Chapter 43

The pendant was small, but that was only because Qing Zhouxue's craftsmanship wasn't polished enough—she'd chipped a piece here, shaved off a spot there, and finally had to make it smaller overall.

Fortunately, after more than eight months of meticulous work, it had become refined enough to please the eye.

Yun Shuchen took her hand. Aside from the thin calluses left by sword practice, those fair hands bore faint, tiny scars from carving knives, now so faded they were almost invisible—time must have passed since then.

"You made this yourself?" Yun Shuchen released her hand. The jade in her palm felt slightly rough due to its intricate carving, yet it carried the warmth of her body.

Qing Zhouxue nodded. "I knew Master often comes here for a stroll, so I waited here for you."

In truth, Yun Shuchen didn't remember her own birthday well—roughly some winter day. She had celebrated only a few birthdays in her childhood, and none after that.

She wondered how her disciple had found out such a thing; clearly she had plenty of spare time.

But that spare time was spent on her. Yun Shuchen lowered her gaze, stroking the adorable little lotus petal, and the corners of her lips rose unbidden.

"Qing'er's craftsmanship is lovely." She tucked the jade away. The snowflakes drifting down had become sparse, lending a serene quiet. "And the sword dance was graceful too."

Qing Zhouxue let out a breath of relief. "That day... I only hope Master won't despise me."

Yun Shuchen was startled. "What day? When did I ever despise you?"

"When you went out to meet an old friend," Qing Zhouxue said, walking back beside her, "then came back in the middle of the night to find me reading those storybooks."

"Was that worth this reaction?" Yun Shuchen said helplessly. "Storybooks are just storybooks—I read them when I was young too." (And still did, of course.)

At that, Qing Zhouxue's tone dipped with melancholy. "What Master reads is probably not the kind..."—about two women in love.

Yun Shuchen assumed she meant the series about fellow female disciples; though time had passed, fragments of scenes between Qing Zhouxue and Ruan Mingzhu flashed through her mind, and displeasure rose anew. Her gentle voice cooled. "Mm, indeed I don't care for that kind."

Then she noticed her disciple fall silent.

But Qing Zhouxue was always quiet, sometimes going silent mid-conversation. Yun Shuchen didn't find it particularly strange.

She walked through the bone-chilling winter night wind, and Qing Zhouxue took her hand, channeling her technique, drawing the cold from her body into herself.

Ever since she had vaguely realized something, she had built a dike a thousand li long in her heart, holding back those unclear tides of thought.

And when her disciple, eyes curving in a faint smile, said "Happy birthday," placing the little lotus and her scarred hands into hers...

Even Great Yu had struggled to tame the floods; how much harder was it to rein in a stirred heart?

It could not resist being moved again and again.

So in one moment, the dike collapsed with a roar, plunging her into an indescribable emotion that, after being set aside for months, only felt sharper in her heart.

Qing Zhouxue opened the door but let her enter first, then unfastened Yun Shuchen's heavy outer robe and hung it on the rack.

"Master."

After finishing, she lifted her lashes to meet Yun Shuchen's gaze. "I won't read those storybooks anymore, and I won't imitate them. Could you... could you stop avoiding me?"

The last sentence dropped to the ground, soft and low. Qing Zhouxue never hesitated in speech—her voice was crisp like jade pellets falling onto a plate. Yun Shuchen had rarely heard her disciple speak so cautiously.

That look stirred a faint pang of bitterness in Yun Shuchen's heart; perhaps her months of inexplicable avoidance had unsettled her disciple.

Yun Shuchen had lived over five hundred years, and she knew very well in her heart that she had gradually developed feelings for her disciple that surpassed the bond of master and disciple—the line had been crossed somewhere along the way.

She had noticed these improper signs and tried to snuff them out quickly, but if this kept happening, again and again, and she couldn't stop it...

She clenched her fingers slightly.

For all things, allowing an outlet is better than damming. Since fate had brought them together, blocking it outright would easily give rise to inner demons for a cultivator—the loss would outweigh the gain. Why not give it a try?

Her disciple's gaze made her long to pull her into an embrace, but she raised a hand and abruptly halted the impulse.

Qing Zhouxue froze for a moment when she felt the hand on her face brush the loose hair by her temple.

"The night is freezing and wearisome." Yun Shuchen paused, then said softly, "Will Qing'er sleep with Master?"

In the dim light, she saw a faint sparkle at the corners of her disciple's eyes.

At midnight, the wind picked up, and heavy snow seemed to fall. The sound of flakes rustled against the window. Qing Zhouxue propped herself up slightly to look—the window had turned a sheet of white.

Settling back down, she hugged the woman beside her tight. "Master, are you cold?"

Yun Shuchen was drowsy and stirred a little at being woken; she pressed Qing Zhouxue down lazily. "Sleep. No talking."

Qing Zhouxue noticed that her master's sleeping posture was always elegant—when lying on her side, she habitually rested a hand on her companion's waist.

She found herself unable to sleep. It had been a long time since she'd breathed in that soft, faint fragrance, and her master's hand still lay on her waist, burning like a warm stone.

She wanted to move closer to ease an undefined longing, but then she remembered Yun Shuchen's attitude toward those storybooks—her body stiffened, and the fire in her heart receded like cooling embers.

She let go of the idea.

Her master was different from her. She would turn away when Qing bathed, would quietly push her away during intimate moments—all signs pointed to her being uninterested in love between women.

Even merely reading such storybooks had made her avoid Qing for months.

Qing Zhouxue closed her eyes and lay still.

Better not draw closer and risk making Master uncomfortable again.

*

The Sect Leader had been in the north at the Lingxu Sect, gathered with other great powers, for several months. Today he planned to return to the Taichu Sect, but a lingering worry weighed on his mind.

Descending from his flying sword and stepping onto the pristine stone steps at the mountain gate, he walked a few paces, then turned back to scrutinize the large characters above the gate.

Taichu Sect.

Right place.

Odd—why were the tiles white now?

He walked further in and found the Taichu Sect cloaked in auspicious clouds, grand and imposing.

The training ground had doubled in size, quite impressive, with the yin-yang taiji emblem freshly repainted and clear.

Flying up to the Main Peak, the previously modest and understated library had been completely transformed—its four eaves tilted upward as if about to soar, towering and majestic.

As the Sect Leader walked along, he silently tallied the costs. His hands trembling, he entered the equally renovated Chunqiu Hall.

Potted plants were arranged with care, and a fountain splashed merrily. Every floor tile was premium bluish-gray stone carved with elegant, noble patterns. Following the path, his gaze landed on a white jade throne.

The Acting Sect Leader sat with a faint smile, returning his distant gaze. She was rolling two small mermaid pearls in her hand, leaning against a cushion behind her, while Qing Zhouxue stood in attendance, diligently peeling fruit.

"Senior Brother has returned." Yun Shuchen gave a slight nod. "I apologize for not coming to greet you."

"You..." The Sect Leader raised a trembling finger at the obviously expensive jade chair. "This..."

Yun Shuchen reassured him, "I bought this some time ago, but it didn't match the courtyard style, so I left it in storage."

The Sect Leader breathed a sigh of relief, only for Yun Shuchen's next words to nearly stop his heart. "But these floor tiles, the potted plants, the fountain, and the most precious mermaid pearl hanging from the beam—those aren't mine."

"...How much debt do you actually have? Give me an idea." The Sect Leader rubbed his brow. "The stretch from the outer gate to the inner gate alone is so lavish that selling Heyi Peak wouldn't cover it."

"That's where you fail to trust me, Senior Brother." Yun Shuchen said casually. "As Acting Sect Leader, how could I let the Taichu Sect sink into debt? To be exact, we're not in the red—we even have surplus funds."

Just as a glimmer of hope stirred in the Sect Leader's heart, Yun Shuchen drove another knife into it, striking at his core.

"Between the successive Sect Leaders' personal treasury and the Taichu Sect's spirit mines... together, that's plenty."

*

"Master."

Qing Zhouxue looked puzzled as soon as Yun Shuchen set foot on Heyi Peak, immediately busy repairing the mountain-guarding formation and the barrier enveloping it.

"Is the barrier broken?"

Yun Shuchen reinforced it meticulously. "No."

"The Sect Leader and I are both at the Mahayana stage," she said. "We differ too much in political views. If we fought, I'd gain no advantage, so I'd rather be on guard."

"..." Qing Zhouxue didn't know what to say—she found the Sect Leader quite affable, hardly deserving such caution.

Yun Shuchen looked at her disciple, who seemed lost in thought, and an idea struck. "Oh, by the way." She glanced at Qing Zhouxue. "If I really did fight that old man, whose side would you take?"

The Sect Leader had been a guiding teacher in her sword path, treating her like a personal disciple. Qing Zhouxue lowered her gaze for a moment's thought. "Yours."

"What if he's in the right?"

"Still yours."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid if you fight and get worked up, something might go wrong." Her disciple looked at her with utter sincerity.

Do you see me as that frail? Yun Shuchen sighed inwardly, but she found the impression rather endearing. She smiled, deliberately coughing lightly. "So cold."

Qing Zhouxue tensed with worry, quickly took her hand, and led her to a sheltered spot. Yun Shuchen let herself be pulled along, following unhurriedly, her gaze fixed on their intertwined hands.

Quietly, she loosened her grip, then laced their fingers together.

"This way we hold tighter and won't slip." She feigned nonchalance, glancing at Qing Zhouxue's profile, but her disciple was so focused on her being cold that she seemed not to notice the change.

A mix of relief and disappointment welled in Yun Shuchen's heart.

In the lulls between moments, she thought of Liu Xunqin's words about the Ice Spiritual Root. Fate was peculiar like that, as if invisibly nudging people together.

But...

Yun Shuchen still couldn't imagine taking it to the point of Dual Cultivation—something felt off. Just then, Qing Zhouxue squeezed her hand, concern in her eyes. "Still cold, Master?"

She looked closely—those eyes were looking at her, merely looking at her, carrying a proper disciple's concern. Nothing more.

Perhaps she saw her as a respected elder, a dear master.

Nothing more.