The Master’s Decree and a Sister’s Resolve

Ye Jinghuang’s wails echoed like the cries of a dying night owl, interspersed with numerous “I’m sorry”s rendered unintelligible by her choking sobs.

Mo Tingbei, who should have harbored a degree of hatred in his heart, found no gratification upon hearing her voice, laden with remorse and agony; naturally, he felt no savage urge to kill her and be done with it.

Perhaps owing to the rapid emotional roller coaster he had just endured, an astonishing tranquility settled within Mo Tingbei’s heart.

Mobilizing his limbs, which had grown somewhat stiff from his prolonged confinement within the iron effigy, he attempted to stand on his own.

Jiang Jinyue offered no support, instead releasing her tightly clasped hand and simply watching him with a tender gaze.

Mo Tingbei felt a warmth spread through his heart, sensing the encouraging power imbued within the gaze from behind him.

As always, Jiang Jinyue offered him her unwavering, unconditional support in all his decisions.

His body, now stripped of all the mystical properties of a cultivator, began to mend under Jiang Jinyue’s deliberately applied warm spiritual energy.

The wounds, previously numb with pain, slowly regained sensation.

The excruciating agony of his shattered Dantian, the searing sensation of severed meridians, and the poison of the ‘Spirit-Devouring Corrupting Powder’ (TL Note: A potent poison that consumes spiritual energy and vital essence), which clung to his life essence like a persistent maggot, all resurfaced.

It was as if a thousand dull blades were ceaselessly flaying his will.

Cold sweat drenched his tattered robes, clinging to his chillingly cold skin, yet Mo Tingbei maintained an air of serene detachment.

In his tattered robes and emaciated state, Mo Tingbei, paradoxically, exuded a profound and ineffable Daoist charm, far surpassing that of the seasoned cultivator he once was, who had stood but a single step from transcending that ultimate boundary.

He walked over to Ye Jinghuang.

The face of the vain and beauty-obsessed Little Phoenix was now streaked with remnants of makeup, washed away by her tears.

Her eyes, which typically sparkled with vitality, now held nothing but an endless void.

That face, which once bore the imperial majesty of an empress, and had first revealed its brilliance under his tutelage, yet was ultimately twisted by despair and madness, now held only a deathly stillness.

‘Did he hate her?’

‘Of course, he did.’

His shattered Dantian, his lost cultivation, the potent poison coursing through his veins, his life hanging by a thread—this searing pain, this piercing wound, all stemmed from the disciple before him, the one upon whom he had poured his heart and hopes.

She had, with her own hands, plunged a poisoned dagger into the unguarded heart of her master.

How could he not grit his teeth in fury at the woman standing before him?

Yet, that was the extent of it.

When Ye Jinghuang finally unburdened herself of eight years of accumulated resentment, Mo Tingbei, as her teacher, saw not the betrayer, Ye Jinghuang, but the student, Ye Jinghuang – the girl who had struggled to survive amidst the brutal power struggles, whose mind had been warped by the shadows of abandonment by her closest kin, and who had ultimately been plunged into the abyss by despair and the machinations of villains.

He recalled their first meeting: the young county princess, skittish as a startled bird amidst the clan’s infighting, yet clinging stubbornly to her last shred of defiance.

He had taught her political strategy, imparted martial arts, and guided her toward understanding reason, hoping she would survive that cannibalistic maelstrom, live with dignity, and perhaps even… change something.

He had seen the potential in her bones, but failed to perceive the fissures in her character.

He had taught her the ‘art’ of imperial cunning, but had failed to truly mend the ‘Dao’ (TL Note: A fundamental concept in Chinese philosophy, referring to the natural order of the universe, or a moral path) within her character.

The black-clad woman’s enticements were merely external factors, the spark that lit the fuse.

However, the fuse itself—the insane possessiveness rooted deep within Ye Jinghuang’s soul, born of ‘loss,’ and the utter despair she faced at the prospect of ‘losing again’—that was the true root cause that ultimately ignited everything.

This was, perhaps, what they meant by ‘even the detestable have their pitiable aspects’.

‘But, would he forgive her?’

While he genuinely harbored no great hatred in his heart, Ye Jinghuang’s actions were not merely a personal affront to him.

Whether judged by mortal morality or the discerning principles of cultivators, Ye Jinghuang’s conduct bore an undeniable taint of being unacceptable to the world.

As her master, he was duty-bound to undertake the responsibility of correcting her.

Junior Sister Jiang’s karmic debt (TL Note: A concept in Buddhism and Hinduism, referring to the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences) had, in the end, found someone to bear it.

With tender care, he wiped the smudges from Ye Jinghuang’s face, his movements as gentle as a father comforting his wayward daughter, yet his words were entirely unrelated to the immediate situation:

“You are a cultivator now; cease using mundane cosmetics.”

“They are detrimental to your skin.”

“Next time, I will have Xiaoxiao bring you some of her preferred ones.”

“Do not trouble yourself with mortal affairs; as this concerns rogue cultivators who have long vanished, the Immortal Alliance will naturally dispatch specialized personnel to handle the aftermath.”

Tears streamed uncontrollably from Ye Jinghuang’s hollow eyes as she burst into heart-wrenching sobs.

She had envisioned countless scenarios of Mo Tingbei reprimanding her.

In her imaginings, he would be either furious, disappointed, or indifferent, but never had she conceived of such gentle comfort.

“Master Mo… I’m sorry…”

She choked back sobs, only this blood-soaked confession echoing repeatedly through her broken whimpers.

“It’s my fault… all my fault…”

Mo Tingbei sighed with a hint of helplessness.

“Do not be so quick to be moved; I have not forgiven you.”

“Upon returning to the sect, you will not be spared any of the punishments you deserve.”

Having spoken, he paid no heed to Ye Jinghuang’s subsequent reaction, turning instead to Jiang Jinyue.

“I request that the Immortal Alliance refrain from interfering with any punishments meted out to Little Phoenix; I wish to carry them out entirely myself.”

Jiang Jinyue’s gaze had never left Mo Tingbei.

The poor mortal’s face was ashen, like gilded paper, his lips stained with un-dried blood.

Beneath his tattered Daoist robes lay shocking wounds, and each shallow breath was accompanied by a ragged gasp, as if he might extinguish entirely in the next moment.

Yet, those eyes!

Deep within those blood-shot eyes, there was no towering rage of betrayal, no self-pity for grievous injuries, but only a clarity like spring water.

Jiang Jinyue’s heart, at this moment, swelled with a fervent pride!

Yes, pride!

What she valued was never merely the formidable acting sect master of the Three-One Sword Sect, who exuded boundless spirit above the cloud sea, nor the gentle senior brother who occasionally offered her a helpless smile.

What she truly valued was this very essence, buried deep within his soul, unyielding through myriad calamities, capable of rebirth even from ashes!

‘This is the man I desire!’

The thought, like a searing brand, rose with an undeniable possessiveness!

Lin Xiaoxiao, standing nearby, watched her master’s almost pitying tenderness towards that ‘convenient’ junior sister, and a jealous rage, as if scalded with boiling oil, seared through her heart, making her fingertips tremble violently.

A certain mad idea, like wild grass in spring, incessantly sprouted: ‘Kill her, and claim Master!’

However, Jiang Jinyue’s imposing aura, like a golden pillar supporting the sea, suppressed her, preventing her from revealing even a hint of her true feelings.

She forced herself to avert her gaze, ruthlessly suppressing all her venomous resentment and unwillingness.

Jiang Jinyue cast a fleeting glance at Lin Xiaoxiao, taking in her reaction entirely, and made a mental note.

She then simply assented, implicitly granting Mo Tingbei’s somewhat presumptuous request.

Turning to Lin Xiaoxiao, Jiang Jinyue issued her first command since arriving in the mortal realm that day:

“Take your junior sister and return to the sect.”

Mo Tingbei was somewhat surprised that Jiang Jinyue had so readily agreed to his request.

Her words were an explicit acknowledgment of Ye Jinghuang as his disciple.

As the acting sect master of the Three-One Sword Sect, he naturally possessed the authority to deal with errant disciples himself.

Mo Tingbei felt a touch of emotion, yet also a flicker of worry.

She remained unchanged, supporting him unconditionally as always.

Even as his thoughts wandered, Jiang Jinyue’s voice, soft yet exceptionally firm, reached his ears.

It carried a comforting power, yet also an undeniable resolve: “Senior Brother, let us go home.”