Today was the Mid-Autumn Festival, and Yu Zhiling had gone up to Ying Mountain early in the morning.
When Mei Qiongge saw her return alone, she paused for a moment. "Where's Mo Zhu?"
Yu Zhiling pouted, taking the plate from Mei Qiongge's hands with a sigh. "He's walking behind me."
Mei Qiongge and Ning Hengwu exchanged a glance and chuckled in unison.
Case solved—another petty quarrel.
Yu Zhiling carried the dishes to the table and sat cross-legged beside Yan Shanqing, casually distributing chopsticks as if oblivious to the puzzled looks from Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue.
Within moments, a familiar voice sounded from outside the pavilion.
"Headmaster, Senior Uncle."
Yan Shanqing waved him over. "Sit. We were just waiting for you two to eat."
He even stood up to offer the seat beside Yu Zhiling to Mo Zhu, who thanked him before taking his place next to her.
Yu Zhiling didn’t spare him a glance, making it obvious to everyone that she was sulking.
Yan Shanqing raised a brow and decisively moved to the opposite side of the table with Xiang Wuxue, leaving Yu Zhiling and Mo Zhu sitting alone on one side.
Xiang Wuxue hurried to lighten the mood. "Let's eat first."
Mo Zhu silently peeled shrimp and placed them on Yu Zhiling’s plate, carefully removing bones without a word.
Yu Zhiling’s expression softened slightly. She was always easy to appease, recognizing this as her disciple’s way of coaxing her.
The teacher cleared her throat sternly. "Eat your own food."
Mo Zhu smiled. "Alright."
Last night, he had accidentally stumbled upon the "gift" Mei Qiongge had left behind—a sheer crimson veil—and had shamelessly wheedled Yu Zhiling into wearing it. Though she had agreed to just once, he had lost control and kept her up far too long, breaking his promise and angering her enough that she abandoned him and fled to Ying Mountain.
Ever since their union, Yu Zhiling had developed quite a temper, and Mo Zhu found himself coaxing her every few days. Yet he didn’t mind—flattery, soft words, and feigned obedience were all part of the routine.
After the meal, Yu Zhiling leaned lazily in her wooden chair, patting her slightly full stomach. "This meal was definitely bought. As far as I know, none of the elders in Ying Mountain Sect can cook."
Ning Hengwu shot her a reproachful look. "Can’t Mo Zhu cook?"
Yu Zhiling glanced at her obedient disciple and nodded. "He’s only slightly better than the rest of us."
She wasn’t entirely wrong. While Mo Zhu’s cooking was decent, a large part of why Yu Zhiling enjoyed it was simply because she wasn’t picky—to her, anything edible was delicious.
Under the table, Mo Zhu took her hand, interlacing their fingers.
Yu Zhiling didn’t resist, letting him hold her.
That was their silent reconciliation—they never let conflicts linger past a day.
After Yan Shanqing and the others left, Yu Zhiling sat by the lakeside, trailing her fingers in the water as a lotus flower drifted toward her.
They were staying overnight at Listening Spring Cliff. When Mo Zhu returned from seeing off Yan Shanqing, he found her sitting alone by the lake.
"Teacher," he said, settling beside her.
Yu Zhiling brushed her fingers over the long autumn lotus floating on the water. "This flower is still here, but it’s closed up."
Mo Zhu replied, "That means your life’s calamity has passed."
Yu Zhiling smiled. "Do you think it’ll bloom again?"
Mo Zhu covered her mouth. "Teacher, don’t say such things."
Yu Zhiling blinked, pressing a kiss to his palm before pulling his hand away. "I’m only joking. We’ll ascend soon enough—I’ll always be with you."
Mo Zhu pulled her into his arms. "Should we go to the Spirit Nether Path and visit the people of Jinghong Village and Chaotian Lotus?"
The souls of Jinghong Village couldn’t leave the Spirit Nether Path, so they hadn’t attended their union ceremony. Yu Zhiling hadn’t been back in a long time.
She tilted her head up in his embrace. "Now?"
"Mm, now." Mo Zhu kissed her forehead. "Shall we?"
"Let’s go." Yu Zhiling immediately stood, dusting off her robes before extending a hand to Mo Zhu. "Together."
Since their marriage, they had done whatever they pleased—like now, setting off on a mustard-seed boat in the middle of the Mid-Autumn night toward the other end of the continent.
The demonic energy in the River of Oblivion had long been cleansed by the Central Continent. By the time Yu Zhiling and Mo Zhu reached Jinghong Village, it was already dusk the next day.
This time, Ying was the one who opened the barrier for them. Seeing them hand in hand, she raised a brow.
"Come in. Go see your parents."
Rong and Jiang Yingchen’s graves stood on the hill behind Jinghong Village, not far from the wooden house Jiang Yingchen had built for Rong. Ying had maintained it all these years—the house was free of dust, and the graves untouched by weeds.
Yu Zhiling knelt and kowtowed with Mo Zhu, wiping the tombstones clean.
"Mother, Father, I’ve brought him to see you… Well, it’s not the first time, really. We’ve been to the Spirit Nether Path before."
But back then, he had come as Zhuo Yu the Immortal’s disciple.
Ying left them to their privacy.
As Yu Zhiling burned paper offerings, she murmured, "You investigated why my father left behind that portrait of Chou Xiao, didn’t you?"
How could she not know?
Mo Zhu’s trip to the Joyous Union Sect hadn’t just been to eradicate evil—it was also because Jiang Yingchen had disappeared near that area. Whatever he encountered there had left him gravely injured before he stumbled into the Spirit Nether Path, fell into the River of Oblivion, and was saved by Rong.
After returning from the Spirit Nether Path, Jiang Yingchen had painted that portrait, still pursuing the truth.
Mo Zhu had done the same.
Now, all the guilty were dead, and the deliberately buried truth had finally surfaced.
"Back then, Young Master Jiang was indeed there to eliminate evil. Chou Xiao must have been helping You Zhou search for the River of Oblivion. The Young Master encountered Chou Xiao—a high-level demonic cultivator appearing in the Central Continent was something he couldn’t ignore. But in the end, he was no match for Chou Xiao."
After all, Chou Xiao was a two-thousand-year-old serpent demon, while Jiang Yingchen had barely been a century old.
Yu Zhiling said calmly, "Go on."
Seeing her composed, Mo Zhu continued, "Chou Xiao forced the Young Master into the Spirit Nether Path, intending to kill him. The Young Master jumped into the River of Oblivion but was saved. After returning, his Dao heart shattered. While bedridden, he painted Chou Xiao’s portrait—likely fearing he wouldn’t recover and wanting to leave behind clues before he died."
But just after finishing the painting, he received news of Rong’s death. Stumbling back to the Spirit Nether Path, he took his own life there.
The portrait was only discovered much later by a descendant of the Jiang family.
So much time had passed—everything had changed.
Yu Zhiling remained expressionless. Mo Zhu had uncovered these truths, but she had already guessed most of it.
In the end, all their losses traced back to You Zhou.
But at least she had killed him with her own hands.
Yu Zhiling burned the last of the paper offerings, kowtowed once more with Mo Zhu, then stood and dusted off her hands.
She gazed at the polished tombstone engraved with two names: Yu Xiangrong and Jiang Yingchen.
Suddenly, she remembered—they had once given her a name.
Yu Nian.
Yu Zhiling smiled and asked Mo Zhu, "Do you know I have another name? One my parents chose together."
Mo Zhu shook his head. "No, I didn’t."
Yu Zhiling whispered conspiratorially, "Yu Nian. It works for both boys and girls. I think it’s not bad."
Mo Zhu, ever the obliging disciple, replied, "Both are lovely."
He was always so good at humoring his master. Yu Zhiling patted his shoulder approvingly. "Such a good boy."
Hand in hand, they strolled down the mountain along a quiet path. She swayed with each step, occasionally kicking at pebbles on the ground—never one to walk properly.
Halfway down, she began to whine, demanding that Mo Zhu carry her.
Obediently, he crouched low and hoisted her onto his back.
Yu Zhiling dangled her slender legs, resting her chin on his shoulder before planting a playful kiss on his cheek. "Why are you so obedient?"
Mo Zhu answered simply, "Because I like it."
"Liking me makes you obedient?"
"Liking you makes me want to be obedient. I adore everything about you, Master. Even your scolding feels like affection to me."
Yu Zhiling clapped a hand over his mouth, her voice a hushed warning. "Such shameless words! Have you no dignity?"
Mo Zhu only grinned, utterly unrepentant. Where was the shyness he’d once had?
The boy who used to blush crimson when she so much as held his hand had grown into a man who, behind closed doors and drawn curtains, could spout the most outrageous things. His progress was… considerable.
Yu Zhiling sighed. "I almost miss the old you."
"Why?"
She withdrew her hand and slumped against his shoulder. "So sweet and pure. I loved teasing you, watching you turn red—it was adorable. But now you’ve shed all restraint. You’re not my innocent little snake anymore."
The childish complaint made Mo Zhu laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth, jostling Yu Zhiling with each tremor.
"Stop laughing! Be serious!" Her slap landed on his shoulder—delayed but inevitable.
Mo Zhu tilted his head to steal a kiss. "People grow up."
Yu Zhiling gaped. "Is that how you use that phrase?"
"Crude, but true."
"Ugh."
Their dynamic bore no resemblance to that of master and disciple. Once their feelings had intertwined, the gap in age and status seemed to vanish. Yu Zhiling, despite her responsibilities, was far from mature in daily life—prone to petty sulks, while Mo Zhu indulged her with endless patience.
She wasn’t as carefree as Yu Xiaowu; Yu Zhiling actively hunted evil and quelled the Four Slaughter Realms.
Yet she lacked Zhuo Yu’s icy self-sacrifice. Yu Zhiling clung to her seniors, coaxing and cajoling.
She was Yu Xiaowu. She was Zhuo Yu. But above all, she was Yu Zhiling.
The rustle of their footsteps and the rhythm of their breaths wove together, two hearts pressed close.
Suddenly, Yu Zhiling asked, "Mo Zhu, when you first met me as a child, what did you think of me?"
Mo Zhu pondered. "Beautiful. Powerful. Kind. I wanted to train hard under you, master my sword, avenge my past. And… I hoped one day to protect you too."
Back then, he’d seen her as family, as a mentor, as hope itself.
Yu Zhiling pressed further. "Do you know what I felt when I first saw you?"
Mo Zhu turned his head slightly. "What was it, Master?"
She pinched his cheek. "You were covered in wounds, hovering at death’s door. It terrified me. It hurt. You reminded me of my own master. I kept thinking—why hadn’t I arrived sooner?"
That was why, when Mo Zhu finally awoke, she’d wept at his bedside.
—I’m always too late. Who can I even save?
After Fuchun’s death, regret gnawed at her endlessly. She feared Fuchun’s resentment, feared Yan Shanqing’s hatred—because it was Yu Zhiling who had shattered Fuchun’s soul.
"So, back then, I swore: I will save you. I won’t let him steal another life from me."
That vow cost her half her cultivation, but she saved Mo Zhu.
Years later, Mo Zhu would save her in turn, granting them all a second chance.
Cause and effect, looping endlessly. Every choice she’d made had meaning after all, hadn’t it?
Mo Zhu rested his forehead against hers. "Master, you were never too late. Not even close."
"I understand now," Yu Zhiling murmured. "I trapped myself in guilt. But my master never blamed me. Neither did my seniors."
"We all love you."
"And I love all of you."
