I descended from Morning Mist Mountain, carrying a wooden basin in my hands. The frost on the grass dampened my shoes, socks, and the hem of my skirt. The distant mountains resembled an ink-wash painting, shrouded in mist and clouds. I paused to take in the view, but I realized that even such beauty couldn't compare to a tenth of what Du Zhong could capture in his paintings.
Following the stream, I made my way back to the White Bamboo Forest. From afar, it looked as if a light snow had just fallen. The sun had just risen, and dew from the bamboo leaves dripped onto my hair, sending a chill from the top of my head down to my feet. I moved slowly, but after washing clothes all morning, I was able to walk without getting out of breath, which gave me some small satisfaction.
The wind in the bamboo forest was strong, so I had originally tied up a rope specifically for drying clothes. However, Yu Wenhao scolded me for it, saying it was improper if others saw it. So, I cut two white bamboo stalks and set them up in the courtyard to tie the rope instead. When I first arrived, the courtyard was barren, with nothing left of the old pear and jujube trees; I had no idea where they had gone.
I shook out the clothes and hung them up—simple white garments, plain and thin. I always washed them with care, afraid that a little too much force would tear them. Du Zhong didn’t own many clothes, just two old outfits he wore in rotation. He never paid attention to his appearance, and no one else seemed to notice either, until I came and couldn’t stand it any longer, making a few new ones for him. Since they were all still white, he probably didn’t even realize they were different from the ones he used to wear.
After hanging up the laundry, I began to clean the courtyard and tidy up the house. In Du Zhong’s study, I found a painting on his desk, the ink still wet—he must have just finished it. With only a few strokes and large areas left blank, it depicted a small boat, yet the mood was serene.
I let out a cold laugh, left the room, and went to the cave in the back mountain to fetch a pot of water—Du Zhong liked to brew his tea with the spring water from there.
As I carried the pot towards the Blooming Flower Pavilion, the roar of the waterfall grew louder. Usually, at this time, Du Zhong would be sitting on the large boulder by the waterfall, meditating as he had done for over twenty years, rain or shine.
I brewed tea for him in the pavilion, the water on the small stove bubbling and boiling. Du Zhong’s silhouette was not far off, steady as a mountain, ethereal as an immortal. In the past, I would often rest my chin on my hands, watching him for hours without growing tired, but now I didn’t dare to look at him for even a moment.
Judging by the sun, he would be getting up soon, so I headed back. I had been in the White Bamboo Forest for over three months, but because I knew his routine so well and took care to avoid him, I hadn’t had any direct encounters with him.
On the way back, I ran into Yan Shang, who still looked sickly and weak. Despite his handsome features, he resembled a wilting flower, leaving an unpleasant impression. I wanted to encourage him to perk up, but I didn’t know how to say it.
“Night Lady, how has Master been lately?” he asked, though his eyes didn’t meet mine, instead focusing elsewhere.
He was Du Zhong’s second disciple, while Yu Wenhao was the first. I had grown accustomed to Du Zhong’s indifference and Yu Wenhao’s arrogance, but Yan Shang’s politeness and gentleness always made me uncomfortable. I knew he avoided looking at me because of the strict rules of Morning Mist Mountain, his naturally shy temperament, and the scars on my face. Perhaps he thought it was rude, but he didn’t realize that people like me, who fear others’ avoidance, actually prefer to be treated like ordinary people.
I gestured in sign language, telling him that Du Zhong was doing well lately.
Yan Shang nodded and continued on towards the Blooming Flower Pavilion, likely to report something.
Du Zhong was the head of Morning Mist Mountain, known to the world as the Water Sword Immortal. Because of him, Morning Mist Mountain was as famous as Mount Shu. But in recent years, he had become less involved in the sect’s affairs, leaving everything to Yan Shang and the other elders.
As for me, the Night Lady, I was merely a servant who tended to his daily needs, not even considered a disciple of the sect.
Three months ago, Yan Shang transferred me from the kitchen to Du Zhong’s secluded retreat in the White Bamboo Forest, all because during a grand ceremony, Du Zhong drank half a bowl of porridge that I had cooked while seated among his disciples. It was rumored that Du Zhong had stopped eating solid food five years ago, occasionally only eating some fruit. Although he was a cultivator, he was still not immortal, and Du Zhong had never practiced fasting; he just couldn’t eat much. This worried his filial second disciple, who invited famous chefs from all over to try and tempt his appetite.
When I arrived at the White Bamboo Forest, there was still another servant tending to Du Zhong, but I managed to drive her away, forcing her to return to the sect as a laborer. I then took over her duties, in addition to cooking, cleaning, and doing the laundry.
Back in my room, I sat in front of the bronze mirror and examined the scar on my face. It stretched from my cheekbone to my earlobe, thin and not particularly grotesque, but I always covered the other half of my unblemished face with my hair, revealing only the scarred side. Ordinary people couldn’t help but use their imagination to fill in the horror of the hidden half.
I brushed my hair back, revealing a completely unfamiliar face in the mirror—one that had a different kind of allure, especially when I smiled. I grinned at the mirror, reminding myself that I had to practice, or I might forget how to smile.
How can you seduce a man if you can’t smile?
Yes, I had been lurking on Morning Mist Mountain for two years, waiting for the opportunity to get close to Du Zhong. Wasn’t it all to seduce him, get him into bed, and destroy his true form and cultivation?
A mute woman with a scarred face, trying to seduce a man that every woman in the world coveted—anyone would think I was out of my mind.
But I knew, no one was more clear-headed than I was.
—I wanted revenge.
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