Qing Yao addressed the maids attending the woman: “Don’t indulge her. Don’t let her climb so high.”
The maids bowed their heads and murmured their assent in timid, deferential tones. Compared to the master, they feared the young lady more. The master was always cheerful, spending his days sipping tea, sparring with birds, reciting poetry, and painting, like a leisurely retired official, even though he was still in office. The young lady, however, was different. Though she bore the appearance of a gentlewoman, her emotions were inscrutable, and she carried an air of severity, someone whose word was law.
Every household needs someone in charge. Her parents were both hopelessly incompetent, forcing their daughter to take over the household management at the tender age of twelve. She had shouldered too much too young. The maids often thought that perhaps this was why the young lady remained so composed and unruffled in all matters, which manifested as a stern and unsmiling demeanor. And indeed, she had the ability to handle any situation, no matter how difficult or complex.
Fu Yu noticed that Qing Yao’s maids seemed somewhat afraid of her and thought to herself, No wonder the authority of a sect leader is cultivated early, that’s how she manages the Guiyu Sect so efficiently.
But one thing puzzled her: Was this woman her aunt or her mother?
The woman picked up the bamboo dragonfly again, cradling its slender stem between her palms and giving it a twist. The wings spun rapidly, carrying it to the other side, and the woman gleefully chased after it. Seeing this, the maids hurried after her in a bustling procession.
Only Fu Yu and Qing Yao remained beneath the artificial hill.
Observing the woman’s delight with the bamboo dragonfly, Fu Yu began to form a hypothesis. In her previous life, many elderly people suffered from an illness that clouded their minds, causing erratic and delirious behavior. This woman likely had the same condition, commonly known as “madness.”
So, she was Qing Yao’s mother.
Some status-conscious young people would feel ashamed to let others see their mentally ill mothers, fearing judgment or pity. Fu Yu wondered how Qing Yao felt about it. Feeling awkward, she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Your mother is quite endearing.”
Qing Yao replied matter-of-factly, “She’s mad.”
Seeing that Qing Yao seemed entirely unburdened by it, Fu Yu realized she had overthought the situation. She relaxed and asked lightly, “I wonder what illness your mother has. Has she been treated by a physician?”
Qing Yao led her forward as she spoke, “Mortal medicine is useless.”
Fu Yu caught the word “mortal” and surmised that her mother’s madness wasn’t due to an ordinary illness. “Your mother… was she cursed?”
Qing Yao shook her head. “It’s none of your concern. Don’t ask.”
Since Qing Yao didn’t wish to discuss it, Fu Yu fell silent.
The two strolled slowly through the courtyard. Qing Yao brought her to a pavilion, and as soon as they stepped inside, a faint, delicate fragrance wafted through the air, the scent of snow blossoms, the same aroma that clung to Qing Yao. Fu Yu glanced around and was taken aback.
The layout and furnishings here weren’t identical to Qing Yao’s bedroom in the mountain sect, but they were at least eighty percent similar.
This must be Qing Yao’s private chamber in the mortal realm.
Fu Yu suddenly felt uneasy. It was the first time she had ever stepped so openly into Qing Yao’s personal space.
They passed through a gauze partition into the inner room. Beneath the windowsill stood a luohan bed, with a small square table placed on it. On the table sat a tea set.
Qing Yao led her over, seated herself first, and then gestured for Fu Yu to sit opposite her.
Fu Yu hesitated for a moment but eventually sat down. After all, in the Guiyu Sect, ordinary disciples did not sit on equal footing with the sect leader, wherever the leader was, she always took the seat of honor.
Qing Yao instructed a maid to brew a pot of tea, poured a cup, and, holding it between her middle finger and thumb, offered it to Fu Yu: “Have some tea.”
Fu Yu reached out with both hands to take it, her fingers accidentally brushing against Qing Yao’s. The touch, as smooth and warm as jade, sent a jolt through her heart.
Feigning composure, she brought the teacup to her lips and took a small sip. The cup, having been held by Qing Yao, seemed to carry a trace of her cool, elegant fragrance, overpowering even the aroma of the tea. Fu Yu could no longer smell the tea at all, her senses were filled entirely with Qing Yao’s presence, and her heartbeat quickened, pounding like a drum.
Suppressing the sensation, a hint of resentment rose within her. Elder Sister is really something, she could have just pushed the cup over. Why did she have to hand it to me directly, making me touch her and sending my heart into a frenzy? If she weren’t usually so pure and noble, I’d almost suspect she was deliberately trying to seduce me.
To calm her emotions as quickly as possible, she forced herself to shift her focus: “Elder Sister, when exactly will we be able to return?”
Qing Yao also took a light sip from her cup: “It’s still uncertain.”
Fu Yu gave a soft “oh” and continued drinking her tea.
Qing Yao then asked, “When you first entered the Fusheng Jade, did you encounter anything unusual?”
Fu Yu thought to herself, Does meeting the Jade Spirit count? But then she recalled the Jade Spirit’s warning not to let Qing Yao know they had spoken, so she simply replied, “The first person I encountered after entering was Qing Li, and then it was you, still at the bottom of the pit at that time.”
Qing Yao nodded slightly and said nothing more.
For a while, the room fell into silence.
In the quiet, one’s senses tend to amplify. Fu Yu gradually realized that something felt inexplicably off about her.
For some reason, being in Qing Yao’s room, sitting on her luohan bed, and drinking the tea she had personally handed over stirred a strange restlessness within her. From time to time, images from that night resurfaced in her mind.
She stole a glance at Qing Yao, her lips, so vividly alluring; her eyes, though devoid of any seductive charm, still held a profound gaze that made one’s heart flutter upon seeing it…
Fu Yu realized she was feeling desire. The moment she became aware of it, she couldn’t help but mock herself: What a common mortal I am! Qing Yao is just sitting there, not doing anything to you, what are you thinking?
Perhaps sensing Fu Yu’s unusual state, Xiao Mei, a matchmaker-system with a keen perception of emotions and desires, couldn’t help but ask: [Fu Yu, what’s wrong with you?]
Fu Yu sighed: I think something’s not quite right with me.
Xiao Mei thought for a moment and understood: [I see. You’ve been alone with Qing Yao for too long today, and in her bedroom at that. On top of that, you touched her fingers earlier. All these sensory and olfactory stimuli have stirred desire in you.]
Fu Yu was shocked: How terrifying! Why do I feel like a lust demon on the verge of losing control?
Xiao Mei reassured her: [Don’t panic. Qing Yao has a unique constitution, she’s a rare specimen among flower beings. Once you’ve been intimate with a flower person like her, even if she’s not in her estrus period, just spending too much time with her in the same room allows her faint scent to accumulate in your system, awakening your desires.]
Fu Yu felt her mouth parched and dry, so she downed the tea in one go. “That’s terrifying. I’m afraid I might lose control and do something to Qing Yao.”
After a pause, she added, “Actually, doing something isn’t the main issue. The real problem is that I’m no match for her at all, she’d probably beat me to death.”
Xiao Mei had initially intended to comfort her, but upon hearing the latter part of her words, she was nearly left speechless.
Seeing that Fu Yu had finished the entire cup in one gulp, Qing Yao assumed she must be very thirsty. She reached out, took the cup from her, refilled it, and handed it back.
Fu Yu stared at the hand holding the cup and couldn’t help but swallow nervously. She was truly hesitant to take it…
However, as Fu Yu remained motionless, Qing Yao moved the cup closer to her. “If you’re thirsty, have another cup.”
Fu Yu’s hands, hidden beneath her sleeves, trembled slightly. After a tense moment, she had no choice but to suppress her inner turmoil and accept the cup.
As she drank, she thought to herself, It’s almost noon, it should be time for lunch soon. Please, let lunch start quickly!