Since Yunshu had only meant to help the scholar, and no real harm had come of it, Ling Wu was prepared to let her go.
But Yunshu refused to leave. She wanted to tag along to the Li residence and see the scholar for herself.
Whatever else, she owed that scholar a debt as heavy as a mountain.
Naturally Ling Wu went to ask Master's leave. She'd fully expected Qingchen to say that people of their standing couldn't go about trailed by a demon—improper, unseemly. Instead, he agreed without a flicker.
Afterward, Ling Wu took out the demon-catching pouch, informed the Shen couple that the demon was dealt with, and restored Young Master Shen's drained vitality with several doses of immortal medicine.
Seeing her son back on his feet, Madam Shen beamed and insisted the two of them stay a few extra days—at least until after Shen Ci's wedding.
Ling Wu had been fretting over which inn to take. With Yunshu added to the party, they'd need three rooms at the least—not a small expense. Now, with Madam Shen's offer, nothing left to worry about.
In public, Yunshu kept to her wooden-carving form, tucked obediently inside Ling Wu's bag.
That evening, Ling Wu and Qingchen attended a family banquet at the Shen residence.
One meal in, Ling Wu's chest felt stuffed tight.
A great household's cooking was as delicious as advertised—fish and meat to her heart's content, an absolute delight! But over at Master's side, maids filed in one after another, hovering about him—pouring his wine one moment, picking bones out of his fish the next, every face glowing, rippling with spring.
That was her job! Did these people even know how to serve him properly?
Master, for his part, looked mildly put out, but let it pass.
Ling Wu seethed. She was sitting there all alone too—so where were her fawning maids?
Even through the bag, Yunshu felt the resentment radiating off her. She gave Ling Wu's hand a little nudge, voice transmitted: "Some serious vinegar in the air! Did you have sweet-and-sour fish?!"
"No."
"Impossible. You did! Give me some too!" Yunshu was a greedy thing.
"I didn't eat any!"
"Then why do you reek of sour?"
Could it be her clothes? Ling Wu sniffed at herself. Nothing!
Clearly, Yunshu was talking nonsense—the cat simply wanted fish. A cat's nose beat a human's; she'd smelled the sweet-and-sour fish for sure.
While no one at the table was looking, Ling Wu speared a large piece of meat and slipped the whole thing into the bag.
Yunshu was overjoyed, and swore that any good thing she came by in the future, Ling Wu would be the first to know.
Between the laughs, most of the resentment melted away.
Mortal wine really was too strong. One cup in, and Ling Wu was already nodding off.
She propped her chin on her hand, cheeks flushed a drunken pink, eyes glazed. Yunshu inside the bag wasn't doing much better—whatever Ling Wu drank, she demanded her share of—and by now she was snoring away.
If the demon-catching pouch weren't so soundproof, those little snores would have given them away ages ago.
Qingchen tracked Ling Wu's every move. Seeing her about to tip over, he rose at once, worry brimming in his eyes.
The sudden movement startled the whole table—especially the Shens at the head of it.
He smiled an apology. "Forgive us. My wife doesn't hold her liquor. I'll take her to rest."
Every fawning maid in earshot froze.
Hadn't this girl been calling him Master when they arrived? How was she suddenly his wife?
A handful of maids visibly short-circuited, then lit up with delight. One an immortal in bearing, one a peach blossom in bloom—how well matched they looked!
Truly: a disciple is a heaven-sent wife!
The Shens just waved, all smiles. "Master Daoist, shall we have a servant show the way?"
"No need."
With that, he scooped Ling Wu up in his arms and left.
Shen Ci stared after the two of them, a little lost.
The wine had made Ling Wu bolder.
One moment she was toying with Qingchen's hair, twining it around her pinky; the next, she was burrowing her face into his chest.
"Master, you smell so nice~"
Her little antics set a faint heat smoldering in his chest.
"Ah-Wu. Don't fidget," he said softly.
She didn't listen. "Master, this disciple is so hot!"
She even reached for her collar to undo it. Qingchen stopped her hands with a sealed sign, and at the sight of the thin film of sweat on her forehead, he couldn't help soothing her: "Be good, Ah-Wu. Bear it a little longer."
When they arrived, he sent Yunshu into the next room with his arts, then cast a cooling spell over Ling Wu.
Watching her brows slowly smooth, he let out a breath of relief.
Ah-Wu's tolerance. Next time, she belonged at the children's table.
The Shens had arranged two rooms for them. Now one was occupied by a cat demon and the other by a sleeping Ling Wu—and he was the one with nowhere to go.
He tucked the blanket around her and made to sit in the outer room until dawn. But Ling Wu's hand caught his again.
"Don't go, Qingchen."
His pupils contracted. He looked down at her, rigid.
"Little... Nine?"
Do you remember?
He sat on the edge of the bed, gripping her hand tight, hope surfacing on his face.
But it was all unconscious. She smacked her lips and sank back into deep sleep.
That one call might as well have been his imagination.
A self-mocking curve tugged at the corner of his mouth, though the look he fixed on her was endless tenderness.
As long as you're alive, what does it matter if you forget those things forever?
Ling Wu slept poorly. One moment she dreamed those bloody scenes again; the next, she was meeting Yizhen. The Yizhen in the dream was far greener than the man now.
Odd. Why was she dreaming of him young?
She couldn't see her own face in the dream—only gathered from his words that she must still have been beautiful.
Then, all at once, a vast abyss yawned open behind her, and a hand reached out and dragged her in. Yizhen lunged to pull her back—useless. He could only watch as she was swallowed whole.
Ling Wu jolted awake with a shudder, eyes snapping open, breath heaving.
What a vicious dream. It scared her half to death.
Outside the door it was still pitch black; dawn had to be hours off.
She shifted, meaning to get up—and discovered she was held fast, someone's chest pressed warm against her back.
Her memory of the evening before was in fragments. She didn't remember how she'd gotten to the room, or how she'd climbed into the bed—and she certainly couldn't guess whose arms she was in.
Curious, she tilted her head and peeked back. Only a profile was visible, washed in soft moonlight.
A very fine profile. This close, she could feel his light, even breathing and catch the faint clean scent of him.
The last time she'd seen a sight like this was in the peach grove on Kunlun.
Though back then, the two of them hadn't been nearly this close.
The instant her eyes found the face behind her, she knew: Qingchen.
Ha. She was well and truly finished now!
Part of her wanted to embrace the doom. Alas, she simply lacked the guts.
It wasn't that she had no way out. There was always death!
After much agonizing, she made herself stay calm and began inching her way out of his arms.
The movement woke him.
The moment his eyes opened, everything else seemed to dim. Qingchen gazed at her sidelong, a smile on his face—not a trace of anger at being roused.
Gentle as it was, Ling Wu dared not meet it.
She scrambled off the bed and knelt, voice trembling. "This disciple has sinned! This disciple drank too much—she didn't mean to..."
Sharing a bed with her Master? Crossing the line with her Master?
Except she had done exactly that!
Ling Wu was sorrow itself.