Yunsi Mountain, Jiaoyue Peak.
Snow covered the mountaintop year-round, with clouds and mist swirling around it.
The cold moonlight was the eternal theme here.
In a secluded cave dwelling on the back mountain, sealed by layers of prohibitions yet brimming with unusually rich spiritual qi, a woman in a moon-white Daoist robe sat cross-legged on a jade bed.
Her features were elegant, but her brows carried a natural sharpness as she sat with her eyes slightly closed.
Lin Jingzhe was at a critical juncture, attempting to break through to the Nascent Soul stage.
Her golden core in her dantian had reached perfection, its radiance turned inward.
Only the final step remained—shattering the core to form the nascent soul—to step onto the path countless cultivators dreamed of, gaining greatly increased lifespan, vastly enhanced divine powers, and a cultivation level that would rise accordingly.
One of the reasons she had advanced so quickly was a fragmentary scroll she had obtained by chance from the Southern Frontier Ruins—the .
This art was profoundly mysterious, centered on learning the Dao through dreams and tempering the heart through floating life.
A cultivator needed to enter deep meditation and construct a Floating Life Realm with their spirit soul.
She was exceptionally gifted and strong-willed. After obtaining this art, her cultivation soared, and she soon touched the threshold of the Nascent Soul stage.
But she also knew clearly that the closer she came to breaking through, the stronger the nightmare creatures stirred up by the became, and the closer they crept to the most secret, most hidden corners of her heart.
From low-ranked demonic beasts at the start, to cultivators of the same realm, to sieges by powerful enemies—she defeated them all one by one.
Each time she woke from a dream, drenched in sweat and drained of spiritual power, the light in her eyes burned brighter than before.
She thought she had grown accustomed to the dangers of this cultivation method.
Until that dream appeared.
A spring dream about Shen Mo.
Lin Jingzhe had done something that, upon waking, made her wish she could slap herself.
She, in the identity of Su Wan’er, had done that kind of thing with her honored teacher’s husband…
Shen Mo had been completely cooperative the entire time. His movements had been so gentle, so gentle that she nearly cried in the dream.
After leaving the dream realm, she savored it for three whole days.
She chewed over every single detail again and again.
She told herself it was just a dream, just part of cultivation, just a trial she had to endure to break through the nightmare creature.
But she knew it wasn’t.
The nightmare creatures of the were never obstacles set by the art itself. They were the cultivator’s own inner demons.
After that, the man with the peerless appearance and fragile temperament—the man who was nominally her master’s husband—would appear once every few circulation cycles.
Sometimes in the bamboo grove, sometimes by the cold pool, sometimes in the study on Jiaoyue Peak.
That secret, forbidden desire—so shameful she could hardly bear to speak it even to herself—grew wildly under the art’s urging.
She knew it was wrong. It was illusory. It was a double defilement of both her honored teacher and her master’s husband.
But the cultivation progress brought by the was also real.
After the last “dream tryst,” the bottleneck that had held her for so long actually loosened by a thread.
This made her, amid struggle and self-loathing, involuntarily circulate the art again, looking forward to… sinking once more into a dream with him.
She didn’t dare admit that deep in her heart lurked a filthy desire to break through ethics, to overstep her inferior position, to claim that purity for herself…
So she hid inside her honored teacher’s skin, like a child hiding behind an adult and reaching out to touch a flame—greedy for the heat, yet afraid of being burned.
This way, that forbidden pleasure and satisfaction had a legitimate excuse.
It wasn’t Lin Jingzhe committing an act of treachery—it was her honored teacher being intimate with her own dao companion.
She indulged in that twisted delight while deceiving herself, seeking a moment’s peace of mind.
How laughable. And how pitiful.
To achieve the Nascent Soul stage, one needed perfection of the state of mind.
So-called perfection was not the absence of flaws, but facing them head-on, coexisting with one’s inner demons, and acknowledging that the seven emotions and six desires were always a part of oneself.
Today was her third attempt to break through.
This time, she would not run.
She would face Shen Mo directly.
The cultivation of the had reached its most critical point.
What worried her even more was that her honored teacher’s jade pendant had sent a warning—clearly indicating great danger.
What about Shen Mo?
Was he with her honored teacher?
Was he also in peril?
All kinds of thoughts tangled like a mess of twine, making her head throb with pain.
With her current cultivation at the peak of the Golden Core Stage, how much could she accomplish by recklessly charging into a crisis that could trap even her honored teacher?
She would only be throwing away one more life.
“This time, I must break through to the Nascent Soul stage!”
Lin Jingzhe held her breath and focused her mind, guarding her essence and unifying her spirit. Her inner method circulated through three great cycles.
Her consciousness gradually sank, leaving the confines of her body and plunging toward the sea of dreams.
A sensation of weightlessness came over her as the scenery around her rippled.
What met her eyes was a hazy, soft moonlight.
Her nose caught the shallow fragrance of the unique plants and night dew of Jiaoyue Peak’s back mountain.
The sound of babbling water came faintly to her ears, the air cool and moist.
She stood on a familiar path of green stone.
Ahead, where the moonlight shone brightest, beneath an ancient osmanthus tree of considerable age, a tall, slender figure leaned against the trunk with his back to her.
The man wore a simple moon-white long robe, his ink-black hair unbound, cascading like a waterfall down his back.
Even his silhouette radiated a spirit of ethereal beauty, like a night-blooming cereus under the moon—beautiful, fragile, arousing pity.
Shen Mo wore an extremely thin sleepwear, its collar hanging open. His ink-black hair fell over his shoulders, making his skin appear so pale it was nearly translucent.
Lin Jingzhe, playing the role of Su Wan’er, took a deep breath, suppressed her excitement, adjusted her facial expression to appear more gentle and serene, and walked forward with the same elegant yet slightly ethereal steps her honored teacher always used.
The figure beneath the ancient osmanthus tree stirred slightly and turned around.
Moonlight illuminated his face.
It was still that handsome, pure countenance.
His brows and eyes were clean and well-formed.
But compared to the last dream, the Shen Mo before her now wore a heavy, unshakeable exhaustion between his brows.
“Mo’er?” Lin Jingzhe instinctively softened her voice, infusing it with just the right amount of concern.
Shen Mo trembled at the call.
He raised his eyes to look at her.
His gaze was dazed at first, then quickly focused.
Dependence blazed in his eyes like a drowning man spotting driftwood.
“Wan’er… is it you? Is it really you?” He stumbled forward.
His hands reached for her, then abruptly stopped just before touching, as if afraid of defiling something. His fingers curled helplessly in midair.
“I… I’m sorry… I…”
Lin Jingzhe felt a faint pang in her heart.
This dream simulation was different from the last warm, simple tryst.
His condition was clearly abnormal—agitated, consumed by self-blame.
Could it be… that this was a new trial automatically generated by the art?
She steadied herself, tried to recall how her honored teacher usually comforted people, reached out, and took the initiative to grasp his hand hovering frozen in the air.
It was ice-cold to the touch.
“Mo’er, don’t be afraid. I’m here. Tell me slowly—what happened? What are you sorry for?”
Shen Mo clutched her hand in return, his grip so tight it hurt her.
Tears rolled down his face, dripping onto their intertwined hands.
“Wan’er… I’m dirty… I was… I was…” He was incoherent, sobbing too hard to speak.
“Yun He Shizun… she… she forced me… she threatened me with your life… I had no choice… I couldn’t fight back… I didn’t do it willingly… I really didn’t…”
BOOM—!!!
A thunderbolt exploded in Lin Jingzhe’s mind!
Even in the dream, even while playing the role of her honored teacher, hearing Shen Mo say this aloud sent a massive shock through her very soul.
Yun He Shizun forced him?!
How… how was that possible?
She was the teacher her honored teacher respected most—a Deity Transformation stage female cultivator of high moral standing in the cultivation world!
How could she…
Yet Shen Mo’s anguished, crumbling expression—clearly not feigned—assaulted her senses with such reality.
She thought of his increasingly silent and timid personality in recent years, and the indescribably complicated look Yun He sometimes gave him.
Details she had once ignored now came together like broken puzzle pieces in Lin Jingzhe’s mind, forming a horrifying—yet somehow plausible—vague picture.
“I hate it… I hate myself for being useless… for not being able to protect you… for shaming you…”
“Wan’er… don’t abandon me… don’t despise me… I only have you left…”
He buried his face in their clasped hands, tears soaking her palm and burning her heart.
That humble, panicked, clinging posture was completely different from his usual gentle, quiet demeanor—yet oddly, it touched the deepest, darkest string of the human heart even more profoundly.
Lin Jingzhe extended her other hand, gently stroking his trembling back.
She tried to imitate the gentleness of her honored teacher from memory and softly pulled him into her embrace.
“Mo’er, don’t speak anymore… I know everything now.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“The one at fault is her. Yun He. She is despicable and shameless, betraying her own student, unworthy of being a teacher.”
“You’ve suffered… This is my fault. I failed to protect you…”
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here. From now on, I will protect you. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
“No matter what happened, you are still my husband. You are the most important person to me. I will never abandon you, never despise you.”
She spoke words that even she found unfamiliar.
Shen Mo buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, pressing himself into her body, drawing from her that illusory sense of safety.
The moonlight remained bright, the ancient osmanthus stood silently. The night wind carried a chill.
The circulation of the in Lin Jingzhe’s body suddenly accelerated.
A wisp of pure dream essence emerged from the depths of the dream realm and slowly merged into her spirit soul.
The bottleneck that had held her for so long loosened once more, clearly, by a thread.
Just as she thought—deep emotional impact related to him, whether positive attachment or negative pain, could greatly advance this bizarre cultivation method.
Yet just as she was immersed in this complex sensation and the pleasure of cultivation progress, Shen Mo suddenly spoke in a muffled voice, his tone carrying a hint of timid, coaxing testing. “Wan’er…”
He drew back slightly, lifted his head, and looked at her with those eyes still brimming with moisture, the corners tinged red—timid, yet direct.
“You… you really don’t blame me? Don’t despise me… for being dirty?”
Lin Jingzhe’s pity reached its peak.
She raised her hand and gently wiped away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t despise you. I told you, it’s not your fault. Mo’er, you will always be my cleanest, best husband.”
Upon hearing this, the moisture in Shen Mo’s eyes swelled further.
He caught the hand she used to wipe his tears and gently pressed her palm against his own heaving, thin chest.
Through that moon-white robe, she could clearly feel his racing heartbeat.
“Then… then prove it to me,” Shen Mo said, a visible blush creeping up his cheeks at a speed visible to the naked eye, making him look like a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked.
“Prove… that you really don’t despise me…”