Chapter 85

Phoenix fire was unlike ordinary flames; under the light of day, it burned a fierce, blazing red, emanating an aggressive aura. From a distance, it looked like a stretch of vivid crimson maple leaves.

Qing Zhouxue, standing far off, caught a glimpse of a figure moving within the flames. She focused her gaze and was startled. A familiar figure sat cross-legged amidst the inferno, flames nearly engulfing her completely.

It was... Junior Sister Ruan?

Hadn't the Sect Leader said that all the disciples on the peak had been safely evacuated?

Qing Zhouxue was taken aback. She tapped the massive dragon's head beneath her feet with the pommel of her sword, signaling it to draw closer.

"Ruan Mingzhu—" she called across the distance. "Why are you still here?"

Ruan Mingzhu turned her head, then squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, as if enduring great torment. The phoenix fire, like vivid Datura blossoms, climbed up her skin, searing her dantian and baking that vital aperture with intense heat.

Qing Zhouxue stepped on the ice dragon, drawing closer. "Get on."

"I think I can stop the fire. You go on," Ruan Mingzhu refused, the words slipping through her lips.

Qing Zhouxue's brows slowly knitted together, but detecting the confidence in her words, she didn't immediately seize her and carry her off. The fire around Ruan Mingzhu was converging toward her, but it wasn't burning naturally; it seemed she was doing what Qing Zhouxue had once done—reversing her cultivation to draw the flames into her dantian.

Sensing this, Qing Zhouxue realized this was no ordinary fire, and she couldn't casually judge whether Ruan Mingzhu was acting recklessly. So she abandoned the ice dragon, leaving it coiled around the mountainside, and stepped onto her Qingshuang Sword to return and report the matter to the senior elders.

A few days earlier, Ruan Mingzhu had obtained this egg. Her master had told her it was a rather rare phoenix egg, but whether it was alive or dead was uncertain—whether it could hatch was anyone's guess.

While she was pondering what to do with it, the intricate patterns on the shell suddenly cracked open. No phoenix emerged; instead, a plume of fire leaped out, spreading overwhelmingly across the entire mountaintop in an instant.

Elder Zhong nearly had a heart attack. The fire was incredibly difficult to extinguish, and it had erupted so suddenly. He had no choice but to gather the treasures from his storeroom and lead his disciples down the mountain to take refuge.

The peaks of Taichu Sect were not connected; below lay a great marsh, so there was no fear of the fire spreading to other areas. They just needed to wait for this disaster to pass.

Ruan Mingzhu had only walked halfway with him when she felt a faint resonance with the phoenix fire. She quietly slipped away from her master's side, using the excuse of looking for her senior sister on Heyi Peak, and returned alone to the peak.

Now engulfed in the sea of fire, her dantian aching as if about to shatter, she had indeed felt a moment of regret. But ultimately, she held on with a stubborn attitude, mustering every ounce of strength to subdue and gather the wildly spreading flames around her.

Her body was scorched beyond recognition; her eyes could barely see. Beads of sweat emerged on her face, and before they could fall to the ground, they hissed into white steam.

"Isn't this madness? A phoenix is no ordinary spirit beast—it's an ancient divine bird—" The Sect Leader's head throbbed after hearing Qing Zhouxue's report. "Too reckless. Go and retrieve her at once."

But Yun Shuchen looked thoughtfully into the distance at the bright red mountain, and said, "No need to go. Haven't you noticed? The fire in one area has lessened. That child may have some confidence. Let fate decide."

Yue Changge furrowed her brows. "Ai, don't let fate decide you into death. I know you love to gamble, and you have since you were little... As the saying goes, where there's life, there's hope. Why be so aggressive?"

The elders each held their own view, and Qing Zhouxue was uncertain whom to heed. In that instant of hesitation, the mountain fire in the distance flared up once more.

Flames surged skyward like restless waves, dyeing the clouds a brilliant red that nearly filled half the horizon.

A faint phoenix cry pierced the air, and the flames high above took on the shape of phoenix feathers, sketching the elegant outline of a magnificent wing that slowly fluttered once before disappearing.

Just as she was looking over in confusion, her hand was quietly taken by Yun Shuchen.

"No need to worry. She's already won her bet."

Yun Shuchen summoned the frost-white azure dragon back, and atop its head rested an unconscious figure.

As Ruan Mingzhu rolled off the dragon's head, her eyes shut tight, veins faintly bulging on her forehead. Had it not been for the breath of life still stirring, one might have thought her meridians all shattered and she'd died on the spot.

Qing Zhouxue watched as the Sect Leader called several disciples over and had them swiftly carry her toward Lingsu Peak. When she looked back at that peak, the burning red cloud flickered once, dimming further, as if its power was waning.

The rain drawn by the aerial technique still fell in a drizzle, and amidst the rain, fire lingered—a rare sight. Gradually, patches of dark red turned to deep black, and the thick smoke couldn't rise before being drenched away completely.

They let out a sigh of relief.

Yun Shuchen, her long sleeves concealing the motion, subtly took her disciple's hand again, hidden by the fabric.

That casual remark from Yue Changge had planted a thought in Qing Zhouxue's mind.

She looked at her master's profile—dignified, gentle, like a fair maiden from a painting—so vastly different in temper from a wild girl like Ruan Mingzhu, who never conceded defeat in a duel.

Had she too, time and again, risked her life on the path of cultivation, all for a sliver of breakthrough chance?

Sensing Qing Zhouxue's unwavering gaze, Yun Shuchen gave a soft cough. "What is it?"

"I want to know," said Qing Zhouxue, lowering her eyes, "what you looked like before, Master."

When one genuinely loves another, there are always moments—regardless of one's nature—when they yearn to understand the other's past, to walk the path they once walked, to taste the foods they once enjoyed, so that a shared sweetness rises in the heart.

Yun Shuchen heard her disciple ask of her own accord and couldn't help but smile. "Haven't you seen it before? That day, in the memories, you must have committed it all to mind. Even the disreputable bits of my old self."

In truth, that memory segment felt like eons ago to Yun Shuchen. She herself no longer knew what she had been like then, let alone how she might have interacted with her disciple.

Unfortunately, when that pearl had taken effect, the scene couldn't be viewed by anyone outside.

Qing Zhouxue shook her head. "That was just a shadow. What about the day before? The year before? Many, many years before that?"

Her early life. What had she been like before meeting her master?

Qing Zhouxue occasionally pondered this question, imagining a youthful girl, a cute child like jade or snow. She could only guess, uncertain of the truth.

Yun Shuchen let out a soft sigh. "I don't remember much."

Qing Zhouxue hummed in acknowledgment, then said, "It must have been wonderful."

Hearing this, Yun Shuchen gently stroked the back of her hand with her thumb.

She first felt like laughing, thinking that young women always see things in such black and white. It wasn't that she didn't remember; it was that she didn't want to bring it up.

She hadn't always been a good person—at least, not compared to someone as transparent and upright as her disciple. Perhaps she was a bit more knowledgeable and skilled than her disciple, but that maturity wasn't something to be admired at her age.

When she'd picked up Qing Zhouxue back then, she'd observed that the child was sensible and polite, endured hardship without complaint, had a reserved personality but wasn't cowardly—and she thought she saw traces of herself in her.

But as that jade lotus sprouted and bloomed, gradually unfolding at the summit of a high peak, she stared at her spotless countenance and knew they were entirely different. She seemed to possess something Yun Shuchen had spent a lifetime searching for and never found again.

*

Qing Zhouxue had comprehended two sword techniques, and the name of the first was already decided. As for the second, after Yun Shuchen had pointed out a flaw, she didn't rush to name it but instead pondered how to mend that gap.

In practicing the way of the sword, precision was a vital discipline. Famous sword manuals recorded techniques that weren't necessarily flashy or strange; rather, they found wonder in the ordinary—delivering a simple move with flawless execution, as natural as eating or drinking. That was what truly conformed to the "art" of swordsmanship.

A small gap might be harmless, but in duels between high-level sword cultivators, victories often hung on such details.

The solution she finally devised was straightforward. When using this technique to ward off threats from all directions, she deliberately refrained from enveloping herself entirely in cold aura. Her master's subsequent words rang true: the greatest perfection seems flawed.

One must always leave an opening. Even if water turned to solid ice, the ice at that gap would fail to form, effectively leaving oneself an escape route.

But Qing Zhouxue's insight hadn't been solely awakened by Yun Shuchen. In truth, because she couldn't figure it out, she found herself wrestling with the problem at a fixed hour each day, pondering late into the night, and without realizing it, she'd look up to see the bright moon. In the changing phases of the moon and the shifting of the stars, she inadvertently recorded the patterns of celestial transitions.

The full moon wanes. She felt it odd to name a sword technique after this phrase, but indeed there was no more apt metaphor to describe the feeling.

This bout of enlightenment pursuit stretched the days lazily into winter. Qing Zhouxue had a nagging sense that she'd forgotten something, until a month before her master's birthday she suddenly remembered.

Yun Shuchen happened to ask, "Your birthday is just one day apart from mine?"

"Then let's celebrate them together."

Before she could answer, Yun Shuchen declared, "Actually, cultivators don't really make a fuss over birthdays. I've accepted many heartfelt gifts from my disciple, but I've never given you a birthday gift."

"You needn't give me anything, Master."

She could see that her disciple wasn't merely being polite; she was speaking the truth with a face devoid of desire. "I don't want for anything."

"Oh?" Yun Shuchen raised an eyebrow. "It seems you're naturally talented. If I send you small gifts each year, surely they'll match your wishes?"

Qing Zhouxue couldn't argue with her, so she nodded. "Whatever you give me is fine."

She was always like that—whatever her master did was good, whatever her master gave was good. As if every casual gesture from Yun Shuchen was perfectly handled in her eyes.

Thinking of this, Yun Shuchen felt her sense of accomplishment oddly diminished by her disciple. Yet as she listened, her heart stirred—half vexed, half delighted.