The Half-Baked Apology

He slowly rose, his gaze sweeping the surroundings, finding no one.

Lin Mo let out a long sigh of relief, a sense of accomplishment washing over him. ‘It’s done.’

He had passed Mu Qingli’s trial.

All thanks to “love.”

The magic of “love” remained as potent as ever.

Not only did it infuse Lin Mo’s future with hope, but it also served as a panacea or a protective charm, consistently guiding him through perils unscathed.

Qiu Yue, a demon who killed without batting an eye, had, through love, delayed his demise, keeping him for ten years, ultimately providing him with an opportunity to escape.

And Mu Qingli, also swayed by love, had accepted him. The mere fact that he now lay on a bed, not the cold floor of the main hall, and awoke without her indifferent gaze urging him to continue cultivation or study feminine etiquette, served as the clearest testament.

Though he had been tormented to within an inch of his life, simply surviving was enough.

Continuing to follow Mu Qingli was the optimal choice, indeed, the only choice available to him.

Because Mu Qingli needed him, even as a man, his life was temporarily safe.

But what about Zhao Qiubai?

Would she simply swat him dead with a single palm strike?

He could utter many pleasantries, but would Zhao Qiubai even grant him the chance to sweet-talk her into a good mood?

If this were a conventional sect, no matter how beautiful Mu Qingli was, or how many excellent things she offered, Lin Mo would undoubtedly have fled with Zhao Qiubai without a second thought.

He was no masochist, after all.

But this was not a conventional sect; this was the Xuan Nv Sect, a place where even the sect’s grand formation was designed to slaughter men.

Could the other disciples truly not harbor animosity towards men?

Lin Mo refused to believe it, and even if some didn’t, he wouldn’t dare gamble on it.

Moreover, he also required Mu Qingli’s assistance to enhance his strength.

Zhao Qiubai’s arrival served as a stark reminder to Lin Mo.

This was a world of cultivation, where strength spoke louder than any words.

Why did Zhao Qiubai dare to speak to Mu Qingli in such a manner?

Mu Qingli was, after all, the Sect Master and possessed her own power.

Yet, if Zhao Qiubai’s strength were lacking, would Mu Qingli be so amenable?

Not a hint of impatience?

Mu Qingli hadn’t even dared to utter a sound when Zhao Qiubai proposed taking him away.

‘Was it because their relationship was good?’

Lin Mo did not believe it; the fundamental reason, he was certain, lay in power.

He recalled a saying he had encountered on Blue Star: “Possessing a sword and choosing not to use it is entirely different from having no sword to wield at all.”

Without strength, he would sooner or later be captured and dragged back in this world.

Perhaps by Qiu Yue, perhaps by someone else entirely.

This world did not abound with Yang Po Pos, nor with so many Mu Qinglis who might need him.

Therefore, during this past month, Lin Mo had neither fled with Zhao Qiubai nor betrayed Mu Qingli, and he had certainly never complained. His sole objective was one thing: to earn Mu Qingli’s trust, to make her believe that he harbored no intention of escaping!

In doing so, Mu Qingli would cease to desire his death and would even ensure his survival.

As long as he remained alive, hope would persist.

No matter the pain, no matter the torment, as long as death did not claim him, there would always be hope for the future.

Just as he had gained Qiu Yue’s trust, he would lie in wait, biding his time until an opportunity for escape presented itself.

He would calm his mind, observe keenly, and patiently await his chance to flee.

What did another ten years matter, even?

Furthermore, and most crucially, through the month of torment, Lin Mo could distinctly feel himself growing stronger.

As the cultivation technique circulated with increasing proficiency, even reaching a point where it operated autonomously without conscious control, his body now brimmed with spiritual energy.

The most immediate sensation was a significant surge in his physical strength.

For instance, previously, while perusing books on feminine etiquette, he would idly pick up pebbles and absentmindedly crush them into powder.

Now, upon waking, he found that shattering a small stone required scarcely any effort, akin to popping bubble wrap—a gentle squeeze was all it took to reduce it to dust.

As long as he continued to cultivate under Mu Qingli, Lin Mo believed he would experience even greater growth.

As he pondered this, Mu Qingli’s footsteps suddenly echoed from beyond the door.

Just as he lifted his head, the door swung open to reveal her.

Mu Qingli remained as frigid as ever, like a glacial mountain unmelted for millennia, radiating an aura of coldness that repelled all who approached.

Within those golden eyes, not a trace of emotion could be discerned, resembling a deep, cold pool—icy and enigmatic, making it impossible to fathom her thoughts.

‘Could it be… that his words hadn’t moved her?’

‘How peculiar… Had this “love” magic failed?’

Yet, Lin Mo did not reveal the doubt in his heart.

If it hadn’t worked, he would simply persist until Mu Qingli fully believed him.

“Master, you’ve arrived? My apologies, it seems I fainted… I couldn’t endure the training Master arranged for me… I am truly sorry…” Lin Mo said, his head bowed low, feigning profound remorse.

“Training…?” Mu Qingli’s pupils flickered almost imperceptibly, and she subtly pressed her lips together.

Yet, in an instant, she swiftly recomposed herself, once again cloaking everything with her usual icy demeanor.

She merely felt a pang in her heart, a subtle ache.

“Hm? Could it be… it wasn’t?” Lin Mo lifted his head, a hint of confusion etched upon his face.

“…No. You… performed very well.” Mu Qingli’s face remained cold, yet she approached, even sitting directly on the edge of Lin Mo’s bed.

‘Is she trying to absorb my Yang energy again?’

However, Mu Qingli did not pounce.

Instead, a flash of light emanated from her storage ring, and suddenly, two familiar objects appeared in her hand.

Sweet potatoes.

And roasted ones, at that.

Mu Qingli said nothing, simply placing the roasted sweet potatoes at the head of the bed before rising as if in flight, heading straight for the door.

This left Lin Mo utterly bewildered… What was the meaning of this?

‘Was this some kind of hint?’

‘If you don’t obey me in the future, I’ll roast you like these sweet potatoes?’

‘Your future life will be like these two sweet potatoes, unable to escape my grasp?’

‘Or perhaps—’

Every interpretation felt far-fetched.

As Lin Mo racked his brain in bewilderment, he noticed Mu Qingli hesitating at the doorway.

When their eyes met, Mu Qingli promptly turned her head away.

“Uh… Master, is something wrong?”

This situation sent a shiver down Lin Mo’s spine. ‘Was she perhaps concocting some wicked scheme to torment him?’

“…Ye-yes, I’m sorr—” But Mu Qingli shook her head again.

“Eat the sweet potatoes, rest well. Training resumes in two days.”

With that, she exited the room without a backward glance, her hurried footsteps growing fainter with distance.

‘If his ears hadn’t deceived him… had she been trying to apologize?’

Gazing at the sweet potatoes, still warm in his hands, Lin Mo said nothing, merely beginning to slowly peel back their skin.

The skin of the sweet potato rustled faintly beneath his fingers, as if recounting its less-than-perfect roasting experience.

It had been poorly roasted; some parts were charred, black, burnt marks appearing abruptly like unsightly scars on its surface.

Other areas remained raw, yielding a stiff texture when squeezed, a stark contrast to the surrounding cooked portions.

Taking a bite, he found it far from delicious.

It was half-cooked, half-raw.

Yet, he slowly finished it.

As he ate, he wondered if his taste buds were malfunctioning, for by the end, it tasted somewhat sweet.

He hadn’t misheard; Mu Qingli had indeed wanted to say “I’m sorry,” but the words had failed her.

Her apology lay within these sweet potatoes, half-baked and incomplete.

Come to think of it, it had been a long time since anyone had apologized to him.

Qiu Yue hadn’t.

The servants of the Qiu family hadn’t.

Even Yang Po Po hadn’t.

Only Mu Qingli, the Sect Master of the Xuan Nv Sect.

Lin Mo scratched his head, feeling a surge of happiness.

He must have passed Mu Qingli’s test.

He was one step closer to a successful escape.

Yet, this happiness felt somewhat excessive.

Lin Mo didn’t understand why, nor did he wish to.

He simply lay back down, indulging in the long-awaited comfort of falling back asleep.

People were truly strange; he used to despise lying in bed, but now he found himself enjoying it.

For now, he would simply relish the present moment.

‘Perhaps his days in the Xuan Nv Sect would prove even more leisurely than his time in the Qiu family.’