Chapter 39

After that night, spring deepened, and warm breezes softened the air. Yun Shuchen no longer needed anyone to warm her bed, so Qing Zhouxue moved back to her own room.

That kiss on the brow beneath the lamplight seemed to have been but an illusion.

Qing Zhouxue would occasionally touch that spot.

And then think of her.

She suddenly realized that aside from sleeping together at night, she and her master had almost no interaction. Each day, they merely crossed paths in the courtyard, exchanged a few words, then went about their own business.

Lately, it hadn't been so bad. Qing Zhouxue happened to have some things to do.

She sat in her room, holding a piece of jade in her hand, carving it bit by bit with a graver. A sketch lay spread on the table; she glanced at it from time to time, then lowered her head to inspect the rough shape forming in her hands.

Her first attempt couldn't be perfect, so she used scraps of mediocre quality to practice her feel, while a piece of pure white, suet-like fine jade sat on the bookshelf—clearly the ultimate goal.

Carving looked simple but was time-consuming; her hands were nearly rubbed raw. Her hand slipped, she gouged off another slice, and the piece was ruined. She sighed and had no choice but to give up.

A small basket nearby held a heap of messy scraps, rejected for all sorts of reasons—here she had cut too deep, there a crack had appeared.

Suddenly there came a knock at the door. She stood up and quickly tidied everything away, stacking them behind the bedside cabinet.

She opened the door. It was Yun Shuchen.

"I plan to go out for a few days."

Qing Zhouxue froze for a moment, then quickly asked, "May I come along?"

Her master studied her for a while, paused, and smiled. "I'm not taking you."

"What's that look for? It's not like I'm never coming back."

She sighed softly. "Take good care of yourself."

"I know you're sensible, so there's nothing much to tell you. Remember to cultivate, and review the techniques when you have time."

Before Qing Zhouxue could even ask where she was going, she saw that graceful figure vanish into the winding corridors among the trees.

She left.

Qing Zhouxue stared at the empty courtyard for a while, then gently closed the door. She walked back to the chair, picked out another piece of jade, took up the graver, and carved a line into it.

The smooth, cool jade in her hand seemed to lose its appeal. It was as if, with her master's departure, she lost all her enthusiasm in an instant.

She held the jade until it was warm, then set it back in place, and put away the graver.

The cat noticed his little mistress's loneliness and padded over, curling into a ball of fluff against her leg to doze.

In the following days, Qing Zhouxue's life was quite ordinary.

She practiced the sword in the morning as usual, attended classes in the afternoon, and squeezed in time for meditation in the evening to complete her lessons. Before bed, she wrote a brief entry in her journal.

During this period, she had gradually gotten used to not sleeping with Yun Shuchen. But a cultivator's sensitivity could always sense her on the same peak, even if they were far apart with a long road between them. That sensing let her sleep soundly every night.

Now that feeling of security had gone with her master.

The journal still contained few words.

Only a line: First day master is away, not quite used to it.

Second day master is away: missing her.

Third day: nothing to do.

Qing Zhouxue looked at it more and more and felt it was better not to keep such a journal, for once that woman left, many of the vivid colors of life seemed to drain away with her.

Each day was left only with tedious study, and nothing more flowed from her pen.

She had been this way since childhood: when Yun Shuchen was present, all attention was on her; when she was gone—like when she had gone into seclusion for six years during Qing Zhouxue's childhood—her attention gradually scattered.

She busied herself with many things, helping water the flowers and weed the courtyard, even going so far as to reread that mountain of techniques from beginning to end out of sheer boredom.

As she read, she went from techniques to novels.

Ruan Mingzhu had novels stored in her cabinet, and she hadn't finished the new ones. When Qing Zhouxue opened the first page, she hesitated, remembering that she had decided some time ago she would no longer read such things, lest she become addicted.

But after just one line, her gaze was glued to the page. She got so absorbed that she didn't notice until the moon was high in the sky.

The volume she was holding now was a tale about a pair of senior and junior sisters.

【The elder sister's clothing carried a faint, exquisite fragrance, like blooming orchids. Her junior sister had loved following her since childhood, breathing in that trace of feminine fragrance, and now it drifted once again into her nose. She felt her heart race and her cheeks burn.】

When she reached that passage, Qing Zhouxue quietly scraped the incense burner at her side, making the jiuhe incense burn stronger.

She inhaled deeply and nearly choked.

No, that wasn't right.

A Jin was passing by the window with a bedsheet in his arms. Qing Zhouxue saw him and suddenly called out, "Wait."

The cat spirit stopped and stood there. "Little mistress, what are your orders?"

"What are you holding?"

"It's my master's bedding. She told me to wash it."

I see. Qing Zhouxue paused. "Give it to me. I'll wash it."

Though a little puzzled, the boy complied and handed the freshly stripped bedsheet to Qing Zhouxue.

Qing Zhouxue took the fabric in hand, expression unchanged, and went into her room, shutting the door with uncommon speed.

She leaned against the door, took a deep breath of the bedsheet.

The woman's faint, not-so-strong fragrance had seeped into everything that had touched her body.

The bedding, of course, was never washed. It was successfully spread on her own bed instead.

Qing Zhouxue wrapped herself in that softness and, by lamplight, read the rest of the tale, snuggled so tightly it was as if Yun Shuchen lay beside her.

Those burning passions seemed far removed from her.

Perhaps it was precisely because she was aware of what was wrong with her that she gradually yearned to understand these feelings she could not grasp, like a child clumsily mimicking the behavior of adults.

Qing Zhouxue found that only when she was close to Yun Shuchen could she feel a hint of what the book described.

Though it was still like water had washed over it—not clear, not as intense as in the pages—she was already satisfied.

Yun Shuchen returned home late one night. She unfastened her cloak and held it in her hand, glanced toward her disciple's side from afar, and noticed the lamplight in the small window was still on.

She couldn't help but walk over and tap lightly on the door. "Go to sleep early."

Absolute silence, no response.

What's wrong?

Yun Shuchen pressed her hand against the door, hesitated a moment, then slowly pushed it open.

The room was bright.

Qing Zhouxue lay on her side on the bed, one hand hanging off the edge, holding a book that swayed precariously, her head resting on her other arm, fast asleep. She was bundled up snugly, her sleeping posture rather endearing.

Yun Shuchen's lips curved slightly at the sight, revealing a tenderness even she hadn't noticed.

So diligent, she fell asleep reading.

Her gaze swept over the quilt pattern, which felt somehow familiar—wasn't it hers?

Yun Shuchen walked over. The book in Qing Zhouxue's hand finally dropped, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Qing Zhouxue suddenly opened her eyes, only to see a familiar figure bending down to pick up the book.

"Master," she said groggily, "when did you get back?"

Yun Shuchen caught a few characters on the cover and froze on the spot.

The Senior Sister Above?

Qing Zhouxue, still heavy with sleep, didn't react at first, until her gaze fell on the storybook in Yun Shuchen's hand—then she woke up as if doused with cold water.

The air turned silent.

Her master flipped through it casually right in front of her, then placed it back on the bedside table as if nothing had happened. "Is it good?"

The girl, wrapped up like a dumpling, bit her lower lip and glanced up furtively. "Not bad."

"A close bond between senior and junior sisters?"

Qing Zhouxue was slightly embarrassed. "Well, it's based on that."

Thud—the book was tossed back onto the desk. Yun Shuchen's expression was still gentle, as if she had just tossed it casually, but the force was a bit much, and Qing Zhouxue couldn't quite read her mood.

Her hand landed on Qing Zhouxue's shoulder, nudging at the bundled quilt. "What are you doing wrapped up in my bedding?"

"Can't sleep," she said frankly.

"And this helps you sleep?" Yun Shuchen said helplessly. "Aren't you hot?"

"It feels like you're with me."

Qing Zhouxue shook her head, dismissing the book as unimportant. But Yun Shuchen's hand stiffened slightly. Then she raised her sleeve and blew out the lamp.

After the light went out, only moonlight filled the room, dim and faint, making it impossible to read each other's expressions.

In the concealment of darkness, Yun Shuchen's gaze lost its usual gentleness.

She leaned forward slightly, pressing her hand on Qing Zhouxue with a bit of force.

Behind Yun Shuchen was the faint moonlight from the window. Qing Zhouxue, sitting on the bed, was utterly enveloped in her shadow.

Yet the girl was unaware of the imposing posture or the subtle tension in the air.

She looked up, gazing at Yun Shuchen with calm trust, completely oblivious to how her master's gaze measured her in the darkness—the curve of her shoulders, the delicate beauty of her features, and the pale ankle peeking out from the shadows.

A voice, still gentle, sounded at her ear.

"Qing'er even likes such tales. Is there someone in your heart?"

"Maybe not."

"Then read less," Yun Shuchen said in an ordinary tone. "What's written in these storybooks isn't entirely false, but it isn't entirely true either."

"I know, Master."

The initial embarrassment of being caught had mostly faded. Qing Zhouxue slowly loosened the quilt, leaned forward, and whispered, "This time I truly... won't read them again."

Yun Shuchen's waist was hugged again. That person, with no sense of boundaries, pressed against her without moving. Her disciple buried her face in her waist, took a deep breath, and when she exhaled against the clothes, Yun Shuchen could feel the warm, moist breath.

Too close.

Yun Shuchen's mind wandered for a flash, her lashes slowly drooping as she stared at the person rubbing against her waist. The embrace wasn't tight, but it was full and complete; every inch of skin on the folded arm seemed to hug her waistline.

Qing Zhouxue leaned against her with such intimacy and quietness. After a moment, she said, "Master, where did you go these past days? Are you feeling unwell?"

"To see some old friends. Nothing serious." Yun Shuchen seemed reluctant to elaborate. Her hand rose to stroke Qing Zhouxue's hair, smoothing it a few times.

Her lips moved, and finally she said:

"Let go."