◎I stopped being your Senior Sister long ago◎
Venerable Lord.
At that form of address, You Fusang felt a flicker of bemusement.
For a hundred years of Pagoda, everyone had called her Venerable Lord—nothing strange in that. But from Yan Rushi’s mouth it somehow became a muddle. What should she be called? Senior Sister? Even in the old days Yan Rushi had rarely called her that; Little Peacock always used her full name.
—You Fusang, who are you putting on that weak, wilting act for? Grip your sword! The thing across from you is a paper tiger—don’t you dare lose! You Fusang, i-if you lose, I’ll never look up to you again!!
Little Peacock, unbridled and dazzling, plumage bright and splendid, a galloping colt gathering the wind into its breast—nothing like the wretched, half-drowned creature in the Pagoda Palace now.
Downcast eyes, submissive brows; the Immortal-Binding Rope leaving scarlet welts across her jade-white limbs; lips pressed tight, timidity rising; black hair soaked through, spring robes fallen. Every inch of it made You Fusang’s heart tremble.
She pulled her gaze away in an instant, a scoff escaping her throat: “The Young Sect Master of the Yan Sect surely has places to go. What need to beg shelter in the Pagoda Palace?”
Yan Rushi froze, then laughed at herself: “The Yan Sect is in ruins—what can the Young Sect Master of the Yan Sect do…? My father is dead. My mother is imprisoned in the Sea-Viewing Pavilion.” Her voice shook; the cloak could not cover her chill. Slowly she raised a hand to cover her face and wept. “The Yan Sect has done no wrong, yet the Daoists of Solitary Mountain insist we hid away a Profound Realm treasure, and demand we hand it over. How can we hand over something that never existed? Solitary Mountain attacked, the Yan Sect could not withstand them, and now Mother’s meridians are severed through—she will likely never lift a sword again…”
Old grudges and new: the Yan Sect and Solitary Mountain had been at odds for a century. The claim of a hidden Profound Realm was surely pretext; the true prize was supremacy among the Immortal Sects. The Yan Sect’s catastrophe had raged for years; You Fusang had heard whispers of it, but never knew it had come to such a precipice.
Father dead, mother imprisoned…
When the house collapses, even the most golden-branch, jade-leaf creature must roll through the mortal dust. This Young Sect Master of the Yan Sect had well and truly fallen into the Pagoda Realm.
You Fusang looked down at her from on high and plucked a single line from the flood of words: “Yan Qingjue will never lift a sword again?”
Yan Qingjue—Sect Master of the Yan Sect, and once the one who taught the Martial Sisters breathing and swordsmanship. Their Teacher-Mother.
In memory, Sect Master Yan never smiled idly: sword-like brows, star-bright eyes, blue robes worn carelessly, an outstanding one among Daoists, and the most illustrious-named Sword Cultivator from time immemorial to now.
—Someone like that, never to lift a sword again?
You Fusang found it a pity. And beyond the pity, she found it funny.
The Teacher-Mother so rigid and exacting, the Teacher-Mother who haggled over every coin, the Teacher-Mother who hated evil like a personal enemy and clawed for merit…
The Teacher-Mother who spat on You Fusang’s origins, then pushed her into the abyss.
She truly, truly wanted to see her in a wretched state.
You Fusang’s thoughts surged, and the Devil Qi around her shifted unpredictably in answer—making the dragon carvings glare with killing light, like a Giant Python with flickering tongue coiled across the ceiling of the Pagoda Palace. Blood-fog and filth, cold pressing in from all four walls, the desolate chill of a surrounded army hearing songs drift from the enemy camp.
Attendants below had already been caught in its wake, collapsing one after another. Yan Rushi, closest of all to her, could not help shivering as she looked up.
The instant You Fusang lowered her gaze, she met that tear-streaked pleading in Yan Rushi’s eyes.
True, the grudge between You Fusang and Yan Qingjue would not easily sever—but she had no intention of dragging Yan Rushi into it. So, after long deliberation, she consented: “Stay. Fine.”
Pagoda City could still afford to shelter one little peacock.
You Fusang turned to go, but behind her came another timid plea: “Then might the Venerable Lord, in memory of our old sect kinship… save my mother? Solitary Mountain severed her meridians yet shows no sign of releasing her. I am so afraid that what they truly want is Mother’s life… Venerable Lord, I have no father left. I cannot lose my mother too…”
“Hey! Aren’t you asking for rather a lot?” At the head of the attendants, that knockabout girl Geng Ying hollered, “Sect kinship? That was a hundred years ago! Did your Yan Sect ever remember sect kinship and stay friendly with our Venerable Lord? No! So why should we now—”
“—Geng Ying. Silence.”
You Fusang stopped, brow furrowed. Golden eyes closing, she pressed a fingertip to her temple and laid down a Silencing Command. “Your voice is too loud… my head hurts.”
Geng Ying’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out; the small Spirit Bells on her hair buns screamed on her behalf: Venerable Lord! You’re playing favorites!
You Fusang ignored her and looked instead at Yan Rushi. “Junior Sister Yan does dream extravagantly. Surely you don’t expect my Pagoda to declare war on Solitary Mountain for the sake of Yan Qingjue?”
Yan Rushi faltered; she probably knew herself how absurd it sounded, and how little standing she had to ask.
You Fusang went on: “Young Sect Master Yan, in memory of our old bond as Martial Sisters, I will let you stay. Food, clothing, shelter—none of it will be lacking. But anything more, do not think about. The righteous and the heretic walk different roads, and different roads seldom meet. Yan Qingjue ceased to be my Teacher-Mother long ago… and I ceased to be your Senior Sister long ago.”
Yan Rushi stared at her blankly, the light in her eyes guttering out by degrees. After a long moment, she smiled fragile and faint. “As the Venerable Lord says.”
She had said exactly what You Fusang wanted, yet You Fusang felt nothing smooth about it at all. But considering the Yan Sect’s calamities and Yan Rushi’s fall into this desperate strait—coming here seeking only shelter was understandable, nothing more.
Geng Ying, meanwhile, was still tirelessly baring her claws and fangs; even wordless, those two Spirit Bells grated on You Fusang’s nerves.
“You… keep it down a little, and I’ll undo it.”
Geng Ying nodded so hard her head bobbed like a Pellet Drum.
But the instant the Silencing Command lifted, she betrayed her promise, voice pitched especially high: “Venerable Lord! Why keep her? Lately Solitary Mountain has been crusading everywhere under banners of ‘following the Heavenly Dao, purging mountains and seas,’ and we and Pagoda already rub each other the wrong way. If we take in this Young Sect Master Yan now, won’t we become exactly the ‘harbored remnants’ Solitary Mountain is crying about? They’re aching for a pretext as it is!”
With or without pretext, righteous and heretic cannot escape a war—only sooner or later. You Fusang knew this perfectly well, yet for some reason did not wish to say it aloud.
She stayed silent. Geng Ying, taking it for anger, looked away. “F-fine, she can stay… but righteous cultivators staying in Pagoda can’t eat a thing tainted with Devil Qi, can’t drink a drop; their quarters have to be built separate from scratch—what a hassle. Trivial matters like these, you in your exalted position as Venerable Lord would never trouble yourself to remember, and her? Young Sect Master of the Yan Sect, some pampered young lady who’s never dipped ten fingers in domestic water, certainly won’t know the first thing—which means it all lands on me in the end! I won’t do it!”
You Fusang listened attentively. “And what do you propose?”
“Venerable Lord, I’m willing to help her settle in—but I have conditions! My Gu Refinement is still missing a few reagents!” Geng Ying, of course, had her own little ledger. “Just a bit of skin and hair, a bit of heart’s blood, a bit of flesh and bone, a bit of tendon and meridian…”
She wanted to refine Yan Rushi into Gu!
The longer Geng Ying talked, the more Yan Rushi’s spine shuddered. She could already feel herself being stripped of sinew and bone and dropped into a medicine mortar. Trembling, she fled toward You Fusang in something like panic: “C-can’t I stay by the Venerable Lord’s side?”
Geng Ying snorted. “What are you dreaming? The Venerable Lord’s Devil Qi is overwhelming. You couldn’t last half an incense stick at her side—several hours? Ten days, half a month? Before Solitary Mountain even arrives, you’ll already be dead and buried!”
“I’m not afraid!” Yan Rushi didn’t spar with Geng Ying. She only looked at You Fusang, apricot eyes curving slightly, lips pressing into a placating smile. “Venerable Lord… I don’t know anyone else in Pagoda. Let me simply stay by your side—please? I’ll do anything. If it pleases you, I can attend to your daily needs as well…”
A beauty, tender of feeling, lingering of longing, fawning with wagging tail—truly a moving sight. You Fusang’s eyes narrowed, and all at once the mood to play seized her.
“Anything at all?”
“Y-yes…”
You Fusang drew close by slow degrees, bending slightly, using a fingernail to tip up Yan Rushi’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes.
A devil’s nails are long and sharp, faintly translucent gold at the tips, and the sharp point now rested against the bloodline of Yan Rushi’s throat—the most fragile place on the human body.
One slip, one ounce more pressure, and blood would flow.
But Yan Rushi could not move. She could only hold the pose and endure the scrutiny.
You Fusang’s gaze traveled inch by inch over the beauty’s temples, brows and eyes, the bridge of her nose, her cinnabar lips…
It finally settled beneath her throat, on the collarbone, on the jade-smooth curve of her chest beneath the cloak—beneath the defiled Daoist robe, a body all trembling spring light.
Jade-boned beauty’s skin, a face of pure snow and lotus.
If I peeled away a single strip of my Junior Sister’s skin, You Fusang suddenly thought, what would flow beneath—blurry flesh and blood, or clean, unblemished new snow?
The beauty spoke, timid: “Venerable Lord…”
You Fusang finally gave a soft laugh. “The thing is, I lack for nothing. No need for reagents, no need for maids, no need for a sparring partner…”
“What I lack is a Bed Attendant.”
She asked, wickedly: “So, Young Sect Master Yan—will you do it or not?”
