“Mo’er, what’s wrong with you?” Su Wan’er’s delicate brows furrowed.
She reached out to support him, her fingertips brushing against the skin of his arm—only to find an alarming chill, and even a faint trembling.
“Why is your hand so cold? Did you catch a chill? Are you unwell?” Her other hand naturally reached for his forehead to check his temperature.
Shen Mo recoiled sharply, as if burned, the moment her hand touched him.
The reaction was so abrupt that Su Wan’er’s outstretched hand froze midair.
“N-no… it’s nothing…” His voice was hoarse and thick with congestion.
Hurriedly, he lowered his head and pushed his disheveled hair behind his ears.
“I… I just sat too long, and my legs are a little numb.”
Su Wan’er quickly steadied him, her suspicion deepening.
Shen Mo had always been gentle and proper. Even when unwell, he had never acted so flustered.
And the way he had dodged her touch just now was extremely unusual.
A thought surfaced: Could it be because of Qin Shuying?
Shuying’s presence was too strong. It must have overwhelmed him—even… upset him?
But earlier, Qin Shuying’s attitude had been acceptable. She had even praised him. How could…
“Are you really alright?” Su Wan’er helped him stand steady. “Mo’er, if you’re feeling unwell, or… if Shuying said something that displeased you, you must tell me. Don’t bear it alone.”
Thinking of that cold disposition, perhaps she had unintentionally said something blunt or harsh that hurt him?
After all, his reputation for gentleness was well-known—he might be more sensitive to others’ opinions than most.
“No! Peak Master Qin… she, she is very kind!”
“Wan’er, don’t worry. I’m really… just a bit tired. Maybe… I’ve been overexerting my mind lately.”
Hearing this… perhaps she was overthinking?
After all, Senior Sister Qin, though cold, was upright.
Their conversation had contained nothing inappropriate or targeted toward Shen Mo.
How could she—and what reason would she have—to trouble or even bully Shen Mo?
With that thought, most of Su Wan’er’s doubt dissipated.
She reached out and gently smoothed the stray strands of hair he had carelessly tucked behind his ear.
Her movement was tender.
“Mo’er, thank you. Your help today was invaluable. I am also pleased that Senior Sister Qin acknowledged you.”
“Since you are tired, go back to your room and rest. I’ll see you there.”
Shen Mo obediently let her support him as they slowly walked toward the Sleeping Palace.
……
Lin Jingzhe first circulated the Dreamlike Floating Life Art on the fifth day of her seclusion.
When she had brought back this Fragmentary Scroll from her travels, she had never imagined it would have such an effect.
In her dreams, she could simulate everything—combat, enlightenment, demon-slaying—and her cultivation progressed twice as fast.
Every few days, a Nightmare Creature would surface; defeating it would allow a breakthrough.
Once perfected, she could infiltrate others’ dreams, and then interfere, interact, and manipulate.
She sat cross-legged in the Secluded Chamber, the Art circulating through her body for three full cycles.
The surroundings began to change. The stone walls of the chamber dissolved.
She stood in a vast white fog, with soft grass beneath her feet. The air was filled with an indescribable fragrance—like blossoms, or the freshness of rain-soaked earth.
Then she heard that voice.
“Wan’er, what’s wrong?”
Only one person in the world spoke in that tone—low, tender, cautious, as if afraid to startle anything.
It was Shen Mo.
Honored Teacher’s Husband.
Her heart jolted. She whipped her head around.
The fog cleared.
Moonlight poured down from some unseen place, spilling over the scene before her.
She saw a different Master’s Husband.
The Shen Mo she knew was the warm, jade-like Lord standing before the Mountain Gate; the Husband who kept his eyes downcast while pouring tea in the Meeting Hall.
Always dignified, proper, robes pristine, hair undisturbed.
Inspiring respect, evoking pity—but never inviting closeness.
But now—
His soft black hair was unbound, cascading like an ink waterfall scattered by the night breeze, falling from his shoulders all the way to the ground, spreading over the bluestone slabs and tangling around his porcelain-white little feet where they stepped on the earth.
He wore a silk sleeping robe as thin as a cicada’s wing, the fabric so sheer it was nearly invisible, clearly outlining the long, well-proportioned figure beneath—the flesh and bone balanced in perfect harmony.
Pale cherry blossoms were faintly visible through the gauze, exuding a breathtaking temptation. The sash was loosely tied, as if casually knotted, ready to come undone at any moment.
He sat under the corridor, leaning against a pillar.
Moonlight fell upon his face, making his brows and eyes warm as water.
Lin Jingzhe stood there, looking at this scene. Her heartbeat suddenly lost rhythm.
Before, he carried the distance of an elder, an inviolable sanctity. But now, he had spread his softest parts open under the moonlight.
Like a ripe fruit that had hung too long on the branch, finally splitting open to reveal the sweet, alluring flesh inside.
Anyone passing by could pluck it.
Lin Jingzhe’s heart pounded faster.
A wave of heat rushed to her head, burning her ears crimson and flushing her cheeks bright red.
She should look away. Turn around. Withdraw from this dream.
He was Honored Teacher’s husband—someone she should respect, protect, and under no circumstances harbor any improper thoughts toward.
But she could not tear her eyes away.
Her gaze slid down from that warm face.
His toes were round like pearls, like unpolished white jade.
Lin Jingzhe’s breath tightened.
“Wan’er?” Shen Mo called again. “What are you doing standing there? Aren’t you coming over?”
Lin Jingzhe’s heart leaped.
He had mistaken her for Honored Teacher.
This realization did not seem absurd to her; instead, a thrill surged from the depths of her heart.
She instinctively looked down at herself.
A moon-white Daoist robe, a Longsword hanging at her waist, her hair bound with a White Jade Hairpin.
She raised a hand and touched her own face.
Her fingertips met smooth, delicate skin—the curve of her brow, the height of her nose bridge, the shape of her lips. Not hers.
She walked to the Bronze Mirror under the corridor.
Eyebrows like paintings, an aura that transcended the mundane—a beauty that one could never forget after a single glance.
She was now the Bright Moon Peak Lord, Shen Mo’s wife.
From behind, Shen Mo’s voice came again, closer than before.
“Wan’er, why aren’t you speaking today?”
Lin Jingzhe turned around.
Shen Mo had stood up at some point.
The sleeping robe swayed with each step, revealing more skin.
Moonlight flowed over him, as if coating him in a layer of silver light.
He walked up to her, stopped, and tilted his face up slightly to look into her eyes.
Those eyes in the moonlight were as clear as a spring, reflecting her shadow.
Lin Jingzhe was frozen stiff.
She wanted to say, “I am not your Wan’er,” to push him away, to wake from this absurd dream.
But she couldn’t bear to.
“Mo’er…” she spoke, but the voice was Honored Teacher’s.
Shen Mo smiled.
“It’s good that you’re back,” he said.
She extended her hands and gently wrapped them around his waist.
“Wan’er,” his voice was muffled. “Can you promise me you won’t leave again?”
Lin Jingzhe’s throat tightened.
She couldn’t make that promise.
She was only a thief who had stolen an identity in the dream.
“Wan’er,” his voice was muffled. “Do you know? Every day I think about what we’ll do when you come back.”
“What?”
Shen Mo thought for a moment.
“Eat together. Drink tea together. Sunbathe in the courtyard. You meditate, and I brew tea for you. When you’re tired at night, I’ll massage your shoulders. And then… then you hold me while we sleep.”
Lin Jingzhe listened, and the string in her heart ached again.
These were the most ordinary daily affairs for any married couple. For him, they were wishes he hadn’t dared to confirm for seven years.
“Mo’er.” She spoke, her voice a little rough.
“Mm?”
“From now on, I’ll hold you every night when we sleep.”
Shen Mo took her hand and led her from under the corridor into the Inner Chamber.
Lin Jingzhe, as if bewitched, stumbled after that loose-robed, barefoot, unbound figure.
She followed behind him, her gaze fixed on his feet, unable to look away, a surge rising in her heart.
When they reached the bed, Shen Mo began to undress. The sleeping robe slipped off his shoulders, revealing the graceful lines and lustrous skin of his neck and shoulders.
Under the moonlight, that expanse of porcelain white dazzled her eyes.
Her throat went dry. Sweat beaded in her palms.