The Frost Beneath Her Veil - Chapter 9

The air at the Ganlu Terrace was clear and crisp. Red plum blossoms bloomed in abundance, and the horizon was brushed with the faint, dancing glow of sunset clouds.

Fu Qing stood amidst the mist and clouds, looking back at Yin Jiuruo with a calm gaze that seemed to hold a flicker of genuine emotion.

“So, this is what it means to be good to someone?” She smiled faintly. Even with the slight upward curve of her eyes, she still exuded an aura of cold, emotionless discipline.

Yin Jiuruo was momentarily speechless. She had imagined many reasons for Fu Qing’s kindness perhaps a twist of fate or a predestined bond but she never expected such a detached, experimental answer.

“I suppose so,” she replied, her heart sinking with disappointment.

“It is quite a novel experience. I must enter meditative seclusion to reflect upon it,” Fu Qing said, her voice turning as cold as frost, her eyes returning to their usual indifference.

“Yes,” Yin Jiuruo responded weakly. What else could she say?

“Xiao Jiu, keep your mind clear and cast aside all stray thoughts.” Fu Qing guided Yin Jiuruo’s hand, as if helping her touch the dense, majestic spiritual energy surrounding the terrace. “Breathing and exhaling is the art of aligning yourself with the Way of the Universe. By following it, you transform energy for your own use. Between each breath, the brilliance of the sun and moon flows into your body.”

Though her words were indifferent, they contained the profound secrets of creation. Yin Jiuruo listened with only a hazy understanding of the philosophy, yet her spiritual apertures remained wide open, allowing her cultivation to progress at a staggering speed.

“Your aptitude is excellent; you are improving quickly.”

However, Yin Jiuruo’s mind wandered at an inopportune moment. Fu Qing had never replied to Shen Cangli’s message did that mean she was unsatisfied with the betrothal?

“I shall now teach you the methods of travel,” Fu Qing continued. “Movement is divided into tool-riding, cloud-riding, wind-riding, and light-seeking. Which would you like to learn first?”

“I…” Yin Jiuruo snapped back to reality, trying her best to suppress the sudden, foolish hope in her heart. “Let me think.”

Fu Qing let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “You are my disciple; naturally, you shall learn them all.”

Before Yin Jiuruo could think further, the mnemonics for travel were imprinted directly into her sea of consciousness. Perhaps due to their previous spiritual connection, her mind offered no resistance to Fu Qing, wholeheartedly accepting everything the woman gave her whether it was a touch, a kiss, or spiritual energy and techniques bearing the woman’s unique mark.

Under Fu Qing’s “force-feeding” style of education, Yin Jiuruo learned to travel by zither in a mere two days. Just as she was reeling with excitement, she received news from the Crane Boy again—

Fu Qing had entered seclusion once more and would not see her. All further instructions would be relayed through the Crane Boy.

“Did Master say how long she would be in seclusion?”

Although she hadn’t officially completed the apprenticeship ceremony, Yin Jiuruo had begun to secretly call her “Master” whenever Fu Qing wasn’t around.

The Crane Boy’s voice remained raspy. “She did not.”

“Oh,” she replied, hugging her knees, her soft voice tinged with loneliness.

Winter passed and summer came; time held little meaning in the mountains. Yin Jiuruo spent her days in a cycle of constant cultivation until she could play the ancient zither with mastery.

But that person never returned to teach her the first song.

Following Fu Qing’s requirements, she sat before the Ganlu Terrace every day to refine her soul through music, drinking the dew and swallowing the wind. As she watched the morning mist and snow fade with the rising sun, she felt as though she had returned to her life in the Peach Blossom Town.

Gazing at the sky day after day, she remembered the weakness and desolation of the famine, when she could only sit still while others took her blood and flesh.

Finishing her cultivation early, she decided to find Feng Qi for a stroll to clear her head. Just as she changed her clothes to head out, she ran into the mechanical Black Bear carrying a large sack.

Two sets of robes were laid out before her: a green-and-white outfit paired with a profound-black cloak, and a magnificent jade-white gown embroidered with silver thread, its hem trailing elegantly on the floor.

The Black Bear rumbled, “New clothes sewn for you by Her Eminence. There are also seven sets of inner garments, shoes, and socks.”

This was the third time Fu Qing had sent new clothes and items—once every year. The clothes in her wardrobe were now more than she could ever wear.

It all left Yin Jiuruo in a state of confusion. Hot then cold, near then far, unpredictable and elusive—she realized her heart was no longer still.

After meeting Feng Qi, the latter noticed Yin Jiuruo’s low spirits and suggested they head down the mountain for some fun. Chong You nodded with interest.

“There is a town a thousand miles away called Danmu Market. It’s very lively.”

“The Danmu Market that produces Tiao Grass tea?” Yin Jiuruo remembered that Fu Qing loved that tea.

“Yes, yes!” Feng Qi had tasted the Tiao Grass tea Yin Jiuruo brewed once; its color was emerald green, and its lingering taste was sweet and floral. It was delicious.

The three applied for a descent order from the sect and traveled by their respective artifacts, soon landing on the outskirts of Danmu Market.

As Yin Jiuruo shouldered her zither, Bixie, Feng Qi took one last look at the instrument—with its red-gold body and snow-white strings—and said enviously:

“I really envy you music cultivators. When you fight, you just sit there and play a tune. It looks incredibly cool.”

Just as the words left her mouth, several Canglan Sect disciples approached them. The three exchanged greetings, but Chong You’s expression turned solemn. “Has the number of demonic cultivators in this area increased lately?”

“Senior Sister, demonic cultivators have been gathering in many places recently. It seems the temptation from the Outlands is growing stronger; many righteous cultivators have turned to the demonic path.”

Chong You nodded and warned them to be careful before the groups parted.

“The demonic cultivators are increasing? What is this ‘temptation from the Outlands’?” Yin Jiuruo had been focused on her cultivation at Hexue Peak for the past few years, only meeting Feng Qi once a month, so she wasn’t very aware of worldly affairs.

“That ‘temptation’ is just our guess. In the past, very few people fell into the demonic path because it was dangerous—one mistake and you’d be obliterated by the Heavenly Dao. But in these last few centuries, more and more people have succeeded, and sect elders have even heard demonic mantras being chanted across the horizon.”

Hearing this, Feng Qi said in surprise, “No wonder Her Eminence has been traveling abroad to suppress demons. The demonic riots really shouldn’t be underestimated.”

“My Master is traveling abroad?” Yin Jiuruo, who had been preoccupied with picking out Tiao Grass tea, froze.

“You didn’t know? Her Eminence has been traveling with Young Master Shen since she came out of seclusion,” Feng Qi asked bluntly.

Yin Jiuruo thought of how she had tried to contact Fu Qing through the jade pendant a few days ago, only to receive no response. She had assumed Fu Qing was at a critical stage of her seclusion. So… she was actually traveling with her… fiancée?

“Cultivation knows no years,” Chong You said, sensing the stagnant atmosphere. She stepped forward and patted Yin Jiuruo’s shoulder. “Sometimes masters and disciples don’t see each other for centuries; it’s common. You are Her Eminence’s only disciple; she is surely thinking of you.”

Looking into Chong You’s bright, kind eyes, Yin Jiuruo forced a smile. The three continued wandering through Danmu Market, though her mood was no longer light.

Midway through their stroll, they received a sect transmission: Fu Qing had returned to the sect.

Feng Qi’s eyes lit up. She pulled Yin Jiuruo aside and whispered, “Now your lovesickness can finally be cured.”

Flustered and embarrassed, Yin Jiuruo grabbed her tea and hurriedly flew back toward the Canglan Sect on her zither. They landed at the mountain gate.

The disciple on duty today was the Sect Master’s second disciple. Seeing Yin Jiuruo’s steady flight, he praised her enviously:

“Wow, Junior Sister Jiuruo is already this skilled? You’ve only been here three years and you can already fly? Your Second Senior Brother took over twenty years to learn the sword.”

Chong You’s long hair fluttered in the wind. She was happy to hear the praise. “Second Junior Brother, you have to remember—Jiuruo is the disciple personally chosen by Her Eminence. Of course she has extraordinary talents.”

Mentioning Fu Qing, the Second Senior Brother turned serious. “Her Eminence is already at the Sect Hall, and she brought several people with her. You should go see.”

“Did something happen?” Feng Qi asked curiously.

He shook his head. “You’ll know once you get there.”

The Great Hall of the Canglan Sect was surrounded by five waterfalls of different colors—golden yellow, scarlet green, indigo purple, azure blue, and shimmering silver—symbolizing the five elemental powers protecting the Desolate Sky Palace.

The majestic palace was nestled within, a source of endless spiritual energy overlooking the mountains and rivers of the Nine Provinces.

When the three arrived outside the palace, the Sect Master, the elders, and most of the inner disciples were already gathered. Yin Jiuruo carried a small vermilion wooden jar containing the Tiao Grass tea.

Suddenly, a young man holding a dragon-headed spear pointed it at Yin Jiuruo and shouted:

“Are you the only disciple of Venerable Master Chang Fan?”

“I am,” Yin Jiuruo replied, her brow furrowed. She didn’t want any trouble; she only wanted to see Fu Qing as soon as possible.

“Fight me.”

Seeing the man’s Daoist robes, Chong You stepped in front of Yin Jiuruo. “May I ask your name and sect?”

“Shen Ke, of the Ruyi Sect.”

“They share the same surname; he’s probably related to Shen Cangli,” Feng Qi whispered beside Yin Jiuruo.

“What, are you afraid? The only disciple of Venerable Master Chang Fan is a spineless coward, terrified to fight,” Shen Ke laughed arrogantly, twirling his spear with a fierce whistle.

“Damn, Shen Cangli hasn’t even married our Eminence yet, and the Ruyi Sect people are already this arrogant. If they actually get married, things will be unbearable.”

Chong You glanced at Feng Qi. Although she didn’t speak, she felt a sense of helplessness. There were indeed many disciples from immortal sects who acted recklessly just because of their connections.

“Immortal disciples are not permitted to duel without permission. My apologies,” Yin Jiuruo said, ignoring the provocation. Yet, because of Feng Qi’s careless words, a flicker of anxiety was hidden in her phoenix eyes.

With that, the three began walking toward the hall.

The young man immediately took a stance with his dragon-headed spear and thrust out a devastating first move, aiming straight for Yin Jiuruo’s vital points.

Yin Jiuruo hastily pushed her two friends aside. Bixie flew into the air, emitting a sharp musical note.

“The Ruyi Sect’s spear techniques have always been fierce, carrying massive force. Junior Sister Jiuruo might not be able to withstand it.”

Chong You hated the man’s irrationality but worried about injuring someone from the Ruyi Sect, which would make it difficult for Fu Qing. She could only gather her strength in secret, ready to save Yin Jiuruo if things went south.

Purple lightning swirled around the dragon-headed spear, now inches from Yin Jiuruo’s face, the crackling current nearly singeing her hair.

The strings of Bixie fluttered like banners. Yin Jiuruo struck with the final movement of a zither piece—the notes were crystal clear, yet they were a pure killing move.

She did not defend; she met death with death.

A resounding clang was followed by sudden silence. In the blink of an eye, the dragon-headed spear had snapped. The young man’s eyes blazed as they fell upon Yin Jiuruo’s artifact. She turned to leave, saying, “Fellow cultivator, thank you for the match.”

At that moment, the snapped dragon-head suddenly lunged forward, charging straight at Yin Jiuruo.

“Junior Sister, watch out!” Chong You screamed.

The dark-gold dragon head flew; Yin Jiuruo only had time to turn her body. The sharp metal pierced through her bone and out the other side. Blood surged from the wound, and her green robes were instantly drenched in the scent of iron.

Inside the hall, everyone heard the commotion. They stepped out to see Yin Jiuruo wiping blood from her lips, her face deathly pale.

Shen Ke chuckled. “I was merely sparring with her.”

Fu Qing walked at the very front. Her snow-white robes were adorned with clouds, her expression cold and her presence breathtaking. She was the picture of unreachable perfection.

Shen Cangli walked beside her, her face full of joy as if a great blessing were imminent.

The Sect Master of the Canglan Sect was furious. “Today is the auspicious day on which Her Eminence and Young Master Shen announce their wedding date! As disciples, you have failed to act with caution. Go to the Discipline Hall and receive your punishment!”

Feng Qi shouted indignantly, “Shen Ke attacked first!”

Shen Cangli curled her lips into a smirk. “Sparring between peers requires adaptability. As Chang Fan’s disciple, Yin Jiuruo is practically half a disciple of mine. Considering she hasn’t been cultivating long, let’s waive the punishment, shall we?”

The Sect Master saw that Fu Qing’s face was as cold as frost and sensed she had no objection. He smiled and told Yin Jiuruo and her friends to leave quickly, so as not to delay the important matters of Fu Qing and Shen Cangli.

Yin Jiuruo simply looked at the indifferent Fu Qing, saying nothing.

Once the crowd dispersed, the Sect Master said in front of Shen Cangli and Fu Qing:

“This creature has already begun to feel lost. Your Eminence truly knows her well.”

In the Cliffside Residence, Yin Jiuruo lay on the soft silk bed, her body fluctuating between burning heat and freezing cold.

The external injury seemed to have spread to her sea of consciousness. Yin Jiuruo turned her gaze inward and found that the damage, laced with purple lightning, was almost setting her spiritual sea on fire.

She tossed and turned in a daze. As her vision blurred, she touched a garment as thin as a cicada’s wing.

Her breathing was erratic, and blood burned beneath her skin, but she tasted a heart full of warm fragrance within her spiritual sea.

Opening her eyes, she saw Fu Qing’s silhouette. The woman’s eyes were as clear as glass, and the exquisite, sweet fragrance on her body was almost suffocating.

Fu Qing pressed her lips against Yin Jiuruo’s bloodied shoulder, sending a numbing, electric sensation through her.

“Mas…ter.”

“I am healing you. Do not speak.” The woman’s lips were stained with warm blood, her voice like pearls dropping onto the floor.

She frowned slightly, seemingly tormented by the collision between her innate desires and the strict rules of her path.

The demonic flames in the spiritual sea reflected in Fu Qing’s eyes, making it impossible to tell reality from a dream.

Regardless of this soul-communion-like healing method, Yin Jiuruo tried her best to ignore the intertwining of pain and pleasure.

“Are you truly going to marry Young Master Shen?” Her eyes, darker and deeper than a normal person’s, were clear and clean, yet filled with an inexplicable stubbornness.

“Xiao Jiu, do you not wish for me to marry her?”

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