Light and easy, clean and simple.
As she thought this, a warm, mellow voice pulled her back to reality.
“Mm, I understand. Also—remember to issue those Jade Banners for good deeds from the palace in the next couple of days.”
Her expression changed slightly, and she could not help gazing resentfully at the owner of that voice.
It was a very gentle and clear man in a clean cyan Daoist robe, his black hair shining softly like water.
Pure, true, serene, steady and composed, yet with a faint loneliness and coldness between his brows.
This man was Mu Daoying.
At this moment, he sat behind the desk, shaking his brush nonstop as he reviewed documents, while calmly instructing the Joyous Union Palace disciple before him.
Liu Qiao’e’s expression twisted slightly.
Mu Daoying had been away for decades—about thirty years ago, he had returned to the Joyous Union Palace—
After her death, the Joyous Union Palace had been taken over by Chen Yuro and Cheng Xun. Though she had died for the greater good, the palace had never been entirely upright to begin with.
The righteous path had not settled accounts with it, which was already giving her plenty of face. Yet they could not suppress the underlings who came seeking revenge every few days.
One day, Mu Daoying happened to pass by the Joyous Union Palace and casually dealt with a group from a sect come for vengeance, helping Chen Yuro out.
Chen Yuro invited him to stay.
From then on, he finally slowed his steps and remained in the palace, managing and guarding the legacy she had left together with Chen Yuro, Cheng Xun, and the others.
Having someone manage the sect for her made Liu Qiao’e quite happy, but soon she sensed something off.
Was this Joyous Union Palace—where everyone was called to do good deeds, perform charity in nearby villages and towns each month to accumulate merits, and hold commendations for good people and deeds—still her Joyous Union Palace?
Was this Joyous Union Palace—where those under marriageable age could not dual cultivate, where no one could force or coerce fellow disciples into dual cultivation, where restraint, hygiene, compliance were required, and indulgence for pleasure forbidden—still her Joyous Union Palace?
Liu Qiao’e watched wide-eyed as Mu Daoying turned the Joyous Union Palace, in her absence, into a strange society of selfless aid, pure winds, and lost items returned to owners.
She secretly ground her silver teeth to bits.
Too embarrassing!!
How could the Immaculate Old Mother keep any prestige? How could she still stop children from crying at night?
Joyous Union Palace, Joyous Union Palace—it was not Happy Family Palace!
Here, Mu Daoying finished handling the documents at hand, and the disciples all withdrew.
He sighed softly, set down his brush, and gazed at the blooming peach blossoms outside the window.
His gaze went slightly vacant and distant.
Here it came again. Liu Qiao’e could not help pressing her forehead and sucking in a cold breath.
The man smiled faintly, seemingly moved by the spring scenery, yet his eyes surged with thick sorrow.
This kid was at it again with his spring sorrows and autumn griefs.
Chicken skin rose all over Liu Qiao’e.
In this half year, she often saw him revealing such maudlin, depressive expressions when alone.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, wind or rain—beautiful spring light made him sorrowful, fine autumn rain made him sorrowful too.
She had countless times wanted to jump in front of him and slap his mouth.
Stop going crazy; she was still alive!
Unfortunately, she was just a tiny flame. She could neither speak nor jump, only watch helplessly as he indulged in sorrows.
Liu Qiao’e was not the type to give up and lie flat, waiting for death.
After half a year of effort, with her concentrating her spirit power doubly, she could somewhat move the leaves by the window.
One day, with Mu Daoying absent, she even knocked over the inkstone on the desk corner.
It started because she wanted to write a message to him.
The characters were not even formed when ink spilled everywhere. And because her divine soul was overexerted, her vision went black, and she fainted on the spot.
What infuriated her more was Mu Daoying’s reaction.
When he returned to the room, he noticed nothing amiss and assumed some sparrow or small animal had jumped through the window.
It took her a full half month to recover from that faint.
All her efforts went to waste. With Mu Daoying so lacking in tacit understanding and romantic insight, Liu Qiao’e nearly fainted from anger again.
She completely gave up on trying to send him messages.
With only this weak divine soul, she could not afford to wear it away trying repeatedly to contact him.
Fortunately, Mu Daoying’s gloomy moods came quickly and left quickly too.
Another disciple came to report, and he swept away the sorrow in his eyes, appearing spirited once more.
In the evening, he blew out the lamp and went to bed to rest.
Liu Qiao’e floated out from the flame and hovered above his head.
Mu Daoying curled up, seemingly having a nightmare, tears constantly streaming from the corners of his eyes.
Liu Qiao’e’s heart softened at the sight. She wobbled and tried hard to float closer, leaning down to gaze at him face to face.
He did not know what he dreamed of; his brows furrowed tightly, his eyelashes wet again.
She hesitated for an instant, lowered her head, and gently pressed her lips to the side of his mouth.
Mu Daoying’s eyelashes fluttered, and he mumbled groggily, “Qiao’e.”
After a moment, his tense muscles visibly relaxed, his breathing grew even and long, and he fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Mu Daoying sat up, touched his lips, and stared blankly for a long while.
–
Joyous Union Palace’s wilderness was not a place for Mu Daoying to linger.
He was born into a renowned orthodox sect with wide connections. With him acting as the bridge to mediate, he had indeed helped Joyous Union Palace wash away its stains and gain legitimacy.
Once the matter was settled, he packed his bags again, picked up the glazed lamp, and prepared to set off.
This was another major source of Liu Qiao’e’s dissatisfaction.
This man always had to touch her.
Every day, every night, almost without respite!
In the mornings, he would touch her and chatter on endlessly about all sorts of trivial matters.
What he had eaten yesterday and how it did not taste quite right. Where he planned to go today. Gusu’s noodle soup was good; he loved it as a child.
This time, he had specially brought her back to his birthplace to have a look.
Even during meals, he thoughtfully set aside a bowl for her.
“The plain noodles here taste great, Lady E. Give them a try.”
It made Liu Qiao’e’s stomach rumble noisily.
Thinking that she could not eat them—and might not be able to for a long time to come—only made her angrier.
He took her across the snow on Spiritual Rock, admired the moon at Tiger Hill, and picked plum blossoms at Baoning Temple. He drank new tea by Dongting Lake and rowed a wu peng boat while slowly savoring a handful of chickenhead rice.
Occasionally, passersby would curiously ask about the glazed lamp he treasured so dearly.
They stood side by side at the bow of the boat, drifting downstream, watching the verdant mountains and waters on both shores flash by, with peach blossoms blooming fragrantly along the banks.
He would smile and say, this was his wife.
The passerby: ?
The passerby: A keepsake from your late wife?
Mu Daoying corrected him, “No, this is my wife.”
The passerby’s expression immediately turned profoundly indescribable.
A mix of doubt and sympathy in his eyes.
He suspected that Mu Daoying had lost his mind after his wife’s death.
Or perhaps, could this lamp truly be made from his wife? Made from what? Refined into lamp oil?
The more he thought about it, the more horrifying it seemed.
The passerby’s face turned pale by turns, and he made some excuse before fleeing in panic.
Mu Daoying paid it no mind and turned his head to gaze at the peach blossoms on the shore.
Stroking the lamp, he said to her, “Lady E, what do you think of this peach blossom? Doesn’t it look nice?”
Liu Qiao’e: ‘Mmm. As long as you’re happy.’
She rolled her eyes.
Mu Daoying slowly, gently caressed her, as if he had already immersed himself in fantasies of their springtime passions.
He did not think himself mad.
He enjoyed telling passersby about her.
He vaguely felt that she was right by his side.
The first time he had such a feeling was when he dreamed of her again.
At first, it was still a nightmare. Ever since her death, his soul seemed forever trapped in that day, dreaming of her leaping resolutely into Nameless Weak Water.
Unknowingly, he shed many tears, soaking the pillowcase.
Just as the grief pressed down on him until he could hardly breathe, suddenly, a petite, delicate shadow seemed to float before him.
Soft and warm. As if she had come.
He could feel her presence.
Just as he thought it was another hallucination, his lips were suddenly kissed lightly.
Very lightly.
Yet to Mu Daoying, it was like a thunderbolt from the heavens, jolting through his limbs.
Was it an illusion?
In the days that followed, he was absent-minded.
He stared at the glazed lamp, held it, hugged it.
Had she returned? Had her soul been nurtured into awareness?
Once the suspicion took root, he began to notice endless little details in daily life.
A window blown open by the wind—as if she had visited.
Books scattered by the breeze—as if she had left a message.
He pored over every line on the pages, trying to decipher what she wanted to say, and unknowingly fell asleep with his head on the book.
Willow catkins brushing his lips in spring—as if it were her gentle kiss.
Even the arm gone numb from pressure—as if she had been holding it.
He no longer felt constant despair.
His heart brimmed with something light, bright, and fluffy.
A smile often played at his lips, and his complexion grew serene and relaxed.
Liu Qiao’e could not stand this man’s imagination anymore.
Finally, one time, she could not help but muster all her spiritual power and knocked a book off the shelf to smash him viciously.
Mu Daoying touched his head, picked up the book, and stared for a long moment. Then he suddenly curved his lips and grinned foolishly, asking, “Is that you?”
Liu Qiao’e: “Go die!!”
–
Mu Daoying stroked the glazed lamp while lost in thought, utterly oblivious. But it tormented Liu Qiao’e.
His hands had distinct knuckles, slender and strong, with thin calluses on the tiger’s mouth from years of sword practice. They made her itch all over.
He touched her every day, every day. And since she was a “spirit body” bound to the glazed lamp, she had nowhere to hide.
Liu Qiao’e even prayed that some random person would steal the glazed lamp.
But Mu Daoying was a cultivator.
Even while wandering the world with her, he never slacked in his cultivation. Ordinary people could not get near him.
He even did chivalrous deeds while exerting every effort to collect obscure, rare techniques from around the world, hoping to find a way to revive her.