Yin Mingjing fell silent. Only after a long while did he finally grasp the winding thoughts of his aloof master. Good heavens. So he was waiting for her to ask. He wouldn’t speak unless asked, and in his heart he was faintly displeased. Was this the legendary “tsundere”…? No, surely not…
The Sword Sovereign’s first disciple silently reminded himself of the duty to honor his master.
“If I may, Master, this is precisely Sang‑Sang’s thoughtfulness. The child is pure and considerate—if she says she wishes to stay, perhaps it is because she fears troubling you.” Yin Mingjing carefully sought to ease his master’s overthinking.
Qingyan suddenly gave a cold snort.
“Sang‑Sang is still so young. As her elder, Master should show her a little more tolerance.” Seeing his master’s aloof expression, Yin Mingjing rose with a smile. “Let it be said that it is I who wish to keep Sang‑Sang here a few more days. Once she has stayed longer, she will naturally see your kindness, and perhaps be willing to share her heart with you.”
With such talent, Yin Mingjing was eager to guide her. After all, geniuses abound in this world, but to truly grow into a strong cultivator who can master their own fate is fraught with difficulties. Most perish while still weak and powerless.
If Yu Sang‑Sang could grow under the Sword Sovereign’s protection, Yin Mingjing would be glad indeed. His words drew no rebuttal from Qingyan.
Yin Mingjing understood his master’s attitude. He smiled faintly, sighing softly: “Master is like an immortal above the clouds, admired by all. But I only think… if Master could yield a little to such a child, show her more care, it would not diminish your noble stature.”
The Sword Sovereign was ever cold, standing aloof while others strove desperately to reach him, never extending a hand first. Even his three disciples had won his recognition only after much effort.
Yin Mingjing was accustomed to this, yet felt that for a child whom the Sword Sovereign clearly regarded differently, a little initiative would do no harm.
The Sword Sovereign lowered his gaze in silence.
Yin Mingjing, unbothered by his master’s indifference, stepped outside and beckoned to Yu Sang‑Sang.
“Dao-friend?” She was busy trading treasures with the puppets—her silver bracelet held some fine armor pieces. She had just drawn out a handful of ornate heart‑mirrors, both beautiful and useful as defensive talismans, distributing them among the puppets. They donned them slowly, one by one, looking splendid.
Yin Mingjing raised his brows slightly.
“Are you preparing to send me down the mountain?” Yu Sang‑Sang thought she ought to give the Sword Sovereign and his disciple some farewell gifts for their care and was rummaging through her bracelet.
Yin Mingjing had given her protective robes—such kindness! She was wondering what she could give in return when the tall young man before her smiled and said, “For now, we are not leaving the mountain. Sang‑Sang, wouldn’t it be good to rest here a while longer?”
Yu Sang‑Sang’s eyes lit up. If the Sword Sovereign did not mind, who would want to leave? She quickly asked, “Is this the Sword Sovereign’s wish?”
“On this peak, all is naturally Master’s decision.” Seeing her genuine delight, Yin Mingjing’s smile deepened as he said warmly, “Though Master seems cold…”
“I know the Sword Sovereign is cold outside but warm within, a truly good person.” He had taken the time to explain things to her, speaking at length—Yu Sang‑Sang knew well he was kind. She lowered her voice, embarrassed: “I only worry that the Sword Sovereign dislikes being disturbed.” Even his attendants were faceless puppets—how much must he dislike living people!
All the more since he had already helped her, Yu Sang‑Sang felt she should not impose further and risk troubling him. She remembered the book had said that Qingyan especially disliked being disturbed before him.
Yin Mingjing listened patiently, then nodded. “You’re right. But Master does not dislike you.”
Yu Sang‑Sang tilted her little head.
“If Master truly disliked someone, could they still cultivate comfortably in seclusion and build their foundation here? If he didn’t like you, you’d have been kicked far away long ago. My master is not one to tolerate unwelcome closeness.”
Yin Mingjing blinked. He thought the gesture particularly handsome—whenever he did this abroad, a playful blink would always draw gasps of admiration.
Sure enough, the girl’s eyes lit up. “I understand now. Thank you!”
Perhaps because she had been too tangled in her worries, or perhaps because an onlooker sees more clearly, his words suddenly opened her mind. Whether in the book or in reality, Qingyan’s aloofness was daunting—but precisely because of that, it proved that he did not dislike her. Even if he worried about the baleful aura’s effect on her, he needn’t have personally observed her after bringing her back to Lingxiao Sect. He could have left her to any disciple’s supervision. Nor was there any need to keep her in his own dojo for so long, or to give her cultivation elixirs.
Her face blossomed into a smile, all gloom swept away. She sprang up, saluted Yin Mingjing, and scampered back toward the great hall.
At the doorway, fearing she might disturb the Sword Sovereign’s peace, she crouched and peeked inside. There he sat within the hall, lifting cold eyes to see, beyond the wide threshold, a little girl peeking timidly from behind the door.
He said nothing, only watched her quietly. Sure enough, she crept forward, step by step, until she stood before him. Rubbing her small hands together for a long while, she finally gathered her courage, her eyes shining with hope and joy.
“Sword Sovereign, I truly wish to stay here. I like your place!”
Qingyan did not reply, but a trace of puzzlement flickered in his gaze. He had seen the ugliest faces of the world, and so was ever cold toward others. Never had he imagined allowing a little girl to chatter before him. Yet though she was noisy, he did not seem to dislike it.
“I like Sword Sovereign too,” Yu Sang‑Sang added happily. Of course, she would like someone who treated her kindly.
Qingyan stirred slightly.
“Perhaps it is… because when you like someone, you don’t want them to think you’re shameless. What’s that saying again—love begets worry, or something like that?”
Seeing that he was still willing to listen, Yu Sang‑Sang quickly sat down on a small meditation cushion at his side and spoke earnestly. She was that kind of sincere person: when treated kindly, she always tried to be cautious, afraid of ruining her image.
With people like the Sword Sovereign or Yin Mingjing, she hoped that no matter what, they would think well of her, not recall her as someone unpleasant. But with those who mistreated her—like Yu Xiu and his lot—she would say whatever harsh words came to mind, wishing she could anger that scoundrel father to death. She had even slain Wei Li.
Her confession was genuine, though Qingyan once again thought seriously that she needed more lessons in culture.
“Love begets worry”… was that really how the phrase was meant to be used? Still, whether she used it correctly or not, as long as people understood, it was fine.
Yu Sang‑Sang tugged at her plain little dress and went on: “I suppose, before the Sword Sovereign, I’m a coward. I don’t want you to dislike me.”
That was why she would rather leave gracefully than cling and pester. She only hoped that when he thought of her in the future, he wouldn’t frown, feeling she had been a nuisance. Yet if the Sword Sovereign didn’t truly dislike her, she would dearly love to cling to his fox tail… or his golden thigh.
“But I guess the Sword Sovereign doesn’t dislike me too much. So I want to be bold, to sincerely ask just once—may I…”
“You may.” The Sword Sovereign said coolly, “Go call your senior brother in.”
Yu Sang‑Sang, who had been about to bare her heart and beg to stay in his pavilion, even as a humble gardener, fell silent.
“Ah?”
“You have three senior brothers before you. The other two are not in the sect at present.” Yin Mingjing’s words carried some truth.
A master need not always remain lofty, waiting for disciples to kneel and beg. As an elder, he should naturally possess the magnanimity of one. All the more since she liked him so much, he need not wait for her to say it aloud. For a master, yielding a little to a disciple was no great matter. Though such accommodation, such initiative, was rare for him, seeing the little girl before him wide‑eyed with delight, struck dumb with surprise, Qingyan found it acceptable. He lifted his chin slightly, and when the girl, dazed from staring at him, finally stood, he said calmly, “Once you have formally become my disciple, I will teach you how to cultivate.”
His words were cool and indifferent, yet Yu Sang‑Sang felt her heart pounding wildly. “B‑become your disciple?”
She had never imagined it. Even clinging shamelessly to his pavilion had felt audacious. Yet the Sword Sovereign, who, in her impression, disliked the trouble of taking disciples, was willing to accept her. Such immense kindness left her at a loss. Aside from her grandfather and mother, aside from Old Wang, who had cared for her these fourteen years, this was the first time anyone had offered to shelter her.
Qingyan—this realm’s most formidable immortal. It was because of him that Lingxiao Sect could stand firm amid the fierce rivalries of the Central State. She had never dreamed that someone so powerful would be willing to take her in. It took her a long while to steady her racing heart. Words failed her clever tongue; she only sniffled softly.
“This disciple thanks the Master.” She bowed low to the ground, knocking her head heavily, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.
Qingyan looked at this girl with her tangled past, his gaze drifting toward the empty expanse beyond the hall, faintly bewildered. Perhaps he only felt a moment’s empathy for her. Lonely and unprotected, struggling to survive in the cultivation world, surrounded by schemes and ill intent. Yet she was not the same as him. No matter how she confessed her shadowed heart, in her eyes, he saw only brightness and sincerity. Not like himself, burdened by inner demons, steeped in darkness, unable to let go of the past. And she, with her clear loves and hates, could still—uncertain whether she would live or die—remember to ask him to strike down those who had bullied her. Perhaps it was only because he wanted to see what kind of person such a girl might grow into that he agreed to take her in. It could never be that he was swayed by her laughable sweet words. Absolutely impossible!
After a long while, he raised his hand, somewhat stiffly, and extended it toward her.
Yu Sang‑Sang lifted her head, wiped her eyes, and placed her hand into that slightly pale palm. Such a cold hand. Yet to her, it felt like the warmest, most reliable touch.