The tea rippled in the porcelain cup, spreading faint waves.
She finally spoke.
Her voice passed through the veil of water mist, light as if untouched by mortal smoke and fire.
“We cultivators have long lifespans. What we seek, in the end, is that Supreme Dao.”
Her words were not a question, but a statement—like a monologue, yet also a casual conversation with Ye Chen across from her.
Ye Chen nodded in agreement.
This was the most basic consensus reached between them during two years of sword training.
“Since that is so, the mind should remain focused on it. Outside the Dao, all else is a stray path.”
An Yao continued, her gaze resting on the tea leaves floating in her cup, her tone steady and unhurried.
“The path of cultivation is inherently lonely. If you waste your mind on insignificant people or trivial matters, it’s putting the cart before the horse.”
“Today’s Sect Assessment… that junior sister you guided…”
“…She consumed much of your attention, didn’t she?”
Ye Chen raised his eyes.
Moonlight just happened to fall into his gaze, calm and unwavering.
Junior sister? Su Ying?
He did not affirm nor deny, merely asked calmly, “Why do you say that?”
“Her sword is chaotic.”
An Yao’s evaluation was succinct, without the slightest contempt, merely stating a fact.
“Your time shouldn’t be spent in such places.”
She paused, as if considering her words, or perhaps using the moment of silence to guide Ye Chen’s thoughts.
“Time is precious. Every breath is cultivation. It should be reserved for people and things of greater value. To seek a like-minded companion, to watch clouds at the mountain peak, to discuss swords under the moon, to explore mysteries together—this is enough. Don’t you agree?”
She threw the question to him.
At the moment she asked, a faint sense of nervousness arose in An Yao’s heart—something she herself did not notice.
It was also a kind of… expectation.
A hope with a warmth unfamiliar even to herself.
If… if he nodded, if his thoughts were exactly the same as hers…
That would be… wonderful.
The moment this thought surfaced, a warmth she had never felt before spread quietly through her Dao heart, like a stream thawing in early spring.
Where the stream flowed, ice and snow melted, giving her a strange illusion—a desire to sink into it completely.
Her gaze, through the tea mist, remained fixed on Ye Chen.
The moonlight draped him in Silver Frost, making his ethereal profile seem somewhat unreal.
He sat there quietly, holding the teacup, forming a complete painting by himself.
Peaceful years.
This mundane phrase intruded into An Yao’s mind without warning.
So… this is the feeling of peaceful years?
Sitting across from someone who understands and recognizes you, even if you drink only a cup of clear tea without a word, can still give rise to such gentle and soft warmth in the heart.
This feeling… is truly intoxicating.
Is this… a heart demon?
No…
An Yao immediately denied the thought.
A heart demon is illusory, but this feeling is so real, so… beautiful.
The coldness in her eyes melted unknowingly, becoming gentler than ever.
She waited quietly, waiting for Ye Chen’s answer, waiting for the “Exactly so” she anticipated.
That phrase would become the spell to open a whole new world for her, pulling her from her solitary throne into a warm world she had never set foot in.
However, Ye Chen did not answer immediately.
He pondered for a moment, as if considering something.
Then he raised his eyes, looked at An Yao calmly, and asked a question.
“What is an insignificant person?”
He was calm, not questioning, merely seeking confirmation.
“Those with mediocre talent, unsteady Dao hearts, who spend their whole lives only able to look up at our backs.”
She paused, as if giving him time to understand.
“We and they are long since on different paths. Early entanglement is wasted effort for us, and delusion for them. It is of no benefit.”
Ye Chen did not refute her, but watched her quietly.
Suddenly, he felt as if he had never truly seen the person before him.
She was like the moon, high in the sky, casting clear light for ten thousand miles.
“In your view, Daoist friend,”
Ye Chen spoke slowly, his voice calm,”Does the path of cultivation require severing all external ties, never being tainted by… ‘dust’… even in the slightest?”
For some reason, an image flashed through his mind without warning.
Not a grand scene, but a normal afternoon.
A ponytailed girl practicing sword in the courtyard.
Her sword moves were clumsy, her spiritual energy unstable, and she would be distracted by a butterfly passing by, nearly tripping herself.
She would puff her cheeks in frustration, light up with joy at a single bland pointer from him, and proudly present a cup of strangely brewed tea she had worked hard on, eyes shining with lively expectation.
By An Yao’s reasoning, such sword practice was undoubtedly “poor swordsmanship”; such a girl was undoubtedly “shallow-minded”; and spending a whole afternoon this way was undoubtedly a “trivial matter”.
It all lined up.
But… was it truly “insignificant”?
“Naturally.”
An Yao nodded, her tone carrying a trace of expectation she herself did not notice.
“You and I… are we not born for this… the same kind?”
The two words “the same kind” were spoken softly, yet like a brand, pressed with burning heat onto her own heart.
Ye Chen gazed deeply at An Yao.
Moonlight traced her perfect outline, making her appear like a Jade Statue unsullied by dust—pure, noble, free of any excess.
In her world, there seemed to be only one straight line ascending to the heavens.
All else outside that line, she classified as “stray paths” and “insignificance”.
He suddenly understood.
It was not arrogance—it was purity.
Pure to the extent that her world could not tolerate even a speck of dust.
Nor was it loneliness—it was… solitude.
So solitary that she had preemptively shut out all those not her equal.
So, having little experience with others, her perspective had become somewhat extreme.
“On this point, Daoist friend, forgive me for disagreeing.”
Ye Chen’s voice was quiet, yet it shattered the gentle expectation in An Yao’s heart.
Her seated figure stiffened slightly.
Ye Chen’s gaze was clear as he looked at her veiled face, slowly expressing his thoughts:
“The path of cultivation is both ‘entering the world’ and ‘transcending it.'”
“To sever unnecessary attachments and focus on one’s true heart is important, but it does not mean cutting oneself off from all things. Mountains, rivers, grass and trees, birds, beasts, fish, and even every ordinary cultivator who brushes past us—these, too, are part of seeking the Dao.”
“To associate with them, witness their joys and sorrows, observe their partings and reunions—this itself is a kind of understanding. As long as one’s heart is unmoved and the Dao heart unwavering, these experiences become the foundation beneath our feet, not shackles on our path.”
“True strength is not about standing alone, unsullied, but about walking through the depths of the mortal world and still preserving an intact heart of one’s own.”
His words were gentle and firm, as if explaining a simple truth.
Every word reached An Yao’s ears clearly.
“Relying completely on others means losing oneself. But rejecting others entirely means losing the world.”
“……”
When the final words fell, An Yao was stunned.
She stared at Ye Chen, her mind blank.
He… was refuting her?
Not only that, he was using a tone almost like “teaching” to correct the “Dao” she had always taken for granted?
The peaceful image shattered.
Gentle expectation turned to nothingness.
The teacup in her hand was still warm, yet the heat no longer reached her fingertips.
Instead, the tea inside felt colder than winter snow.
He was still speaking, but she heard none of it.
Only a strange emotion, one she had never experienced before, slowly welled up from the depths of her heart.
It was neither anger nor sadness.
It was a sense of… dissonance.
When the only light you recognized turned, without hesitation, to illuminate the muddy, dark land you despised.
“Ka—”
A faint sound.
Her unconsciously tightened fingers caused the delicate white porcelain teacup to emit a cry of strain.