Chapter 213: Oh, the Celestial Master's Disciple Has Arrived

Lu Yuan drew in a deep breath and, amidst the grateful murmurs from the woodcutter and the pilgrims, stepped through the crowd.

His stride neither rushed nor slow, yet in an instant it drew the ambient light of the Wuqing Temple disciples toward him.

Those disciples who had been absorbed in Shen Shulan’s sermon first showed a faint sign of recognition when they saw Lu Yuan’s face.

Soon many recognized him, and a tangle of surprise and uncertainty spread across their faces.

“That’s... Lu Yuan?”

“What is he doing at Wuqing Temple?”

“Wasn’t he with the temple master back in Fengtian City...?”

Whispers surged like a tide, laced with obvious taboo and curiosity.

The incident in Fengtian City—Lu Yuan severely injuring Shen Jizhou during the Celestial Master Grand Ceremony—had long since become common knowledge beyond the Great Wall.

Some Wuqing disciples still couldn’t understand how Lu Yuan could appear at Wuqing Temple.

Lu Yuan seemed oblivious to those glances; his gaze remained fixed, from start to finish, on the center of the lecture platform, on that figure as pure and white as snow.

Shen Shulan had clearly already noticed him.

The moment Lu Yuan stepped out of the crowd, her cold, pond-like eyes had swept over him without leaving a trace.

But unlike her usual “answer every question, patiently instruct” demeanor toward the herb-gathering elder or the honest woodcutter, when she saw Lu Yuan there was a barely perceptible slackening in the ice-like severity that usually surrounded her.

She did not immediately speak, nor did she nod to him as she had to the pilgrims; she simply stood quietly on the dark platform base,

letting the mountain wind stir the hems of her white Daoist robe. Tiny electric arcs still danced around her, yet they seemed to have lost their previous intent to shred everything in their path.

There was an almost imperceptible... disorder.

Only when Lu Yuan stopped three steps away, respectfully cupped his fists and said in a deep voice,

“Lu Yuan of Zhenlong Temple, pays respects to Senior Sister Shen,”

did she fully direct her light upon him.

That single “Senior Sister” sounded perfectly natural, as if the grudges from Fengtian City and Shen Jizhou’s injury had never become a wedge between them.

At that moment Lu Yuan could clearly detect the subtle change in her eyes.

Those usually frigid, star-cold eyes—never touched by mortal warmth—seemed to crack like an old glacier, a fine fissure appearing when they rested on his figure.

That fissure was not awkwardness, not distance, nor the stiff coldness Lu Yuan had braced for during his walk.

It was a kind of... relief, nearly overflowing into joy.

The joy was faint and fleeting, so quick most others wouldn’t notice it, but Lu Yuan saw it distinctly.

The corner of Shen Shulan’s mouth even twitched upward, just once, a minuscule curve—not a clear smile, merely a brief relaxation that vanished as fast as it came, leaving him wondering if his eyes had deceived him.

Immediately she resumed her usual aloof composure.

Only, the chill in her gaze had withdrawn by more than half, replaced with a deep, lake-like calm.

“When did you arrive?” Shen Shulan asked, voice still cool.

But it no longer carried the instructive distance she used with the woodcutter; there was a familiarity in it that only Lu Yuan could recognize.

She didn’t mention Shen Jizhou or Fengtian City, as if Lu Yuan’s presence on the lecture platform was the most natural thing in the world.

The weight that had hung in Lu Yuan’s chest for so long finally crashed to the ground.

On the way here he had worried.

Although they had once been close, he had severely injured Shen Jizhou last time...

Even if Lu Yuan had not been fully in control of his actions, Shen Jizhou and Shen Shulan were father and daughter, bound together.

He feared the incident might have left an awkward rift between them.

But now, looking at her, there was no awkwardness at all.

Shen Shulan treated him as before, as if the events in Fengtian City had never happened.

“Just as the lecture began,” Lu Yuan replied, bowing again seriously. When he looked up his face regained that familiar smile.

“I came to pay my respects and to discuss a matter privately with Senior Sister.”

Shen Shulan inclined her head slightly. Her light swept over the thousands of eyes below—curious, reverent, conflicted—and her clear voice rang across the cliff:

“Today's sermon ends here.”

“Everyone, please disperse.”

With those words she turned away before the crowd, looking toward Lu Yuan and making a small gesture of invitation:

“Senior Uncle, please.”

They walked one after the other toward the halls behind the lecture platform, vanishing into the mists and ancient architecture that led into the deepest part of Wuqing Temple,

leaving the disciples and pilgrims on the cliff staring at the two figures, full of curiosity.

Shen Shulan led Lu Yuan through several quiet moon gates and arrived at a separate side hall named Hearing Thunder Pavilion.

This place was far from the main hall’s bustle; outside the windows the cliff dropped away, clouds roiled below,

wind like waves, and distant, faint thunder sometimes rolled—an ideal retreat for contemplative practice and discussion.

The interior was tastefully austere: unvarnished wooden tables and chairs, free of dust.

Shen Shulan motioned for Lu Yuan to sit, then turned to a purple copper tea brazier.

Her back faced him; the hem of her white robe fluttered slightly as she moved.

She lifted a copper kettle and poured boiling water into the purple clay teapot, releasing a clean, crisp tea aroma.

Lu Yuan did not waste words and came straight to the point:

“Senior Sister, I have urgent matters to discuss.”

He then briefly, concisely, recounted what he had seen and learned over these days—the Hu Family branch of Continuing the Lamp, the Commanding Ghosts Liu Family, and the Malevolent Deity.

After summarizing, he added earnestly:

“Though Liu Xuanyin has been executed, his network of hundreds of peripheral corpse-nurturing grounds, yin-gathering pools, and Malevolent Deity shrines—now leaderless—spans beyond the Great Wall and risks turning into a major disaster.”

“I request Wuqing Temple to step in and clean these sites together.”

Shen Shulan turned with the teacup in hand; her cool expression remained, but when her eyes fell on Lu Yuan they were not the same indifferent gaze she offered strangers.

She placed the cup gently before him, a motion elegant and flawless.

But the instant her hand withdrew, Lu Yuan noticed the faintest hesitation of her fingertips

and the flash of gentle light crossing her icy eyes, like spring thawing at the edge of ice.

She did not answer immediately, instead lowering her gaze to the tea leaves floating in the cup and saying softly:

“You haven’t changed, Senior Uncle—always rushing in headlong, coming like someone who will risk his life.”

Though she spoke that way, her hand reached for the teapot again.

This time when she poured for Lu Yuan she held the spout very low; the stream of water was a silent thread, slipping into the cup without a splash.

Yet just as the cup neared full, a crack in her ever-present coldness appeared.

She seemed momentarily distracted; a little tea overflowed and wet her fingertip.

Reflexively she withdrew as if stung, wiping her finger on her sleeve.

Her face remained icy, but that damp fingertip and the tiny motion of avoiding his gaze betrayed the turmoil inside her.

It was neither disgust nor embarrassment, but an indescribable shyness and delight.

Lu Yuan understood.

Although he had grievously injured Shen Jizhou in Fengtian City, that event had not become an immovable barrier between him and Shen Shulan.

“Since you raised the matter, Wuqing Temple will naturally assist,” Shen Shulan said, lifting her head. Her gaze was steady, though a thread of warmth deep in her eyes could no longer be concealed.

“Moreover, it is for the peace of the region beyond the Great Wall.”

Lu Yuan watched her—proud and pleased, yet pretending to be reserved—and couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his mouth.

This was the Shen Shulan he knew: cold outwardly, but with a boiling, sincere heart beneath.

Seeing her nod, Lu Yuan relaxed and continued:

“Since you’ve agreed, let’s plan promptly.”

“At present, Li Guanqi, Fu Yuanshan, and Celestial Master He Xun have all arrived at Zhenlong Temple. I believe they’re waiting for my return.”

“There’s ten more days.”

Lu Yuan’s fingers rubbed the rim of his cup unconsciously as if calculating route and time.

“In ten days, Li Guanqi and Fu Yuanshan promised to finish compiling the distribution maps for the Commanding Ghosts Liu Family’s nurturing sites, yin-gathering pools, and Malevolent Deity shrines.”

“With those detailed maps, our cleanup will be precise and twice as effective for half the effort.”

“Like the Nurturing Malevolence Diagrams we used against the Life-Severing Wang Family before.”

Lu Yuan looked at Shen Shulan with a negotiating look:

“My suggestion is this: in a couple of days Senior Sister returns with me to Zhenlong Temple.”

“After ten days, when Li's and Fu’s maps arrive, Senior Uncle He Xun, the Du'e Li Family, the Backing Yin Fu Family, and we can meet at Zhenlong Temple to allocate manpower and plan focused clearances.”

“What does Senior Sister think?”

Shen Shulan heard him out and, without hesitation or even a token moment of thought, slightly inclined her head.

“Good.”

Her voice remained crisp, decisive.

“When shall we depart? Whatever Senior Uncle arranges is fine.”

She did not press further; to her, once invited by Lu Yuan, going was as natural as breathing.

Her complete, unquestioning trust warmed Lu Yuan.

He knew she agreed not merely because cleaning Malevolent Deity shrines was righteous duty...

“All right... then three days from now.” Lu Yuan thought for a moment, replying seriously.

“Senior Sister might have matters to hand over in the temple.”

“I’ll come for you on the morning of the third day, and we’ll return to Zhenlong Temple together.”

Shen Shulan answered with a soft sound, lifted the cup before her—barely touched—and took a sip.

As she set the cup down, her long lashes trembled slightly as if she wanted to say something, but in the end only spoke:

“Senior Uncle... you’ve had a long journey. Rest these three days in the temple.”

“If anything is needed, instruct me at any time.”

Although her tone remained cool, the warmth it carried was like the faint thunder outside the window—rare but real.

Rest? Lu Yuan had no intention of resting.

He had slept on the carriage along the way in fits and starts.

What he really needed now was to go see Shen Jizhou!

After how things had turned out in Fengtian City... well,

back then Lu Yuan had it rough too, but Shen Jizhou was much older.

He didn’t know how the master was doing now.

Since Shen Jizhou had already been brought to Wuqing Temple, he naturally wanted to see him in person.

Apologizing? That would be too much to call it.

Lu Yuan didn’t think he was in the wrong about the events in Fengtian City.

Still, he felt some measure of guilt as a junior.

Putting aside all the messy politics, as a younger disciple he should at least go and greet his elder.

Lu Yuan picked up his teacup again, set it down, rubbed the rim twice with his finger and finally looked at Shen Shulan.

His tone lost some of its earlier crispness and became more measured:

“Senior Sister, one more thing.”

Shen Shulan lowered her gaze to the tea leaves and then looked up when she heard him.

“I came not only to discuss cleaning up the Liu Family’s remnants, but also to... see Senior Uncle Shen.”

Lu Yuan looked her straight in the eye, sincerity in his voice.

“Although we had opposing positions in Fengtian City, we did disturb our elders.”

“Now that we’ve come here, out of propriety and goodwill I should at least pay my respects and see how Senior Uncle’s injury is doing.”

He spoke plainly—neither groveling apology nor arrogant entitlement—simply the courtesy and concern appropriate for a junior.

No matter who was right or wrong, severely injuring an elder was a fact; to come and not greet him would seem petty.

Besides, Lu Yuan did not want relations to become irreparably strained. He did not want Shen Shulan to be put in an awkward middle position.

After hearing him, a faint, hard-to-catch softness passed through the depths of Shen Shulan’s eyes, like a sliver of light when ice begins to thaw.

“My father is doing well.” Her voice was clear, and slower than usual, carrying a rare calm.

“The shock he suffered in Fengtian City has no lasting danger now. He is recuperating in the temple and has not gone out.”

“If Senior Uncle wishes to see him, then let’s go now.”

Shen Shulan rose. Her white robe carved an arc like flowing clouds in the dim light.

“My father is resting at Listening to Waves Pavilion on the rear mountain; he should be there now.”

She started toward the door, walking calmly but not quickly as before, as if waiting for Lu Yuan to keep pace.

Lu Yuan hurried to rise and follow.

He trailed behind Shen Shulan, watching the hem of her white robe sway with each step, casting a slim shadow on the blue stone floor.

They moved one after the other through quiet corridors, past ancient pines that smelled faintly of herbs and pine resin.

This path clearly led to the most secluded, tranquil part of Wuqing Temple.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, they reached a pavilion built on the cliff’s edge.

The pavilion wasn’t large but provided an excellent view; opening the window revealed rolling seas of clouds, distant thunder, and the nearby wind through pines.

Shen Shulan paused before the pavilion but didn’t enter immediately. She turned to Lu Yuan and spoke softly:

“My father is stubborn. Senior Uncle should not take his attitude too seriously.”

That was nearly a warning.

Shen Jizhou might still be angry; Lu Yuan should be prepared.

Lu Yuan inclined his head slightly.

“I understand.”

Only then did Shen Shulan gently push open the pavilion door.

Inside, light was dim and the furnishings simple, with a faint calming incense burning.

On a zitan wood couch Shen Jizhou lay with eyes closed, thin cover over him.

Though his complexion was still somewhat pale, his breathing was even; there was no immediate danger to his life.

At the sound of the door opening he slowly opened his eyes.

Those once-imposing eyes had lost some sharpness but were still deep as an abyss.

“Oh, so the Celestial Master’s disciple has arrived.”

Lu Yuan: “...”

Hey!!

This old thing!