—had rushed into the Lianhua Abyss to save him.
That counted as care, right?
Mo Zhu nodded. "Yes, I have."
Yu Zhiling pressed further. "And have you felt Master’s strict discipline?"
Was she referring to that list she’d made—"How to Raise a Successful Disciple"?
Mo Zhu hesitated, then nodded. "...Yes."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "So, the reason you’re so good to me... is it because you’ve been moved by my warm care and discipline?"
Suddenly, Mo Zhu realized what she was asking.
She thought his devotion stemmed from a disciple’s gratitude toward his master.
The ease on his face dissolved, replaced by a creeping cold that seeped through his robes.
Yu Zhiling: "Why aren’t you answering?"
Mo Zhu pressed his lips together. Under her relentless questioning, he suddenly fired back, "What about you, Master? Do you treat me well because I’m your disciple, or because I’m Mo Zhu?"
Yu Zhiling frowned. "What’s the difference?"
Difference?
There was a world of difference.
Mo Zhu’s voice darkened. "If I weren’t your disciple—if I were just Mo Zhu—would you still treat me this well?"
Yu Zhiling sensed the shift in his mood. Her usually dull brain finally sounded the alarm, and she instinctively shrank back, putting distance between them.
"Why bother with hypotheticals? You’re the same person—ah, Mo Zhu!"
The wheelchair was hooked from below. Given his long legs, Mo Zhu easily pulled Yu Zhiling back just as she tried to wheel herself away, bringing them so close their shoulders nearly touched.
Mo Zhu gripped her wrist, leaning in with stubborn intensity. "I want an answer. Forget the past—just look at now, Master. If I weren’t your disciple anymore, would you still treat me well?"
Yu Zhiling felt her life might be over.
The darkness in Mo Zhu’s eyes was unmistakable. His grip on her wrist was firm, one leg lazily stretched out to block her wheelchair, leaving her no escape.
"...Do I have to say it?"
"This disciple wants to know."
Yu Zhiling swallowed hard, scrambling for a safe answer. "Yes, of course I’d treat you well."
Mo Zhu’s expression softened slightly. "Why?"
Yu Zhiling answered firmly, "Because you’re Mo Zhu. I’ll always treat Mo Zhu well."
Half of it was placation—Mo Zhu could tell. His master was terrible at hiding her thoughts. But even if she was just humoring him, it still made him happy.
A smile curved his lips as he cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers with a tender, almost needy nuzzle.
"Mm. I’ll always treat Master well too. Even if you weren’t my master, I’d still cherish you. Because you’re Yu Zhiling. As long as you’re Yu Zhiling, that’s enough."
The one he’d always loved was her.
The past ten years meant nothing.
From childhood admiration to youthful infatuation, the object of his affection had never changed—only her.
Yu Zhiling forced a smile, patting her little disciple’s cheek.
"Ah Ling."
A light voice drifted in from outside.
Yu Zhiling turned to see a figure in a veiled hat standing at the arched gate, Fucui trailing behind.
"Guizheng?"
Liu Guizheng removed her hat, ignoring Mo Zhu entirely as she took a seat beside Yu Zhiling, her demeanor calm.
"Has Mo Zhu told you the identity of that demonic cultivator?"
Yu Zhiling blinked. "Huh?" She glanced at Mo Zhu. "What? You know who he is?"
Mo Zhu’s expression turned icy, as if Liu Guizheng didn’t exist. He smiled faintly at Yu Zhiling, ruffling her hair.
"Yes. He’s likely the Demon Realm’s Sovereign."
Yu Zhiling gasped. "The Demon Sovereign?"
Mo Zhu nodded. "Mm."
Yu Zhiling’s eyes widened. "Wait—isn’t that Guizheng’s grandfather?"
Liu Guizheng: "..."
Liu Guizheng tried to explain. "Not exactly. While my father was one of the Sovereign’s descendants, they weren’t… biologically his. He adopted orphaned demon children with high talent, infused them with his essence to strengthen their bloodline and control them. My father carried his blood, but that’s all."
Yu Zhiling: "..."
This was too abstract!
Liu Guizheng sighed, giving up. "Point is, he didn’t father them. The Demon Sovereign has no consorts or true heirs. I’m not his granddaughter, so don’t misunderstand."
Yu Zhiling wasn’t trying to—she just found everything about this demonic cultivator (no, Sovereign) utterly baffling.
By now, she was genuinely curious: what kind of existence was this Demon Sovereign?
Her attention remained fixed on Liu Guizheng, making Mo Zhu frown. He quietly placed a bowl of soup before her.
"Master, eat."
Yu Zhiling nodded absently. "Oh, right."
Her emotions had settled after her earlier outburst and tears. Though a faint ache lingered—probably Zhuo Yu’s residual feelings—she could now face the topic calmly.
Mo Zhu peeled shrimp for her; Yu Zhiling loved seafood.
She took a sip of soup, then suddenly looked up at Liu Guizheng.
"Guizheng, where did you go today? I thought you rarely left home."
Liu Guizheng sat poised, untouched utensils before her. Her gaze met Yu Zhiling’s, voice even. "I visited my foster father’s grave. Today was his death anniversary."
Yu Zhiling stiffened, voice dropping. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know."
Liu Guizheng shook her head. "It’s fine."
Yu Zhiling offered an awkward smile before returning to her soup, mechanically eating whatever Mo Zhu served her.
The table fell silent. Burdened by the day’s events, Yu Zhiling had little appetite, eating only a bowl of soup and some vegetables before setting her chopsticks down.
Mo Zhu asked gently, "Was the food not to your liking? What would you prefer? I’ll buy something else."
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "No, I’m just not hungry. I’d like to wash up and sleep."
"Alright. I’ll take you to the bathhouse."
Mo Zhu never pushed. He simply obeyed. But as he reached for the wheelchair, someone else moved first.
Liu Guizheng’s hand settled on the handles. She rose gracefully, stroking Yu Zhiling’s hair with a smile. "I’ll take you. My hot spring is larger, and your mobility is limited."
Yu Zhiling’s face flushed. "T-that’s too much! We’d be… together?"
Liu Guizheng chuckled. "Of course not. You’ll bathe. I’ll watch."
Yu Zhiling: "...Oh."
Mo Zhu’s expression darkened further.
Liu Guizheng lifted her chin slightly, tone edged. "You don’t object, do you, Young Master Mo? As a man, you can’t assist her with bathing. Since she’s here, it’s only right I help. Don’t you agree?"
Though Mo Zhu disliked her, he knew she was right.
He couldn’t undress or bathe Yu Zhiling—not as a man, not when they weren’t lovers. But Liu Guizheng could. She could spare Yu Zhiling the struggle.
Mo Zhu released the wheelchair, voice flat. "Naturally. I leave it to you, Miss Liu."
As Liu Guizheng wheeled Yu Zhiling away, his master didn’t look back.
She was always like this—carefree, as if she’d never once turned back for him.
Mo Zhu stood alone in the courtyard. Fucui, less wary of him than her mistress, noticed the young man’s desolation. After a pause, she spoke softly.
"Young Master, it’s late. You should rest. I’ll bring Immortal Zhuo Yu back shortly."
Mo Zhu responded softly, "Mm."
He did not enter the room but instead sat down at the dining table, eating his meal with deliberate grace. His manners were exceptionally refined, and Fucui, standing nearby, couldn't help but marvel inwardly.
Though he was of demonic descent, this young man carried himself like someone from an aristocratic family—his every movement more polished than even the most well-bred disciples of Central Continent's noble houses. His looks were unparalleled, and his innate talent was something rarely seen in Central Continent for years.
If not for his mysterious origins, Liu Guizheng wouldn’t have been so wary of him.
Yu Zhiling was pushed into the bathing room by Liu Guizheng. The moment she entered, a wave of shyness surged over her again, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Um… Guizheng, I can manage on my own."
Liu Guizheng closed the door, pulled over a chair, and sat directly across from Yu Zhiling’s wheelchair, staring at her intently.
Yu Zhiling: "…I’ve never bathed with anyone else before. I’m not used to it."
Liu Guizheng spoke, but her words took an abrupt turn. "Let’s talk for a bit. You’re returning to Yingshan Sect tomorrow. Sect Leader Yan sent word that you’re to go back—your jade token wasn’t responding."
"Ah?" Yu Zhiling patted her waist but found nothing. Then it dawned on her. "Oh right, I didn’t bring my jade token this time. Mo Zhu’s token was left in his room, and he wasn’t wearing it today either. My senior brother couldn’t reach us."
Liu Guizheng said, "Tomorrow, have Mo Zhu take you back."
Yu Zhiling asked, "Did my senior brother say what it was about? Why do Mo Zhu and I have to return? I clearly had Mo Zhu tell him last night that we planned to stay here for a few more days."
"I don’t know. He didn’t say, but it must be important. This place isn’t entirely safe for you anyway. It’s better for you to recuperate at Yingshan Sect. If I miss you, I’ll visit. It’s not far."
Having heard this, Yu Zhiling could only nod in agreement.
"Alright."
She responded obediently, blinking her bright, dewy eyes at Liu Guizheng.
There, she’d agreed—could Liu Guizheng leave now so she could bathe in peace?
But Liu Guizheng remained seated in the wooden chair, watching her quietly, the image of a parent confronting a child that Yu Zhiling had only ever seen on television.
"Uh… Guizheng, is there something else?"
"There are still matters to discuss."
Yu Zhiling straightened up, thinking this must be serious.
"Go ahead, I’m listening."
Liu Guizheng asked, "Do you know Mo Zhu’s true background?"
Yu Zhiling: "…Mo Zhu?"
Liu Guizheng’s expression was grave, not a hint of jest in her tone. She was entirely serious.
Yu Zhiling could only answer honestly, "Don’t worry, I… I know enough. He wouldn’t harm me."
Of course Liu Guizheng knew Mo Zhu wouldn’t harm her—how could someone who loved her ever do that?
As she looked into Yu Zhiling’s innocent eyes, it was as if she were peering through decades of time, seeing once more the carefree Yu Xiaowu in her green robes, as though Fuchun had never died and Yu Zhiling had never changed.
But now, with a heart as pure as a child’s, was it truly safe to have someone with ulterior motives by her side?
The words Liu Guizheng had hesitated to say all day now hung on the tip of her tongue, uncertain whether to voice them.
Yu Zhiling sensed her hesitation.
"Guizheng, just say whatever’s on your mind. We’re friends."
At the word "friends," Liu Guizheng’s tense expression softened slightly. She leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
"Ah Ling, do you think Mo Zhu treats you the way a disciple should treat their master?"
"…What?" Yu Zhiling tilted her head slightly, not immediately understanding. "If not as a disciple to a master, then how?"
Liu Guizheng sighed, rising from the chair to kneel before her, taking Yu Zhiling’s hands in hers.
"He’s seventeen now, soon to be eighteen. You’re beautiful, with a gentle nature—he’s been by your side all this time. At his age, young men are spirited, just beginning to understand love. It’s hard for them to control their emotions. Might he have developed… other feelings?"
Such as admiration.
Not the reverence of a disciple for a master, but the adoration of a man for a woman.
Yu Zhiling’s heartbeat quickened, her fingers tightening unconsciously around the armrests.
"You mean…"
"Ah Ling, is he good to you?"
"…Yes."
"Is he good to others?"
"…Reasonably so."
She tried to recall how Mo Zhu treated others.
Distant. Polite. Cold.
Liu Guizheng: "And how is he with you?"
Yu Zhiling’s lips parted slightly before she found her voice again.
"Obedient. Attentive. Gentle. And then…"
"And then, does he deliberately seek closeness, without regard for propriety?" Liu Guizheng pressed. "Do you think that’s appropriate, Ah Ling? Would he act this way with other girls?"
Aside from her, Mo Zhu seemed indifferent to everyone else—reserved, sparing with words, always aloof.
Yu Zhiling remembered his words from earlier that day.
Her gaze drifted to the bronze mirror in the bathing room. The reflection showed a woman in a wheelchair, dressed in green robes, her dark hair half-tied, with delicate willow-leaf brows and phoenix eyes—a face of icy beauty, immortal grace carved into jade.
A hundred years older than Mo Zhu. Had he truly meant… her?
Seeing her expression, Liu Guizheng knew her words had struck a chord. She gently patted Yu Zhiling’s head.
"Ah Ling, you’re returning to the sect tomorrow. I hesitated whether to bring this up, worried it might strain your bond as master and disciple. But you’re too naive now, and I can’t help but fear that boy might bring you trouble."
"After some thought, I decided you should at least be aware. Whatever you choose to do, I won’t stop you. But I want you to protect yourself. Be cautious around your disciple—he’s shrewd, far more calculating than you."
Yu Zhiling nodded slowly, still somewhat dazed.
Liu Guizheng’s words made her question whether she had truly transmigrated into the novel Long Autumn.
Mo Zhu—the last surviving Teng serpent in the world, tormented for years by Zhuo Yu, who had nearly crippled him. Yu Zhiling had never imagined he would forgive her.
Yet now, his change in attitude was too abrupt, too unnatural.
No—wait.
Hadn’t it started after she unleashed Frostblade in Nan City, collapsing unconscious, only to wake and find him acting like a completely different person?
Yu Zhiling didn’t notice when Liu Guizheng left. She supposed Liu Guizheng had only used helping her bathe as an excuse to speak privately, away from Mo Zhu’s ears.
Even as she bathed, her mind wandered. She finished hastily, and Fucui came in to help her dress.
When she was wheeled back to the front hall, she saw Mo Zhu still sitting in the courtyard. The dining table had already been cleared.
His previously indifferent eyes suddenly brightened when they landed on her. A smile tugged at his lips as he stepped forward, instinctively taking Fucui’s place.
Mo Zhu grinned and asked softly, "Master, would you like to rest?"
Fucui had already left, leaving only Mo Zhu and Yu Zhiling in the courtyard.
At this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, turning her head away awkwardly. "Mm-hmm."
The smile on Mo Zhu’s lips faded slightly, but in the next second, it returned—the one she loved most.
"Alright, I’ll help you inside to rest."
He knew Yu Zhiling liked her disciples obedient, well-mannered, and gentle.
Mo Zhu wheeled her into the room, where the bed had already been neatly remade by him. He leaned down to carry her.
Yu Zhiling tilted her head away before his arms could reach her, maneuvering her wheelchair forward instead.
"My injuries aren’t serious. You must be tired from sword practice all day—go rest first."
What she desperately needed now was solitude. Liu Guizheng’s words were too much to process, and she couldn’t bear to meet the gaze of the young man behind her.
Mo Zhu expressionlessly withdrew his hands and turned to watch as Yu Zhiling struggled to lift herself from the wheelchair onto the bed. She kicked off her shoes, her head still lowered, and reached to draw the bed curtains, as if to shield the entire bed from view.
"Master."
Mo Zhu spoke up then.
Yu Zhiling pretended not to hear, fumbling with the ties that held the curtains in place.
The more she rushed, the clumsier she became. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mo Zhu watching her, and her panic only grew.
Damn these hands—hurry up and untie it!
Noticing her feigned ignorance, Mo Zhu asked calmly, "Master, don’t you usually forbid closing the bed curtains when you sleep?"
Yu Zhiling froze.
Right. She was afraid of confined spaces and darkness—her windows were never fully shut at night, and the bed curtains were always left open.
She had acted rashly. Now, she withdrew her hand awkwardly. "Yes, I… I forgot. I’ll sleep now. You should go rest too."
Just leave, child. Your master needs some peace right now!
Mo Zhu stood tall and poised, his presence overwhelming in the modestly sized room. His gaze remained fixed on her as she sat on the bed, unmoving, as if waiting to watch her undress.
Yu Zhiling kept her head down, refusing to look at him, but not a single sound of movement reached her ears.
"Mo Zhu, go rest. I really need to sleep now."
"Master."
This time, he responded.
Yu Zhiling pleaded, "Can we talk tomorrow?"
Mo Zhu didn’t want to wait. He was the type to settle matters immediately.
"Did Miss Liu say something to you?"
Yu Zhiling’s head snapped up in alarm.
For over two decades, she had spent most of her life in hospitals. Her experiences were nothing compared to Mo Zhu’s—a boy who had been hunting evil across the Central Continent since he was thirteen, who knew how to suppress his emotions far better than she did.
Her feelings and thoughts were always laid bare in her eyes, written across her face.
Mo Zhu nodded, an odd sense of calm settling over him.
"Master, let’s talk."
