The Frost Beneath Her Veil - Chapter 18

The frost thickened as twilight fell. Yin Jiuruo furrowed her brows, seemingly unable to believe what she had just heard, remaining silent for a long time.

It wasn’t until Fu Qing pushed her wheelchair and brought her to the medicinal pool behind Linyue Residence.

Mist curled from the pool’s surface. Before long, Fu Qing’s thin garments were soaked through by the heat, clinging to her graceful, translucent skin. She led Yin Jiuruo into the pool, and the bitter medicinal water submerged their bodies. The shock of the water finally made Yin Jiuruo snap back to her senses.

“Master, what did you just say…” Yin Jiuruo exhaled deeply, about to ask.

However, the Fu Qing before her remained composed. Her jade-like cheeks were tinged with a faint pink from the hot water, and her thin, wet clothes clung to her slender neck, chest, and thighs. Emerald-green spiritual herbs drifted like vines, seemingly alive as they entwined and sucked at the two of them.

Noticing Yin Jiuruo’s strange expression, Fu Qing raised her hand to brush over a scar on the girl’s collarbone. The gentle touch of her damp fingers felt more like a kiss.

“Xiao Jiu, what is it? These herbs contain my spiritual power and will transfer it to you; the process is bound to be somewhat uncomfortable.”

Suddenly touched on the collarbone, Yin Jiuruo trembled. Looking at the woman who remained holy even when soaked through, she asked:

“Master, are we going to get married? Is it true?”

Fu Qing gently smoothed Yin Jiuruo’s long hair and replied calmly, “It’s true.”

“But…” Yin Jiuruo’s blood boiled with disbelief. “Why? You only said you would take me as a disciple back then.”

She had never dared to harbor such delusions.

The clear pool water began to boil as spiritual energy was transferred, and the mist thickened.

“We knew each other once, so this is destined.” Fu Qing showed no emotional change, as if she were merely answering a question about cultivation.

Destined? Yin Jiuruo’s thick, dark lashes were beaded with moisture, making her black eyes appear even more dazed and lost. She didn’t understand what Fu Qing was thinking. Why would the high-and-mighty, compassionate, and holy Daoist Sovereign Changfan want to marry someone like her?

Did she really know Fu Qing? Or was this just a phantom dream of a displaced person with amnesia—chasing a bubble, only to die with it?

In the spiritual sea, they were intimate and their souls merged. In reality, they addressed each other as master and disciple, distant yet close. Which side was the real Fu Qing?

Her heart fell to the abyss one moment and soared with the wind the next. Were love and affection truly meant for her?

“Then… do you like me?”

As soon as these words left her mouth, even the sound of the flowing water in the pool seemed to fall silent. A vibrant red plum petal happened to drift in through the window, bobbing on the surface of the water.

“I mean, two people should only marry if they like each other. Otherwise, why marry?” she added cautiously, her gaze flickering away, not looking at Fu Qing.

Fu Qing glanced at the pair of emerald Double Fish jade pendants by the poolside and slowly leaned into Yin Jiuruo’s embrace. Her soft, thick hair emitted an unfathomable sweet fragrance.

“Naturally, I like you.”

For the first time, Yin Jiuruo boldly embraced Fu Qing. She had grown half a head taller than Fu Qing and had to bend down to look into her eyes. Those clear, warm, slender phoenix eyes seemed to hide a myriad of emotions, yet also appeared as empty as nothingness. Even heartlessness can be moving.

“But… but,” Yin Jiuruo felt like she was dreaming.

The woman placed a single finger on her lips. The cool, sweet sensation brought an unbearable, humid throb of excitement.

“Or does Xiao Jiu have someone else in her heart and is unwilling to marry me?” Fu Qing’s eyes were moist, carrying a natural air of elegance and allure. “Is it Suige you cannot forget, or someone else?”

“No, no.” Yin Jiuruo never expected such words something akin to jealousy from Fu Qing. She hurriedly denied it, but then suddenly thought of the past ten-plus years. The world had changed; she wondered if her old friends were still well.

As if seeing through Yin Jiuruo’s thoughts, Fu Qing pulled her into her arms and comforted her softly:

“Your penguins and peacocks are all doing well. Money has been sent there every year. If you truly miss them, you can bring them here to Hexue Peak.”

“Can I?” Yin Jiuruo’s eyes lit up. The sudden excitement was too much for her body to handle, and she began to cough again.

“You can,” Fu Qing nodded, patting her back to ease her breath. “In a few days, I will take you to see them.”

“But,” Yin Jiuruo finally asked weakly, her pale cheeks flushed with a beautiful crimson. “But the Sect Leader won’t agree. He didn’t even want me to be your disciple.”

Hearing this, Fu Qing smiled faintly, her long lashes lowering. “Do not worry about them. It is enough that you and I are willing.”

“But, I once had my fortune told. The fortune teller said I was destined to be alone…”

“With me here, you won’t be,” Fu Qing silenced Yin Jiuruo’s chattering lips.

The hour-long medicinal bath left Yin Jiuruo drowsy, almost uncontrollably so. Having been imprisoned under the Gamo Heart Tower for ten years, her cultivation was severely damaged. Not only was she weak and limited in movement, but she was also incredibly lethargic.

The spiritual herbs blooming by the hot spring pool extended their vines to help Yin Jiuruo into her wheelchair, and the two returned to Linyue Residence. Outside the house stood the parasol tree Yin Jiuruo had planted ten years ago; its flowers now carpeted the ground, occasionally drifting down.

Lying on the silk bed, Yin Jiuruo repeatedly muttered that they should wait until she was healed before marrying. Fu Qing laughed softly but did not argue.

“Master, after I heal, can I recover my original cultivation?”

“Naturally.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

Even though her original cultivation was incredibly weak, as Fu Qing’s disciple, Yin Jiuruo didn’t want to tarnish the reputation of Daoist Sovereign Changfan.

The woman’s cold, aloof face was warm and peaceful, but her eyes flickered with a faint, cold light. “Xiao Jiu, sleep. I will be here with you.” She brought over steaming spiritual beast milk, added sugar, and fed it to Yin Jiuruo.

Everything seemed exactly as it was before.

The fall into darkness was swift. Yin Jiuruo thought this time would be like any other—sleeping in the lightless dark for a long time before waking.

However, she dreamed.

In her dream was a pitch-black, gloomy prison, silent and still. She could see the bars of a cell—it turned out she was the prisoner. It was the scene from that painting. She was covered in blood and wounds, chains piercing her collarbones, locking her to the damp ground.

The sound of metal scraping rang out. Yin Jiuruo saw the magnificent, noble hem of a skirt. Hanging from a slender waist was the Double Fish jade pendant. The woman leaned down, her cold face the same as ever. Her long fingers held a thin, sharp dagger, tilting Yin Jiuruo’s chin up. Her voice was cold.

“Smile. You only look like her when you smile.”

As the silver dagger moved down, pressing coldly against Yin Jiuruo’s heart, she snapped her eyes open. She saw Fu Qing sitting not far away, holding an ancient text. Her cold features were solemn and serious, and her palm stroked the jade pendant.

Seeing her drenched in cold sweat and pale-faced, Fu Qing rose and walked over, taking her hand with concern.

“What is it?”

Coldness and ambiguity climbed up her body. Yin Jiuruo suddenly recalled old events. The Demon Lord who had caused chaos in Peach Blossom Town looked exactly like Fu Qing. That Demon Lord seemed to have said something important.

What was it? Yin Jiuruo felt a sudden jolt of terror. Her voice was hoarse as she asked:

“Master, will you kill me?”

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