The personal guards have returned to their ranks, allies have gathered their strength, and even the incense in the ancestral shrine has been rekindled—such a scene was beyond what she had ever dared hope for.
But suddenly, a subtle trembling came from her palm—not a fluctuation of spiritual power, but from the jade pendant she always wore close, the one he had personally carved. The originally smooth cloud patterns on the pendant began to shimmer with faint lines of light, slowly piecing together an image that made her clench her hand in shock.
There was no carved wooden window, only a square frame inlaid with sparkling “liuli” glass; no brocade quilt or gauze curtains, only a long couch covered in plain, soft cloth. And Mo’er was right there beside the couch, no longer in immortal robes but in a short tunic and long trousers she had never seen before. He bent down to tuck the thin blanket around her, her arm still draped over his shoulder, and the droplets in her hair weren’t the dew of immortals but water warmed by human touch.
“Impossible…” she muttered, clutching the jade slip.
That was unmistakably the intimacy shared by mortal husband and wife, a scene that, as a Master, she shouldn’t even dare to imagine.
Yet, in the jade slip, the way he softly called her was not a disciple’s respect for their Master, but a gentle, lingering whisper. When her fingertip touched his shoulder, it felt so real her palm still seemed to burn.
“It could be real…” she breathed unconsciously, her voice circling through the empty room.
The jade pendant’s trembling continued in her palm, like a clinging little snake. With every pulse, Su Wanwan’s heart grew tighter.
She stood before the desk. The warm glow of the jade lamp should have felt comforting, but as it touched her, it seemed to wrap her in a layer of ice. The images she had just forced down surged up again: on the bed in the bedroom, Lin Mo’s hand rested on her forehead, his fingertip brushing her brow bone, the warmth so intense it made her fingertips go numb. Her head leaned into the hollow of his neck, breathing in the bamboo-and-dew scent that clung to him. That posture—they weren’t Master and disciple, but the most intimate of mortal lovers.
“Absurd!” she muttered harshly, raising her hand to throw the jade pendant onto the desk—yet her fingers halted in midair.
The clouds carved by Lin Mo on the pendant still bore the naivety of his younger years. He’d spent half a year gathering spiritual power, waiting three months at the foot of Kunlun Mountain. That boy who followed behind her with a wooden sword, cheeks flushed as he called her “Master”—how could he do something so outrageous? Yet, this pendant had been carved by his own hand; the spiritual power within it could not lie. The warmth and breath from the image were so real, she couldn’t even deceive herself.
“Miss?” Footsteps sounded quietly outside, bringing with them the familiar cold plum scent of Wei Ling, who had served the Su family for three generations and now commanded the personal guard battalion. “The old division’s roster is organized—would you like to review it?”
Su Wanwan snapped back to herself, her fingertips digging into her palm to quell the chaos in her heart. She took a deep breath, flipped the jade pendant over so the side with the cloud pattern pressed against her skin, hiding the glowing image from view before finally speaking: “Come in.”
Wei Ling pushed open the door, her black fitted attire highlighting her upright posture. Yet as she handed over the roster, her gaze swept over Su Wanwan’s tense profile, and her tone carried concern: “Miss, there’s a shadow between your brows today. Is your old Gui Xu injury acting up again?”
“It’s nothing.” Su Wanwan accepted the roster, her fingers tracing the paper without reading a single word—her mind filled with the shadow of Lin Mo’s eyelashes falling across her cheek as he looked down. She gripped the roster tightly and finally spoke, “Wei Ling, I want to entrust the Su family’s restoration to you.”
Wei Ling’s pupils shrank, stepping forward. “Where are you going, Miss? The Nine Heavens have only just settled. Those who once depended on the Heavenly Emperor are still watching closely. If you leave, the loyalty the Su family has just regained will scatter! When you were trapped in Gui Xu back then, all of us hid in the mortal world for who knows how many years before finally waiting for your return. You cannot leave again!”
Su Wanwan cut her off, raising the jade pendant between them. This time she did not shield it from the light. Under the warm glow of the jade lamp, the scene of the bedroom appeared sharply: on the plain couch, her arm resting on Lin Mo’s shoulder, his gentle gesture as he tucked in the blanket, so tender it seemed to drip with water.
Wei Ling’s breath caught instantly. Her hand beneath her dark sleeve clenched, but she quickly averted her gaze, voice dropping: “Miss…this scene…” Having grown up with Su Wanwan, she knew better than anyone the bond between Master and disciple. To witness such a transgressive image now shocked her, but she dared not ask more—she could only anxiously urge, “Even if Young Master is here, let me take the guard battalion to search! You must stay. The Su family cannot be without you! If you leave, those forces waiting to mock the Su family will seize the chance to make trouble!”
Su Wanwan watched Wei Ling deliberately avert her eyes. Her heart ached and burned. Even those closest to her grew awkward at such a sight, showing just how outrageous it was.
She withdrew the jade pendant and looked at the incense burning brightly on the desk. “If I stay, I can raise the Su family’s banner with my own hands and watch the clan return. If I go, perhaps I can find Lin Mo, but I’d have to leave you with this fragile stability.” She paused, fingers gently rubbing the clouds on the pendant. “But the warmth on this pendant can’t lie. Mo’er…he might really be waiting for me.”
“But you said yourself, that image crosses the line!” Wei Ling’s voice was urgent. “Young Master was a child back then, but so many years have passed—who knows if he’s changed? If you go, what if—”
“I know.” Su Wanwan cut her off, rolled the roster up, and handed it over. Her fingertips poured spiritual power into it, and the Su family crest floated onto the cover. “There’s a mark on the roster. Should anything major happen, activate it with your blood, and you can send me a message.” She did not say when she would leave, nor whether she truly would.
Wei Ling took the roster, knelt, and performed the most solemn of bows. “Your subordinate will guard the ancestral shrine and wait for your return.”
Su Wanwan helped her up, then turned and walked to the ancestral memorial tablets, raising the jade pendant once more. The curtain of light flared up; in a modern bedroom, a desk lamp glowed warmly, and Mo’er’s figure flickered within the light, as if lowering his head to look at something.
She raised her hand, wanting to touch the light, but her finger paused in midair. Behind her was the stability she could reach out and grasp; before her was an unknown tangle of bonds and absurdity.
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