Chapter 67

Yun Shuchen's afternoon nap was far from restful. Between sleep and waking, she kept sensing a commotion in the courtyard—clattering and banging, as if a whole set of porcelain had shattered on the ground.

It had been like this for several days.

At first she frowned, but eventually she grew used to the noise.

Finally, one afternoon, after waking from a dream, she followed the sound to the kitchen and happened upon Qing Zhouxue bringing out a plate of vegetables.

Seeing Yun Shuchen, Qing Zhouxue stopped and looked at her. "Master."

Yun Shuchen's gaze drifted downward, fixing on the few green stalks of bok choy in the bowl she held. "It's still so early. What's this?"

"...Your disciple had nothing to do, so I thought I'd learn."

A cat's head poked out from Qing Zhouxue's shoulder, ears twitching, meowing a few times as if it had something to say.

"You made this yourself?"

Qing Zhouxue nodded. Yun Shuchen used her spiritual power to pull the cat off her disciple's shoulder, toss it back to the ground, and order it to fetch a pair of chopsticks.

She then looked back at Qing Zhouxue and smiled. "Since you made it, let me taste it."

"Master," the disciple said, gripping her chopsticks, hesitating for a moment. "I don't know how the flavor will turn out this time. Let me try it first."

All she had cooked was a plate of greens. Such a simple dish was hard to make well, but also hard to make inedible. Yun Shuchen looked at the green heap and thought it didn't look bad. Not particularly concerned, she brushed aside the disciple's hand and picked up a single stalk with her chopsticks.

"The first time learning something, it's fine if it's not great..."

"...quite normal."

When Yun Shuchen tasted it, she couldn't help but frown. A raw, crisp greenness spread from the tip of her tongue, mingled with a faint wild, grassy note—perhaps undercooked, but by itself not unpleasant.

Yet a cloying sweetness that even salt couldn't suppress surged up her spine, leaving her mouth at a loss. Yun Shuchen calculated silently in her mind: isn't this supposed to be a simple dish?

It could be salty, or bland, even sour and spicy—so why in the world was it sweet?

She was on the verge of frowning, but when she raised her eyes to meet the nervous look in her disciple's gaze—

Yun Shuchen took a deep breath, using over five hundred years of profound cultivation to carefully arrange her expression, and finally swallowed the lump stuck in her throat with difficulty. Her face remained calm as she said, "Not bad. With more practice, it will surely be excellent."

Qing Zhouxue observed her master's expression, which showed no sign of strain, still gentle as ever.

She let out a slight sigh of relief. "So this last attempt finally succeeded?"

"...It's a bit too sweet, though. Why did you add sugar?" Yun Shuchen couldn't help but ask.

"I read in a cookbook that adding a little sugar to balance the salt can bring out the umami," she said, a note of confusion in her voice. "But it always says 'a pinch,' and I can't quite control the amount. If it specified the weight like in an alchemy manual, that would be much easier."

Does she think she's refining pills?

Yun Shuchen sighed inwardly, then chuckled. "Cooking by alchemical methods—you really are a prodigy. Your Uncle Liu's cooking is already enough to make gods and ghosts weep; don't follow her example."

Qing Zhouxue set down the bowl. "Uncle Liu's cooking... is it good?"

Good enough to take a trip to the gates of hell. And that was perfectly normal. Yun Shuchen thought that a woman who could turn a bowl of ordinary medicinal soup into something of endlessly complex flavors would be a freak if her cooking were merely average.

Comparing, Yun Shuchen decided her disciple's dish, though a bit sweet and undercooked, was still refreshing and palatable.

She gave a meaningful "Mm." "If she ever cooks again in this lifetime, I'll certainly take you to see the world."

"A pinch just means a pinch; don't overthink it. When you practice your sword, do you have to calculate whether your hand should move three or four inches to the southeast?"

Qing Zhouxue seemed to have an epiphany. After pondering for a while, she headed back to the kitchen.

Her disciple had always been this serious-minded. Where that habit came from, who knew, but in any case, it was rather endearing.

Yet Qing Zhouxue wasn't one to have many hobbies. Taking up cooking out of nowhere didn't seem like something she'd do.

That doubt was soon dispelled when the rustling winter wind turned Heyi Peak white. Yun Shuchen had never bothered to remember her own birthday, but Qing Zhouxue remembered it all too well.

That day, after Yun Shuchen left, Qing Zhouxue picked up a piece of the greens her master had tasted. Her expression stiffened, and she quickly spat it out, realizing how much her master had endured.

She was persistent by nature. She composed herself and practiced over and over in front of A Jin. Although she had no natural talent for cooking, after enough practice, most dishes came out edible.

That night, as it happened, there was no snow, and the moonlight was clear.

Her disciple brought the final dish and sat across from her, waiting until she had taken a bite before picking up her own chopsticks.

Qing Zhouxue tasted it herself—finally, a perfectly normal flavor.

In the end, she had developed her own style, light and plain, much like her own character. Yun Shuchen wasn't actually as ascetic as all that; she preferred bolder flavors.

But this dish, without any heavy seasonings, bland and watery, plain and simple, brought a surprising sense of peace. To say she didn't like it would be a lie. Someone who wasn't good at cooking, whether out of concern for an elder or for some other reason, had rolled up her sleeves and labored over a meal, spending so much thought on it.

At the very least, it was unique care.

"Master, is it good?"

Yun Shuchen looked up at her. A soft layer of moonlight haloed around Qing Zhouxue. A fitting phrase suddenly came to mind. But to say it to her... might be a little forward, not quite appropriate.

In the end, she didn't voice it. She hummed in acknowledgment and smiled at her.

What was delicious wasn't what fell between her lips, but what lay before her eyes—

A feast for the eyes.

She whispered this in her heart.

And could only keep it in her heart.

*

The second selection was passed smoothly. Not all disciples from the various peaks had fared as well as Qing Zhouxue's group—some had gone through considerable trouble and were now resting and meditating on their peaks. A lazy atmosphere pervaded the entire Taichu Sect.

With the Immortal Ascension Assembly on her mind, Qing Zhouxue didn't slacken. Every day, after completing her usual training and sword practice, she stayed quietly in Yun Shuchen's study, searching through all the writings and records on "sword intent."

If she could comprehend this path, not only would her understanding of swordsmanship deepen, but the reach of her sword style would also broaden.

During her duel with Gu Ruoshui, she had been distracted for just a moment, and that was enough for her opponent to pierce her shoulder. A searing, electric pain had shot through her, followed by numbness, and then she lost consciousness.

The closer the opponents' skill levels, the more caution required. Such duels were often decided in a single exchange.

Afterward, the Sect Leader had consoled her, saying she shouldn't carry a boulder on her heart; a light heart would help her wield her sword better. In any contest, there were wins and losses, just as light casts shadows and measures have their short and long—perfectly natural things. Moreover, one's skill was not fixed; with many years remaining, she could take her time.

Qing Zhouxue understood this, of course.

But a thunder spirit root was swift and formidable; a single unexpected strike could render one unconscious—by any measure, a domineering and powerful spirit root.

Thus, she could only strive for excellence in the way of the sword.

Her fingers traced over pages yellowed with age or crisp and new, her eyes flowing through columns of text, absorbing every useful description.

Sometimes, when she grew tired of reading, she would close a book and use her spiritual power to shape a tiny ice figure, floating before her as she comprehended moves and stances.

Later, she felt that wasn't enough, so she made another little ice figure and had them spar with each other.

The two figures, no bigger than three grains of rice, climbed onto the edge of the bookshelf and began chasing each other, leaping up and down, quite lively. They held tiny ice swords and jabbed at each other.

As they ran, one tripped out of nowhere. It sat on the shelf edge, scratching its head as it wobbled to its feet, only to be run through by the other's sword. Qing Zhouxue walked over, wondering why it had stumbled—

As her hand brushed that spot, she felt a hidden compartment. She didn't know it was one at first; she just noticed a depression, and with an instinctual press of her thumb—

Suddenly, a section of wall slid away, revealing neatly arranged books. Qing Zhouxue stepped back half a step, startled.

Books in a study were hardly strange.

But when she caught sight of the characters on a certain book's spine in the light slanting through the window, she froze on the spot.

Wasn't that The Senior Sister Above, the book she hadn't kept for more than a few days?

No one else came here regularly, so it must have been placed there by her master.

No wonder she hadn't seen the book again—her master had hidden it here.

But this was a hidden wall. Since it was concealed, it was clearly not meant to be seen.

Now that she had stumbled upon it by accident, that didn't seem right.

Qing Zhouxue decided to pretend she hadn't seen anything. She absolutely couldn't let Yun Shuchen know, to spare her master's embarrassment.

She lifted her eyes and glanced restlessly across the titles—The Senior Sister Above, The Affair of the Merry Widow and Her Sister-in-Law (complete in two volumes), Twin Courtesans, The Son-in-Law Is Soft and Fragile, Respect to the Stepmother, New Tales of Lady Feng from Strange Tales, Secret History of the Taiping... The titles ranged from elegant to earthy, some light, some heavy, and all looked rather amusing.

She wanted to read them.

Qing Zhouxue stared for a long while, fixing on the volume Respect to the Stepmother, like a child who had no money but craved a sugar cake, gazing longingly.

She inexplicably wanted to pull it down and take a look, but she remembered that these were her master's private treasures and she shouldn't touch them. And she recalled her vow never again to read such things that disturbed one's dreams. Her Dao heart steadied a little, and she forced her gaze away, inch by painful inch.

Just as she was about to close the secret wall, the study door creaked open. Yun Shuchen walked in, and seeing her disciple frozen in place, she was about to ask what was wrong when her gaze fell on the wall—

A whole wall of storybooks, somehow exposed to the light of day.

If written in the style of extreme minimalism:

Disciple: ?

Disciple: ...

Disciple: !!!

Master: ??

Master: ?!!!

Master: .