Ning Hengwu wheeled Yu Zhiling into the small courtyard, with Yan Shanqing following closely behind. He shut the gate and cast a soundproof barrier around them.
Yu Zhiling asked, "What's going on? Is there something you need to say? Where's my disciple?"
Ning Hengwu lowered the latch on her wheelchair to secure it in place and replied calmly, "This is between us. We should talk alone."
Yan Shanqing sat down by the stone table, his gaze fixed on Yu Zhiling’s face.
Yu Zhiling frowned. "What’s wrong?"
The intensity of his stare unsettled her. What was happening?
Yan Shanqing stared at her as if he hadn’t seen her in eight lifetimes, memorizing every detail of her face.
Amid Yu Zhiling’s confusion, he suddenly spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "Xiao Wu, I’m sorry."
Yu Zhiling blinked. "Sorry for what? I’m fine, really."
Yan Shanqing closed his eyes, resting his elbow on the table and covering his face with one hand, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. But Yu Zhiling noticed the droplets falling onto the stone surface.
He was crying.
Yu Zhiling panicked and turned to Ning Hengwu for help, only to see her looking away, tears streaming down her jawline.
She was crying too.
"Wait, why are you crying? Did someone bully you while I was gone? Tell me who it is—I’ll beat them up!"
The thought that someone might have harassed Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu in her absence made her agitation flare into fury. She clenched her fists, ready to storm out and settle the score.
But then Ning Hengwu grasped her arm, her voice trembling. "Xiao Wu."
Yu Zhiling immediately held her hand in return. "Second Senior Sister, don’t cry. What’s wrong? Did someone cause trouble for you?"
Ning Hengwu tightened her grip, her reddened eyes searching Yu Zhiling’s face. "Xiao Wu… do you really remember nothing from the past?"
Yu Zhiling hesitated. "...I truly don’t."
Her soul hadn’t fully merged yet, leaving her without the original owner’s memories. Were they suspecting she wasn’t the real Yu Xiao Wu?
Anxiety coiled in her chest. She shrank back slightly, afraid. If they knew… would they abandon her?
Avoiding Ning Hengwu’s gaze, she didn’t see the way her senior sister turned away, on the verge of breaking down.
Ning Hengwu couldn’t hold back her tears. The more she thought about it, the more it hurt.
Yu Zhiling, innocent and oblivious, remembered none of the suffering. She only instinctively clung to her senior siblings, finding safety in their presence.
Her forgetfulness made it seem as if none of it had ever happened.
But for ten years, they hadn’t recognized her. They had tried to reconcile with an imposter while the real Yu Xiao Wu was left forgotten.
The real Yu Xiao Wu had been abandoned for an entire decade.
Ning Hengwu pulled her hand away, covering her face as sobs wracked her shoulders, tears slipping through her fingers.
Yu Zhiling was at a complete loss. Setting aside her fear of being exposed, she quickly embraced Ning Hengwu.
"Senior Sister, Senior Brother, please don’t cry. What’s wrong? Who hurt you? I’ll make them pay, I swear!"
Yan Shanqing’s voice shook, his head still bowed.
"Xiao Wu… Zhuqing’s sword spirit has awakened."
Yu Zhiling froze. "…Huh?"
Zhuqing?
She hadn’t brought Zhuqing Sword with her this time. At Yan Shanqing’s words, she raised her hand, and a long, slender sword with an emerald-green blade flew out from inside the house.
Zhuqing—the number one sword of the Central Continent, sealed for a thousand years until Zhuo Yu claimed it at just sixteen.
Yu Zhiling frowned. "What’s wrong with Zhuqing?"
Yan Shanqing finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "Recently, Chengfeng, the blade spirit of the Spirit Artifact Pavilion’s ancestral weapon, fully awakened. As one of the three divine artifacts in the Central Continent, they can sense each other. For ten years, I never saw… that person wield Zhuqing."
Or rather, he had never seen the imposter wield it.
"But this time, because Chengfeng awakened, Zhuqing did too. Last night, its light blazed across the entire Yingshan Sect. That’s how we realized… it had been dormant for ten years."
For a sword spirit to sleep, even its master couldn’t force it. A spirit with sentience chose to slumber on its own.
There were only two reasons a sword spirit would sleep:
First, if its master disappeared, the spirit would refuse to be touched by others and enter temporary dormancy.
Second, if its master died, the spirit would fall into eternal slumber, fading away over centuries.
The imposter of the past decade hadn’t refused to use Zhuqing—they simply couldn’t. The sword had rejected them.
Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu watched as Zhuqing hovered near Yu Zhiling, vibrating with excitement, nuzzling against her.
Even a sword could recognize her. Why hadn’t they?
Yu Zhiling murmured, "But a month ago, I could still use Zhuqing…"
When Mo Zhu tested her spiritual energy, she had summoned Zhuqing effortlessly. Back then, though, the sword hadn’t been this affectionate—it only came when called.
Ning Hengwu wiped her tears. "Zhuqing is the Central Continent’s foremost sword, one of the three divine artifacts. Its spirit was dormant then. You were controlling it through the contract bound to your soul. Even asleep, the contract allowed you to unleash its power."
"…So now that it’s awake, what changes?"
Yan Shanqing met her gaze. "You’ll become even stronger."
With that, he suddenly lashed out with a lethal strike. Before Yu Zhiling could react, Zhuqing shot forward, its blade gleaming as it shattered Yan Shanqing’s attack with ruthless precision.
A crushing pressure erupted. Yan Shanqing barely raised a barrier in time to block Zhuqing’s killing intent.
Yu Zhiling gasped. "Zhuqing, return!"
The sword froze mid-air, vibrating with the urge to strike. Only after her stern command did it reluctantly fly back to her side.
Yan Shanqing lowered his barrier, his gaze steady. "Xiao Wu, do you understand now?"
She did.
She hadn’t been on guard against Yan Shanqing at all. Yet Zhuqing had acted on its own, moving to protect her before she even gave an order. If she hadn’t stopped it, the sword would have cut him down without hesitation.
Yan Shanqing smiled faintly. "This is a divine artifact. There are only three in the Central Continent: Zhuqing, the foremost sword; Chengfeng, the foremost blade; and Liushi Pan, the foremost seal."
A divine weapon would shield its master instinctively, connected to their very soul. Even if Yu Zhiling didn’t carry Zhuqing, she could command its spirit from miles away, unleashing devastating strikes with a single thought.
Even if it were Ning Hengwu, Yan Shanqing, or even Fuchun who wanted to kill Yu Zhiling, perhaps Yu Zhiling would hesitate to strike back—but Zhuqing would slaughter any threat to its master without mercy, recognizing no bonds but loyalty to its owner.
Yu Zhiling raised her hand, and Zhuqing rubbed against her like an overexcited child.
This thing… was this powerful?
The mighty Zhuqing only wanted to nuzzle its master, circling her neck and pressing its hilt against her so coldly it made her shiver.
Knowing her astonishment, Yan Shanqing seemed to recall something and chuckled.
"You went alone to the Wastelands at sixteen to retrieve it, hiding it from all of us. When we found out, even the Grandmaster panicked and rushed there with us to find you. Over the millennia, Zhuqing’s spirit has slain countless who sought to claim it. Back then, we cried the whole way, terrified you’d meet some terrible fate."
He exchanged a glance with Ning Hengwu, both seemingly remembering their past distress. Ning Hengwu shook her head and continued, "By the time we reached the Wastelands, you were just emerging."
Amid the swirling desert sands, her figure had seemed so small against the vast wilderness, her path marked by blood—yet her steps never faltered.
The sight of Zhuqing in her hand left them speechless, shaking the entire Central Continent.
Yu Xiao-Wu lifted the sword to show them, her lips pale, her body swaying on the verge of collapse—yet her voice remained unshaken.
"Yu Zhiling only takes the best."
She had fought Zhuqing for half a month, her bones shattered, yet she rose again and again, determined to beat it into submission. In the end, the sixteen-year-old Yu Xiao-Wu tamed the most ferocious sword in the Central Continent.
Years had passed since then.
Zhuqing had followed her all this way, standing by her as she rose to the pinnacle of the Central Continent—only to fall silent for those ten years.
Yu Zhiling couldn’t quite grasp why Yan Shanqing and the others were saying all this now.
Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu watched her—this familiar face, the child they had raised among the four of them. How had they failed to recognize her?
Seeing their eyes redden again, Yu Zhiling hurried to reassure them, "I… I don’t really understand what you’re trying to say, but why are you crying?"
Yan Shanqing murmured, "Xiao-Wu, if Zhuqing didn’t recognize Zhuo Yu as its master these past ten years, then that wasn’t our Xiao-Wu. Who was it that returned to the Yingshan Sect? And why… did merely secluding yourself change you back?"
Suddenly, Yu Zhiling understood.
They weren’t suspecting her of possessing Zhuo Yu’s body—they believed the "Zhuo Yu" of the past decade had taken over Yu Xiao-Wu.
How could that be?
Her nose stung, and she didn’t know how to explain.
She had grown up in another world, lived there for over twenty years—how could she be the Yu Xiao-Wu they knew?
Whether the one at the Yingshan Sect these past ten years was Yu Xiao-Wu or not, no matter why Zhuqing was so attached to her now, the truth remained: Yu Zhiling was not Yu Xiao-Wu.
But she couldn’t speak of her mission, nor her true identity. The system wouldn’t allow it.
When she stayed silent, Ning Hengwu asked softly, "Xiao-Wu, do you really remember nothing at all?"
Yu Zhiling forced a faint smile and shook her head. "Really… I don’t remember."
Ning Hengwu and Yan Shanqing exchanged glances, and the latter sighed.
"It’s alright. Even if you don’t remember, you’re back now. We won’t fail to recognize you again, Xiao-Wu. We’ll uncover the truth—our family will stay together."
Ning Hengwu’s embrace was warm, carrying the scent of crabapple blossoms. As Yu Zhiling buried her face in her shoulder, she glimpsed Yan Shanqing across from them—the usually composed Sect Master of Yingshan, whose eyes only reddened in her presence.
She wrapped her arms around Ning Hengwu’s waist, hiding her tears.
Guilt gnawed at her. She wanted to confess everything.
I’m sorry for taking Yu Xiao-Wu’s place.
But when she tried to speak, no sound came out.
Her words were swallowed by silence—the system’s restrictions still in place.
"Shijie, Shixiong."
Ning Hengwu patted her back, soothing her as she had in the past, though her voice trembled. "Shijie is here. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry we didn’t recognize you, Xiao-Wu. I’m sorry."
Yu Zhiling couldn’t hold back her tears, staining Ning Hengwu’s collar.
"...I’m sorry."
The whisper was so faint, so choked with tears, that Ning Hengwu didn’t catch it.
Every protective formation of the Yingshan Sect was activated, patrols doubled, vigilance unceasing day and night.
To force Yu Zhiling into unleashing the third Frostwind Slash, their enemy would likely strike at the sect itself. So Yan Shanqing recalled all disciples, ensuring no lapse in defense until the Demon Lord was captured.
After seeing off Ning Hengwu and Yan Shanqing, Yu Zhiling sat alone in the courtyard, Zhuqing resting quietly on the table at her command.
She had never imagined such hidden truths. She knew Zhuo Yu had changed after emerging from the Slaughter Realm—but according to them, the one who returned a decade ago hadn’t been Yu Xiao-Wu at all. Which meant the one who tormented Mo Zhu in the original story wasn’t the real Yu Xiao-Wu either.
In the memories she’d dreamed, the Zhuo Yu she knew was aloof yet willing to stand alone against countless pursuers for a friend’s sake, or march unflinching into vengeance. Before her death, she had settled every duty she could.
Zhongli Yang, Yun Zhi, Wu Zhaoyan, Liu Guizheng—even Yan Shanqing and the others remembered Zhuo Yu as bright and carefree, playful but steadfast in her principles, kind at heart.
Neither the detached Immortal Zhuo Yu after Fuchun’s death nor the spirited Yu Xiao-Wu of old could have committed the atrocities described in the original tale.
Lost in thought, she barely registered the knock at her courtyard gate.
Looking up, she saw Mo Zhu standing there with a tray.
"Shizun, are you hungry?"
He approached, step by step.
Suddenly, Yu Zhiling recalled Yan Shanqing’s words. Upon learning what the original "Zhuo Yu" had done to Mo Zhu, both he and Xiang Wuxue had been horrified.
Because Zhuo Yu cultivated the Path of Clarity, the Heavens watched her every move—she couldn’t stray from righteousness.
Yet for ten years, that "Zhuo Yu" had acted with impunity. Why had the Heavenly Tribulation never struck?
If someone had stolen Yu Xiao-Wu’s body to commit such sins, where was the divine retribution?
Before she could puzzle it out, Mo Zhu was before her.
He set the tray down—a bowl of congee from the kitchens, prepared though she’d only missed two meals.
Kneeling beside her, he brushed a withered leaf from her hair and asked gently, "What did you discuss with the Sect Master?"
Yu Zhiling muttered under her breath, "Discussing how to expel you, this rebellious disciple, from the sect."
Mo Zhu chuckled at her words, his eyes curving into crescents as he smiled and asked, "But if you kick me out, who will cook delicious meals for you, Master? I just learned a new dish—stir-fried pork. Isn’t that your favorite?"
Yu Zhiling: "...Make it for me tonight."
Mo Zhu: "Still expelling me?"
Yu Zhiling: "Hmph."
Mo Zhu softened his voice further, coaxing her like a spoiled child, "Don’t expel me, alright? I’ll stay by your side forever, cook for you, cultivate diligently, and do whatever you ask. Please?"
Yu Zhiling couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips, though she tried to maintain her aloof demeanor. The struggle between amusement and feigned sternness made her expression comical. Clearing her throat, she pretended to glower and pinched his cheek.
“Who taught you to sweet-talk like this? Since when are you so good at pleasing your master?”
Mo Zhu seized the opportunity to clasp her hand, pressing his cheek against her palm.
"As long as you’re happy, Master. I want you to be happy—forever."
He knew what Yan Shanqing and the others had said to her and guessed they must have cried. That was why they forbade him from following—this was a matter between master and disciples. As a junior, it would be inappropriate for him to witness his elders weeping.
Of course, he understood. And he knew she had shed tears too.
So he came to comfort her.
Mo Zhu reached up to brush away the teardrops clinging to her long lashes and asked softly, "You cried?"
The question nearly brought fresh tears to her eyes. She quickly turned her head away, wiping at them.
"I didn’t."
"Master, I’m not blind. If you didn’t cry, why are your eyes red?"
"The wind blew into them."
"Ah, the wind. And I suppose sand got in too, so you cried?"
"Mn. That’s right."
Mo Zhu said, "So you did cry."
Yu Zhiling: "..."
Yu Zhiling smacked his shoulder. "So what if I cried? Since when do you dare police your master’s tears, you little rascal? How audacious!"
Now she was emotional again.
Mo Zhu exhaled in relief and took her hand. His large palm enveloped her small fist completely.
"Master, you don’t need to dwell on those things. Let forgotten memories return naturally. No one will force you to remember. Disciple and your martial siblings will handle everything."
A lump rose in Yu Zhiling’s throat, making it hard to breathe.
"Mo Zhu."
Mo Zhu responded gently, "Mn. I’m here."
Yu Zhiling hesitated before asking timidly, "Tell me… do you like Yu Xiao Wu, or Zhuo Yu?"
The child who saved him years ago, or the Zhuo Yu Immortal Venerable of the past decade?
Was his affection for her rooted in gratitude—because she had once rescued him?
Mo Zhu countered, "Does it matter?"
Yu Zhiling’s eyes welled up again. She struck his shoulder once more, her voice petulant. "It does! It matters a lot! Answer me!"
Mo Zhu met her gaze, recognizing the tears she fought back. He didn’t mind the hits—he could never be angry with her.
"I like you."
Yu Zhiling pressed, "Which me? The one who saved you? The me of the last ten years? Or—"
Mo Zhu interrupted firmly, "The you right now."
Yu Zhiling blinked. "What?"
Holding her hand, his expression was calm but resolute.
"As a child, I admired you. But what grew into love was for you—the Yu Zhiling who treated me kindly after emerging from seclusion, who healed my wounds and cured my poison, who roasted sweet potatoes and gifted me chestnuts, who stayed by my side during cultivation… the utterly genuine, utterly lovely Yu Zhiling."
He had never met Yu Xiao Wu. His first encounter was with the aloof Zhuo Yu Xian Zun. Back then, as a child, all he felt was reverence—awe for her strength and gratitude for her mercy.
"I’m thankful you saved me. I wanted to remain your disciple forever, to cultivate diligently under your guidance. But falling in love with you was my own doing. You were too good to me—no one had ever treated me that way before. I’d never met someone so pure-hearted. Loving you… was beyond my control."
Humans gravitate toward warmth.
He was no exception.
His words struck her heart, one syllable at a time. Yu Zhiling’s voice trembled. "You… love me?"
"My master." Mo Zhu’s tone deepened, unwavering. "Yu Zhiling. Only you."
Yu Zhiling rubbed her eyes, drying the tears before they could fall. The shadows of her earlier doubts began to dissipate.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Not lying to me?"
"I would never lie to you, Master."
Yu Zhiling turned away, giggling. "Since when did you become such a smooth talker? Did you take classes in flattery?"
Mo Zhu didn’t understand the modern reference, but seeing her laugh, he smiled too.
"Do you like it, Master?"
"I do. Keep talking like this from now on."
"Alright."
Mo Zhu stood and settled beside her, stirring the slightly cooled congee. "Then, Master, eat now. Don’t overthink. Later, I’ll go cultivate. Will you join me?"
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Yes."
She didn’t want to be alone right now—her thoughts would spiral.
"Mn." Mo Zhu lifted the spoon to her lips. "Here. I added sugar."
Yu Zhiling sipped the congee from his hand, stealing glances at him.
Now he was the perfect blend of thoughtful and handsome.
Her gloom evaporated as quickly as it came. Soon, she was happily kicking her feet, content to be fed like royalty.
Between bites, she asked, "Did you come here just to cheer me up?"
"Yes. I knew what Sect Leader would discuss and figured you’d overanalyze."
Yu Zhiling leaned closer, whispering, "Oh? You know your master so well?"
Because she was painfully easy to read.
Their faces were inches apart now. His reflection filled her eyes—clear, bright, and entirely his.
Her heart was pure now, unguarded. Every emotion played openly across her face, joy and sorrow alike.
Suddenly, Mo Zhu spoke. "Master."
"Mm?" Yu Zhiling was in high spirits, viewing him through rose-tinted glasses. "What is it, my dear disciple?"
Mo Zhu said evenly, "Stop teasing me. If you get any closer… I might truly overstep."
Yu Zhiling: "?"
Mo Zhu held her gaze. At this distance, he longed to close the gap—just like in those romance novels.
Kiss her, coil around her with his serpent tail, let his cold scales brush against her warm skin—their contrasting temperatures making each other's presence unmistakably vivid. Serpents love to nest, and he would find a perfect spot, a hidden yet cozy dwelling, crafting it into a comfortable little den.
Drag her inside, lay her on soft bedding, while he shifts into his true form.
Loop by loop, inch by inch, embracing her, claiming her.
Yu Zhiling saw the darkness in his eyes.
Yu Zhiling quickly retreated, "What nonsense are you spouting, you brat!"
How had she been teasing him?!
The master was unwittingly alluring, but the disciple was also easily provoked.
Mo Zhu forced himself to suppress his restless thoughts, stirring the half-finished congee in the bowl as he coaxed her gently, "Master didn’t tease me. It’s just that this disciple wishes to be closer to you. I hope Master will give me a chance in the future. But for now, there’s still half a bowl left—let’s finish it first, alright?"
Yu Zhiling wanted to turn and leave, but…
She glanced at the remaining pumpkin congee in the bowl. Oh, the sweetened kind was the best!
Mo Zhu: "Master once said we mustn’t waste food. The common folk worked hard to grow it."
Yu Zhiling: "…Fine, feed it to me!"
Wasting food was shameful!
The master never wasted a grain. Mo Zhu fed her the rest of the congee, watching as her mood visibly improved.
This was how Yu Zhiling should be—no matter how heavy the matter, she could quickly shake it off and bounce back, full of energy, even hitting him with more vigor.
After the meal, Yu Zhiling patted her little disciple’s shoulder.
"Peel me an orange, will you? I’ve had three today, but they were all tiny—they don’t count. One more won’t make me overheat, right?"
"Mn."
Mo Zhu subtly rotated his shoulder. When she was in a bad mood, whatever she said was right. His main duty was to indulge her.
But honestly, his master’s strength was no joke. A Great Ascension Realm cultivator’s full-force slap was nothing to scoff at. Though his flesh was tougher than most, sometimes an unexpected strike from her would leave a vivid palm print on his skin.
Still, it always faded by the next day, so he never mentioned it.
Mo Zhu handed her the peeled orange, then moved behind her as she ate, pushing her wheelchair toward the back mountain.
The path was steep with many steps. At the foot of the mountain, Mo Zhu stopped, stored the wheelchair, and carried Yu Zhiling up in his arms.
Outside the secluded forest where he often trained, he retrieved the wheelchair again. Since Yu Zhiling always waited for him during his practice sessions, Xiang Wuxue had once carved a stone table for her.
Mo Zhu had placed some snacks on the table. Leaning down, he murmured, "This disciple will go practice his swordplay. Will Master be alright waiting here alone?"
Yu Zhiling patted her chest. "Absolutely!"
Mo Zhu studied her for a moment before voicing the question he’d held since morning.
"Master, why did you insist I seize the Sect’s Sacred Sword? Do you truly believe I can do it?"
He knew her well. While Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu had doubted, she alone had declared he could claim that blade.
Not mere trust in her disciple—but the certainty of a foreknown outcome.
Yu Zhiling tilted her head. "You’re my disciple. I believe in you."
Mo Zhu remained silent, still scrutinizing her expression.
He didn’t want to doubt her, yet he couldn’t help recalling the incident in Nan City—how, at Drunken Pavilion, she’d seemed to know Zhongli Xun would die that day, arriving early to have him save the man and secure the Immortal Wood Sprig from the Zhongli family.
She seemed to know too much, hiding too many secrets.
"Master."
Yu Zhiling blinked. "Hm?"
A gust of wind swept her disheveled hair across her face. Before she could brush it aside, Mo Zhu reached out first.
Tucking the stray strands behind her ear, he said softly, "Alright. I’ll claim that sword."
Whatever she asked of him, he would accomplish.
Mo Zhu added, "Then… could Master grant this disciple a small reward afterward?"
Yu Zhiling pondered. Once he obtained the sword, his cultivation would soar—her merit points would skyrocket, extending her lifespan.
A little reward was nothing. Her disciple had cared for her diligently, never troubling her with his training. He’d done everything flawlessly, the perfect little apprentice.
The master nodded firmly. "Deal!"
Mo Zhu’s eyes curved in a smile. "Good. Master, you’ve promised."
