Chapter 8

Mu Xue spread her spiritual sense, sure enough, Cen Qianshan was out in the snowy courtyard, but he hadn’t moved a step… and didn’t respond to her call.
She stepped out of the house and saw that boy half-kneeling on the ground, one hand bracing against the wall. When he saw her emerge, he waved her off, stopping her from coming any closer, then couldn't help turning away and retching with a loud, miserable cry.
He seemed to want to head out the gate, but midway through he lost control, vomiting so hard he almost couldn't stand up.
Mu Xue hurried over to steady him.
Cen Qianshan waved her off, pushing Mu Xue back. His face was flushed an alarming shade of red, veins bulging on his forehead as he forced himself to get out half a sentence, "It's filthy out here, Mistress, you should go ba, hngh, "
Without hesitation, Mu Xue snatched a bowl from her storage pouch, glanced at it, and realized it was actually a purple-gold dragon-etched artifact. No time to care; she shoved it into Cen Qianshan's arms anyway. He clutched the bowl, crouched to the ground, and just let it all out, retching until the world spun.
After the ordeal, he finally caught his breath, voice shaky as he gasped out, "I'm fine, Mistress, really, it's nothing. I'll clean up in a second."
Slowly, he propped himself up and made his way toward the washbasin.
His skinny back shivered with every step, messy black hair dusted in fine snow, and his face looked even paler than the cold, drifting flakes that filled the winter night.
Watching that frail silhouette, Mu Xue was abruptly struck by a memory from long ago.
At the time, she wasn't sure what compelled her, maybe it was the loneliness of living alone too long, maybe just boredom, but she'd once raised a little spirit beast in her courtyard, a baby monster meant to be sold for slaughter.
She built it a tiny shelter, fed it scraps, gave it clean water. Eventually, that colorful, feathery creature would bounce over every time she came home, chirping frantically, and sometimes headbutting her hand, begging for a scratch.
Honestly, that little thing was useless, aside from inhaling food, but for a while, those days had seemed unusually happy to her. The house had life again; someone came to greet her when she came home. Even snowy courtyards felt warmer, less empty, a house finally felt like home.
But out of nowhere, the creature just stopped eating one day, its glossy feathers going dull and bedraggled.
It hunched its back, head low, and dragged itself for a few steps through the snowy yard before collapsing into a drift, never to move again.
After that, Mu Xue never kept anything else alive around her.
Now Cen Qianshan’s limping figure overlapped so sharply with that painful memory.
Mu Xue suddenly realized, just because you feed a life and give it some bedding doesn’t mean it’ll stay by your side. He could end up exactly like that little beast, toppling into the snow one night and never getting up again.
She hurried forward and grabbed Cen Qianshan by the arm holding the cane. That arm trembled violently, cold sweat the size of beads rolling down his bloodless face.
Mu Xue touched his forehead, frowning. “Why are you burning up? Are you… sick?”
Most cultivators, whichever path they walked, had a way to strengthen the body and banish disease. Mu Xue, nearly at Golden Core stage, barely remembered what it felt like to be ill.
She’d known Cen Qianshan was covered in injuries when he arrived, but he’d been so diligent since, bustling about with his cane and tending to everything perfectly, hardly ever stopping to rest.
Somewhere along the line, she’d just gotten used to it, forgotten entirely about his physical state.
But think about it: a child not even ten years old. Could he really handle all this grinding work?
“I’ll be… fine. I’ll get better in no time…” Cen Qianshan barely got out half a sentence before his body gave way, and he slumped downward.
Mu Xue caught him just in time.
Cen Qianshan slumped against her, panting, any hint of energy seemed to be leaking from him, his skin somehow both clammy and hot. He was going dangerously pale and weak, his body burning to the touch.
This can’t go on, he needs a doctor now.
Mu Xue pushed open the courtyard gate, tossed a sleek golden triangle into the air. It floated smoothly, her flying artifact, the “Hover.”
She turned, reaching out to help Cen Qianshan aboard.
Cen Qianshan gripped the doorframe, lips drained of color, staring at her in silence.
“I… get better fast, really.”
“Spare me. I’ve already let this drag on for days. Come on.”
She reached for him, but Cen Qianshan clung stubbornly to the frame, refusing to budge.
“I, I won’t read those books anymore.” he blurted out, completely out of the blue.
“What?” Mu Xue stared at him, baffled.
Cen Qianshan ducked his head, lips pressed tight, eyes shining red. After a long silence, he finally whispered, “If there are rules, Mistress… I, your servant, will kneel and listen. I’ll obey, no question, never overstep.”
He’d always called Mu Xue “Mistress,” but never once had he referred to himself as a servant before.
He was desperate for her approval, yet had never stooped to groveling or pitiful flattery. He always made his worth known by sheer diligence and intelligence, never asking for sympathy, only trying to prove himself through his actions.
Mu Xue understood just how much stubborn pride and sensitivity this child kept hidden in his heart.
This was the first time he’d truly bowed his head in front of her.
“Xiao Shan, are you delirious? I’m trying to take you to a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Cen Qianshan stared at her in disbelief.
“What else did you think I was going to do with you?”
Mu Xue had lost patience. She simply hauled the stunned boy out and hefted him onto her hovering artifact.
The Hover’s tail bristled with interlocking metal scales, spewing a long plume of vapor as it sliced through the night sky fast and light.
Mu Xue made a beeline for a traditional-looking clinic whose old-fashioned wooden door was illuminated by an utterly tacky string of colored lights for a sign.
The resident doctor was a short, skinny old cultivator notorious for his stinginess and sharp tongue, but everyone in Fuwang City knew: if you were sick, you called him Uncle Nian.
Uncle Nian barely bothered to lift his eyelids to glance at the sick boy in Mu Xue’s arms. “No mortals,” he grumbled.
Mu Xue seemed perfectly unfazed, as if they were old friends. She ignored his words completely and set Cen Qianshan gently down on the sickbed.
“Oh, so you don’t treat mortals now? Fine, I won’t fix that broken medical artifact of yours either.”
“Still so sharp-tongued, not an ounce of femininity to you. No wonder you can’t get married, just meant to be a blacksmith, I suppose.” Uncle Nian grumbled, but in the end he came out from behind the counter.
“Oh, please. Who says I’m not feminine? The head of the Yan family tried to offer up her youngest son as my concubine just two days ago.”
“You accepted?” Uncle Nian slid a monocle onto his nose.
“As if! Why waste time on that when I could be crafting more artifacts and cultivating? The Dao is the only thing I’m chasing.”
Uncle Nian’s wrinkled mouth ticked up, a rare sign of agreement, as he leaned in to check Xiao Shan’s injuries.
“Reckless,” he muttered, barely finishing the pulse check before shaking his head over and over. “Kid’s been hungry too long, his stomach is weak, can’t process food. You force-fed him fatty meat and had him gorge himself? That’s asking for trouble.”
Mu Xue’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”
“As for this leg, someone crushed the bone. Instead of setting it, you just used magic to force the skin to heal over. Were you trying to kill him?” Uncle Nian inspected Xiao Shan’s twisted ankle and stood back up, “That leg’s completely ruined. Nothing I can do. Take him away.”
Mu Xue grabbed his sleeve. “Come on, Uncle Nian, if you can’t fix something this minor, your whole reputation’s done for!”
Uncle Nian snorted, eyes bulging. “He’s a slave, isn't he? I could treat it, sure, but you’d spend enough to buy two or three more just like him!”
Seeing Mu Xue’s skepticism, he rattled on, “Seriously, don’t think mortals are easy. They’re trickier than you think, way too fragile. Surgery’s a pain, medicine’s more of a headache.”
Xiao Shan lay on the bed, staring straight at Mu Xue. His eyes were glazed with feverish dew, lost and pleading, silent but desperate.
Mu Xue sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose, then shot a look at the greedy old quack: “Fix him up, and I’ll forge you a craniotomy artifact. You know, the one you won’t shut up about.”
“You mean it?” Uncle Nian instantly straightened his hunched back, rubbing his hands together. “Done, done! Don’t worry, a mortal boy like this is child’s play for your Uncle Nian. He’ll be good as new in no time.”
Uncle Nian’s skeletal finger beckoned, and a line of puppet constructs, each over a foot tall, marched onto the white-draped surgical table.
Miniature instruments in hand, they swarmed Xiao Shan’s injured leg, some with thin hands spraying anesthetic, others holding tiny scalpels that sliced open skin. Four or five held taut the fixing cords; another group cleared away dead flesh and tied off blood vessels. A couple stretched their long arms deep into the muscle, hunting down bone fragments piece by piece and fitting them snugly back into place.
Xiao Shan accepted this bizarre surgery in eerie calm, eyelids drifting closed as sleep finally claimed him.
“Just a mortal child,” Uncle Nian murmured, “yet Master Mu goes to all this trouble. Unless…?”
Mu Xue stared at the boy, eyes softly shut on the hospital bed, and nodded. “What do you think, Uncle Nian?”
The old healer stroked his little goatee. “You came to the right guy. Frankly, rare talent like his doesn’t come around much.”
No one noticed that at that moment, the “sleeping” boy’s long lashes trembled ever so slightly.
Outside, feather-light snow danced through the stark cold grandeur of Fuwang City.
Mu Xue stood atop her floating vessel, cradling a fragile body bundled tight in a wool blanket.
The little flying artifact left a trail of smoky dust, weaving past monstrous stone guardians, slipping between soaring city walls, its shadow darting through the colored lights and crosshatched shadows of the night sky.
Above the cargo street, the night market was wild, decadent music and twisted lantern lights tangled together in a neon fever-dream of darkness and life.
“Mistress.” A small, muffled voice called from the blanket.
“Awake?” Mu Xue looked down at the boy in her arms. “Let’s change that title, from now on, call me Master.”
Xiao Shan squeezed his eyes shut against the whistling snow, but not a single flake slipped past the warmth of the heavy blanket wrapped all around him.
Below, that hellish cargo street was a place where, on any other night, he’d be torn limb from limb by demons and dragged down into filth he’d never escape.
But fate had handed him this person.
She was a strange woman, cold on the surface, yet with a heart far too soft.
The harder he struggled, the more guilt she felt. The bleaker his misfortune, the more she pitied him. If he tried a little to please her, she’d even say thank you.
In a city as ruthless as Fuwang, how was it possible for someone like her to exist?
Curled against that warm chest, Xiao Shan tried to smile.
He’d played every trick, finally gotten what he wanted, he should’ve been happy, so why did his chest ache with this bitter longing?
Ruan Honglian swept into Mu Xue’s place, lips parting in an exaggerated O as she gasped,
“Oh wow, I’m only gone a few months and I thought I had the wrong address! I went out and checked the street sign three times just to be sure.”
Her eyes darted around Mu Xue’s home, floors shining like glass, bookshelves sorted within an inch of their lives, display cases organized by category.
The collection of weird, arcane smelting gear was so well-polished you could check your reflection. Every tool was set precisely in place.
The artifact-cleaning array was spotless, and the oil bath tingled with a bubbling, contented blurp.
“Spend three days away and you have to sacrifice your eyesight just to keep up,” Ruan Honglian sighed.
Xiao Shan entered with a tea tray and set cups for both Mu Xue and Ruan Honglian, along with a plate of sweets.
Mu Xue had her usual chrysanthemum tea; Ruan Honglian got a cup of Biyun Spring, the pride of Fuwang’s tea scene.
Ruan Honglian sipped and sighed with delight, “Ahh, finally don’t have to BYO tea at your place. And these pastries! What’d you put in them?”
Xiao Shan just smiled politely, bowed, and slipped away without a word.
Watching his retreat, Ruan Honglian barely swallowed her bite before blurting out, “Xiao Xue, I admit defeat. Your taste is unreal! The kid’s pretty, gentle, and can do housework, you actually scored buying this ‘slave.’”
Mu Xue let out a laugh. “He’s not a servant anymore, I’ve taken him on as my disciple.”
“Wait, you already took on a disciple? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. He really does have talent. Just look at this place, what, ten thousand artifacts and materials in total? And in such a short time, he’s already sorted them all out, learned pre-processing and prepping them for refinement? That’s no small feat. Bet he’s saved you a mountain of work, huh?”
While she rambled on, Ruan Honglian absently rubbed her belly, and suddenly let loose the loudest fart imaginable. Her face went scarlet. She tried, with all the dignity she could muster, to smooth things over, but before she could even open her mouth, a whole flurry followed right behind.
Ruan Honglian prided herself on elegance; being caught like that was pure humiliation. Blushing from ear to ear, she mumbled a hasty goodbye and bolted out of the room.
Once she’d gone, Cen Xiao Shan came in to clear the teacups. Mu Xue called him over.
“You pick something up and suddenly your guts grow three times bigger, huh? Did you really think Honglian wouldn’t notice? Or that I’d just let it slide?” She tapped the edge of the table. “The tea was fine. The snacks were fine. But that cup of Biyun Spring she had, with some fish pastry mixed in? That combo’s a fast track to a very, ah, freeing experience. Bet for days, Honglian’s going to be running for cover, every few minutes.”
She pictured Honglian afraid to even leave the house for fear of another symphony of farts. The urge to burst out laughing was so strong, but she’d only just become a Master, she had to keep a straight face, at least for the sake of dignity.
Cen Xiao Shan didn’t bother making excuses. He knelt in front of her, head bowed low. “I was wrong, Master. Please discipline me as you see fit.”
Mu Xue coughed, assuming her most impressive “masterly” air. “It’s only a small thing, but a mistake’s a mistake. First, you’re punished for reckless behavior and weak skills, daring to trick your own master. And second, for… you know what.”
“Second punishment: for being petty and vindictive. Honglian only stopped Master from buying me at the start, yet I’ve held a grudge and resented it ever since.” Cen Xiao Shan finished the sentence for her, almost eagerly.
“Well, since you know what you did, let’s make it official. Your punishment is…getting the paddle.”
Mu Xue glanced around, looking for a palm-sized paddle, but before she could spot one, Cen Xiao Shan stood, found a flexible wooden switch from the supply shelf, and handed it to her with both hands, polite as ever.
He undid his top, revealing a stark, slender back, and prostrated himself at her feet as though this were just another routine.
He moved so smoothly, so naturally, it was clear he’d done this more times than he could count.
Across that bony back, old scars and new crisscrossed, a mark of a life riddled with violence, this frail body subjected to who knows how many beatings.
Seeing those sharp bones and all those scars, Mu Xue found she simply couldn’t bring herself to swing the stick.
A master, unable to punish her disciple on the very first offense. There went all her authority. Torn, Mu Xue pulled the kneeling boy upright, sat him across her knees, and landed one firm smack.
He flinched at the first, but by the second, Cen Xiao Shan didn’t resist anymore. By the time her hand was raised a third time, Mu Xue noticed the tips of his ears flushing bright red as he lay there.
Frozen, he stayed draped across her lap, not daring to breathe. That blush crept from his ears down the back of his neck.
Mu Xue’s raised hand hung in the air, suddenly hesitant.
She decided to let it go. He really was a good kid,
Who hadn’t done something ridiculous as a child?
After those two light smacks, the discipline was done. Cen Xiao Shan waited and waited, confusion finally making him dare to look up.
Their seats were right next to the artifact refining array in the room.
On top of the formation, a pot of oil hissed and bubbled, a long condensation pipe stretched above it. Just as Cen Xiao Shan looked up, he caught a glimpse, a droplet of water had seeped from a cracked pipe joint and was trailing down, about to drop into the boiling oil below.
Cold water into hot oil, wasn’t that about to explode?!
He didn’t have a chance to shout. Before he could even react, he found himself swooped up and whisked into the corner. Someone’s arms formed a solid shield between him and the wall.
A deafening bang erupted, hot oil spraying everywhere with a furious hiss and crackle.
Smoke, sparks, the chaos of disaster,
He’d experienced panic like this once before.
That time, enemies had invaded his clan. No one was strong enough to fight back. As an orphan, he’d been shoved out to fend for himself.
But this time, someone held him, body a barrier against harm.
Once the smoke cleared, Mu Xue hauled her shell-shocked disciple upright and looked him over. “You alright? I forgot to give you a defense artifact. Almost got you burned.”
The boy looked up at her with eyes bright and clear, searching her face for a long moment before quietly saying:
“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lied to you, Master. Please, punish me.”
“Let’s forget it.” Mu Xue thought he was still talking about the earlier mischief. She waved her hand. “Not a big deal. Just don’t let it happen again.”
Cen Xiao Shan bowed his head. “With a temperament like mine, ungrateful, arrogant, even deceiving my master, I’m not worthy of your kindness.”
Mu Xue knelt in front of him, ruffling his hair:
“Don’t say that, Xiao Shan. You’ve always respected me, I can feel it. You’ve helped me so much. Since you arrived, the days have honestly gotten so much brighter.”
The days spent with Xiao Shan really had been the most peaceful of her entire life.
She was lucky that butterfly had landed in Xiao Shan’s hands that day. It meant she got to meet this precious disciple.
Maybe she owed her thanks to that butterfly, too.
Just as Mu Xue was thinking so, a glimmering Xiumu Butterfly flitted across her vision.
Its gilded wings fluttered as everything around her seemed to blur.
Voices exploded all around Mu Xue’s ears.
“She caught it! She caught it! The butterfly stayed and started glowing!”
“Chosen! She’s been chosen! That girl is the chosen one!”
“Whoa, look, someone just snagged a fairy fate!”
“Congratulations, looks like there’s a new little immortal in the family!”
Mu Xue’s vision slowly cleared. The familiar house was gone. Xiao Shan, waiting patiently, was nowhere in sight.
Before her stretched a bustling plaza, dazzling with multicolored lanterns.
Her older brother gazed at her in pure delight, surrounded by a sea of beaming faces, as endless congratulations rang out.
Perched between her small, pale fingertips was a Xiumu Butterfly, its wings aglow with warm golden light.