Though seemingly close, our hearts are worlds apart.
The night wind rustled through the bamboo forest, but it couldn't dispel the suffocating tension between the two. The sound of the icy pool seemed to still echo in their ears, intertwining with the thunderous pounding of their hearts to create a heart-pounding rhythm.
Mo Xiaoyu's heart pounded wildly in her chest, each contraction a heavy thud against her ribs, as if trying to break free. He saw it! He must have seen her at her most wretched, most vulnerable! A wave of immense shame washed over her like ice water, instantly snapping her back to reality. The brief moment of grief she had been in was utterly crushed by panic.
We cannot acknowledge each other! Absolutely not!
Almost instinctively, she abruptly lowered her head, her fine eyelashes trembling violently, avoiding his eyes, unfathomable in the moonlight, eyes that seemed to see right through her disguise. In her panic, she bent down to pick up the fallen brush, but her fingertips trembled uncontrollably, and the brush rolled twice on the slippery cobblestone, moving further away from her. This action, in a fleeting moment, subtly overlapped with the image of her clumsily picking up scattered items when he had seen her in a small town long ago.
Xie Yunzhi stood rooted to the spot, the name that had almost burst from his throat forcibly suppressed, turning into a dry, rolling sound in his throat. The stinging pain in his sea of consciousness and the burning heat of the jade pendant receded like the tide, leaving behind a deeper confusion and an empty echo. A slight, needle-like ache still lingered in his temples, reminding him that his momentary loss of composure was not entirely an illusion. "Why...why did seeing her cause this? Where did this stinging pain in my sea of consciousness come from?" A vague, elusive confusion swept through his mind. He looked at the servant disciple's panicked appearance, like a small, frantic animal startled by a hunter, a sight that couldn't be reconciled with any clear fragment of his memory.
Was it just his imagination? Was he so restless that he projected the sadness of someone unrelated onto his own inexplicable emptiness? He tried to take a deep breath, but found his breath stuck in his chest, accompanied by a strange, throbbing pain.
He frowned, his reason, like icy spring water, gradually extinguishing the strange restlessness in his heart. This place was the cold pool at the foot of the mountain after the menial labor. For an inner disciple to come here so late at night, if he were seen, it would be troublesome for both her and himself. Su Qingqing's slightly displeased look during the day, and the stern reprimand from the supervising disciple, were like invisible fences, standing between him and his inexplicable impulse at this moment.
He ultimately said nothing. He didn't even leave a questioning look.
Silence spread between the two, colder and more chilling than the water of the icy pool.
Finally, Xie Yunzhi slowly turned around, his robes fluttering slightly in the night breeze, carrying a trace of cool, ethereal energy. He didn't look at her again, his steps seemingly steady, but only he could feel his heart pounding in his chest with a chaotic, uncontrollable rhythm. He walked away along the path he had come from, returning the cold moonlight and that trembling figure to the silent darkness.
Only when the footsteps completely disappeared at the edge of the bamboo forest did Mo Xiaoyu feel as if all her strength had been drained away, and she slumped down onto the cold blue stone. Her heart was still pounding, but no longer from panic, but from the humiliation he had witnessed and the deeper sense of loss brought about by his final silent departure. His retreating figure, without the slightest pause, told her a truth more cruelly than any words—to him now, she was no different from a roadside stone.
He really...remembered nothing. Not even a shred of pity was spared.
She raised her cold, swollen hand and pressed it hard against her chest, where a sharp pain gripped her, as if something was slowly shattering inside. She took a deep breath; the icy air stung her nostrils, but it couldn't suppress the surging heat in her eyes.
*---
The following day, in the lecture hall.
The air was thick with the fragrance of sandalwood incense and the pervasive atmosphere of Daoist philosophy. An elder with white hair and beard was explaining the essence of the *Qingyun Jue* on the platform. His voice was calm, yet every word was profound and captivating. The disciples below were all focused, their spiritual energy flowing freely, clearly immersed in the mysteries of the Great Dao. Occasionally, a core disciple would raise a question, his words precise and his demeanor composed, drawing admiring glances.
Only Xie Yunzhi, seemingly focused, struggled to fully concentrate. The pair of tearful, frightened eyes from the back mountain last night kept resurfacing in his mind. Deep within those eyes, besides panic, seemed to lie a trace of something he couldn't understand—something akin to…grievance? And the sudden palpitation and piercing pain in his mind were too real. "This feeling is so real, it can't be just a figment of his imagination…" Doubts rose in his heart again. He subconsciously pressed his fingers firmly against his brow, trying to dispel the lingering, unsettling sensation.
"Yun Zhi," Su Qingqing, sitting beside him, leaned slightly forward, her voice soft and carrying just the right amount of concern, "You don't look well. Did you encounter a bottleneck in your cultivation last night?" She keenly caught his fleeting, subtle movement, and several disciples around them also turned their attention to her because of her words.
Xie Yunzhi composed himself, forcibly suppressing the small, thin figure in his mind, and shook his head: "Thank you for your concern, Senior Sister. I'm fine. It's just that I'm new to the sect's cultivation method and there are still some things I don't understand." His voice sounded calm, but only he knew how much self-control it took to keep his breathing steady.
Su Qingqing smiled gently, like the first melting of snow: "If you have any doubts, feel free to ask me. On the path of cultivation, working in isolation is a great taboo." As she spoke, her slender fingers lightly touched the scripture in front of Xie Yunzhi, explaining a key point in the circulation of spiritual energy. Her breath was fragrant, and her insights were unique. Her approach carried a reassuring sense of order, belonging to the "correct path," creating a harmonious and dazzling scene with the elite disciples around her.
Her approach was so natural, her care so appropriate. The glances from those around them were filled with envy and approval. It was as if the two of them were meant to stand side-by-side, discussing principles and progressing together.
Xie Yunzhi forced himself to refocus his attention on the scriptures and Su Qingqing's explanations. Yes, this was the world he should be focusing on. The exquisite Daoist techniques, the vast path of immortality, and… the senior sister beside him, whose talent, appearance, and status perfectly matched his. He needed this "correctness" to anchor his somewhat erratic mind. That night, the handyman on the back mountain, those eyes, that inexplicable stirring… perhaps it really was just the disturbing sign of a newly born inner demon, a worldly bond he had to sever?
He needs to be more focused and more determined on this path to success.
*---
Afternoon, the servants' quarters area.
Mo Xiaoyu was assigned a new task—to clean all the weapon racks around the training ground. This job was slightly better than cleaning the moss in the cold pool, as it didn't require immersion in cold water, but the workload was still enormous. The heavy wooden weapon racks were stained with sweat, dust, and even dried blood, requiring repeated and vigorous scrubbing. Not far away, several outer disciples were casually exchanging spells, their spiritual light flashing and laughter constant, a stark contrast to the somber work here.
She gritted her teeth, knocking down the weapon racks, each taller than herself, and painstakingly cleaned them with cold water and rough linen. The aching in her arms hadn't subsided, and the wounds on her fingertips reopened from the friction, bleeding and mixing with the dirty water. Each effort reminded her of his resolute departure last night; that image hurt her more than the wounds on her fingertips. She unconsciously bit her lower lip, trying to distract herself from the throbbing pain in her chest with the pain.
Several well-dressed outer disciples came out of the training ground chatting and laughing. When they saw her working hard, they cast indifferent or even slightly disdainful glances at her.
"Hurry up, don't block the way."
"These servants are such an eyesore."
The harsh words were like tiny icicles, piercing her heart. Mo Xiaoyu lowered her head, her fingers gripping the burlap so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She didn't say a word, but scrubbed even harder, as if she wanted to grind all her grievances, pain, and that unwarranted expectation into the grain of the wood.
Just then, a familiar, crisp scent approached from afar.
Her movements suddenly froze, and her heart began to pound violently again, so fast that she felt dizzy and her breath caught in her throat.
It was Xie Yunzhi. He and several fellow disciples seemed to have just finished practicing and were walking this way. He stood tall and straight, wearing the white robe with cloud patterns unique to inner disciples. The morning light fell on him, as if gilding him with a hazy halo, making him stand out from the dusty, menial area. His fellow disciples beside him were also dignified and elegant, their conversations and laughter highlighting the dimness and insignificance of her place.
Mo Xiaoyu instinctively curled her injured finger, hiding it in her palm, and buried her head even lower, wishing she could shrink into the shadows. "Don't see me...please, don't see me like this again..." she cried out silently in her heart, the humiliating scene from last night vividly resurfacing, burning her nerves.
The footsteps drew closer.
She could feel his gaze sweeping across the area, perhaps lingering on her retreating figure for less than a moment. In that gaze, there was none of the probing of the previous night, nor the tenderness of the present; only a utter indifference and detachment, like looking at a pebble on the roadside.
He didn't stop, or even slow down, but talked with his fellow disciples about their understanding of sword techniques. His voice was clear and calm as he walked straight past her.
It was as if the eye contact we exchanged by the bamboo grove last night had never happened.
It was as if the weeping in the cold pool behind the mountain was nothing more than a ridiculous illusion in which she indulged alone.
He wasn't even slightly curious about her "avoidance" at that moment—because he didn't care at all.
Only after that scent had completely faded away did Mo Xiaoyu slowly raise her head, gazing at the resolute figure disappearing at the end of the road. The sunlight was somewhat dazzling, making her eyes sting, and hot tears almost welled up uncontrollably, but she forced them back. She released her lower lip, which she had been biting, leaving a clear teeth mark.
She opened her palm, looking at the specks of crimson and murky sewage on her fingertips. These wounds, this filth, weren't they the truest reflection of her relationship with him?
Look, Little Inkfish. This is reality.
He's on his path to success, seeking truth and enlightenment, surrounded by exceptional women and brilliant peers. He doesn't even need to deliberately ignore you, because you don't even exist in his world at this moment.
And you, struggling to survive in your muddy journey, find even the slightest glance a luxury. All your inner turmoil, all your pain and anticipation, are nothing more than a passing breeze to him, leaving no trace.
Though only a stone's throw away, they are worlds apart, separated by the vastness of the universe, and even more so by the chasm of memories and the insurmountable barrier of emotions.
She picked up the dirty burlap again, soaked it in the cold water, wrung it out, and then, even more silently, wiped the cold and heavy wooden frame in front of her, again and again.
It was as if she were wiping away the dust from her own heart, which was covered in dirt and cracks, yet still stubbornly beat for him.
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