Chapter 47

Yue Changge scurried over to them, and Qing Zhouxue caught a whiff of a rich floral scent—not tacky, exactly, but as cloying as gardenias, impossible to shake off.

When that woman spotted Qing Zhouxue, she tossed her a flirtatious glance. "Little junior niece, you haven't come to fill in for your master lately. This senior uncle has missed you dearly."

Then she turned to Yun Shuchen. "Hey, faithless woman, those romance novels I wrote—"

Yun Shuchen's gaze narrowed, fixed on Yue Changge with an eerie intensity.

Under that stare, Yue Changge inexplicably fell silent, blinking. "Why are you looking at me with such affection?"

"Let's talk inside." Yun Shuchen took Qing Zhouxue's hand and pulled her a little closer, as if afraid Yue Changge might corrupt her innocent young disciple.

Those few steps, Yun Shuchen walked with some unease. A feminine voice in her sea of consciousness nagged without pause: "Last time you asked if I had any master-disciple stories, and when I said no, you were displeased. Now I've written a new one under pressure and bribes, and I've come all the way to deliver it, yet you're still displeased. What's all this about? Women are so hard to please."

Yun Shuchen's steps faltered slightly. She bit her lip, feeling her ears grow warm. Qing Zhouxue seemed to notice her discomfort. "What's wrong, Master?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

Inside the pavilion, Qing Zhouxue looked in bewilderment at the two elders. They stared at each other in silence; Yue Changge chuckled from time to time, while Yun Shuchen seemed a little off—though calm, she downed several cups of tea in a row.

Usually, her master was refined, sipping tea slowly and savoring it, not gulping like today. Qing Zhouxue found it strange and guessed they were communicating via divine sense. She spoke up proactively, "Master, this disciple will go practice swordplay first."

Yun Shuchen hummed in acknowledgment, her hand clenched in her sleeve relaxing slightly. She watched the white-robed figure disappear among the layered trees of the courtyard.

Yue Changge glanced sideways. "So? This brand-new romance novel—I had a few junior disciples do test reads and made revisions, and they all praised it unanimously."

She cast a meaningful look toward where Qing Zhouxue had vanished. "Why the sudden interest lately? You used to be so easygoing, Yunyun—you'd read whatever I wrote."

Yun Shuchen replied, "You just rehash the same themes over and over. All those senior-junior sister deep bonds—I've grown tired of them."

"True enough." Yue Changge grinned. "Oh my, it's my first time writing something so taboo. I'm simply blushing."

Yun Shuchen could not detect the slightest hint of shyness on that alluring face.

Yue Changge was nowhere near those two words.

"Mm," Yun Shuchen handed Yue Changge a stack of paper-wrapped packages. "For your trouble in writing—just a small token?"

Yue Changge opened it and gave a low whistle. "I do enjoy doing business with you."

After Yue Changge left, Yun Shuchen stroked the title on the book cover—Overstepping Beneath—as if the cold pages might burn her fingers.

She pinched the edge and slowly turned to the first page, read a few lines, seemed unable to bear looking at it, and quietly tucked it into her sleeve.

Qing Zhouxue would never imagine that after she herself had lain awake reading romance novels, her master would follow down a path of no return. But since they shared a bed at night, Yun Shuchen naturally couldn't read such material then, so she had to snatch moments during the day when her disciple went out to practice swordplay.

This book, too, came in two volumes.

The story was set in a sect called Qingxu Sect. Xiao Chengyu held the position of Sect Leader, renowned not only for her outstanding cultivation but also for her cold, exquisitely beautiful visage.

One year, while traveling, she came across a gifted child. Taking pity on the child who had been abandoned on the streets and subjected to all manner of humiliation, Xiao Chengyu, moved by compassion, took her in as a disciple and kept her at her side. At the time, she did not know that this decision would sow the seeds of a fateful entanglement.

The little disciple, named Qiu Yuebai, was quite adorable once cleaned up, and especially clingy. Though Xiao Chengyu was not one for many words, she was neither cold-hearted nor indifferent. A sudden new presence in her life added color to the lonely heights of the Sect Leader's position, and she grew extremely fond of this little disciple.

Years passed in the blink of an eye, and Qiu Yuebai grew up, naturally not resembling one meant for the quiet life of cultivation. She had delicate brows and eyes like a painting, a lithe, graceful figure, alluring as a little demon. In their constant companionship, she gradually developed impure thoughts about her lofty master. After many attempts at testing the waters, Xiao Chengyu seemed not to notice.

Through repeated disappointment, Qiu Yuebai's desires went unrelieved, and she could only suppress her feelings painfully deep in her heart. But burying them was not the same as them not existing. Intense craving and love quietly grew in that sunless soil—the more she repressed, the more vigorously they flourished.

By the time Xiao Chengyu realized her disciple had developed a heart demon over it, it was already too late. Qiu Yuebai's obsession ran deep, and there was no turning back. On a rainy night, her hands trembling slightly, she exploited the trust between master and disciple to sprinkle the powder of Passion Powder into her master's teacup.

【Inside, red candles flickered, casting shifting shadows. Two graceful silhouettes stood very close together.

"How dare you."

Xiao Chengyu tried to channel her spiritual energy, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea—no response at all. She raised her eyes and coldly regarded Qiu Yuebai, seeing for the first time how utterly foreign the disciple she had raised with her own hands had become. Her smile remained sweet, devoid of any shadow, while her gaze slowly swept over the graceful body hidden beneath Xiao Chengyu's robes.

Slowly, she leaned in, tilting her master's chin up. Her eyes were deep and dark as she parted her red lips: "I love you so much I'd give my life, yet you always treat me like a child. Master, after all these years, have you ever truly looked at me?"

Her hand drifted lower, grabbing the woman's collar, and she gave a soft laugh. "If that's the case, this disciple is done waiting."】

Yun Shuchen read to that point and glanced further down, and sure enough, there was already some utterly indecent description. She strove to rein in her thoughts—just a peek, just a peek.

It was only a fleeting interest she had taken in this topic.

When she had asked Yue Changge originally, it had merely been a momentary whim.

But then.

...Was it truly just a whim?

Yun Shuchen closed her eyes, and again recalled Qing Zhouxue's clear voice calling her "Master" again and again.

At that thought, a sudden shame rose in her heart, along with a secret thrill she did not wish to examine too closely.

As Yun Shuchen read on, her body began to feel slightly warm. She fanned herself with the book as if it might cool her down, but a certain heat, like water long simmered and nearly at a boil, refused to subside for a while.

Suddenly, a light knock came at the door. "Master?"

In a flash of white light, the book vanished into her jade bracelet. She paused a moment, then said, "Come in."

Qing Zhouxue entered through the gap in the door, holding a bowl of bright red fruits, washed and clean. She set it beside Yun Shuchen and sat down as a matter of course.

Her disciple had little attachment to this mortal world, apart from a few lingering cravings of the palate. She often projected this inclination onto her master—as with this bowl, for instance.

She took one for herself, then looked at Yun Shuchen. "Master, why is your face so red?"

Hit on a sensitive spot, Yun Shuchen coughed lightly, remaining unflustered. "Mm, the room is a little stuffy."

Qing Zhouxue rose and opened the window a crack. She angled it away from Yun Shuchen, facing only herself, lest the cold draft blow on her master.

Yun Shuchen waited for her to leave so she could continue reading, but noticed Qing Zhouxue had picked up a second fruit and was quietly watching her, with no intention of leaving.

She had no choice but to ask, "Qing'er, is something the matter?"

The faint sound of chewing in the room paused, then resumed for a moment. It was Qing Zhouxue's habit never to speak until she had finished a mouthful—a stubbornness she had probably carried since birth.

Yun Shuchen recalled this and felt a little helpless, so she waited for her to swallow. After finishing the fruit, Qing Zhouxue said, with a hint of melancholy, "This month, will Master not teach me cultivation?"

Yun Shuchen taught her those techniques roughly a few times a month. She did not deliberately control it—if it came to mind and her disciple was at hand, she would teach; if not, it was no matter, as she could wait until the next time it occurred to her. After all, the path of immortality was long, and a session or two missed was of little consequence.

At least, it was once a month at minimum. She had no intention, but her disciple might have memorized such a rhythm, and so at month's end she would ask in all seriousness.

Yun Shuchen could not help but smile, finding her endearing. "Then go sit on the bed properly."

The beaded curtain lifted, then fell back into place.

She took her disciple's wrist, closed her eyes, and as before, led her on a tour through the meridians of her body. In the past, Qing Zhouxue had been very focused during cultivation; the Way prized emptiness and stillness, and settling the mind was key.

But today, for some reason, Qing Zhouxue seemed preoccupied, unable to calm down for a moment, and so she felt a sense of stagnation and swelling, with a faint undercurrent of pain.

As the energy circulated, a fine sheen of sweat gathered on the tip of her nose, coalescing into droplets that slid down.

Yun Shuchen opened her eyes and, seeing her disciple's look of endurance, unconsciously softened.

That drop of sweat, because Qing Zhouxue had tilted her head back slightly, fell to her philtrum, then her lips, then slowly traced past her chin. Finally, it hung at that delicate curve, poised to fall but not yet falling.

Yun Shuchen lowered her gaze, staring at that drop of sweat, inexplicably not wanting it to fall.

In the dim, drowsy room, she unconsciously, as if bewitched, slowly leaned forward until she was very close, her lips slightly parted so that a gentle lift could kiss it away.

But just as she was about to touch her chin, Yun Shuchen halted. She quietly raised her lashes, gazed at her for a moment, and slowly, with effort, returned her breathing to an even rhythm.

Reason finally reined her in at the last moment, pulling back from the brink.

Yun Shuchen sat upright again as if nothing had happened, lowered her head, and raised her other hand to stroke the cloud patterns creasing her sleeve. Those fine patterns seemed exquisitely delicate, yet they cut into her fingertips with a phantom sting.