Mu Zhiming remained silent throughout, and after listening, her left hand instinctively grabbed her right wrist, rubbing the faintly red Guardian Palace Mark, and said awkwardly:
“I don’t understand… what does Master mean.”
Liu Fuyao looked at the Silver Pheasant by her waist that was pecking at her with its red beak, reached out her hand, and released it to fly beyond the Sect Hall.
Then she turned her head back, gazed at Mu Zhiming whose eyelids were lowered, and said with mild irritation:
“I’m telling you to prepare yourself mentally and cherish what’s before you. Although he has Spiritual Roots, he’s already advanced in age. In the end, he won’t pass the Foundation Establishment stage, making him no different from a Mortal.”
Mu Zhiming remained silent, only applying slight pressure with her left hand. Her brows lifted slightly as she met Liu Fuyao’s pained gaze:
“But he… ultimately has Spiritual Roots.”
“He’s different from the men in Master’s stories.”
“Advanced in age… that just means he’ll need to take a few more Foundation Building Pills.”
Liu Fuyao’s mouth twitched upon hearing this, and she couldn’t help but laugh out loud—laughed out of exasperation:
“Fine, fine. So what if he establishes his Foundation? Are you going to protect him all the way to Golden Core and Nascent Soul?”
Mu Zhiming’s brows furrowed tightly. After pondering for a moment, she raised her head again and met her master’s gaze through the Black Veil:
“What’s… wrong with that?”
Liu Fuyao was completely speechless now. She thought to herself:
This Direct Disciple of mine—she hasn’t even reached Golden Core herself, yet she talks about protecting someone with a Pseudo Spiritual Root all the way to Golden Core and Nascent Soul.
She has no idea that even for those with Heavenly Spiritual Roots, succeeding in cultivating to Nascent Soul is one in a hundred.
Let alone that Ji Wangshu only has a Pseudo Spiritual Root, and he’s a man—it’s nearly impossible.
She lifted her eyes slightly, just about to scold her, when she met the pupils beneath Mu Zhiming’s Black Veil, staring fixedly at her.
Though blind, those lifeless eyes were even more resolute than when they could see, even more radiant with starlight.
Liu Fuyao was gazed at by Mu Zhiming for the time it takes half a cup of tea, before she finally turned her head away and sighed:
“Alright, alright. Whatever you want, whatever you want.”
“Also, remember to prepare well for the Sect Competition in three days.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for the Wood Spirit Three-Needle Flower to cure your eye condition.”
With that said, Liu Fuyao didn’t wait for Mu Zhiming to ask anything else. She gently waved her five fingers, releasing spiritual energy that transformed into a wisp of gentle breeze, carrying her outside the hall.
She watched the back of Mu Zhiming’s green-robed figure and couldn’t help but sigh—as if speaking to her, or as if speaking to herself:
“If back then, he had Spiritual Roots too, I imagine I would have done the same…”
But the Sect Grand Hall was empty, and the Silver Pheasant that had just flown in had already gone far away. No one remained to answer her questioning words.
…………….
A cool and aloof figure descended slowly from the air, strolling to the outside of the Courtyard, where her black Eye Veil met Ji Wangshu’s gaze beneath the Plum Blossom Tree.
Ji Wangshu set down the book in his hands and asked softly, “You’re back?”
“Mhm.”
Mu Zhiming nodded in acknowledgment, then sat down beside the Stone Stool. She didn’t speak, simply watching Ji Wangshu before her in silence.
In her field of vision was only a blur of light and shadow—above were two horizontal patches of darkness, in the middle was a curved arc, and below was a shallow curved point.
His entire face was like a white lamp in the night, distant yet warm, faint yet present, but it always remained lit in her heart.
How strange. It hadn’t been long at all, yet this face was more distinct than that childhood friend in her memories.
“Oh, I just watered the Flower Garden for you. I also tidied up the Wooden House a bit and changed the bedding on the Jade Bed to a thicker set. Though I feel like cultivators shouldn’t really care about temperature…”
Ji Wangshu rambled on about these trivial things while Mu Zhiming propped her cheek on her hand, quietly listening.
Her Wooden Sword lay on the Stone Table, its tip gently pressing against the open pages of the Ancient Text. Under the Moonlight, it seemed as though the two were drawn very close together.
“If there’s nothing else, you should rest early… The big competition is at hand, so cultivate well.”
Ji Wangshu finished speaking, picked up the Ancient Text, and was about to leave.
But he felt his plain-colored robe being tugged by a pair of fair, jade-like fingers.
Ji Wangshu’s expression was one of astonishment. He raised his head and met those two glistening, glossy lips beneath the moonlight, from which a cool, clear voice emerged:
“Don’t… sleep yet.”
“Come… to my room.”
Ji Wangshu parted his lips and drew in two sharp breaths, his mind racing:
What’s going on? She just came back from chatting with her master, and suddenly she wants me to go to her room for tea?
Is this that kind of hint? But isn’t that a bit too absurd?
Could Liu Fuyao be some kind of demonic cultivator who possessed Mu Zhiming?
After a few breaths, his mind had spun a hundred circles, and he still couldn’t figure out what Mu Zhiming meant by this.
If a hundred circles couldn’t figure it out, then think a hundred and one.
He coughed lightly, weighing his words: “This… is there something important?”
“Help me count my Spirit Stones…”
“I’m blind now… can’t count them…”
Oh, so it’s counting Spirit Stones. I thought it was… phew.
Ji Wangshu let out a sigh of relief, relaxing: “Alright, no problem. No need to rush to sleep tonight.”
Then he took the initiative to pick up the Wooden Sword that Mu Zhiming had placed on the table, which still faintly carried the warmth of its owner’s hand.
Moonlight spilled onto the path like a dusting of sugar frosting—glistening, sparkling, shimmering.
In the empty Courtyard, only the sound of “pitter-patter” footsteps on the Stone Path could be heard.
The two walked one after the other—the one in front quickening her pace, the one behind following at a measured step, her jade-like hand gently gripping the front of the young man’s collar, as if this could seize hold of the Spring itself.
“Clatter, clatter.”
Like pearls falling onto a jade plate, a large amount of Spirit Stones was dumped out by Mu Zhiming in one go, pouring onto the bed.
“Alright… that’s all of them… count them.” She said awkwardly.
“Okay, let me count.”
Inside the room, Mu Zhiming cast the Illumination Spell, lighting up the small house and also illuminating the face of the young man before her.
She sat cross-legged on the Jade Bed, legs tucked in, seated sideways. The hem of her plain-colored robe slipped down, revealing two lengths of fair, jade-like calves—soft and firm, like congealed fat under the moon, radiating a warm, moist luster.
“Alright… the total is forty-five thousand eight hundred seventy-six Spirit Stones.”
After half a cup of tea, Ji Wangshu spoke up. At the same time, he lifted his eyes to look at Mu Zhiming, only to land directly on those two elegant, fair calves.
The sheer robe draped over the Jade Bed was pressed into layers of wrinkles by her calves. Under the interplay of light and shadow, a small patch of smooth skin was exposed between the Ice Silk and her rounded hips—a hidden space that held countless tempting desires.
Yet Mu Zhiming herself was completely unaware. She simply tilted her head slightly, strands of hair falling as she cast her eyes down at him.
This wooden girl—how is she accidentally flashing her Absolute Domain these past two days?
Is this how they test cadres?
Unfortunately, Ji Wangshu couldn’t withstand this test.
He turned his head away, but his peripheral vision kept stealing glances—the look of a thief with the heart but not the guts.
“…Okay.”
Mu Zhiming said awkwardly, changing the position of her legs as she spoke.
She straightened up, legs pressed together, rounded hips seated, back tall and slender like bamboo. Her hair cascaded naturally between her legs, and the edge of her Ice Silk undergarments was faintly visible—thin as cicada wings, like morning mountain ridges, half-hidden in drifting white mist.
Ji Wangshu felt his ears grow warm, instinctively touched his nose, and asked:
“Why did you suddenly think of counting Spirit Stones? Did your Flying Sword break?”
He recalled that a few days ago, when he watched Mu Zhiming sparring with Chen Miao using a real Flying Sword, the sword patterns on it didn’t seem to have any problems?
Other than that, he couldn’t think of any other use Mu Zhiming would have for Spirit Stones.
After half a year of living together day and night, Ji Wangshu felt that the wooden girl before him was a born Sword Cultivator—aside from absorbing spiritual energy, all she did was Sword Practice.
The spiritual pills and medicines that ordinary cultivators needed to buy with Spirit Stones were never a concern for her, being the Sect Master’s Direct Disciple.
The only major expense recently was the black Eye Veil and black Choker he bought for her the day before yesterday.
Thinking of this, Ji Wangshu looked up again at that swan-like neck, adorned with a black choker—fine leather clinging to snow-white skin, tracing the contours of her neckline.
Worn on Mu Zhiming, it appeared both restrained and audacious, both dignified and seductive.
“…The Flying Sword isn’t broken.” Mu Zhiming replied, while her slender brows furrowed slightly, as if displeased, before continuing:
“Tomorrow… come with me to the Market Town.”
“To that Treasure Pavilion you visited last time…”
“Spirit Stones… aren’t enough.”
She finished speaking in fragments, yet Ji Wangshu was still completely confused.
Mu Zhiming’s forty-something thousand Spirit Stones were already three times the savings of him, the Yixiu Sect’s Sect Master. How could they not be enough?
What exactly did she want to buy?
He pondered for a moment but couldn’t come up with anything, so he asked directly: “What do you need so many Spirit Stones for?”
Mu Zhiming raised her head, looked at him, and spoke slowly, word by word:
“To pave… a path of immortality for you.”
…………….
Real World, Xinghe Sword Sect, Central Continent.
A water-blue off-shoulder Daoist robe, a graceful figure with flowing dark hair, walked out of the Courtyard.
“Disciple, I’m going to Ningzhou for a two-year rotation.”
“While I’m away, cultivate diligently. Don’t slack off.”
As she spoke, the Storage Pouch at her waist swayed in the wind, making a “jingling” sound.
“Yes, Master Mu.”
A woman beside the figure responded softly, while curiously glancing at the Storage Pouch at the figure’s waist, thinking to herself:
This Master Mu of mine is perfect in every way, except she’s too obsessed with wealth.
Even as a Deity Transformation cultivator, she still demands Spirit Stones as compensation for the Ningzhou rotation—otherwise, she won’t go.
And why does she have four or five Storage Pouches at her waist, all bulging? Could they all be filled with treasures?
The woman thought this but ultimately didn’t voice her question.
The figure nodded slightly, sweeping her Spiritual Sense over the Wooden House once more, checking for anything left behind.
“This rotation in Ningzhou, I can earn another few tens of thousands of Spirit Stones…”
“And I can search for news of his Reincarnation…”
As she thought, her fingertips pinched the Storage Pouches at her waist, her Spiritual Sense probing inside—
Within, hundreds of bottles of pills were neatly arranged. The bottles bore fine labels, the ink slightly aged, but the handwriting remained clear:
[Grade Three Foundation Building Pill]****[Grade Three True Yang Pill]…[Grade Four Crown Gathering Pill]****[Grade Four Chaoyuan Pill]…[Grade Five Meridian Forging Pill][Grade Five Meridian Protection Pill][Grade Five Mind Awakening Pill]…
Each bottle was organized according to certain connections, arranged in an orderly and methodical manner.
“Mhm… Foundation Establishment, Golden Core, Nascent Soul—all covered… and stored at four to five times the necessary amount… Should be sufficient…”
The figure nodded with satisfaction, withdrew her Spiritual Sense, rose on her Flying Sword, and soared toward the horizon. Her crimson lips murmured softly:
“Wangshu… this time I’ll stay with you until the very end…”
“Even if you turn into a Three-Needle Flower again…”
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