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They first met in the peach blossom forest of West Mountain. Xie Qingzheng was a blind girl who found the heavily injured Mo Jiangxue.
They met again on Ethereal Peak. She was the most unremarkable new disciple, while Mo Jiangxue was a renowned figure in the immortal cultivation world—aloof and otherworldly, with a soul of jade and ice, the heart of a musician and the courage of a swordsman. Even in her indifference, she was captivating.
After becoming master and disciple, she hovered around Mo Jiangxue every day, speaking heartfelt truths:
“Shizun, you’re so good to me.”
“Shizun, wherever you go, I will follow.”
“I will stay by your side for all of eternity. As long as you are with me, I fear nothing.”
Faced with such a pure heart and deep admiration, Mo Jiangxue could not stand such direct, sentimental words. She responded with cold indifference:
“I am not particularly good to you. I am merely fulfilling my duty as your teacher.”
“Then I will go somewhere you cannot find me.”
“The path of cultivation is long and arduous. Do not rely on me too much.”
Xie Qingzheng remained unchanged.
Her Shizun taught her the Daoist arts and the musical disciplines, and was always there for her. It was only natural for her to revere and rely on her Shizun, until eventually, other feelings began to grow.
She buried her affections deep, adhered strictly to propriety, and dared not transgress against her superior.
From then on, she no longer dared to speak those direct, earnest words, terrified that she might accidentally expose her unspeakable thoughts.
Her Shizun is so good to me. I shouldn’t have developed these feelings of admiration. I must stay far away from Shizun.
But Mo Jiangxue took the initiative to find her, to approach her. Gazing at her with a complex expression, Mo Jiangxue asked, “You… how have you changed?”