What a joke.
Who was Fu Hua?
She was the Red Kite Immortal, the Immortal protector of Shenzhou, an existence who had lived for at least a thousand years and seen all the changes in the world.
She took him as a disciple, allowed him to live on this mountain, and lived this peaceful life with him.
Perhaps it was partly because of the “human touch” he brought, perhaps because of a bit of novelty encountered in long-term loneliness, or perhaps…
it was just mercy.
But it could never be because of romantic feelings.
Such things were too light, yet too heavy, for an existence like her.
So light they weren’t worth mentioning, yet so heavy…
she had likely cut them off with her own hands long ago.
Arthur remembered the fleeting loneliness in the depths of her eyes when she occasionally looked toward the distant mountains.
That loneliness was too deep, too heavy, like an iceberg under the sea—seemingly calm, but in reality, burying far too much.
What did his newly sprouted, shallow affection count for in the face of such loneliness?
Nothing at all.
“So, stay clear-headed.” Arthur patted his own face with considerable force.
“Do what you need to do.
The days are still long; don’t go looking for trouble for yourself.”
He carefully folded the mended clothes, set them aside, then picked up his tools and began setting up the trellis for the cucumbers.
His movements were efficient, but his mind was still drifting.
Liking her was one thing, but he wouldn’t let himself get trapped.
In his past life, he had seen too many people consumed by love, acting as if it were life or death, only to ruin their futures, hurt themselves, and gain nothing in the end.
What is love?
It’s hormones, dopamine, a trick of the brain.
Especially when the other party was an “Immortal,” this trick was an even more obvious trap.
Jumping in would mean eternal damnation.
Arthur considered himself not the type to lose his head over emotions.
He had his reason, his calculations, his…
way of survival.
Liking her was fine.
But being anxious over gains and losses because of it, tossing and turning, or even extravagantly hoping for a response?
That wouldn’t do.
Life still had to go on.
Vegetables had to be planted, meals had to be cooked, cultivation had to be practiced, and money…
well, even though money wasn’t important in this world, the virtue of frugality couldn’t be lost.
As for this quietly sprouting affection—
Let it just stay there.
Like a wild flower in the corner of the Vegetable Garden, it didn’t need special care, nor did it need to be forcibly uprooted.
It would live or die on its own, and he would do what he needed to do.
When the task was completed one day and he left this worldline to return to the Main World to continue his career as an Observer, this insignificant heartbeat would naturally fade. This story is hosted at novelping dot com.
Time heals all things.
Especially unrequited love.
Thinking this, Arthur’s movements became even more brisk.
The bamboo poles were stood up one by one and tied securely with hemp rope, perfectly straight and neat.
“Hmm, not bad.” He stepped back two paces to admire his work.
Sunlight shone on the delicate yellow cucumber flowers, making them sparkle.
A bee buzzed over and landed on a stamen.
Everything was as usual.
Good.
Arthur washed his hands, returned to the front of the house, lay back down on the lounge chair, and picked up that novel about supernatural anomalies.
This time, he could actually focus on it.
Inside the Quiet Chamber, Fu Hua was not meditating.
She sat by the window, looking outside.
Her gaze fell upon the newly built Cucumber Trellis in the Vegetable Garden, then shifted to the blonde figure on the lounge chair in front of the house.
He looked no different than usual—lying there lazily with his legs crossed, the book spread over his face, seemingly asleep.
But Fu Hua just felt that something was different.
Just now, by the Vegetable Garden, the way he looked at her…
although it was only for a split second, she had caught it.
In that look, there was something she hadn’t seen in a long time, or rather…
something she had never seen in his eyes.
It wasn’t a disciple’s admiration for a master, nor a youth’s dependence on an elder, nor the playful closeness of their daily life.
It was deeper, softer, more…
complex.
Like a spring pond, calm on the surface, but with undercurrents surging beneath.
Fu Hua frowned slightly.
She had lived for too long and had seen too many human hearts.
Admiration, awe, greed, fear…
she could see through all sorts of emotions at a single glance.
Yet, she was somewhat uncertain about the emotion in Arthur’s eyes.
Because it was too clean, and too restrained.
So clean there was no desire, so restrained that…
it was as if he himself hadn’t noticed, or was unwilling to admit it.
“Zhaoer…” she whispered the name softly.
Six years.
The foreign youth who once had burning eyes and spoke of “following Master for a lifetime” had long since changed.
It wasn’t his appearance—at twenty-two, Arthur was taller, his shoulders broader, and his face had lost its youthful softness, gaining the sharper edges of a young man.
But what had truly changed was his inner self.
He would still laugh, still grow vegetables and cook, still fuss over money, and still say nonsensical things.
But Fu Hua could feel that beneath that seemingly casual and lazy exterior lay an extremely sober, almost cold rationality.
That rationality occasionally reminded her of someone from a long, long time ago who was equally sober to the point of ruthlessness…
but Arthur was different. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
In his sobriety, there wasn’t that arrogance of looking down upon all living things; instead, it carried a bit of…
the warmth of the mortal world.
He would be happy because of a bountiful potato harvest, proud of creating a new dish, and would curl up in his lounge chair on a rainy day reading stories until he fell asleep.
He lived authentically, concretely, with flesh and blood.
And it was precisely this authenticity that, over these six years, bit by bit, had pulled her out of that ancient, icy state of being an “Immortal.”
It allowed her to feel the temperature of the wind on her face again, the sound of rain falling on the eaves, and the taste of food in her mouth.
It allowed her to…
live like a “human” again.
But it was also this authenticity that caused a ripple of unfamiliar emotion to rise in Fu Hua’s heart at this moment.
She had grown used to him being by her side.
Used to seeing him bring porridge with a smile every morning, used to his constant chatter about things he saw down the mountain, used to his occasional clever laziness and the sheepish grin when she saw right through him.
Used to it…
until it became an indispensable chapter in her long life.
In the past, she would have been wary of such a “habit.”
Habit meant dependence, dependence meant a weakness, and a weakness meant…
danger.
She had experienced too much loss.
Every habit, every dependence, eventually became a new wound on her heart.
So she had turned herself into a stone, devoid of emotion and desire, living only for responsibility.
But Arthur…
was different.
He wasn’t one of those mortals who needed her protection, nor one of those followers harboring their own agendas.
It seemed he just…
wanted to live his life here.
With her, on Tai Xu Mountain, growing vegetables, cooking, practicing martial arts, and watching the clouds drift by.
Incredibly simple.
And so warm that…
she grew attached.
Fu Hua gently pressed her hand to her chest.
There, something was quietly changing.
It wasn’t sudden, but something that had accumulated bit by bit over these six years, like spring rain nourishing the earth, silent and invisible.
By the time she noticed, it was already deeply rooted.
She didn’t know what it was.
Perhaps the bond between master and disciple?
But it seemed like more than that.
Perhaps the friendship of companionship?
But it seemed even deeper.