Chapter 57: The Only Daughter of the Reclusive Family

After leaving the space, Gu Hua immediately spotted a figure standing atop the tiled roof outside her window, silhouetted against a crescent moon. The posture was dashing, with an air of familiarity that tugged at her memory. Without hesitation, Gu Hua channeled her spiritual power and flew behind the figure. “Sir, your silhouette resembles that of an old acquaintance of mine.”

A deep, clear voice drifted in with the breeze. “Oh? So my image has left such a lasting impression?”

“Chong Li!?”

“It’s been a long time, Lian.” Chong Li’s gaze clearly caught the fleeting hope in Lian’s eyes, which quickly faded into disappointment. His handsome brows furrowed slightly. “You seem disappointed to see me?”

At that moment, waves surged wildly within Lian’s heart. When she first glimpsed Chong Li’s silhouette, she thought it was her elusive master—the one who had accompanied her through two centuries of absurd cultivation, whose presence was as mysterious as a divine dragon, never seen in full.

Buried memories resurfaced, unbidden: the bitter heart of mid-winter, when Lian walked barefoot atop the snow-capped mountain, trembling as she braved lands where beasts might appear at any moment. So small and frail, if viewed from the sky, she was nothing more than an ant, insignificant and helpless.

Exhausted, starving, all she wanted was to sleep...

Lian had wandered the mountain for an unknown length of time, and by now she was frozen like a shrimp, her hair tied in a bun, crusted over with frost and snow. Even her brows and lashes were adorned with icy blossoms. Snow continued to fall from the heavens, and there was nowhere to rest. She dared not pause, fearing that if she slept, she would never see the sunrise again.

She had no idea why she was in this place; her mind was blank except for her name: Lian.

So cold, so cold...

Her breath turned to white mist, which she tried to warm her hands with, but her frozen, reddened palms felt not a trace of warmth. She found a wind-sheltered rock, curled into a ball, and with the last of her strength, shook off the bloodstains clinging to her body. Deep down, she believed that if she prayed to the gods, she would survive.

Save me... save me...

On the snowy land, nearly buried beneath the drifts, Lian’s blurred vision suddenly perceived a deity—even though his face was hidden beneath a cloak...

A wave of warmth flooded her body, and when she opened her eyes, only footprints remained before her. Outside the cave, the black cloak billowed in the biting wind, marking him as unique.

“Big brother, are you an immortal?” she called.

There was no reply. Lian persisted, “Big brother, you must be an immortal!”

Still, no answer. The small Lian lay on a bed of wild grass, her gaze fixed on the cloak outside the cave, until the intense itching of her palms and soles drew her attention.

Her fair skin was now marred by numerous chilblains, which itched relentlessly. Lian scratched them fiercely with her nails, but it never relieved the itch, and the wounds began to bleed, scabbing over only to be scratched open again.

“Do you no longer want your hands and feet?” a cold voice came from outside.

Lian rose, but with so many wounds on her feet, she was forced to crawl toward the cave entrance.

Suddenly, she was lifted off the ground—her clothes clutched by the big brother outside, dangling her in midair. “I see you never cared for these hands and feet.”

In such a bitter winter, even a voice devoid of warmth carried a hint of kindness.

“It itches...” Lian whimpered, her childish voice plaintive as she tried to look back, but her neck was too short and was turned forward again before she could.

Though his manner was cold, he gave her a bottle of medicine: a thick, white ointment. Lian smeared it on her chilblains; its chilly touch instantly soothed the itch.

At every meal, there was delicious grilled fish!

Each day, Lian would unknowingly fall asleep as night descended, waking at dawn to find the cave transformed.

Such days lasted through many winters.

Until one day, the big brother tossed her two books, and Lian, as if by instinct, could read the words after a single glance.

From that moment, she lost the big brother and gained a master.

Afterward, Lian devoted herself to cultivation day and night, while her nominal master was seldom by her side.

Day after day, year after year, spring passed to summer, autumn to winter.

In two hundred years, Lian never saw her master’s face. That black silhouette became her sole source of solace.

At least, in this world, she had a master.

During her two-hundredth year, when she faced the tribulation of lightning, she longed for her master to witness her ascension to divinity, so they could stand shoulder to shoulder. But fate had other plans. Later...

Later, Lian became Bai Ruo, then Jiang Jiu, then the present Gu Hua. Her master was locked deep within her heart.

She once wondered if she loved her master, but now, after just a few short years, she realized that her fleeting admiration was perhaps only because he had saved her life.

“Lian, you’re distracted.”

Gu Hua returned to herself. “Oh.”

An awkward silence filled the air. “You…”

“You…”

That damned mutual understanding—they spoke the same words at the same moment.

“All right, you go first.”

“All right, you go first.”

They exchanged glances.

“Are you still used to playing the ancient zither?”

“I find your zither quite good.”

Another round of silence.

Gu Hua was not one for dithering. “What alias are you using now? I’ll come find you later. It’s late, I need to rest.”

Chong Li replied bluntly, “Jun Mu Lin.”

Gu Hua’s mouth formed an ‘O’. So the immortal everyone spoke of was Chong Li. “So the legendary immortal is you?”

“It is indeed.”

Chong Li smiled faintly, a jade flute glowing in his hand.

“All right, all right. In two days, the First Pavilion will host an auction. Will you attend?”

“I should.”

“Then we’ll meet at the First Pavilion in two days. By the way, I am now Gu Hua, the ‘Hua’ of scroll and painting.”

Chong Li placed the jade flute in his palm. “But I still think ‘Lian’ sounds better.”

Gu Hua leapt into the courtyard. “Whichever you prefer…”

She watched Gu Hua enter the house and close the door, extinguishing the lamp within.

Chong Li remained atop the roof, before the moon, his expression unreadable as he silently pressed the flute to his lips.

The gentle sound of the flute mingled with the wind, the shadows of trees swaying outside the window.

Gu Hua’s bed was directly facing the window, perfectly positioned to see Chong Li’s silhouette.

Spiritual cultivators could see even in the dark of night.

Gu Hua lay in bed, her ears filled with Chong Li’s melody, turning over restlessly until she blocked out the sound and finally drifted into deep sleep.

On the rooftop, Chong Li seemed to sense Gu Hua’s little gestures. He chuckled softly. “See you in two days, dear Lian…”

The night passed dreamlessly.

At dawn the next day, Gu Hua awoke and immediately looked out the window to where Chong Li had stood the night before. Now, the spot was empty, save for a few birds calling loudly.

Gu Hua fetched a basin of warm water, washed her face, and instantly felt clear-headed.

At last, Chong Li’s silhouette faded from her mind.

“Phew…”

Gu Hua, oh Gu Hua, what a fool you are! Your master has probably long forgotten you, and yet you still remember him!