Still pretending?

Another weekend arrived, and disciples welcomed their favorite break, while elders finally had two days of ease.
With her enemies crushed, Gong Ning should have been content—but something felt missing, because Lingling hadn’t returned yet.
Then Xue Yingdong handed her a letter from Yuqing Sect: Lingling’s handwriting, cheerful and carefree, as if she’d forgotten the world existed.
Only then did Gong Ning truly relax.
Tianjian Pavilion likely suspected her behind both attacks on their enforcers, but they had no proof—and wouldn’t dare dig too deep now.
After Gong Changqian abandoned his disciples and Wang Cheng was exposed for corruption, even if Tianjian denied involvement, their reputation was already ruined.
With affairs settled, Gong Ning found herself idle again, her cultivation now advanced to Qi Refining Layer Four—a milestone, since she finally surpassed her own disciples in power.
Yet as a teacher, she didn’t know what to do—Yunling and Lingling needed no instruction, their comprehension instant, their talent unmatched.
So she sent the Heart-Link Sword Marrow to Zangfeng Hall to forge a blade, feeling like some wealthy sugar daddy funding a student’s dreams.
Jiang Yuyao seemed idle too, the most relaxed hall master alive—while Xue Yingdong ran errands, she sipped tea and read novels.
“The Sect Master asked me to drink tea with him.”
“And?”
“He wants you to calm down. Your recent actions stirred unrest. Disciples aren’t cultivating—they’re gossiping nonstop.”
“They work hard. A little joy won’t hurt.”
“Good Qiaohuan,” Gong Ning muttered, raising an eyebrow.
“So it’s out, then.”
“The Sect Master isn’t foolish. He just doesn’t act—though he notices more than anyone.”
“So this is a request?”
“Yes. Only today did I learn—the Sect Master’s wife is a fox spirit. Quite a shock.”
“What does he want?”
Tang Qiaohuan’s bloodline was complicated—she inherited no strong talent from her father’s side, and her mother’s fox essence was diluted; the mix canceled out any real potential.
“No path forward as human or demon—and the two natures clash so badly she can’t cultivate either way.”
No wonder she couldn’t manifest ears or tail.
Qiaohuan had helped her so much—Gong Ning didn’t know how to repay her.
Though Qiaohuan always demanded strange rewards, Gong Ning never took them seriously—after all, nothing real ever came of it, just playful teasing to satisfy some craving.
Can’t teach Lingling, can’t teach Yunling—can’t teach you, Qiaohuan?
She never intended to take her as a disciple, but if not a master, she could still be a teacher.
Oddly, Qiaohuan had been unusually quiet these past days.
Gong Ning expected her to use the Dust-Hiding Pearl or her father’s influence to make outrageous demands—but the moment she thought it, Qiaohuan stopped.
She knocked gently on her room door.
“Who?”
“Gong Ning.”
A rustle of papers, then silence—finally, the door opened.
And Qiaohuan immediately said something that nearly made her choke: “What, finally thinking of little old me, your invisible nobody? Come to fulfill some maternal urge?”
Gong Ning grabbed her ear.
“Ow, ow, ow—”
“Good. Pain reminds you not to run that mouth.”
Still, it was light punishment.
If anyone else said such things, she’d punish them harshly—but Qiaohuan meant no harm, just couldn’t control her tongue.
“Your father has fully entrusted you to me.”
Qiaohuan’s eyes lit up. “Wait—you’re finally taking me as a disciple?”
“No such thing!”
“Oh.”
“But I’ll train you from now on. I already know your issues.”
Qiaohuan shrugged.
Truthfully, it wasn’t even a real problem.
In her past life, her Master didn’t fix it—just led her down a different, more enjoyable path.
“No need! Look at my illusions—so elegant!”
“You spend your days on flashy tricks, which is why you’re so messed up.”
“Huh? That’s not what you said last life.”
Back then, her Master said, “Thirty thousand paths lead to immortality—any Dao can transcend.”
In truth, Gong Ning was just bored.
Her two disciples needed no teaching. She felt useless.
Others who wanted to join were insincere—drawn by rumors calling her a great master, or by that ridiculous novel Waste Immortal.
That didn’t mean Qiaohuan qualified—her issues were worse than the rest.
But Gong Ning owed her.
She held no bias toward any path, but real teaching meant helping someone overcome their limits—that was where growth lay.
Gong Ning entered her room—met with the scent of ink.
“Close the door. Strip completely.”
Qiaohuan’s jaw dropped.
“You’ve finally given in to your desires… about to take your disciple…”
“Hmph.” Gong Ning smirked. “You think I don’t see you faking ignorance?”
Damn. She must’ve gone too far before—her Master’s resistance had risen.
Not like last life, when a little skin would make her turn away blushing.
Qiaohuan slowly undressed, adding exaggerated seductive moves—but Gong Ning remained unmoved.
Her ultimate attack on her Master wasn’t working anymore. What changed?
Of course not—after everything she’d been through, how could she blush over a girl now?
She wouldn’t strip Lingling or Yunling like this, but Qiaohuan? Gong Ning couldn’t imagine her having shame.
She placed her hand on Qiaohuan’s chest, slowly channeling spiritual energy inside.
Always saying dirty things, doing lewd acts—so using a dual cultivation method to examine her body wasn’t wrong, right?
Sure enough, Qiaohuan twitched, gasping sharply, her bare toes curling.
Gong Ning frowned—sure she was faking.
She’d used this technique on Yu’ao, on Yunling, and Yu’ao had used it on her—why such a reaction?
Then came a soft sound from Qiaohuan’s lips—half breath, half whimper—something between moan and sorrow.