Shen Yanting’s words that came out of her mouth were like an immobilizing spell incantation.
Bo Xuenong and Si Xianling were frozen in place. One stiffened her back and fell into contemplation, while the other, with her arm linked around the young woman’s, was slightly dazed.
The Porcelain Doll’s gaze unconsciously followed Si Xianling’s hand, which was tightly linked with Bo Xuenong’s. If she remembered correctly, Bo Xuenong and Si Xianling had only known each other for a day, yet they were already this intimate. Should she say it was just like Si Xianling?
Shen Yanting and Si Xianling were two completely different kinds of people.
Si Xianling, who had grown up navigating among numerous elders, was very good at dealing with different people. She was skilled at acting cute, playing pitiful—nothing she couldn’t master. She could grasp each person’s personality differences and find the best way to get along with them. Shen Yanting had envied Si Xianling for this since childhood. She herself wasn’t inarticulate, but compared to Si Xianling, she seemed a bit clumsy with words.
She had also been one of the people grasped by Si Xianling. In the past, she had been willing to share all her good things with this little sister. Now, she had probably become petty.
A clear displeasure in her heart reminded Shen Yanting that she was sulking at that moment.
She was annoyed at Si Xianling’s soft and sweet cries of “little disciple,” and even more annoyed that Si Xianling had grown so close to Bo Xuenong in just a day. These emotions made Shen Yanting feel embarrassed and irritated.
No memory told her that she was a stingy person.
The white porcelain already appeared cold and desolate. Strands of chill wrapped around every inch of the Porcelain Doll’s skin, and the frost bit at her heart.
A dense pain coiled around her, and a dark fire gradually kindled in her eyes. “Fellow Daoist Si.”
The three words, spat out in a tone as cold as chilled jade, were the most ordinary form of address, yet they hid anger and embarrassment that were hard to detect. She also wanted to remind herself that Bo Xuenong was merely her disciple. Not to mention being linked arm-in-arm by Si Xianling—even if she later formed a dao companion with someone and entwined with them day and night, she should gladly accept it. But clearer than that thought was the urge to make Si Xianling let go.
It was as if someone had stuffed a sour fruit into her mouth; her teeth couldn’t help but tremble lightly.
Perhaps she should say it outright, but she feared revealing her thoughts.
Those three words were already her limit.
Si Xianling finally came back to her senses. She giggled and refused to let go. “Sister Shen, you’re not getting jealous over something like this, are you? Are you afraid I’ll steal your disciple?”
Jealousy.
It was a very unfamiliar term, but it perfectly explained that sour feeling of hers.
Mo Tingshu had only taught her to seek the immortal path, that the Immortal Path Rankings were slow, and to hide herself while playing the role of indifference.
She had never taught her how to control emotions that were gradually spiraling out of control.
The first page of Shen Yanting’s emotions had been taught by Si Xianling. On that page was written the words “jealousy,” accompanied by the image of Si Xianling’s increasingly bright smile and that hand tightly holding onto Bo Xuenong without letting go.
A stifled frustration blocked her heart, refusing to come out. This loss of control made her dislike it.
Shen Yanting slightly closed her eyes, and when she slowly opened them again, the fire in her gaze had already dissipated. “How could that be? Xuenong is a good disciple. If you like her, she can take another master too.”
“Master!” Bo Xuenong was still vexed about how Shen Yanting hadn’t heard Si Xianling praise her as a good person. Suddenly, she heard Shen Yanting say she was going to give her disciple away to Si Xianling. She snapped awake, pried Si Xianling’s hand off, pushed her far away from herself, darted to Shen Yanting’s side, and locked the white Porcelain Doll with her troubled, worried eyes. “A disciple cannot be given to others.”
She rarely refuted Shen Yanting, but now it was time to argue.
The Porcelain Doll’s indifferent gaze swept over Bo Xuenong’s arm, and a soft murmur drifted out. “If Xuenong and Fellow Daoist Si hit it off at first sight, fated…”
The word “fate” hadn’t even left her mouth before Bo Xuenong hurriedly interrupted her. “Master!”
Bo Xuenong had never interrupted Shen Yanting like this before. It was the first time.
After calling out to stop her, she felt a bit guilty. She bit her lip, and under the pressure of the slight pain, she finally finished her words. “In my eyes, Senior Si is just Master’s friend.”
If Wu Qingshu weren’t still holding Shen Yanting at that moment, she definitely would have added that someone as unserious as Si Xianling was even less reliable than Feng Yingbo. It would be hard for her to even be a good senior, let alone a master—that would be no different from misleading the youth.
As expected, her own master still needed to be held in the palm of her hand. Otherwise, she always felt like someone had a grip on her lifeline.
Bo Xuenong’s eyes turned slowly. She extended her right hand toward Wu Qingshu, who was holding Shen Yanting, leaving only a tiny gap between them.
She feared Shen Yanting would think she was ordering her, so she didn’t dare say it outright. Instead, she desperately hinted with her eyes for Shen Yanting to come over.
Wu Qingshu saw it most clearly and couldn’t help but sigh that Bo Xuenong had truly been raised into a filial child. She never struck down the younger generation’s filial piety. “My hand is getting a bit tired anyway. Let your little disciple hold you instead.”
Shen Yanting found it hard not to hesitate. Thinking back to how Bo Xuenong had just softly begged her to stroke her, she still felt her face heat up.
If not for the Porcelain Doll’s body, her palms would probably be sweating.
Bo Xuenong persistently winked at Shen Yanting. Wu Qingshu pushed the hesitant Shen Yanting forward a bit. “If you don’t go over soon, your little disciple is going to die from twitching eyelids.”
No one died from that.
Bo Xuenong felt Wu Qingshu was mocking her, but she was still very grateful that Wu Qingshu had spoken up for her.
Wu Qingshu’s words were indeed effective. Shen Yanting gripped her skirt hem and finally took a step.
She followed Bo Xuenong’s outstretched, perfectly straight fingers—which didn’t dare bend even a little—and slowly walked back into Bo Xuenong’s palm.
Bo Xuenong’s clear, crystalline eyes watched her unblinkingly, afraid that Shen Yanting would regret it and walk toward Wu Qingshu’s side again. Only when Shen Yanting stood firm in her palm did she relax with a breath.
Her palm had weight again, and Bo Xuenong immediately beamed with joy. “Thank you, Master.”
Being able to hold Shen Yanting was a blessing in Bo Xuenong’s eyes.
She carefully cradled the distracted Shen Yanting and lowered her head, her gaze now filled only with Shen Yanting.
It was Wu Qingshu who circled to Feng Jin’s side and asked about the unconscious Feng Yingbo that made Bo Xuenong remember to look up.
Wu Qingshu: “Little Jin, what’s wrong with your master?”
Feng Jin: “She was injured and fainted.”
“What?” Si Xianling only then learned the truth about Feng Yingbo’s unconsciousness. She looked incredulously at Feng Yingbo’s arm. “Her injury isn’t even as serious as mine, and I didn’t faint.”
Feng Yingbo’s left upper arm had a tear in the sleeve, a thin slit in the fabric that just revealed an obvious knife mark on her snow-white skin. That was the only wound on her entire body, and the bleeding had long stopped. Logically, such a wound meant nothing to a nascent soul stage cultivator.
Shen Yanting stood in Bo Xuenong’s palm, her probing gaze falling on Feng Yingbo. “Junior Sister Feng’s condition seems a bit off.”
Ever since Feng Yingbo had gone down the mountain alone for training once, in these two hundred years, she had only gone down to purchase supplies for the sect and never fought anyone again.
Without opportunities to get injured, Shen Yanting and the others naturally found it hard to notice any deficiencies in Feng Yingbo’s body.
If Bo Xuenong hadn’t heard Feng Jin’s heartfelt thoughts, she might still have been kept in the dark.
Hearing Shen Yanting worry about Feng Yingbo’s condition, Wu Qingshu subconsciously checked her out.
The best physicians in the Cultivation World were top pill cultivators. Wu Qingshu wasn’t a pill cultivator and wouldn’t treat hidden ailments, but she had other ways to examine wounds.
A Fifth-Grade Azure Talisman was pasted to Feng Yingbo’s forehead. Faint azure spirit inscriptions sank into Feng Yingbo’s body, circled once, then turned into a spirit snake that darted to Wu Qingshu’s arm and quickly vanished.
Wu Qingshu oddly raised her brows. “A nascent soul realm sword cultivator with such a weak constitution is pretty rare.”
Shen Yanting: “Aunt Shu, are you saying my junior sister is frail?”
Wu Qingshu nodded, scrutinizing Feng Yingbo carefully. Looking at her petite frame and delicate face, she said seriously, “This is probably the ‘delicate and frail’ one that Cen Wan is looking for.”
“?” Bo Xuenong touched her ear and subconsciously exchanged a glance with Feng Jin.
Feng Jin was equally puzzled. She couldn’t help but ask, “Senior Wu, is the Cen Wan you’re talking about the senior who looks a lot like me? Why is she looking for someone delicate and frail?”
She had always refused to admit any blood relation to Yu Cenwan, yet she was very concerned about Yu Cenwan’s affairs.
Bo Xuenong couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her, which happened to be seen by Shen Yanting.
Shen Yanting slightly furrowed her brows. “Xuenong, you can be so intimate with Fellow Daoist Si, so why can’t you be gentler with your little junior sister?”
Wasn’t she gentle enough with Feng Jin?
Among this group, aside from Shen Yanting, Feng Jin was the one she liked most.
Though the favorability value was only six, that was the System’s misjudgment. Her big-sister affection was absolutely real.
And… when had she ever been intimate with Si Xianling? Just now, it was clearly Si Xianling who had clung to her desperately, and she had struggled hard to get away.
No one present was more annoyed with Si Xianling than she was.
She was truly wronged!
Bo Xuenong’s inner thoughts were rich, but sadly, not a single word dared to come out of her mouth.
She could only nod obediently and respond warmly, “Master, I will remember to be gentle with Little Jin.”
While Bo Xuenong and Shen Yanting spoke softly, Wu Qingshu had already answered Feng Jin’s question. “Ever since she joined the Cloud Smoke Sect, she’s been looking for two people. One is a boy named Little Hawthorn Tree who has lost all five senses—she says that’s her childhood sweetheart. The other is a delicate and frail woman who loves burrowing into people’s arms—she says that’s the stepmother she’s finding for herself.”
With every word Wu Qingshu said, her brows furrowed a bit more. “Yanting, don’t you think your new junior sister is strange? I can understand looking for a childhood sweetheart. Your master said that boy lost his five senses because of Cen Wan, so it’s normal if she wants to repay the debt. Plenty of people in the Cultivation World offer themselves in marriage like that. But her father died centuries ago, and she’s still finding herself a stepmother? Isn’t that weird?”
