◎Ji Qinghong x Yun Sulü◎
Though Yun Sulü was young, she carried out tasks with a meticulous seriousness.
The day after making a promise with Ji Qinghong, she knocked on his door, waving a stack of white papers marked with grids.
Ji Qinghong first invited her inside and served refreshments. As clear water poured from the teapot into the cup, he warned in advance, "I don’t have tea at home."
It was easy to imagine—after his parents passed away, a child like him had to support the household alone, facing many hardships. Beyond basic necessities, unnecessary expenses were naturally cut wherever possible.
Yun Sulü waved her hand dismissively. "My master says children shouldn’t drink tea anyway."
But when she picked up a palm-sized pastry and took a bite, her expression froze instantly.
"Uh… what is this?"
Ji Qinghong replied calmly, "Grass dumplings."
Yun Sulü’s eyes widened, and she stood up abruptly.
With her mouth full of bitterness and astringency, she exclaimed, "Wait—you don’t eat this every day, do you?!"
"Calm down." Ji Qinghong chuckled, waving a hand in front of her face. "My roots are that of a rabbit."
"...Oh, I forgot again."
Yun Sulü stared at the half-eaten pastry, took a deep breath, and—
Ji Qinghong kindly offered, "If you don’t like the taste, just leave it."
She shook her head, closed her eyes, and forced down the remaining grass dumpling as if swallowing medicine.
"No, my master taught me not to waste food."
After gulping several mouthfuls of water to wash away the grassy bitterness, she finally exhaled and seized the chance to present her stack of papers.
"Look, this is something my master often uses—a planner. It matches time with tasks, helping you plan ahead."
Ji Qinghong flipped through the pages, quickly grasping the format.
"Hmm, but why give this to me?"
"To start making plans now, of course!"
Yun Sulü earnestly spread the grids before him.
"You promised to live for ten thousand years—you can’t go back on your word."
"...So that’s what this is about."
Ji Qinghong laughed softly, flipping through the papers. "Fine, we’ll do it your way. Ten thousand years… I did promise you that."
Next door, Yun Sulü’s master called for her. Ji Qinghong stood and walked her to the door.
Leaning against the weathered frame, his gaze distant, he watched the twin-bunned girl skip over the threshold, her hair fluttering in the spring breeze. Suddenly, he called out—
"Do you prefer sweet rice cakes or savory pastries?"
Before Yun Sulü could answer, Ji Qinghong chuckled and waved it off.
"Never mind. It’s not worth asking."
At first, she didn’t understand the question.
But the next day, when she visited, two plates of freshly steamed pastries sat on the table—one sweet rice cakes, the other savory pastries, still warm.
Why ask her preference? Just let her try both.
As it turned out, Yun Sulü had a hearty appetite and no pickiness.
She loved them both.
From then on, every visit to Ji Qinghong’s home meant an array of snacks waiting for her.
Too young to understand finances, and raised in a cultivation sect, she never considered the cost. But her master, hearing of this, sent her with silver ornaments as gifts.
Ji Qinghong accepted the thoughtful gesture with an amused smile.
Once, Yun Sulü finally asked, "Where do you buy these sweets?"
She’d sampled pastries from every shop nearby but never found the same flavor.
Ji Qinghong smiled, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Couldn’t I have made them myself?" The boy lifted his chin, a hint of pride belying the humble surroundings. "Something this simple—watch once, and you’d learn."
And in the years to come, Yun Sulü would hear those words countless times.
When they trained side by side, crafted artifacts, or set formations together…
——
Back to the second day: Ji Qinghong spread his filled-out planner before Yun Sulü, grinning.
She studied it intently.
"Year One: Cultivate diligently. Catch troublemakers and sack them."
"Year Two: Cultivate diligently. Catch troublemakers and sack them."
"Year Three…"
"Year Fifty: Cultivate diligently. Feed troublemakers longevity pills, then sack them."
"Year One Thousand: Cultivate diligently. Force-feed troublemakers longevity pills, then sack them while they’re still warm…"
Yun Sulü blinked, speechless.
He’d followed her request—but something felt off.
"What’s wrong?" Ji Qinghong smiled. "Plans adapt to time, circumstance, and people. Right now, I only know them. Isn’t it fine to include them?"
Yun Sulü: "..."
Logically, holding grudges for a millennium deserved condemnation.
But since Ji Qinghong ensured they’d live long enough to be sacked… it almost seemed responsible.
—Yet something was definitely wrong!
Her mind tangled in his logic, eyes spinning like dizzy spirals. Ji Qinghong rested his chin on a hand, watching her amusedly.
The playful planner lay before them—but beneath the stack peeked the real one.
Neatly inked: "Join Guiyuan Sect."
Yun Sulü shook her head, her twin buns swaying. After a moment, her bright eyes lit up.
"Oh! A thousand years is too far away…"
Pushing the fake planner aside, she cleared her throat and smiled sweetly, remembering her actual purpose.
"My master said that since I've grown accustomed to life at the foot of the mountain, I must resume my daily cultivation practice and not slack off."
As she spoke, Yun Sulü hopped down from her chair and extended a hand toward Ji Qinghong like a little adult.
"I asked my master, and she agreed—so, would you like to cultivate with me?"
As if worried Ji Qinghong might take offense, Yun Sulü quickly added, "Practicing alone is so boring. Those other kids are mean, and I don’t want to train with them… Please? Just think of it as keeping me company."
Ji Qinghong stared at her outstretched palm for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and suddenly placed a piece of glutinous rice cake in her hand.
The cake was soft, fluffy, and pale pink, much like the plump, porcelain-like cheeks of the little girl before him.
It carried the fragrance of osmanthus, and when poked, it would dent slightly before slowly springing back into shape.
Yun Sulü: "…?"
"My apologies—force of habit."
Ji Qinghong chuckled. Every time he saw Yun Sulü puff up her cheeks, he couldn’t resist giving her something to eat.
"What I meant was, I accept."
Yun Sulü let out a relieved sigh and insisted, "You have to come this afternoon!"
Her steps were light and lively as she trotted across the slightly creaky wooden floor, the sound like a series of cheerful drumbeats.
Just as she was about to step over the threshold, Yun Sulü suddenly heard Ji Qinghong’s voice.
That proud, beautiful Ji Qinghong—the one who would scheme for a thousand years to get back at anyone who crossed him—said to her:
"Thank you."
…
From that day on, Ji Qinghong would arrive every morning, a small basket in hand, knocking politely on her door.
Sometimes the basket held freshly steamed pastries he had made at dawn, sometimes spirit herbs he had gathered from the mountain, and sometimes just a handful of wild bellflowers, perfect for weaving into a floral crown to adorn the soft hair framing the little girl’s face.
The Master of Chain Peak was astounded by Ji Qinghong’s talent. Even as a member of the prestigious Guiyuan Sect, she had rarely encountered such a naturally gifted prodigy:
Every technique she taught him required no repetition; before she could expand on a lesson, Ji Qinghong would already extrapolate on his own. In the art of formations, the boy seemed to possess an innate understanding—his brilliance was so profound that one might wonder if he had spent his time in the womb arranging the sixty-four hexagrams with his umbilical cord.
When the Master of Chain Peak praised Ji Qinghong in private, Yun Sulü—now grown into a young maiden—sat on a small drum stool beside her master’s knee.
Just as she had in childhood when listening to her master’s mythical tales, she leaned affectionately against her teacher’s lap.
With a half-lifted face, Yun Sulü listened with a sweet, unconscious smile as the praises for Ji Qinghong flowed, her eyes brimming with quiet delight.
"Master, since Qinghong is so remarkable, why not take him as your disciple too?"
Yun Sulü suggested eagerly. "I’d love to hear him call me ‘senior sister.’"
Like a mountain spring suddenly choked, the Master of Chain Peak’s words halted.
Her expression grew complicated.
"Did Qinghong ask you to propose this?"
"No, it’s my own idea," Yun Sulü shook her head. "With his talent and skill, doesn’t he deserve a chance to formally join the sect?"
"…"
This time, the Master of Chain Peak sighed softly.
"Then do you know why, all these years, Qinghong has never asked me this himself?"
"I know. He’s a demon."
Yun Sulü frowned. "But why should that matter? Aren’t demons and humans both born of heaven and earth? Haven’t you always taught me there’s no difference?"
The Master of Chain Peak hesitated, then gently stroked Yun Sulü’s hair.
After a long pause, she murmured, "But the parents and masters of this world… did not teach their children the same."
"…"
At the end of their conversation, the Master of Chain Peak rested her palm atop her only—and most beloved—disciple’s forehead and concluded with a single sentence.
"If I were twenty years younger… no, even ten, I would have taken him in."
But now, it was too late.
The Master of Chain Peak’s time was nearing its end. In a great sect like Guiyuan, her cultivation and contributions did not carry much weight.
Out of her final selfish wish, she hoped to use what little influence she had left solely for Yun Sulü’s sake.
As for Ji Qinghong… though she cherished the boy, the most she could do was impart all her knowledge to him.
As she spoke, an unshakable weariness surfaced at the corners of the Master of Chain Peak’s brows. Even at the brink of death, cultivators did not wither like mortals—gray-haired and frail. But in subtle ways, the signs of decline would reveal themselves.
Three months later, Yun Sulü and Ji Qinghong knelt beside the Master of Chain Peak’s bed, accompanying their teacher on her final journey.
To arrange her master’s affairs, Yun Sulü first sent a paper crane to the sect with her message before preparing to return to the mountain herself.
The moonlight lay like frost upon the stone-paved streets before dawn.
With a pale camellia tucked into her hair, Yun Sulü knocked on Ji Qinghong’s door.
She had come to say goodbye.
Over the years, she had performed this action countless times. But for a long while to come, she would no longer see this honeysuckle-lined alley or the boy who had been her constant shadow.
Unless—
The door opened, and Ji Qinghong stood before her.
His eyes were clear and alert, showing no trace of drowsiness. Hands clasped behind his back, his ink-black hair was tied with a white ribbon, the ends carrying the chill of morning dew—as if he had been waiting there all along.
Behind him, the courtyard was neatly packed, and a brass lock already hung on the gate.
Yun Sulü understood, yet hardly dared believe it. "…Qinghong?"
Ji Qinghong nodded and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world,
"Mm. Let’s go."
