Chapter 101

Yun Shuchen's hand brushed against her temple, and the tremor of that question—"Will you marry me?"—traveled through her fingertips straight into her heart.

...Honestly.

Who puts on their wedding dress first, then pops the question? She wasn't afraid of cheapening herself.

Her disciple was truly too unworldly, knowing nothing of mortal marriage customs.

But she was also sharp indeed—she grasped what mattered most. Whether she understood the rites or followed propriety was irrelevant; all that counted was that her master knew her heart. And that heart was like a straight-thrusting sword, piercing straight through and leaving no room for mercy.

Yun Shuchen was silent for a long moment. Slowly, she reached out and wrapped her arms around Qing Zhouxue, crushing even the phoenix-and-peony red gown. Qing Zhouxue's familiar scent of Jiuhe incense, mixed with a hint of clear freshness, surrounded her completely.

"Do you know what marriage means?"

"I've heard you marry the one you love."

Yun Shuchen held her tighter and whispered, "Then do you know what love is?"

"Perhaps I half-know, half-don't," she said softly. "But marriage is a lifelong thing, isn't it? I want to spend my whole life with Master alone."

"A mortal speaking of 'lifelong' is fine. Even if they grow sick of each other, they can put up with it for fifty-odd years. But your lifetime may be as long as heaven and earth and the mountains and rivers—many, many years. How dare you rashly promise such a thing?"

"But having so many years to keep you company," she said, unconcerned, puzzled, "isn't that a good thing?"

Yun Shuchen's hand clenched slightly. She slowly closed her eyes and fell silent for a long time before saying, "One last question. Is it for the poison, or to repay a favor, that you've thought of Dual Cultivation? If so, you needn't force yourself."

"Force myself?" Qing Zhouxue froze for a moment. "Why would Master think that?"

"Because you've never brought it up on your own, only recently..." She paused. "...after learning I need this method to cleanse the poison."

"How could it be forcing myself?" Qing Zhouxue shook her head. "There is indeed the reason of healing. But I don't think that's the only reason."

"Then what is it for?"

Today Yun Shuchen was unbending—on ordinary days she wouldn't press, but now she seemed relentless.

Qing Zhouxue's heart hung in the balance. She felt as though she were treading a swaying log bridge, and any wrong answer might undo everything. She wasn't entirely sure what answer Yun Shuchen wanted; she was forging ahead on a blind instinct, a vague kind of cognition.

"...For you." At her master's forced interrogation, her disciple actually turned cunning. Yun Shuchen gave a cold huff and couldn't help pinching her cheek. Vague words—she could say "to heal you" and it'd still be for her sake, or she could say "because I like you." But after pinching her, she suddenly remembered that this skill of deflecting a question with a shadowbox might very well have been learned from herself.

Qing Zhouxue saw Yun Shuchen let out a light sigh.

"Mm, indeed it's for me."

The master seemed to be fobbing her off. Knowing Yun Shuchen as well as she did, the next line would probably be telling her to go to sleep early.

If it came to that again, who knew how many days would pass before they could properly discuss this topic again, face to face. Through their days of everyday interaction, Qing Zhouxue had vaguely discerned one of Yun Shuchen's more roundabout habits—whenever the subject got too deep and they couldn't come to terms, her master would change the topic, and only a long while later would she try again.

Qing Zhouxue fixed her gaze upon her, then lowered her lashes. She didn't want to postpone any longer—with every moment delayed, her master's poison grew more dangerous.

With a release of her hand, the great red spread across the floor like a blazing inferno.

The gold thread glittered under the moonlight, and the phoenix seemed to flow as the garment fell, as if truly alive.

Vermilion radiance spread everywhere, like red maple meeting an entire autumn.

Yun Shuchen's hand was taken by Qing Zhouxue, gripped, and then drawn over.

Yun Shuchen furrowed her brow in an instant, suddenly sensing something was off—

She heard Qing Zhouxue's stifled grunt of pain, and immediately understood what it was.

Her wrist trembled, as if she were holding a reflection of the moon in water that might shatter at a touch.

For that one moment, her thoughts nearly went blank.

"My heart is truly glad."

She lifted her face, believing she had dispelled all of her master's inexplicable doubts, and asked once more, openly, "Master, will you take me?"

Yun Shuchen's ears filled with her disciple's "marry me, marry me, marry me." Too much had happened today; she couldn't absorb it all at once. Her mind in a jumble, she half-leaned back and lay down, pulling Qing Zhouxue close as she did. "Put your clothes on, don't catch cold ... and go get some medicine."

It had only been off for a short while, no more painful than any time she'd bruised herself practicing the sword. Qing Zhouxue didn't think much of it, only noticing that her master was holding her stiffly, with no sign of letting go. She turned her head to look at the clothes on the floor. "If you hold me like this, I can't get dressed."

Yun Shuchen blinked, then slowly released her. Qing Zhouxue picked up the inner robe that had been tossed onto the wedding dress, slipped it on casually, then stretched out and lay down beside her. "Is Master going to sleep?"

"...Mm."

"Then I won't talk anymore."

Just before sleep, Qing Zhouxue thought hazily: if her master still didn't believe her, what else did she have to give? Could she even find what it was her master truly wanted? She mulled it over for the space of half a stick of incense, growing a little disheartened, then slowly drifted off with her drowsiness.

Though Yun Shuchen had closed her eyes, she lay awake all night.

She hadn't been thinking of anything in particular, but rather wishing for her eyes to heal—because the scenes that lingered in her mind surfaced one by one in the quiet of the night.

The first meeting.

Yun Shuchen had just emerged from the spirit spring. Through her water-beaded lashes, she caught a distant glimpse—and discovered that little girl crouching against the wall of the cave dwelling.

Qing Zhouxue's cheeks were streaked like a little tabby cat's, her face expressionless, yet her gaze at Yun Shuchen held no wariness at all, as if she'd be especially easy to coax away.

And indeed, with just a few words, she'd lured her up the mountain.

Their second meeting, when she was fourteen.

The black-haired girl in white had grown somewhat; her expression remained cold and indifferent, she didn't smile much upon seeing her, and wasn't very good at keeping up a conversation. But she would always unconsciously gravitate toward her side, quietly staying there.

Apart from admiring her qualifications greatly, Yun Shuchen also studied her—her nose was elegantly bridged, her brow bone well-formed. She was bound to grow into an extraordinary beauty. She found herself curious what such a child would look like grown.

Like planting a seed, she began to look forward to the day the flower bloomed.

And sure enough, at eighteen, she had blossomed into a heavenly fairy who made it hard to look away.

She had taken first in the inner sect, lain in bed for several days before rising, and facing the setting sun, had called her "Master" for the first time, shyly and awkwardly.

Yun Shuchen had looked at her then, and found her endearingly fresh. Although this disciple was destined never to inherit her full legacy, at that time she still thought, she ought to teach her well—not to waste such fine material.

After that, memories came crowding in: her holding her while she slept, her dancing with a sword under heavenly thunder, her clumsily carving a lotus until she'd scraped her hands, her faint smile, her po-faced cooking and fire-tending, her being teased into speechlessness, her frequently placing a cup of clear tea by her hand before slipping away without a sound... one after another, each and every one.

Yun Shuchen tossed and turned, desperately trying not to think of today, but the scenes of Qing Zhouxue from before would surge at her all at once, leaving her nowhere to run, nearly suffocating her.

This was different, after all—different from every kiss and every embrace. If one really considered it, it was all flesh pressing against flesh, with no greater nobility to any one variant. But people were stubbornly attached to assigning special meaning to it.

Her disciple didn't understand love, did she?

Perhaps. Her Emotion Root had grown, but it wasn't yet complete.

Yet she had racked her brains and offered everything she could give. Such incomplete love, delivered with such wholeheartedness, seemed purer than perfection.

Yun Shuchen felt her breath steady into an even, slow rhythm, perhaps deep in sleep. Slowly, Yun Shuchen shifted her body, sat up on her own, and placed her bare feet on the ground, touching the fabric spread there.

She lifted a corner of it, and her fingertips traced once more the flowing phoenix pattern, from the head to the tail, then to the wild peony.

Back and forth, again and again. She used that very hand Qing Zhouxue had just gripped, rubbing it against the stiff gold thread and trinkets, not knowing what she was doing, stubborn until her fingertips grew hot and sore, as though the skin were worn through and bleeding.

She pressed her thumb over the spot of blood, wiped it away lightly. It didn't hurt much; only a numbness remained.

The warmth eventually turned completely cold, and she could no longer feel it.

Yet her cheeks hadn't cooled; they burned hot. As she gradually calmed in the long, almost endless night, she felt ashamed of herself for the first time, because—

In that instant when she had entrusted her entire body's weight to that palm.

In the blankness that followed, her very soul had trembled, and what rose in her heart was a shameful satisfaction.

Under a pall of moonlight, Yun Shuchen buried her face in the wedding gown, the slightly rough fabric scraping her nose until it stung, and let out a soft sigh. From some point in time, in any case never merely starting today—

She had long ago been unable to refuse her.

*

After that small upheaval, the entire Taichu Sect had been in a state of anxious disquiet for a while, feeling unsettled without their master seated atop its peak.

But as they gradually adjusted, the disciples found it bearable after all. Each day passed calmly enough—those who should cultivate cultivated, those who should play played.

Most of them didn't know the details; they only vaguely knew it had to do with Senior Sister Qing. But as to how exactly, they could only infer from that earth-shattering Thunder Tribulation from that day. And from that inference, countless bizarre legends had sprouted.

During this period, Qing Zhouxue never once left Heyi Peak. She didn't hear any of the rumors, devoting herself entirely to tending her bedridden master.

After that absurd day, Yun Shuchen said no more about it, and Qing Zhouxue found no opening to bring it up. She had no idea whether she'd successfully married out or not, so she waited day and night, expectant, for Yun Shuchen's verdict.

The weather was warm today, so she'd carried her delicate master outside to bask in the sun. Where the spring light gathered, Yun Shuchen seemed lost in thought as she raised a hand to shield her eyes, saying softly, "I think I can see a vague play of light and shadow now."

Qing Zhouxue relaxed at the words—it was the best news she'd heard in a long while.

Yun Shuchen turned back, trying hard to make out her disciple's blurry figure in her field of vision.

She raised her hand to touch her own eye corner again. A decision concerning the latter half of her life was quietly sealed in the days of stillness that followed.

When she could finally see this spring scenery.

She would accept her.