Shen Yanting and Si Xianling had known each other since childhood. She knew very well that Si Xianling had two great hobbies: one was wrapping the family elders around her finger, and the other was enthusiastically spectating romantic affairs. She had always loved matchmaking, whether it worked out or not—she just enjoyed saying a few words about it. When idle, she would sneak off to the Mortal World to watch others get married.
Shen Yanting felt that Si Xianling had taken her boredom too far, but Si Xianling saw it as a unique pleasure.
She had never expected that one day Si Xianling would tease her and Bo Xuenong for laughs.
They were master and disciple—how could there be any of the ambiguity Si Xianling anticipated? Si Xianling really was…
Shen Yanting’s thoughts abruptly halted. She seemed to have overlooked something. Why was she the only one among those present who understood?
Si Xianling’s laughter reached Wu Qingshu and Bo Xuenong. Their first reaction was confusion, but she alone understood the implication behind Si Xianling’s words.
Unless… unless she truly harbored such thoughts.
Someone with purely master-disciple affection should be as open and fearless as Bo Xuenong, not flushed and guilty-hearted like her.
A truly innocent mind should grasp only the literal words like Wu Qingshu, not catch the pointed implication like her.
Shen Yanting froze in a daze.
Her churning emotions left her unable to pinpoint the reason. Instinctively, she drew closer to Bo Xuenong, hoping to find the cause from her.
Wu Qingshu directed the fox formed from talisman paper, carrying them swiftly toward Mistlongevity Village.
The White Porcelain Doll’s body lacked spiritual power and was fragile by nature—it should not have endured the journey. But Bo Xuenong enveloped her in spiritual power, protecting her with utmost care. Not a single wisp of wind touched her; she felt no chill at all, only the soft warmth wrapping around her legs and feet.
Shen Yanting did not do it intentionally, but with Bo Xuenong hanging her around her neck, her lower body pressed against Bo Xuenong’s chest. It was hard not to touch her.
The unusual heat gradually made her want to pull away from Bo Xuenong. Shen Yanting clutched the red cloth, trying to tilt her body forward a bit.
She had just escaped a little of the heat when Bo Xuenong suddenly pressed her body back. Bo Xuenong used her fingertip to push Shen Yanting firmly against herself. “Master, your body is fragile right now. Stay close to me so I can protect you.”
The sudden touch left Shen Yanting flustered for a moment. The White Porcelain Doll’s body had no distinct tactile differences, but Bo Xuenong’s fingertip landed right on her chest. The blush on the fine porcelain deepened.
She could not help but reach out to push Bo Xuenong’s hand away. Even that feather-light force failed to make Bo Xuenong realize she was pushing.
Fortunately, Bo Xuenong did not hold her long. Once she confirmed Shen Yanting was nestled against her chest, she let go and murmured softly, “Master, if you’re uncomfortable anywhere, you must tell Xuenong.”
“Good.” Good what? It was not good at all.
Too close. Too hot.
That heat was not merely wrapping her body—it burned outward from her heart, carrying a faint itchiness.
Shen Yanting finally sensed something amiss. She had deliberately distanced herself from Bo Xuenong before, but even earlier, they had been extremely close. When Bo Xuenong was a child, she had bathed her and touched her skin. The feeling back then was completely different from now. She had not felt shy, hot, or wanted to flee.
She had never experienced romantic love herself, but she had seen Shishus and aunts obsessed to the point of madness, lost in infatuation. She had also witnessed steadfast affections in others and understood that both love and desire arose from the heart—only joy in the heart bred such fear.
They were master and disciple. Even being close was only natural. Why should she fear it? Unless… she truly harbored improper feelings for Bo Xuenong.
The thought that matched her current state surged up. Shen Yanting’s gaze darkened slightly, her fingers unconsciously curling and pressing hard into her palm.
If that were true, she would truly be unworthy as a master.
It was already an unforgivable sin to have raised her disciple crookedly. To now harbor twisted thoughts toward her disciple—death would not even atone for it.
The temperature at Shen Yanting’s heart plummeted rapidly, the itch quelled by pain.
Shen Yanting dared not dwell deeper. She hastily halted such thoughts and murmured softly from her low lips, “Fellow Daoist Si, Xuenong and I are master and disciple.”
She hoped Si Xianling would affirm their master-disciple status and that she herself could recognize it too.
Si Xianling was a typical rebel in her major sect. A single mention of master and disciple from Shen Yanting would not deter her.
She laughed merrily still, her wounds unable to stifle her voice. “The Cultivation World is so vast—how many masters would willingly die for their disciples?”
Si Xianling seemed determined to tear away Shen Yanting’s facade and pretense. It was plain truth: disciples dying for masters was not rare. As long as the master had decent character and the disciple a conscience, etiquette and morality would compel disciples to value their master’s life above their own. Masters willing to die for disciples were exceedingly few—after all, a good master rarely had only one disciple. Take Mo Tingshu, for example; including her, she now had four.
Shen Yanting was at a loss for words.
She had never been skilled at verbal sparring. Now, having discovered her own biased heart, she knew not how to quibble about preferring her own death over Bo Xuenong’s.
Shen Yanting could deceive herself that it stemmed from guilt, but she knew well that even guilt had limits.
What she owed Bo Xuenong was freedom and honesty. Was that truly worth her life?
She… she probably truly harbored feelings for Bo Xuenong beyond master-disciple affection.
Shen Yanting could not pinpoint when her heart had turned. She reviewed every past event that had touched her deeply: self-blame for Bo Xuenong’s low survival instinct and poor upbringing; each time Bo Xuenong shielded her with her frail body; perhaps when she offered Bo Xuenong freedom and Bo Xuenong willingly handed over control; or when Bo Xuenong said she was willing to die for her, offering her life freely.
Because she was obedient enough?
Or because she was willing to die for her?
Shen Yanting could not pinpoint the exact moment of her heart’s stirring. She only suddenly realized she had probably crossed the line.
She had never lacked followers, nor enemies enraged by rejection. For the old her, such things were irrelevant. A seeker of the Dao cared nothing for romance. Shen Yanting had never imagined she would fall for anyone—let alone her own disciple.
Indeed, she was no good master.
Her heart astray, corrupting the sect’s morals.
If Bo Xuenong learned of it, she would no longer follow willingly. If word reached Mo Tingshu, she would surely despise her.
She regarded Mo Tingshu as a mother—why had she not placed Bo Xuenong in a child’s role? Bo Xuenong held her in full respect and reverence, yet what was she doing?
The more Shen Yanting thought, the more guilty she felt. She could not help pondering: if her feelings were exposed, how would her master view her? How would Bo Xuenong?
The White Porcelain Doll gripped the red cloth harder and harder. Carelessly, she tore the ‘swing’ supporting her body and plummeted straight into Bo Xuenong’s clothes. Her delicate form sank fully into softness and warmth. Shen Yanting struggled to climb out.
Before she could free herself, Bo Xuenong cupped her out with both hands.
Bo Xuenong’s gaze was clear, filled only with worry at the bottom. “Master, what’s wrong?”
It was fine before realizing it, but upon discovering her improper thoughts, Shen Yanting instantly felt too guilty to meet Bo Xuenong’s eyes. She could only lower her gaze and murmur softly, “Nothing.”
Bo Xuenong’s lips moved, but no words came.
She tucked the White Porcelain Doll back against her chest. Out of the doll’s sight, she quietly reflected if she had done something to displease Shen Yanting. These days, she clearly felt Shen Yanting growing closer to her. Perhaps spoiled, she now found those two words cold and distant with obvious distance.
Not long ago, Shen Yanting had asked what she wanted to say. Now she fell silent, even resisting being held close and kept trying to crawl away. Could it be that Shen Yanting still resented her for turning her into the White Porcelain Doll?
It was possible.
The White Porcelain Doll’s body was delicate and fragile, lacking an immortal elder’s dignity.
Had she made her master lose face?
Also possible. After all, since becoming the White Porcelain Doll, Shen Yanting had encountered many acquaintances and even the revered Grand Shishu.
The more Bo Xuenong thought, the more convinced she became. She lowered her gaze to the White Porcelain Doll and pleaded softly, “Master, don’t be mad at me, okay? I promise, once your injuries heal, you’ll return to normal. If… if you’re really angry, I’ll turn myself into a White Porcelain Doll too, alright?”
