Chapter 11: Black Dragon Rending the Heavens (Part 6): Just Call Me Godmother

Footsteps sounded steady outside the courtyard, drawing near from afar before pausing somewhere, then continuing.

Mu Qian Tan turned her head and saw a figure in pure white approaching behind the beaded curtain at the door.

The sunlight was no longer intense, gradually tinged with orange. Panxiang Yin arrived at the corridor, blocking a corner of the sky as she smiled lightly at her. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Mu Qian Tan rose and saluted. “Sect Master.”

The beaded curtain parted with a tinkling sound. Panxiang Yin walked in, her steps steady and carrying a gust of wind. “Sit down. I have matters to attend to later, so I’ll say a few words and go.”

A glass bead rested in her palm, about the size of her hand, and the Black Dragon Rending Heaven Prophecy replayed within it. Mu Qian Tan’s expression tightened slightly before she calmly suppressed it.

“About what happened in the hall just now, you…” Panxiang Yin had kept her gaze fixed ahead and nearly missed the person on the floor. Her eyes slid downward, landing on the girl sprawled out in deep sleep.

Before she could say a word, Mu Qian Tan extended her foot and kicked the girl awake. The girl rolled two full circles, her eyes still squinted, and leaped up ready to fight. “You kicked me!”

Mu Qian Tan dodged lightly, her skirt fluttering down gracefully. She bowed slightly. “Sect Master, please forgive the amusement.”

Shang Shan swiped at empty air and prepared to wheel around for another try when she registered the woman’s voice and realized someone had entered the room.

She turned to look, rubbed her eyes, and said, “Hello, Sect Master.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “You should say ‘Greetings, Sect Master’.”

Everything the woman said irritated her now. Shang Shan subconsciously yelled, “Isn’t it the same? Stop lecturing me!”

Not immediately scolded or struck, the girl twitched her ear tips in confusion and turned to look. The woman’s pale pink lips moved slightly as an injured expression slowly formed on her face, as if she had been the one bullied.

At this bizarre sight, Shang Shan instinctively sensed something off and retreated two steps.

Recalling their various reactions in the hall, Panxiang Yin asked, “You really took a disciple? When did this happen?”

Shang Shan tossed her head, planted her hands on her hips, and drew a deep breath, ready to unload every crime of this unscrupulous master.

At that moment, Mu Qian Tan said softly, “It was just a few days ago. While traveling, I encountered this girl and discovered her extraordinary talent, with the potential to become an immortal. Moved by pity for her gifts, I accepted her as a disciple, hoping to nurture her well.”

The surge of anger in her chest died a stifled death, hardening into stunned bewilderment like unyielding stone. Shang Shan wondered if she had misheard and glanced again at the woman’s profile. “What are you talking about?”

The woman’s brows furrowed, lights shimmering in her eyes, her face a picture of heartbreak for her disciple. “She originally agreed, but perhaps there was an issue with my teaching methods, leading to a misunderstanding between us and this current situation…”

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Her icy features, now tinged with fragility, seemed even more brittle. The woman continued, “She no longer wishes to follow me. I’ve failed to add a pillar to the sect—I feel truly guilty…”

Shang Shan was dumbfounded. How was the villain complaining first!

Li Biyuan said softly in her mind: ‘You’re really not afraid of going ooc at all.’

Though she didn’t understand the term, its use in this context gave her a rough idea. Mu Qian Tan replied: ‘The Sect Master couldn’t even detect the core change inside the shell. She doesn’t know her that well. A little acting isn’t too much.’

Panxiang Yin fell silent for a moment before quickly deciding. She sighed. “I suspected as much. You’ve been taciturn since childhood, poor at interacting—your rare exchanges often lead to misunderstandings. But I know your nature is pure and honest; you’d never harm anyone. Since it’s a misunderstanding, just resolve it. A master-disciple bond isn’t forged easily and shouldn’t be casually broken.”

She turned to Shang Shan. Her dignified features, honed by years in command, lent her words an unyielding, ironclad tone. It was meant as gentle advice, but it sounded more like a threat. “Little girl, don’t believe the outside rumors. Your master is worth entrusting yourself to. Work on getting along.”

Shang Shan’s shoulders slumped at the words. She scratched beside her face with her fingertips, still tempted to fight back—to say this woman had beaten her savagely, even tried to kill her!

But a flash of red caught her peripheral vision. She glanced sideways and saw the woman had inadvertently lifted her sleeve, exposing that deep red bite mark that had never fully healed.

Only then did she realize that airing those grievances wouldn’t help. She herself looked unscathed, while the woman appeared half-dead—who had beaten whom was anyone’s guess. And this was her turf; naturally, everyone would side with her, not an outsider. It was a dragon’s den and tiger’s lair!

The world was harsh indeed!

Fuming, she wanted to throw a tantrum. Then the Sect Master said, “The fish in the courtyard’s water jar—did you send them to me?”

Shang Shan blinked. “Why do you say that?”

Panxiang Yin replied, “My little water jar couldn’t raise fish that plump.”

Shang Shan remembered: the fish was indeed fat, swimming awkwardly in the cramped jar. But she had simply forgotten to return it, tossing it in there out of fear it would die—it wasn’t a gift.

Even if it helped her case, she wouldn’t lie about it. She huffed, “No.”

Her outbursts had been interrupted so many times that her emotions couldn’t sustain themselves. She rubbed her kicked rear again, wiped her face, and eyed the infuriating woman, calm as ever. Knowing escape was impossible, she muttered, “I’m going to check on the fish,” and slunk off to the courtyard.

From Shang Shan’s dejected retreating figure, Mu Qian Tan realized she had abandoned any complaints. Her damp eyes curved faintly, a smile blooming amid the shattered fragility—but the expression halted abruptly.

A warm, substantial touch descended on her head. Her gaze trembled; it took a long moment to register that the Sect Master was petting her.

Panxiang Yin gazed at her, eyes softened. “It’s been years since you shared your troubles with me. You’ve grown up and speak even less now.”

Mu Qian Tan had been bowed slightly; now she couldn’t straighten up at all and froze in place. She stared at the floor’s patterns as massive waves surged in her heart.

She had only meant to gloss over Shang Shan’s hall disruption, but now… whether the original host or herself, neither was young anymore. Wouldn’t petting her head like a child feel off?

Then she recalled that, to this Sect Master’s age, she was still very much a “child.”

Panxiang Yin continued, “I’ll be extremely busy for the next while. After conferring with the other Sect Masters, we’ll send people to patrol the Nine Provinces and search for possible locations of the Calamity Dragon. I won’t have time to assist you, but you can seek out Zhou Yao and the others. Voice your needs freely—no need to hold back.”

The hand was too warm; Mu Qian Tan felt unaccustomed to it and puzzled inwardly. The original book never mentioned such closeness—just a cold superior-subordinate dynamic. But now, it was clearly more.

She swiftly composed herself, extracting key phrases from the earlier words. “Patrol?”

She used the conversation to straighten up; the hand withdrew smoothly. Mu Qian Tan’s eyes followed it back into the sleeve before slowly pulling away. She pinched her fingertips.

Panxiang Yin said, “Yes. We have no suitable candidate yet.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Let me go.”

Panxiang Yin: “Hm?”

Staying in the sect meant classes could start anytime. Better to take this patrol mission, venture out into the world away from the sect—perfect for dragging the Female Protagonist along on the main storyline. Two birds with one stone.

Mu Qian Tan said, “Let me handle the patrol.”

Panxiang Yin paused, weighing the suitability, then nodded after a moment. “Very well.”

She reached into her robes and produced a hefty pouch of coins, placing it in Mu Qian Tan’s uninjured hand. “Buy some wound salve. Don’t always push through it. I’ll brief you on the patrol details after my meeting.”

The coarse hemp cloth rubbed against her palm, the pouch embroidered with crooked “Reunion” characters and a fraying drawstring. Compared to her refined attire, it was impossibly crude for a Sect Master to carry.

Puzzled though she was, she couldn’t ask. Mu Qian Tan curled her fingers around the pouch and bowed. “Thank you, Sect Master.”

“Calling me Sect Master over and over—you’ve grown so distant.” Panxiang Yin laughed. “Like before, just call me Godmother.”