Great Zhou Dynasty, Western Borderlands, atop Cat Ear Mountain, inside Bright Moon Monastery.
“Master.”
“Hmm? What is it?”
“Why do we eat vegetarian every day? We are Daoists, not monks.”
The master stretched out her hand, fingers spread wide, palm facing up.
Her fingers were delicate and slender, porcelain-white and exquisite, though a bit painful when used to tap someone’s head.
Ling Xiaodong stared at the empty palm and suddenly understood.
“I get it! These five fingers represent the five desires of wealth, lust, fame, food, and sleep. The empty palm means that a cultivator should have a pure heart, rid themselves of the five desires, and focus solely on Dao cultivation!”
Yue Yingying’s cold, sharp eyes rolled disdainfully as she raised her hand and gave Ling Xiaodong a sharp slap on the head.
“Nonsense! What I mean is, if you want to eat meat, where’s the money?”
Ling Xiaodong rubbed his head helplessly.
“Then why does Qingfeng Monastery on the neighboring peak have meat at every meal? It’s also a Daoist temple on the same mountain, yet you and I here live so frugally. I can’t understand.”
Cat Ear Mountain has two peaks that look like cat ears from a distance.
Each peak holds a Daoist monastery: one named Qingfeng Monastery, the other Bright Moon Monastery.
Though the two temples face each other, they are worlds apart. Qingfeng Monastery welcomes a constant flow of pilgrims, its three pavilions and four halls grand and imposing.
In contrast, Bright Moon Monastery has only a few shabby old buildings, with cracked mud walls that let in wind and rain freely. Outside is a small vegetable garden fenced with crooked sticks, giving off a poor and humble impression.
The master and disciple often had to borrow money from Qingfeng Monastery to get by.
The abbess of Qingfeng Monastery—Qingfeng Daoist—is a Daoist nun a few years older than their master, probably in the bloom of youth.
If comparing her appearance to their master’s, one could only say one was like a blooming flower, the other like a cold, bright moon—equally beautiful, difficult to rank.
They seemed acquainted, but their master refused to meet her, and every time they borrowed money, it fell on Ling Xiaodong’s miserable shoulders to run the errand.
Yue Yingying curled one side of her mouth, crossed her arms, and sneered coldly at Ling Xiaodong.
“If you like it there so much, why don’t you become Qingfeng Monastery’s disciple? Your childhood friend is there too, and you’d get to eat meat every day. Why suffer such a hard life following me?”
Ling Xiaodong couldn’t help but feel tempted.
But stealing a glance at his master’s frost-cold immortal face, he cautiously asked,
“So… should I talk to Qingfeng Daoist tomorrow? See if she’s willing to let me switch temples?”
Yue Yingying’s calm face instantly turned furious. She grabbed Ling Xiaodong’s ear and twisted it twice, scolding,
“You ungrateful brat, after all I’ve done for you, how dare you be so heartless!”
“Ouch~ It hurts! Master, I know I was wrong! I know!”
Ling Xiaodong broke free from her grasp, rubbing his red, sore ear, still unwilling.
“Master treats me well? Since I came up the mountain at thirteen, four whole years now, haven’t I done all the chores inside and outside the temple? Washing clothes, farming, chopping wood, cooking—all done by me.”
“Even when we’re short of money, I’m the one shamelessly begging at Qingfeng Monastery. If that counts as treating me well, do you plan to sell me for money?”
A faint flush appeared on Yue Yingying’s immortal face, either lingering anger or wounded pride at her disciple’s words.
She clasped one hand behind her back, clenched a fist near her mouth, and cleared her throat.
“Cough cough, isn’t that what a disciple should do? If I did everything, then what use would I have for you?”
Her delicate eyebrows knit tightly. She raised her hand and gave Ling Xiaodong another sharp tap on the head.
“Still daring to talk back? If not for me, do you think that woman at Qingfeng Monastery would lend you money? Now copy the Tao De Jing fifty times as punishment!”
Ling Xiaodong looked at his unreasonable master helplessly.
“If I copy the Tao De Jing fifty times, who’s going to cook tonight’s dinner?”
“Well… then copy five times. If you don’t finish tonight, you’ll get bamboo clappers!”
Yue Yingying folded her hands behind her back and stomped back to her room, her pretty face still flushed, not even sparing Ling Xiaodong a glance.
Ling Xiaodong entered the drafty kitchen, lifted the wooden lid off the rice jar, and stared at the thin layer of rice at the bottom, sighing as he shook his head.
Even mice wouldn’t bother with this; even the mosquitoes would starve.
With so little rice, all they could do was cook porridge. Looks like tomorrow he’d have to shamelessly make another trip to Qingfeng Monastery.
He skillfully started the fire and cooked the rice, then picked some vegetables from the garden and made two simple vegetarian dishes, making the meal look slightly less meager.
After finishing, he knocked on the dilapidated wooden door of his master’s room.
“Dinner’s ready.”
When they sat down at the table, Yue Yingying remained cold and silent, clearly still upset.
She stared down at the bland soup, poking at a leaf full of holes with her chopsticks, displeased.
“Is this all we’re eating today?”
Ling Xiaodong imitated his master’s silent demeanor, quietly stretching out his palm toward her.
At this moment, silence said more than words.
You want meat, where’s the money?
“Smack!”
Yue Yingying used her chopsticks like bamboo clappers, hitting the palm of Ling Xiaodong’s hand.
Ling Xiaodong pulled back his hand, wincing in pain, shouting,
“Master, you’re too unreasonable! This is all there is in the kitchen, and you’re still not satisfied? Why don’t you cook it yourself then?”
Yue Yingying’s almond-shaped eyes widened, raising her chopsticks again to strike, but Ling Xiaodong nimbly dodged.
“Disrespectful! Who’s the master here, you or me?”
After enduring his master’s scolding, Ling Xiaodong finished the meager meal. Once the dishes were cleaned, he lit a candle and bent over the desk to copy the Tao De Jing by candlelight.
Yue Yingying lay sideways on the bed, propping her head with one hand while holding a book in the other.
From time to time, she let out clear, melodious laughter like silver bells, hardly the behavior of someone studying Daoist classics.
The master and disciple did not share a room. They only stayed together now because Bright Moon Monastery was too poor!
Only Yue Yingying’s room had a desk, and by sharing one candle, they saved on wax money.
After copying the Tao De Jing three times, Ling Xiaodong set down his brush, rubbed his sore wrist, and glanced sideways at his master.
Yue Yingying had changed her position, now lying on her back with her hands holding the book, engrossed in reading.
In the dim candlelight, her neck’s porcelain-white skin stood out more than the flame itself, even purer than her plain white Daoist robe, bringing brightness to the room.
The master was a refined, otherworldly beauty.
Willow-like brows, cloud-like hair, eyes as clear as spring water.
Her flawless immortal face embodied what it meant to be a peerless beauty; even her exquisite profile—the sculpted nose, pale lips tinged with pink—was delicate enough.
Her graceful figure was perfect in every way; one millimeter more or less would spoil the harmony.
Lying prone, her body curved like rolling hills; her shoulders and rounded hips were twin peaks, while her slender waist formed the valley.
Such beauty—it was simply too stunning. What in the mortal world could possibly compare to her?
Just as Ling Xiaodong lost himself in these thoughts, Yue Yingying suddenly called out.
“Ling Xiaodong!”
He hastily withdrew his gaze and replied sheepishly,
“Yes?”
She put down her book, crawling over the bed on her elbows, looking at him lazily.
“Have you finished copying yet?”
“Three times already.”
Ling Xiaodong answered truthfully.
Yue Yingying curled her finger.
“If you haven’t finished, don’t copy more yet. You need to balance work and rest. Come, give your master a shoulder massage.”
Yue Yingying often read lying down or sprawled sideways, so after a while her back ached.
Though Ling Xiaodong was not versed in Dao magic, he had read extensively on the Zhou Yi and various medical texts to make a living; massage was his specialty.
“All right!”
Ling Xiaodong took off his boots and climbed onto the bed.
He gathered the long, silky, pale green hair that flowed over her back, setting it aside to expose the smooth skin hidden beneath.
They were close now; sitting astride her waist, he caught the faint, sweet scent of osmanthus drifting from her body, filling him with wonder.
They both used the same soapberry soap, so why did she have this subtle fragrance while he didn’t?
His hands rested on her slender jade-like shoulders, slowly massaging according to the manual’s instructions.
Even through the thin Daoist robe, he could feel the softness and smoothness of her skin.
The master frowned, clearly displeased.
“Why so gentle? Use more strength!”
“Ah? Oh, okay!”
Ling Xiaodong snapped back to focus, increasing his pressure.
After painstakingly finishing the massage, Yue Yingying was satisfied. With a wave of her small hand, she mercifully excused him from copying the remaining forty-seven times of the Tao De Jing.
Stepping out of her room, Ling Xiaodong stood alone in the empty courtyard, tilting his head to gaze at the cold, bright full moon.
The smoke had cleared, the Tianshan Mountains blended with the sky, only the drunken moon drifted lazily, the stones murmuring softly.
The chilly mountain wind rustled through the forest, bringing back memories of the day he first came up the mountain.
It was also a full moon night then, a blurry-faced man and woman brought him to the mountain’s foot and pointed to the Daoist temple on the peak.
“Your master is there. Go.”
He followed the winding path up the mountain and stepped through the open gates of the monastery.
Ling Xiaodong saw a scene he would never forget.
That night was clear and pure; the moonlight was silver. A flawless immortal beauty lay lazily in a bamboo chair in the courtyard, slowly flipping through a book.
Ling Xiaodong felt as if the world had fallen silent—the cicadas, frogs, rustling leaves all fading away.
It seemed the only thing left was the immortal under the moonlight, time crawling like a snail.
The immortal noticed the unexpected guest and sharply demanded,
“Who’s there?!”
“I’m here to apprentice.”
“Oh? To apprentice?”
She pondered for a moment, then smiled faintly.
“Fine, I happen to need a disciple, but I’m very strict. Be prepared.”
Ling Xiaodong held a secret deep in his heart.
Since the first day he came up the mountain and met his master, the Bright Moon Immortal, he had fallen in love at first sight.
A feeling that sprang from nowhere, growing ever deeper.
Though he always played the obedient disciple over the years, as he grew older, his heart fluttered more fiercely, sometimes threatening to lose control.
The mountain wind rustled through the leaves. He took several deep breaths, filling his lungs with the cold air before pacing back to his room.