The Frost Beneath Her Veil - Chapter 19

Behind the double-sided tapestry screen, the charcoal fire in the warming basin kept the entire room toasty and warm.

After Yin Jiuruo’s cultivation regressed due to her injuries in the Heart Tower, Fu Qing had installed underfloor heating in her room, and the crane boys consistently delivered basins of spiritual charcoal. Because the temperature was so high, Fu Qing wore only a tea-white inner robe, its collar loose, revealing a faint flush on her jade-like skin.

Hearing Yin Jiuruo’s nonsensical question, she shook her head as if unintentionally and leaned down, using her bare hand to wipe the thin layer of sweat from Yin Jiuruo’s brow.

“If I wanted to kill you, your form and spirit would have been extinguished ten thousand times over already.”

These were chilling words of slaughter, yet when the woman whispered them into Yin Jiuruo’s ear, they sounded like the intimate murmurs of lovers in the heat of passion. The clear, sweet fragrance was exactly the same as in her dream. Despite the terror in her heart, Yin Jiuruo refused to pull away even an inch.

She was like a moth to a flame—fearing the fire, yet drawn to it, a destiny turning on a grand and tragic axis.

“I was being foolish,” Yin Jiuruo lay on the couch, nodding listlessly. Beside her pillow, the plump white Xiao Huo was fast asleep, looking far more nourished than she was.

“Xiao Huo missed you every day, often running to the Heart Tower to wait for you,” Fu Qing said, lowering her eyes as she tucked Yin Jiuruo in, her dark hair flowing like clouds.

Did this insect wait for me for ten years? Yin Jiuruo turned her head. Xiao Huo used to cry constantly, as if trying to weep away ten years of tears all at once. In this vast world and the sprawling Nine Provinces, perhaps only this insect had waited for her without doing anything else.

But she was merely an ordinary person; why should she hope for someone to wait for her for so long? She still possessed that much self-awareness. Looking at the woman beside her—celestial in appearance and profound in cultivation—she felt she likely didn’t even have the right to admire her anymore.

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Jiuruo, are you awake? It’s Chong You.”

“Senior Sister,” Yin Jiuruo sat halfway up, her slender eyes quickly hiding any trace of moisture. “I’m awake.”

“Good, I’m coming in.” Chong You entered holding a stack of chess manuals. “Jiuruo, I gave that little sprite many chess manuals for you, and these are what he sent back in return…”

She stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, the Venerable One is here as well. Please forgive my intrusion.”

“No matter. This Sovereign was just about to leave,” Fu Qing said with a casual glance at Yin Jiuruo. Her white robes fluttered as she left, leaving behind a lingering fragrance.

Once Fu Qing had stepped out of Linyue Residence, Chong You muttered, “I thought the Venerable One was at the Abandoned Firmament Hall preparing to depart. I didn’t expect her to still be here taking care of you.”

Carefully looking over the manuals from the sprite, the knot in Yin Jiuruo’s heart had just begun to loosen when her brow furrowed again. “Preparing to depart? Where to?”

“A powerful group of monsters is causing trouble in the South Sea. The Venerable One is taking several inner disciples to eliminate them.” Chong You noticed Yin Jiuruo’s face wasn’t quite as pale as before and felt relieved. “Did the Venerable One not tell you?”

Yin Jiuruo gripped the corner of the quilt, then slowly relaxed her hold. “I just woke up; she probably forgot to mention it.”

Chong You nodded in agreement, then asked hesitantly, “Jiuruo, the Venerable One said a few days ago that she was going to marry you. Is it true?”

The question was so blunt that Yin Jiuruo had no room to maneuver. She buried her clean, pale face into the quilt and gave a soft “Mhm.”

“Is the wedding date set?”

“Soon, once my injuries are healed.”

Chong You didn’t know if she should ask about the feelings between Yin Jiuruo and Fu Qing. But she thought that Jiuruo’s life had always been rough; perhaps marrying Fu Qing would provide her with the Sovereign’s protection. At the very least, cultivators were famously indifferent toward emotions, let alone Daoist Sovereign Changfan, who practiced the Way of Emotionless.

“Jiuruo, for a cultivator, obsession is the greatest taboo. Though you are injured, if your heart is free of attachment, you will be fine.”

Hearing this, Yin Jiuruo suddenly remembered that when Fu Qing first introduced her to the sect, she had said: To glimpse the Heavenly Dao, the heart must be free of attachment.

But what did it mean to be free of attachment?

“Senior Sister, is forcing the heart to be free of attachment not a form of attachment itself?” Yin Jiuruo said calmly. “If it is, have all cultivators not already gone mad and fallen into obsession?”

Chong You was astonished and unable to answer, but she couldn’t help thinking that perhaps Yin Jiuruo was right. Becoming an immortal or a god might just be another form of madness.

Yin Jiuruo remained calm about Fu Qing’s long journey, at least on the surface. She was long accustomed to waiting. Fu Qing required her to drink a bowl of spiritual milk porridge every night, saying it was good for her injuries. So, she drank a bowl every night, through hundreds of bowls.

The seasons changed on Hexue Peak. Even in spring and summer, thin snow continued to dance through the air. She knew Fu Qing would eventually return; in the long span of years, waiting for decades or even a century was not unheard of.

Unexpectedly, on New Year’s Eve, the woman returned to Hexue Peak, her robes pristine, holding the Chishuang Sword and riding the light.

Yin Jiuruo was meditating on the Dew Platform. The news of Fu Qing’s return was brought by a crane boy, who flew over in a hurry, flapping his wings. When she rushed to Linyue Residence, red candles were lit in the study, and red paper for couplets was spread across the desk. Fu Qing’s slender, jade-like hands were using scissors to cut the paper.

“Xiao Jiu, come grind the ink.”

“Master, what are you doing?”

It was the festive atmosphere of the Lunar New Year.

“Writing Spring Festival couplets.” The woman’s soft, white palm held a piece of high-quality Huizhou ink. The ink’s pure luster highlighted the slenderness of her fingers and the translucence of her skin.

As she ground the ink, Yin Jiuruo’s mind was still in a haze. Outside the window, the moonlight was like mist, and she could almost hear the sound of flutes and firecrackers.

“Master, you returned so quickly.”

“Mhm. I was worried about you.”

The woman’s posture was elegant, her eyes shimmering with a faint allure that left Yin Jiuruo dazed for several moments.

“I… I’m fine,” she could hear the sound of her own heartbeat.

“Have you been drinking the milk porridge every night?”

“Yes.”

After writing the couplets, Fu Qing ordered Yin Jiuruo to post them, while she went to the kitchen to prepare a table of dishes.

The New Year’s Eve feast was set in Linyue Residence. The mechanical black bear brought in a rosewood table and four chairs. Fu Qing naturally took the seat of honor at the east, and Yin Jiuruo sat beside her.

The table was laden with dishes. Fu Qing had the crane and the bear join them—the penguin was still busy with the accounts and didn’t come.

“Try some.” Fu Qing picked up a thin slice of glass-jelly fish, dipped it in sauce, and fed it to Yin Jiuruo.

Yin Jiuruo frowned and didn’t eat immediately. “Master, you eat first.”

“The crane boy sent me a message saying you were a picky eater; I didn’t believe it until now,” Fu Qing said with a helpless, doting smile.

Beside them, the crane hid its head under its wing, pretending it wasn’t there.

“I… I am not,” Yin Jiuruo glared at the crane anyway. Who knew a machine would tattle on her?

“Try it. If you don’t like it, we’ll change it next time.” Seeing that Yin Jiuruo still didn’t move, the woman had no choice but to pick up a slice and put it in her own mouth.

The glass-jelly was actually made from silver crucian carp; it was as translucent as jade. When the woman’s soft lips closed over a piece, it made her lips appear even more vivid and moist.

But Yin Jiuruo wasn’t fond of fish, so she turned to peeling tiger prawns for Fu Qing. The prawns were as large as a palm, with many segments and hard shells. Being clumsy, Yin Jiuruo had barely peeled a few when beads of blood appeared on her fair knuckles.

Just as she tried to hide it, Fu Qing caught her hand. Her warm tongue licked away the blood, and the woman scolded gently:

“Still so clumsy.”

In the end, it turned into Fu Qing peeling prawns for her, while she was responsible for eating and pouring tea. Perhaps Fu Qing was simply cold by nature, but truly cared for her in her heart.

Inside the room, everything was warm and soft. The skin of the woman’s hands as she peeled the prawns was white, her hands long and slender like jade soaked in water. This scene was so warm that Yin Jiuruo suddenly found herself harboring a deep longing—as if she wanted a long thread to tie everything together. If the thread never broke, there would be eternal joy and never any despair.

At that moment, the mechanical penguin also knocked and entered, leaving a pile of items by the door.

“The villagers at the foot of the mountain sent New Year gifts to thank Daoist Sovereign Changfan for her protection.”

Looking at the baskets of fruit, cured meat, and farm eggs, Yin Jiuruo’s heart stirred. She asked:

“Master, can we always be together… for the New Year?”

Her little disciple was now more than half a head taller than her. Fu Qing closed her cold, desireless eyes and pressed her moist red lips against the girl’s.

Yin Jiuruo’s eyes widened in surprise, but she saw the woman’s thick dark hair, her moist phoenix eyes, her long lashes cast down, and her full, warm lips.

“Naturally. I will always be by your side,” Fu Qing whispered softly, her words lingering and tender.

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