Yun Jinghe called Shi Ying’s name but received no response, yet the weight in her arms was undeniably real.
Shi Ying lay softly against her, half her face buried in Yun Jinghe’s chest, as if seeking the faint warmth radiating from her.
The scene reminded Yun Jinghe once again of the tabby cat from the back mountain, only back then, she had never dared to touch it.
She lowered her gaze to Shi Ying, who was half-cradled in her arms. The fabric under her palm felt slightly cool, likely chilled by the night air.
A pang of regret rose in her heart. She didn’t understand why she had been so stubborn with Shi Ying these past few days. If not for her, Shi Ying wouldn’t have been unable to return home.
And where Shi Ying chose to go was none of her business anyway.
Yun Jinghe flexed her stiffened hands, then lifted Shi Ying securely into her arms and carried her inside, gently laying her on the bed.
But as she tried to straighten up, Shi Ying refused to let go, her arms tightening around Yun Jinghe’s waist, clinging stubbornly. With no support, Yun Jinghe nearly toppled backward.
So she had no choice but to remain bent at the waist, one arm wrapped around Shi Ying’s back, the other braced beside her to keep from falling onto the bed.
The proximity was too close, their breaths unnervingly audible.
Unaccustomed to such intimacy, Yun Jinghe couldn’t pull away. Unable to see Shi Ying’s face clearly, she softened her voice and asked, “Are you feeling unwell somewhere?”
But Shi Ying remained silent, only pressing herself closer, her grip around Yun Jinghe’s waist tightening further.
With a quiet sigh, Yun Jinghe tried to gently pry Shi Ying’s arms away, careful not to tear her clothes again.
Yet Shi Ying resisted, and after a struggle, Yun Jinghe finally managed to detach her.
Their robes were slightly disheveled from the effort.
Yun Jinghe felt more exhausted than after mastering a new sword technique.
Once freed, Shi Ying curled into herself on the bed, as if searching for a safe sleeping position.
Unable to see Shi Ying’s condition, Yun Jinghe grew uneasy again.
After a moment of hesitation, she frowned and spoke softly, “Forgive me for overstepping.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached out tentatively.
When her fingers touched Shi Ying’s face, it felt like brushing against a handful of cold yet soft freshly fallen snow.
Her fingertips trailed upward, grazing Shi Ying’s closed eyelids. The delicate lashes trembled faintly as her eyes moved restlessly beneath.
Yun Jinghe’s usually steady heartbeat grew pronounced as she traced Shi Ying’s features with her fingers, as if filling in the blanks of an unseen portrait.
Further along was the elegant bridge of her nose, its graceful slope leading downward.
Yun Jinghe had only meant to check if her breathing was normal, but before she realized it, her fingers had already skimmed over Shi Ying’s lips.
Warm, soft, and full.
At that moment, Shi Ying felt a faint tickle on her lips. Annoyed, she furrowed her brows and tilted her face away.
Yun Jinghe seemed to snap out of her daze, quickly withdrawing her hand. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her unfocused eyes filled with disbelief and fluster.
This wasn’t something she would normally do nor should she have done it.
As she was lost in thought, she suddenly sensed a faint, unfamiliar presence, something akin to the aura of a demon. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving her wondering if it had been an illusion.
Just as she was about to investigate further, the person on the bed stirred.
“Cold…” Shi Ying murmured weakly.
Snapping back to reality, Yun Jinghe hurriedly pulled the nearby blanket over her. But Shi Ying disliked the confinement and kicked it off almost immediately.
Yun Jinghe covered her again, and this cycle repeated several times until she forgot about the earlier incident.
She had no experience caring for others, yet she spent the entire night tending to Shi Ying.
At first, she worried that Shi Ying might suffer another bout of discomfort, but fortunately, the only issue was her sensitivity to the cold.
In the end, Yun Jinghe resorted to using her dwindling spiritual energy to cast a fire-controlling spell. Since her reserves were low, she had to channel the spell through clasped hands.
Only after Shi Ying’s chills subsided did she finally settle into peaceful sleep.
But maintaining the spell required continuous spiritual energy, and the little she had painstakingly gathered was soon exhausted.
By dawn, Yun Jinghe could barely keep her eyes open, leaning against the bedpost as she drifted into a light slumber.
Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion, but she dreamed of herself back in the Wufang Courtyard of Taicang Mountain, where she encountered her grandmaster, who had ascended to immortality a century ago.
It was their last conversation before her grandmaster departed on her final journey. Contrary to her usual reticence, the grandmaster set aside her dignified demeanor and spoke to her with rare candor.
“Jinghe, you may seem indifferent and detached, but in truth, you are the most stubborn of them all. I still remember when I mistakenly gave you an unsuitable sword technique. You kept forcing yourself to master it, refusing to give up until your master noticed something was wrong. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”
“Back then, your master sent you to me, hoping I would teach you the Path of Detachment. But I could see you were not one to sever emotions or desires, it was not your way. Emotions are intrinsic to human nature, and even cultivators cannot escape them. Still, my words are neither encouragement nor discouragement for you to pursue love.”
“I only hope you remember this: those who yield to emotion grow weak. For a cultivator, this is a path to tread with caution.”
The grandmaster’s final words echoed endlessly through the Wufang Courtyard, lingering without end.
Those who yield to emotion grow weak.
Yun Jinghe jolted awake, her hand instinctively tightening around something soft and warm.
The grandmaster’s voice still reverberated in her ears, refusing to fade.
Her gaze fixed blankly into the void, her expression momentarily lost. After a long pause, she finally turned her eyes toward the figure on the bed, still indistinct, only a vague outline visible.
But before she could observe for long, she felt Shi Ying stir.
Unsure if she had awakened, Yun Jinghe remained still, watching quietly.
When Shi Ying opened her eyes, they felt dry and uncomfortable. She tried to lift her hand to rub them but realized she was holding something.
“Can you hear me?”
In her dazed state, she heard someone’s voice and struggled to recognize it, barely managing to open her eyes a slit. “Hmm?”
Yun Jinghe was pleasantly surprised to hear her response. “Are you still feeling unwell anywhere?”
“Hungry,” Shi Ying murmured, her voice trailing off as she closed her eyes again, thick with drowsiness. “I’m so hungry…”
Yun Jinghe hesitated for a moment before asking, “What would you like to eat?”
“A delicious dream.”
At that moment, Shi Ying’s mind buzzed, and the lingering haze in her thoughts instantly cleared. Her eyes flew open, and naturally, she saw Yun Jinghe sitting by the bed.
Leaning against the bedside, Yun Jinghe’s lashes were slightly lowered, the faint light of dawn flickering across her face like an ink wash spreading in a traditional painting.
Shi Ying’s gaze drifted downward, landing on an odd sight her hand was tightly intertwined with Yun Jinghe’s, their palms warm and slightly sticky.
Shi Ying bolted upright, her chest heaving as if she had been greatly startled.
Yun Jinghe felt the sudden emptiness in her hand, the cool air rushing in to fill the void left behind. When she closed her fingers, she grasped nothing but air.
Silently, she withdrew her hand and asked again, “How are you feeling?”
Shi Ying stared at Yun Jinghe nervously, her fingers twisting the bedsheet into crumpled folds.
No, she wasn’t fine. Of course she wasn’t fine.
Last night had been the new moon, her weakest time.
Perhaps she had been too agitated by this cultivator lately, because she had completely forgotten to pay attention to it.
On the night of the new moon, a dream demon’s power was at its most fragile. For an ordinary dream demon, it might not be a big deal, but she wasn’t even a complete dream demon to begin with.
Due to certain reasons, Shi Ying couldn’t freely use her demonic power. Though she could still feed on dreams, most of the time, she lived like an ordinary human. But on this particular night, there was a risk of her demonic power rebelling against her.
Last night, all she remembered was wanting to consume a little dream energy to alleviate her discomfort. Yet, in her dazed state, she had somehow ended up back here.
Thinking about it now, she felt a surge of frustration. Even though Yun Jinghe had lost her spiritual power, her consciousness remained impenetrable.
She had originally thought keeping this person around might serve as a ‘food source.’ Dream demons sustained and grew their power by feeding on the emotions and desires within dreams, and she, as a half-demon, was no exception. But Yun Jinghe’s consciousness was like an unbreakable fortress she couldn’t infiltrate it at all, forcing her to frequently venture out to hunt for sustenance.
What a complete failure.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Yun Jinghe frowned slightly and leaned a little closer when she received no response.
Shi Ying snapped back to reality. Right now, her concern wasn’t about that, it was whether Yun Jinghe had noticed anything while she was vulnerable.
“You…”
“Hmm?” Yun Jinghe tilted her head slightly in response.
Shi Ying scrutinized Yun Jinghe’s face, searching for any telltale signs.
Though Yun Jinghe couldn’t see clearly, she could sense the other’s gaze fixed on her and it seemed to be drawing nearer.
At first, she maintained her composure, but as the distance between them shortened, her breath grew slightly uneven, and her hand at her side clenched tighter.
“Why are you pulling away?” Shi Ying asked. “Can you see now?”
Yun Jinghe paused. “Your breath is practically hitting my face.”
Only then did Shi Ying lean back slightly.
“Are you still feeling unwell?” Yun Jinghe was particularly concerned about this, and without an answer, she seemed inclined to keep asking persistently.
“Not anymore.” Shi Ying leaned closer to her face again, her delicate lips parting slightly. “What happened last night? I don’t remember anything. And you called me wrong again, you should call me Yingying.”
She didn’t remember. This made the words Yun Jinghe had been about to say stick in her throat, neither coming out nor staying down.
“Are you still angry?” Yun Jinghe’s expression gradually grew more solemn. “I was in the wrong the past few days. I should apologize to you.”
She thought Shi Ying might be refusing to talk to her because she was upset.
Shi Ying smiled, her eyes flickering playfully. “Then tell me, sister, what exactly were you wrong about?”
It seemed she hadn’t given herself away last night otherwise, Yun Jinghe wouldn’t be reacting like this.
With most of the weight lifted from her heart, Shi Ying naturally reverted to her usual self.
Yun Jinghe looked at her, her dark eyes like polished black stones, pure and unblemished. Then her long lashes lowered slightly, veiling the emotions in her gaze.
No matter how many obstacles she had faced in her cultivation, she had never retreated a single step. But this was the first time she felt the urge to withdraw.
She was almost afraid to dwell too deeply on the answer behind Shi Ying’s question.
“Yingying, do you know what love is?”
Shi Ying tilted her head and replied, “Of course I do.”
No one should know better than her after all, she had seen so much of it.
But Yun Jinghe slowly shook her head. “No, you don’t.”
If she truly knew, how could she have said she wanted to be her partner, only to later suggest finding someone more suitable for her?
“You don’t love me. What you like might just be my appearance. Liking people or things that please your eyes, that isn’t the mutual love between two people.” Yun Jinghe’s expression remained calm, but her gaze grew firmer. “Do you know what ordinary people do to express their love for someone they truly care about?”
Yun Jinghe took a deep breath, about to continue, when suddenly a shadow fell over her vision.
A slight pressure touched the bridge of her nose, followed by the faintest brush of something soft against her lips.
“Like this?”