The bed frame creaked under the weight, the mattress was already very old, the cotton stained with yellowed grime. She glanced at the spiderwebs in the corner, the moldy beams, the dark, lame-legged table, and the chipped porcelain bowl.
As she looked, she couldn’t help but burst into tears.
But her little brother pulled her little sister over anyway, both of them grubby as usual, with dried snot dangling under their noses, their tattered straw sandals revealing half-covered black toenails.
She cried even harder.
She hated her impoverished family, hating her home and her relatives for the first time in her life with such intensity.
She hated why she wasn’t some young lady from the city, why she didn’t have respectable parents and relatives, a fine house, pretty clothes, and jewelry.
Her little brother and sister stared at her in surprise, whispering among themselves.
She felt utterly wronged.
They didn’t understand the grievance in her heart at all, and this unspeakable pain added another layer of grievance that nearly suffocated her.
Since they didn’t understand, they held hands and went to play stones by the gate.
Suddenly, her little brother shouted, “Aren’t those the immortal masters?”
She had been lying on the bed, burying her head and face in the moldy-smelling pillow, her tears soaking into her hair and drying there.
Her heart had turned to dead ashes.
But her little brother’s words reignited a spark.
Her heart beat again, that ugly ambition rearing its head once more, ignorant of the heights of heaven and earth.
Suddenly, she was unwilling again.
It was too late. They were about to pass right by her house.
If she missed this chance, she would never muster the courage for another.
She jumped off the bed, rushed to the backyard, scooped up a ladle of water. Glancing at the tiny mold spots on the blackened, worn handle, her mood darkened a bit more.
She had washed that ladle meticulously so many times, but it still wasn’t presentable, dirty and unfit for show—just like her.
But she had no time to think. She hurriedly clutched the water ladle and rushed out.
Those immortals hadn’t expected this Cheng Yaojin to pop up halfway; they all froze for a moment.
Liu Qiao’e’s hands trembled as she held the water. She actually regretted it, but they had already seen her. Her face flushed red, and she was so shy she wished she could faint dead away.
The leading young man, fearing she might actually faint, took the initiative and asked what she was doing.
She held her breath, glancing at Ning Xia, then at the water.
The young man suddenly laughed. “Ning Xia, she’s brought you water?”
The immortals behind him all chuckled good-naturedly.
The young boy was startled, two red blushes blooming on his fair face. His jet-black eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings, making him look extremely embarrassed.
Liu Qiao’e stood there, biting her teeth hard.
The water splashed out shakily, spilling onto the half-exposed toes in her straw sandals. Her head spun, and she wanted to cry again. She tried desperately to tuck her toes back, but no matter how hard she tried, those filthy half-toes remained. She wished she could grab the axe from the corner and chop them off.
Her head spun, her lips pressed tight in vicious determination, her face turning cold and cruel with hatred.
In her heart, she prayed desperately.
Earth God, Dragon King, Goddess above—please, please, he must not notice her feet.
No one knew that at this moment, inside her small body, a war had erupted—a earth-shattering battle.
Clashing weapons and iron horses, war banners everywhere, rivers of blood.
It was no less grand than any massive campaign in human history that mobilized hundreds of thousands—because the fear, excitement, and thrill it brought to the heart were nearly identical.
At this very moment, it unfolded inside a little girl in such an ordinary mountain village.
Cicadas buzzed noisily, but where she clenched her teeth, all was silent as war drums thundered.
The young boy hesitated, embarrassed, but even so, he took it with both hands, thanked her, puffed out his cheeks, and drank it down seriously—gulp gulp, not a drop left.
Her heart jolted fiercely, like a lightning bolt striking her body, her limbs going soft. In the instant he lifted the ladle, it felt as if he had lifted her.
He held her in his palm, his lips touching the rim as if kissing her.
Her heart filled with sweet spring water, her body suddenly light as a dandelion by the field or a dragonfly dancing by the pond.
She floated up.
She saw sweat beading at the nape of his neck, like sweet white glaze.
Her eyelashes trembled, her heart pounding wildly, nearly leaping from her throat. She was so happy and excited that her vision whitened and her stomach twisted.
She was so excited she wanted to vomit, as if she might faint the next second.
And then… there was no more after that.
The demon was slain, and they left.
…
The day they left, everyone in the village came to see them off. Even the balsam flowers at the village entrance wilted under the sun.
She could only watch as the young boy turned to say something to his senior brother.
Only a few short steps separated them. Through the crowd, she wanted so badly to muster the courage to call out to him again.
But courage came only once, and that one time had exhausted all the courage of her lifetime.
Inside her small body, another storm raged—thunder and lightning, the grief and unwillingness of a mountain flood.
With his departure, her world seemed to collapse in an instant.
Her life seemed to end right there.
She could already foresee her mediocre, dim future stretching out endlessly.
His leaving took all the light, all the hope, all the happiness she might have had for the rest of her life.
Yet she couldn’t even open her mouth to call him back.
Deep down, she knew calling him wouldn’t change anything. A few more words wouldn’t alter their fates. After offering the water that day, she regretted it again and sobbed on her bed.
She shouldn’t have offered the water; it only gave birth to hopes she shouldn’t have, nearly tearing her heart apart.
It was as if he had thrown her into an oil wok to fry day after day.
It was just a dream. She closed her eyes and told herself over and over: dreams were good, having such a dream was good enough, she couldn’t indulge in it anymore.
A fledgling young immortal master descending the mountain with his sect to slay demons, encountering a village girl whose heart was just awakening to love midway.
If nothing unexpected happened.
He would return to his mountain, cultivate his Dao, and perhaps later pair with some fairy as Dao companions.
As for the farm girl, she would naturally end up like the big sisters around her—marry a farmer, bear several children.
Under the scorching sun, endless toil in the fields would grind away her youthful beauty.
If she was lucky enough.
Decades later, that young immortal master might pass through the village again, grown up but still with an elegant, dust-free jade-like poise.
This time, the one pointing the way was a white-haired old woman.
The immortal master, unaware of the years on her, addressed her warmly and properly: “Auntie.”
After the immortal master left, the old woman retold the tale of meeting the divine immortal over and over to her juniors.
After all, in this closed little mountain village, and in her own dull, hardship-filled life, it was rare gossip.
No one cared that many years ago, that village girl had once harbored grand ambitions in her heart, once dared to covet the moon in the sky.
And because of that encounter with the immortal master, she had a brief, heart-pounding extraordinary moment.
But the world’s twists of fate were so wondrous; Heaven loved to tease people.
The farm girl became the Immaculate Old Mother, renowned throughout the Eastern Florescence Realm.
And the immortal master…
The immortal master had fallen deeply in love with her.
The sun still hung high, its blazing light making Mu Daoying dizzy.
He remained immersed in this utterly ordinary story, too shocked to speak.
So Liu Qiao’e had known him from early on, and they were the same age.
She had liked him from the start.
Lady E…
His heart twisted in agony.
He tried desperately to dig this memory from the past, but found nothing.
In truth, the young girl’s heart-pounding emotions became nothing more than the old man’s plain, unremarkable few words.
“I remember that Liu family girl really liked you. Every time you all went into the mountains passing her house, she always crouched under the window watching.
“One time I passed by with my hoe and asked her, ‘Lady E, what are you doing?’ Her face turned beet red, she didn’t say a word, slam—shut the window. That child had a big temper from young.”
“Hey,” the old man grinned, “I knew right then she fancied the passing young immortal master. But that was nothing. Back then, which village girl didn’t have a crush?”
He clicked his tongue. “But that Liu family girl was bold, even ran off to give him a bowl of water. Afterward, the other jealous girls told on her to her family, saying she was improper, and her mom beat her.”
Old folks love to talk. Once he started on the somewhat amusing old tales of Liu Family Village, he wouldn’t stop.
Mu Daoying didn’t interrupt him. His face dimmed, he swallowed the bitterness in his throat, and listened quietly.
Mu Daoying felt like a fish dying of thirst right then. His original life had been comfortable, swimming leisurely at the bottom, but today he was suddenly flung ashore, smashed dizzy by reality, scales scraped off, every inch of skin aching.
He still tried hard to find something suspicious in the memories.
Alas, nothing.
He had no memory of Liu Qiao’e at all.
No memory of ever seeing her.
Not even that bowl of water—only now, hearing the old man, did a faint shadow emerge from memory, like Zhuangzi’s butterfly, uncertain if real.
It seemed less like true recollection and more like a dreamlike fantasy conjured from the old man’s words. He fantasized that dark, drab Liu Qiao’e from back then.
Of course. He had slain countless demons, passed countless villages, seen countless mortal girls—how could he notice one small, plain Liu Qiao’e among them?
So be it. The more he heard, the better.
He was a thirsty fish, craving every scrap about her, even a tiny bit.
The old man squinted, his expression slowly changing. “Later, later, new demons came from the mountains, seemed to know the previous one, came for revenge.”
Mu Daoying froze, repeating, “Other demons?”
“The whole village was destroyed.” The old man sighed. “Many died. Liu Fusheng’s whole family perished, leaving only that girl.”
His mouth went dry.
Cultivators on sect missions slayed demons outside, then returned to the mountain—naturally, they couldn’t care about the village’s aftermath. If more demons arose, another team with the ‘patrol scroll’ would be sent.
If that was true… Mu Daoying’s hand trembled. Hadn’t they been negligent, causing the whole village’s destruction?!
“Her eyes went straight, wouldn’t speak when asked. Someone poked her, and she collapsed.”
The old man still remembered that day: she wailed heartbrokenly, fainted from crying, woke and sobbed again.
Mumbling nonsense, calling for mom, dad, siblings.
Her family were the best in the world; she wouldn’t envy others anymore.
It was all her fault, she was a beast, not human.
“Then more immortal masters came to slay demons.”
“Hey, it was her fortune. That immortal master saw her and said she had immortal bones! Later, she left with him and never came back. She was only that tall when she left.”
Mu Daoying couldn’t listen anymore.
The old man said, “After several more decades had passed, suddenly someone came claiming to carry out orders from some Old Mother, to help repair the village and build water conservancy. It seemed to be that Liu family girl. She had prospered. Look at those fields outside and the waterworks; all her handiwork.”
“Just don’t know why she never came back. Immortal Elder.” The old man then remembered the reason for his visit and looked at him curiously. “What are you asking about her for?”
He remembered this little immortal elder. As expected of an immortal, his features had fully matured, but his appearance hadn’t changed a bit.
“She…” Mu Daoying paused, meeting the old man’s puzzled gaze. He moved his dry lips.
What exactly was he asking about her for? What qualification did he have to probe into her past? Hearing these stories of her past cut his heart like a knife. He imagined that girl who had countless times crouched under the window peeking at him, and from the heartache arose boundless tender affection.
She naturally couldn’t be considered his wife. But since he was her man, he naturally deserved the title of husband.
Mu Daoying slowly closed his eyes and said hoarsely,
Not knowing if he spoke to the old man or to that girl from the past.
“That Liu family girl later became acquainted with me.”
“I now can also be considered her husband.”
“Husband?” The old man was dumbfounded and dropped the pipe from his hand.
After bidding farewell to that slack-jawed old birthday star, Mu Daoying left Little Thatch Ridge and headed to Cloud Mountain.