Chapter 63: Disciple and Wife
“It’s been three days. Why haven’t the Immortal Masters emerged yet?”
Early morning, a maid whispered to her companion as they passed by the courtyard, their gazes drawn to the closed doors.
They had heard the cultivators staying there were the ones who had slain the Skin-Peeling Demon. The most powerful cultivator they had ever seen was the City Lord, whose ability to fly on a sword fueled their imaginations about what true immortals were like.
These cultivators were said to be far more powerful than the City Lord. Their curiosity was understandable.
The maid carrying a flower basket, a white cloth tied around her arm, replied, “I don’t know. I heard from someone in the City Lord’s courtyard that the disciple said the immortals were in seclusion, and they would leave after her master emerged.”
“Disciple? A disciple of an immortal must also be an immortal, right?”
“I’ve seen her. Even spoken to her. She’s… different.”
The maid who had spoken to Tao Ning became the center of attention, the others eager for details. What did she look like? Did she have an aura? Could she fly?
Their chatter was interrupted by a gasp. Someone pointed towards a figure approaching in the distance. “Is that the disciple you mentioned?”
Tao Ning was returning from her morning sword practice in the City Lord’s training grounds. After accidentally bisecting a boulder, she had decided against practicing in the courtyard, fearing she might demolish the inn.
She maintained a strict routine, the only difference being the absence of Cen Dianshuang’s watchful gaze.
The Three Lives Dream had been potent, sending the usually teetotaling bird into a deep sleep, from which she hadn’t yet awakened.
Tao Ning, carrying her spirit sword, walked towards the inn, wondering about Cen Dianshuang’s reaction.
The maids, their curiosity outweighing their apprehension, approached Tao Ning, who looked about their age.
“Is that your sword?”
They had seen their fair share of beauties, but Tao Ning’s appearance was striking.
Her wide sleeves were tied back with wristbands for ease of movement, her hair simply styled, giving her a distinct, almost androgynous charm.
Unlike the other girls they knew, she possessed both an air of elegance and a hint of… ambition.
Tao Ning, offering a polite nod, replied, “Yes.”
She was then surrounded, the enthusiastic maids bombarding her with questions.
“It looks so heavy! You’re so strong!”
“Can I touch it?”
“You’re sweating. Here’s a handkerchief.”
“Do you go out every morning to practice?”
Tao Ning, who had thought she had mastered the art of deflecting unwanted attention after her experience in the Meiyan’s lair, was mistaken.
The young maids, like chattering birds in springtime, were relentlessly cheerful, their enthusiasm difficult to resist.
Dodging the proffered, perfume-laced handkerchief, she circulated her spiritual energy, instantly drying her sweat. “That’s kind of you, but I’m fine.”
This only intensified their excitement.
“How did you do that?!”
“Is that what cultivation is like? Do you think I have the potential to cultivate?”
“Can you demonstrate again? We’ll hold your sword for you!”
“Immortal Master, can you check my pulse? Do I have any talent?”
“Wait, wait…” Tao Ning raised her hands defensively. Even her silver tongue was no match for their combined enthusiasm, especially since they weren’t listening.
520 shook its head, watching the scene unfold like a modern-day Tang Sanzang surrounded by spider demons.
Inside the inn, Cen Dianshuang’s eyes fluttered open. Her first instinct was to check for flooding. Relieved to find the room dry, she relaxed.
Prematurely.
Her eyes snapped open again, her body stiff and motionless, like a corpse. Then, with a swift, fluid movement, she transformed into her bird form, disappearing under the covers.
Cen! Dian! Shuang! What have you done?!
A three-hundred-year-old demon, acting like a drunken fool! What a waste of a long life!
I should just suffocate myself under these blankets.
Then, a thought struck her. The scent beneath the covers wasn’t hers. It was faint and… familiar.
A memory flashed through her mind: being pressed against the bed, her chin tilted upwards, her lips captured in a kiss.
The image made her feathers ruffle in a silent explosion of… something… she couldn’t quite name.
My reputation! My dignity! As a demon, do I have no shame?
The chaotic thoughts subsided, a flicker of hope extinguished like a candle in a storm.
Tao Ning was perceptive. Could she truly remain oblivious to Cen Dianshuang’s true nature after years of living together?
She had identified a Shangxi bird after only a few encounters.
Not everyone would accept a relationship with a demon. Born in the Demonic Beast Realm, raised in the Hanshan Sect, known as Elder Cen for centuries, she wasn’t truly human.
She wanted to tell Tao Ning the truth, but not yet.
Cen Dianshuang, you’re such a coward.
Shaking herself, she smoothed her ruffled feathers, then shifted back to her human form.
Knowing Tao Ning wasn’t in the courtyard, she extended her spiritual sense, easily locating her disciple.
Tao Ning, trapped by the enthusiastic maids, heard a familiar jingling sound, her eyes lighting up.
The maids, also hearing the bell, looked around. “Where’s that coming from?”
Tao Ning held up the communication bell. “My master is calling. Excuse me!”
With a graceful leap, she vanished into the courtyard.
The maids sighed in disappointment.
Tao Ning hurried inside, calling out, “Master, I’m back.”
Cen Dianshuang was sitting at her vanity, her hair unbound, a ribbon clutched in her hand.
She seemed to be attempting to tie her hair with spiritual energy.
Tao Ning, seeing this, offered instinctively, “Let me do it, Master.”
She approached, then hesitated, stopping a few feet away.
If she remembered correctly, the usually aloof bird would refuse such an offer.
Surprisingly, Cen Dianshuang handed her the comb, her expression calm. “Alright.”
Tao Ning, surprised, took the jade comb, her fingers brushing against Cen Dianshuang’s palm.
Cen Dianshuang, facing the mirror, lowered her gaze, her hand fidgeting with her skirt beneath the table, trying to dispel the lingering warmth where their fingers had touched.
The mirror reflected their images: one standing, one sitting.
The seated woman, her white robes flowing around her, her face ethereal, a red mark on her forehead, her long, slender fingers lifting a strand of hair, a silver wristband, a gift from Tao Ning, adorning her wrist.
She couldn’t remember why she had given it. She had simply seen it among the other items in her storage bracelet, its presence drawing her attention.
—The wristband was engraved with a fluffy-tailed fox.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she had given it to Tao Ning, who had worn it without comment.
And she continued to wear it, the sight always bringing a secret smile to Cen Dianshuang’s lips.
Tao Ning, without using spiritual energy, carefully combed her master’s tangled hair, her movements gentle and patient.
Before becoming Tao Ning’s disciple, Cen Dianshuang’s hairstyle had been unchanging. As a child, it had been two simple buns, secured with ribbons.
As she grew older, her master had restyled her hair, declaring the buns unsuitable.
Cen Dianshuang, remarkably lazy in this regard, had simply adopted her master’s style, never bothering to change it.
From her teenage years to her current age, her hairstyle remained the same, only the color of her ribbons changing occasionally, with the addition of ornate hairpins for formal occasions.
Others praised her filial piety, assuming she maintained the same hairstyle to honor her deceased master. In truth, she simply couldn’t be bothered to change it.
Finished combing, Tao Ning straightened up, looking at the mirror. Cen Dianshuang remained still, her eyes lowered, like a meditating monk.
Tao Ning sighed inwardly. The bird has learned to be cautious.
Suddenly, Cen Dianshuang’s eyelids flickered open, her gaze meeting Tao Ning’s in the mirror.
Tao Ning waited, anticipating her words.
“A sword cultivator’s sword is a sacred object. It shouldn’t be touched by others.”
Tao Ning: “?”
Then, realization dawned. Her master had seen the encounter with the maids.
“Understood, Master. From now on, I’ll only allow my Dao companion to touch my sword.”
Cen Dianshuang’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
Early morning, the City Lord received news of the Immortal Masters’ emergence from seclusion. She was slightly puzzled. Was three days a typical seclusion period for a Nascent Soul cultivator?
Regardless, she accepted their explanation.
She was about to see them off personally when a maid informed her that they had already departed on their swords.
The City Lord stopped mid-step. “Very well.”
Wangshu Peak, empty for ten years, finally welcomed its master’s return. The past decade had been spent traveling the Radiant Realm, gathering various materials and honing their skills.
The return journey was swift, a single day’s flight on their swords.
The Hanshan Sect remained unchanged. Two disciples still guarded the mountain gate, the stones lining the Ascending Immortal Steps bearing no new marks of sword intent.
The disciples bowed respectfully. “Elder Cen, Senior Sister Tao.”
Cen Dianshuang, seeing Tao Ning looking at the steps, followed her gaze. “You’re not ready to comprehend our ancestors’ sword intent yet. We’ll return when your cultivation has advanced further.”
Tao Ning: “Will I… misunderstand their meaning if my cultivation is too low?”
Cen Dianshuang shook her head. “Not exactly. Our ancestors were powerful warriors, their swords stained with the blood of countless demons. Their sword intent is sharp and potent. If your cultivation is too low, your mind unstable, you risk being overwhelmed, falling into the demonic path.”
They continued their journey, not rushing back to Wangshu Peak. Their first stop was Qianqi Peak.
It was a rest day for the Academy, and the plaza was filled with students in pale green robes, their waists lacking the direct disciple tokens.
They walked in small groups, heading towards the training grounds to watch the inner sect disciples spar.
Someone spotted the approaching figures, their voice filled with alarm. “Elder Cen! Run!”
His warning sent several Academy disciples scattering, clearing a path around Cen Dianshuang. A few, too terrified to move, remained, bowing respectfully. “Greetings, Elder Cen.”
Cen Dianshuang, her expression impassive, replied with a curt nod.
The disciples, relieved, scurried away like mice fleeing a cat.
Tao Ning, amused by their reaction, asked, “I heard the peak masters occasionally teach at the Academy. Have you ever taught there, Master?”
Cen Dianshuang, accustomed to such reactions, simply glanced at the fleeing disciples. “A few times. Not often. I stopped going.”
Tao Ning: “Why? Too busy with the Disciplinary Hall?”
Cen Dianshuang: “The Disciplinary Hall only requires my attention for serious matters. The Vice Hall Master and the other stewards handle the day-to-day affairs. I stopped teaching because they were too slow. They couldn’t understand.”
Tao Ning understood. The impatient bird had little tolerance for slow learners, their inability to grasp her teachings likely infuriating her.
The students, in turn, found her too strict, her cold demeanor and demanding standards making her classes unbearable, despite her reputation as the sect’s Ice Beauty.
Their mutual dislike had resulted in the current situation: the Academy disciples both respected and feared her.
The rhythmic clang of hammers was the constant soundtrack of Qianqi Peak. The disciples here, unlike their Academy counterparts, didn’t flee at the sight of Cen Dianshuang, greeting her calmly.
Tao Ning suspected it was because their arms were too full of materials to run.
Elder Qianlian, usually found tinkering in her refining room, was surprisingly outside today, brewing tea under a red plum tree.
Cen Dianshuang, following the scent of the tea, led Tao Ning to the tree.
Several figures were seated around a stone table, one with their back to them, pouring tea.
The woman in red, her long hair elegantly styled, turned, a smile already gracing her lips. “Little Junior Sister, you’re back.”
The vibrant red robe and the warm smile belonged to Lizhu. Across from her sat Elder Qianlian, a disgruntled expression on her face after apparently burning her tongue on the tea. Several disciples from Shuhan and Qianqi Peaks stood nearby.
A few others sparred in the distance, their movements fluid and graceful, practicing sword forms, not spiritual attacks.
Jin Jiamu, standing behind Elder Qianlian, winked at Tao Ning.
Lizhu poured a cup of tea. “I figured you’d be arriving soon, so I brewed some tea. Come, have some.”
Cen Dianshuang sheathed her sword, walked over, and sat down, taking a sip after blowing on the hot tea.
Deeming the temperature acceptable, she picked up another cup and handed it to Tao Ning. “Senior Sister’s tea. Don’t waste it.”
The casual intimacy of the gesture surprised Jin Jiamu, who had never been treated with such familiarity by her own master. She stared, her eyes wide.
Tao Ning, her head bowed respectfully, took the cup with both hands. “Thank you, Master.”
Her excessive humility made Cen Dianshuang slightly uncomfortable.
Lizhu smiled. “Your cultivation seems to have stabilized. Nearing Golden Core, I presume?”
Tao Ning, no matter how many times she met Lizhu, always had the same thought: Old fox.
“I’ve reached late Foundation Establishment, Sect Leader. Golden Core requires… an opportunity.”
“Reaching Golden Core is a significant step. Perhaps I should…” Lizhu began, raising a hand.
Cen Dianshuang, grabbing her sleeve, interrupted, her gaze fixed on Lizhu. “If my disciple has any questions, she can ask me.”
Lizhu chuckled, surrendering. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask you instead.”
Perhaps a habit from her years as Senior Sister, Lizhu felt a responsibility towards all younger disciples, showering them with equal attention. She proceeded to question Cen Dianshuang, who answered patiently while sipping her tea.
Jin Jiamu, listening, felt a pang of sympathy. She had just endured a similar interrogation by the Sect Leader, her mind nearly twisting into knots. She had wanted to appeal to her master for help, but Elder Qianlian was even less articulate than her, leaving her to fend for herself.
She glanced enviously at Tao Ning. We’re both disciples, but our experiences are so different.
She hadn’t expected Elder Cen, the terror of the Hanshan Sect, to be so attentive to her disciple. They had all assumed Tao Ning would be sent to the Academy.
Instead, she was receiving personalized instruction, much to the envy of those with numerous siblings.
Lizhu, pausing for another sip of tea, continued her questioning, Cen Dianshuang anticipating the next round, mirroring her actions, also taking a sip.
Jin Jiamu and Elder Qianlian exchanged a knowing look, their expressions mirroring each other: Here we go again.
Lizhu, placing down her cup, said, “You’ve returned for your disciple’s spirit weapons, I presume?”
Jin Jiamu, idly munching on spirit melon seeds, suddenly felt a gaze on her, then heard Cen Dianshuang’s voice. “Yes. My disciple wishes to request the assistance of her friend, Jin Jiamu of Qianqi Peak.”
Jin Jiamu: …Me?