Chapter 49

The snow in her palm and the snow in her heart melted together. Qing Zhouxue tucked the red packet securely into her clothes, then shrugged off her coat, which was still chilled from the night air.

"Where have you been, smelling of wine?" Yun Shuchen sat back down on the bed, a book in hand—a proper book.

Qing Zhouxue sniffed herself. She had indeed picked up a medley of smells from the tavern. She hurried off to bathe, cleaned up, and then returned.

She was being more careful now, remembering to bring her clothes. Yun Shuchen watched her leave and return in an orderly fashion and felt a vague pang of regret.

Regret, yes. But if she truly looked, she would be blinded. Perhaps that was the perversity of human nature.

Qing Zhouxue sat on the bed, the warmth in her palm oddly cool. She watched her master's profile as she read, her eyes lowered. She noticed her master rubbing her waist from time to time—the motion was subtle, but Qing caught it.

"Does your waist hurt?" she asked.

"I may have been sitting too long reading today." Yun Shuchen sighed, set down the book, and extinguished the candle. "It's late. Let's sleep."

Her master usually went to bed much earlier. On a quiet day like this, she would never have stayed up so late.

Her master must have kept the lamp lit, waiting for her, and reading for so long had made her waist ache.

Qing Zhouxue reached out. Her hand was almost on her waist when she hesitated, keeping a proper distance. "Master, I learned a little from Senior Sister Bai Su. I could massage it for you."

She had learned so much. She no longer pressed close without a care.

It was then that Yun Shuchen noticed that for the past few months, her disciple had been carefully maintaining distance in their physical contact. Now, wanting to touch her, she even asked first.

Why?

Habits, once formed, don't change without intent.

Could it be that those romance novels had enlightened her? Yun Shuchen's heart brightened at the thought, but when she looked up into her disciple's clear, concerned eyes, she hesitated.

She had meant to refuse—she knew herself well: a body that went weak at a mere embrace would not let her sleep if Qing Zhouxue massaged her.

But a secret craving, a probing impulse, kept tempting her.

After a moment of silence, she made a soft sound of assent, feigned nonchalance, and lay down.

Unexpectedly, she agreed.

Qing Zhouxue had not allowed herself much hope, thinking her master would no longer permit such close contact.

She was startled. "Just lie on your stomach, Master."

As her slightly cool hands touched her lower back, Yun Shuchen clutched the blanket. A fine, dense itch spread, but she could bear it.

Qing Zhouxue seemed distracted, her pressure too light, like a swallow's wing skimming water, stirring endless ripples.

Yun Shuchen endured the itch and said softly, "Press harder."

The person behind her seemed to snap back to attention, and her real strength came down.

Only when she began to knead with a gentle but firm pressure did Yun Shuchen regret it.

Qing Zhouxue's force was not great, but it was precise, hitting several acupoints. Slowly, Yun Shuchen frowned, enduring a faint soreness, until gradually the ache faded and a numb pleasure spread.

Yun Shuchen could not hold back a low sigh, swallowing any more compromising sounds between her lips.

"Is the pressure good?" Qing Zhouxue asked from behind.

Yun Shuchen caught her breath. "It's fine."

Qing Zhouxue fell silent, her hands not daring to slacken, but her eyes could not help straying to the woman beneath her.

Her master's robes were light, and from her figure alone—nowhere a single excess, nowhere to be trimmed. And she had a beauty's skin: fair, fine, with even bone and flesh.

Qing Zhouxue curbed her gaze, forcing it inch by inch to where it should rest, then shut her eyes and whispered, "Master is very beautiful."

Yun Shuchen was drowsy and barely heard her. Buried in the soft bedding, her ears burned crimson.

The numb pleasure rose from her waist and pooled somewhere unspeakable, teasing and irresistible, but Qing Zhouxue's hands were always a little too high—like scratching an itch through a boot, never quite enough.

Yun Shuchen frowned in discomfort, clutching the bedding beneath her. Her body warmed, a thin sweat breaking out.

For reasons she could not name, as Qing Zhouxue earnestly worked on her aching waist, Yun Shuchen suddenly squeezed her legs together, shuddered, and said through gritted teeth, "Stop."

"What's wrong, Master?"

"Enough." She turned over, her voice seeming to hold a watery mist, annoyance surfacing. "...Sleep."

* * *

After the Spring Festival, there were still two years until the Taichu Realm's second selection. Previously, everyone had been relaxed, but now they gradually shifted into full focus.

Last year's coursework was done. This year brought music, artifact forging, talismans, and composition. She had to rise before dawn to practice swords, and daylight was filled with training in the arena with her fellow disciples, eating up most of the day. Qing Zhouxue was thoroughly busy, sometimes studying late into the night before she could slip into bed in the dark.

To keep her master from catching cold, she still rose early every day, pushing ahead a little further in her lessons, so that by accumulating day by day, she could free up time and sleep at a proper hour each night.

Thus she busied herself for nearly half a year. Snow melted, spring faded, and a single summer cicada's call seemed to flower the mountain slopes with red blossoms.

It was high summer when several honored guests arrived from the Liuyun Sect, sincerely inviting Taichu to a friendly exchange of skills.

The Sect Leader naturally agreed.

As the foremost sect in the world, Liuyun's strength was formidable. In all likelihood, they would be Taichu's only real rival at the Immortal Ascension Assembly—a stone that had never been overturned.

Such a competition could only benefit their disciples.

After Yun Shuchen's earlier antics, the sect treasury had lost some spirit stones but gained a surplus of elixirs. The Sect Leader, in a fit of decisiveness, used those pills refined from spirit ore essence as bait to encourage the younger disciples to participate eagerly.

As the newer core strength of Taichu, Qing Zhouxue and her group naturally had to compete.

The venue was still within Taichu, the training arena they knew all too well. Though it was a temporary addition, the setup was especially grand. Not far away, elders from both sects had already gathered in their seats.

"I wonder if we'll run into those two from the tavern," Bai Su said, frowning.

"Quite likely," Lin Xunzhen replied. "I made some inquiries after. That girl, Gu Ruoshui, is the personal disciple of Liuyun's Grand Elder and the sect's chief senior disciple. Rumors say she's the reincarnation of a natural Sword Soul, with unmatched talent in swordsmanship. A person like that—the sect would surely invest everything in her and send her to many competitions."

"Good. If we meet, I'll test her mettle," Ruan Mingzhu said, weighing her blade. "See if she's worthy of being called chief."

Sword Soul. It sounded familiar. Qing Zhouxue had seen such records in Yun Shuchen's collection, and for some reason, her master had circled a line.

About five hundred years ago, a soul had condensed from ancient sword intent in the Sword Tomb, existing outside the three realms and the five elements. Could it be reborn as a human five hundred years later?

If so, that opponent was not to be underestimated.

Qing Zhouxue had long set her eyes on the Crimson Heart Lotus, the prize of the Immortal Ascension Assembly. After learning of it, she would occasionally visit Lingsu Peak, whether to donate blood or pick up medicine, asking Elder Liu whether such a herb could benefit her master's condition.

Liu Xunqin had pondered a moment and said: "It's exceedingly rare; it would indeed be helpful."

That settled it. Qing Zhouxue now had a direction.

Even if her opponent were stronger, she would strive for the Immortal Ascension Assembly and not easily yield.

Qing Zhouxue lifted her eyes to the sunlit brilliance. Liuyun's procession was imposing, several embroidered banners of cloud patterns borne by disciples, followed by lithe spirit leopards.

At their head was a woman in black, regal beyond compare, with junior disciples around her. Her face was impassive, and she had a habit of looking down over her eyelids. Though her pose and speech were impeccably polite, she exuded a detached chill.

That cold was entirely different from Qing Zhouxue's—it carried a faint, prickly pride, like ice shards ground from bone, abrasive to the touch.

"Gu Ruoshui of Liuyun Sect." She saluted Taichu's disciples with a sword salute. "I come to seek instruction in the Dao."

They returned the salute. "We look forward to your guidance."

The competition had not yet formally begun, with draws still underway. On the distant viewing stand, elders of both sects exchanged pleasantries.

Yun Shuchen glanced around. She had heard that Liuyun's highest senior, the Grand Ancestor, was in seclusion and had not come; only elders had been sent.

She responded in kind with a few pleasantries, but her gaze could not help stealing to that white figure under the blazing sun.

Her disciple had an Ice Spiritual Root, so at least she would not overheat. But a girl could damage her skin under prolonged sun—why did she not step into the shade?

Yun Shuchen made a subtle hand seal, silently conjuring a small cloud above her disciple's head, spreading to block the glaring sunlight.

In the distance, the tiny figure seemed to sense something and looked up. Only then did Yun Shuchen, satisfied, lower her hand, letting the cloud follow her disciple wherever she went.

What Yun Shuchen did not realize was that the moment the cloud drifted over, her little disciple's heart stirred in slight panic. She even lowered her head to check the red string on her ankle—until she felt her master's aura and calmed.

As a child, she had nearly been killed by a Thunder Tribulation, and later, another tribulation had cost Yun Shuchen dearly. Ever since, whenever a cloud gathered or thunder rumbled, she felt a strong urge to flee.

Especially on thunderstorm afternoons, her heart pounded and sleep was hard, so she disliked summer afternoons.

Her gaze swept inadvertently over Gu Ruoshui's black sword, and she froze.

Around it flickered electric light—brilliant, dazzling, twisted like silver serpents.

Qing Zhouxue took a small step back.

She was a variant Thunder Spirit Root.