Chapter 34

The next morning.

When she woke in a haze, she met a pair of eyes as dark as black jade. A soft breath sounded by her ear. "Are you getting up, Master?"

Yun Shuchen stirred slightly and realized she was holding Qing Zhouxue tightly, her whole body pressed against her, separated only by two layers of underclothes. Clearly, she was hindering her disciple from getting up, but her disciple didn't move, staying obediently until she woke.

Yun Shuchen was a bit dazed when she first woke.

She had never liked others touching her, so when had she ended up sleeping in such a position?

The face before her gradually drew closer, then her lips brushed her forehead before pulling back.

Yun Shuchen abruptly pushed her shoulder, separating them completely. The corners of her eyes were tinged with a faint red, whether from embarrassment or anger. She turned her head coldly and said, "Get out."

Fickle.

Qing Zhouxue thought silently. She distinctly remembered last night—the woman's soft, cold body burrowing into her with all her might, her face nestled in her neck with a low sigh, then a kiss on her brow.

Qing Zhouxue liked when her master did that to her, a fondness she couldn't explain.

Just now, she had stared at those lips for a long while, feeling a vague yearning for that softness, like petals, tender and fragrant, to fall on her forehead again.

But Yun Shuchen's expression was unkind, seemingly leaving no room for it.

Qing Zhouxue sighed inwardly, carrying a faint regret as she got out of bed.

Only after she had left did Yun Shuchen, her waist weak, slowly sit up and lean against the headboard. She bit her lower lip, her fingertips trembling as she brushed over the cloth beneath her, which was damp and cold.

No, it couldn't be because of her.

It was the Shaxi flower added to Liu Xunqin's usual prescriptions. Its nature was fiery and had an aphrodisiac effect; a tiny amount could suppress the cold affliction in her body.

But she had been drinking it for too long.

Every medicine has its poison. Over the years, the side effects had gradually surfaced—she was easily aroused and had to suppress it hard with her cultivation.

In her early years, Liu Xunqin had suggested she find a cultivation partner, preferably with an Ice Spirit Root, to balance the fiery herbs and guide out the cold poison, and a few treatments would cure it completely. But Ice Spirit Roots were relatively rare; a Water Spirit Root could substitute somewhat.

Yun Shuchen had shelved the matter, disliking being constrained by others. She would rather endure with her cultivation, which had left her increasingly frail and sickly. Liu Xunqin had been dissatisfied for a long time, saying that if she always looked so unwell, others would think her medical skills were lacking.

She couldn't let her disciple touch or hold her casually anymore. The girl had no sense of boundaries, and it might stir up the love toxin again.

Although this was a natural, high-quality Ice Spirit Root, she wasn't so shameless as to be interested in a junior.

Yun Shuchen rubbed her brow, feeling the unpleasant stickiness between her legs. With a sigh, she took her clothes and went to bathe.

Qing Zhouxue was completely unaware of the difficult morning her master had endured. The weather was too cold, so she had moved all the breakfast inside, closed the door, and while the wind and snow howled outside, the room was filled with the warm glow of the fire.

Yun Shuchen had just bathed, and Qing Zhouxue noticed, for some reason, that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shimmered with moisture, making her look soft, charming, and languid.

As expected, sleeping well at night made for a better complexion during the day.

Qing Zhouxue attributed this to her efforts last night and decided to keep sleeping with Yun Shuchen throughout the cold weather, taking on the duty of warming the bed.

The next selection was still three years away.

Though there was no rush, it was time to start preparing slowly. After breakfast, Qing Zhouxue, having agreed to meet Lin Xunzhen, went to the familiar training ground.

That day, Ruan Mingzhu's compensation hadn't been sent, and Qing Zhouxue felt she owed Lin Xunzhen a favor. So while their relationship wasn't close, they could at least coexist peacefully.

Without exchanging a word, they trained harmoniously all morning, conducting three sparring sessions in total. They made considerable progress, no longer as flustered as before.

Just as Qing Zhouxue was about to leave, she spotted a familiar figure in the training ground.

She stopped in her tracks.

It was Xiao Hong. He was practicing his sword—a graceful form, a swift blade. The three-foot green sword was held loosely, yet it seemed alive, stabbing, lifting, parrying, and twirling with fluid versatility.

A sword thrust suddenly came in her direction. Her pupils contracted, and she involuntarily took half a step back.

In childhood, she had been utterly powerless, and her second defeat had come from her own strongest and most gifted domain: the sword.

This blow was real, and it had been affecting her ever since.

Later, she gradually became afraid to take Xiao Hong's sword, instinctively wanting to retreat, fearing a repeat of past failures. Even during sparring with other disciples at the Sword Sect, knowing that Xiao Hong was the most skilled swordsman among them, she subconsciously avoided matching against him.

But this sword was one she had to break through sooner or later.

Qing Zhouxue thought it over, suppressing the urge to flee. After a long moment, she forcibly turned her steps and walked toward Xiao Hong.

Xiao Hong had just stopped and was tilting his head to take a few gulps from his gourd when he noticed a gleaming long sword unsheathe, its tip pointing at the ground.

"What's this?" He lowered his wine gourd.

"I seek to learn swordplay from the senior brother," the white-robed woman said firmly.

"Oh."

Xiao Hong didn't even look at her, saying lazily, "Same old rule: if you lose, no crying, no tattling."

Then he let out a ha. "Wait, this time it was you who came to me. That old man has no reason to chew me out now."

Conversations between sword cultivators were always brief. As soon as the other sword was drawn, the match began.

Xiao Hong thrust his sword, quick as a dragon leaving its cave, stirring up a fierce sword wind. His Metal Spirit Root made him born to cut through iron as if it were mud, and his sword wind was equally strong. Qing Zhouxue dodged by shifting her body, but several shallow cuts appeared on her cheek.

The second strike was unavoidable. She raised the Qingshuang Sword, and with a clang, she blocked it.

Xiao Hong hadn't been taking it seriously at first, but after ten exchanges, he found her stance still steady—her improvement was no small matter compared to before.

The Qingshuang Sword's cold aura was biting, almost freezing his wrist. As an Ice Spirit Root cultivator, Qing Zhouxue thrived in such frigid conditions.

Xiao Hong grew interested, his sword accelerating until, to the naked eye, only afterimages remained.

Qing Zhouxue remembered her master's teachings: if the eyes can't track it, don't look with them. She held her breath and focused, sensing the flow of spiritual power in his sword, then blocking with precision ahead of time.

Her expression was calm, her gaze level, as if seeing nothing, yet she took in the whole scene. The Qingshuang Sword moved with her intent, steady and advancing.

"Not bad," Xiao Hong laughed. "Finally a worthy opponent!"

He twirled a flourish, and in a blur, a few phantoms of swords seemed to guard around him.

What was that...?

Qing Zhouxue's brows tightened. She backstepped to avoid, and where her toes lightly touched, cracks spread in the floor tiles.

Xiao Hong sheathed his sword at his waist and stood still. "That old man said you're a genius, and it seems your power has indeed grown greatly. Your mastery of the Taichu Seven Swords is quite good. You've got real skill—I underestimated you before."

"What were those afterimages earlier?"

Xiao Hong tossed her his gourd. "Take a swig, and I'll tell you."

Qing Zhouxue held it without moving, her eyes showing a hint of disdain. Xiao Hong sighed lamentably, snatched the gourd back, and hugged it like treasure. "Don't girls drink? How dull."

"That was sword intent," he said, slinging the gourd over his shoulder as he sat down and then lay back on the ground. "Maybe you'll develop it in a few years, so don't worry about it."

Soon, his snores filled the air, dead drunk. Asking further would yield nothing.

She'd ask the Sect Leader another day. Qing Zhouxue touched the bloody cuts on her face; it stung a little. She covered the spot, and shortly after, the wounds healed on their own, smooth as before.

Qing Zhouxue let out a breath, which turned into a cloud in the biting winter air.

She seemed to have accomplished what she couldn't back then, and there was a sense of exhilaration. Xiao Hong's sword speed was even more ferocious than last time, but she had blocked every single strike.

After all these years, she had done it.

Looking down, the Qingshuang Sword in her hand gave a resonant hum. She smiled, tightened her grip, and with a rare touch of high spirits, set off back to Heyi Peak.

In the evening, Yun Shuchen was reading the 'homework' her disciple had submitted—she had specifically asked her to record trivial and interesting events from daily life, so that she wouldn't have a blank mind when writing essays in the future and fail, having to study again.

From the neat and upright handwriting, she was indeed serious. But that was all one could say—serious.

【Twelfth month, thirteenth day, freezing cold. At lunch, had mutton soup; it was gamey, not to my liking. Sparred with Senior Brother Xiao Hong and made progress...】

Apart from showing her displeasure with the mutton, no other emotion seemed to come through—just plain narration.

Yun Shuchen couldn't read on; it was dry and uninteresting. Her eyes skipped down, passing over a long stretch of monotonous details, until they landed on the last line, where she froze.

【Last night, Master kissed my brow, soft and warm, with a slight coolness, like touching a cloud. For some reason, I was very happy.】

The paper in Yun Shuchen's hand wrinkled, just like her mood. First, her cheeks grew hot. The girl was too pure and straightforward—how honest must one be to record such a thing word by word? She even used a simile and added 'very happy.' It was the most literary passage of the whole text, and also the most emotionally intense.

But she relaxed her hand, then understood.

It was precisely because of this candor that she had no ulterior motives, no understanding of romantic love, and no intention to hide it from her.

It was simply a pure fondness for an elder who was close to her.

Yun Shuchen set the paper aside, yet a faint dust seemed to settle in her heart, giving rise to a puzzling unease—like the feeling of having gained something and lost it.

Recalling last night, when consciousness had been hazy and reason clouded. With reason slipping away, she had looked at those clear, cold eyes and that fair face, beautiful as a little immortal in the moonlight.

She had watched her for so many years.

Unbeknownst to her, she had quietly grown up.

Between her brows had emerged a woman's unique beauty, no longer the childish innocence.

Yun Shuchen ruthlessly cut off the thought, her face cold as she stood and moved the paper far away. She donned an outer robe, stepped out the door, and hoped the wind and snow of Heyi Peak would calm her heart.

She disliked things that exceeded her control.