I no longer take disciples, even if the young man before me now has a face more stunning than Qing Han’s when I first met him.
Thinking of the past soured my appetite.
The person across from me carefully observed my expression and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”
I set my chopsticks down and casually replied, “Just thinking about how I’m about to die. Every bite I take now feels like one less, and suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.”
He froze, staring at me in disbelief. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to say something so blunt.
But what I said was true, and I saw no need to hide it. I spoke plainly, “Let me be honest with you. My time is almost up—I’m nearing the point of transcendence. Lately, my vision has grown blurry, my hearing has dulled, my mind often wanders, and my powers have declined sharply. I have nothing worthwhile to teach you.
“From what I can see, you have excellent aptitude and talent. You’re also rather shameless—ideal qualities for a cultivator. Don’t waste your time here. Turn right outside this courtyard, follow the small path, and leave Mistveil Mountain. Seek another master more suited to teaching you.”
I said all this at length, thinking I had made my point clear. But he just stared at me, his face pale, his voice hoarse as he asked, “When… did all this start?”
His expression suggested he understood he had come to the wrong place and regretted wasting his time pestering me.
Feeling guilty about holding back someone else’s cultivation progress, I answered, “The signs started appearing about a hundred years ago. At the time, I thought of taking a disciple to carry on my legacy, but that ended in disaster. Now, I have at most a year or two left. I just want to spend what little time I have in peace, here in this courtyard, without any further complications.”
Hearing this, for some reason, his face turned even paler, as if he were cursed. He stared at me with a blank expression, almost like he was possessed.
I finished one last piece of fish and stood up to return to my room. “When you’re done eating, leave the dishes. I’ll clean them after I’ve rested. You can leave on your own.”
But before I could take a single step, he grabbed my hand.
The sudden motion knocked over the dishes, sending a cacophony of clattering sounds across the room. When I turned, I saw the young man had stood up too quickly, upsetting the tableware.
Yet he seemed oblivious to the mess, his focus entirely on me. Gripping my hand across the table, his gaze was both anxious and pleading. His lips trembled for a long moment before he finally said, “It’s fine if you don’t take me as a disciple. Just don’t drive me away.”
His words, his tone—just for a moment, they brought back memories of a young Qing Han, his eyes filled with fear and unease.
I froze, lost in thought, until the ache in my arm from his grip brought me back to the present.
“Why stay here if I won’t take you as a disciple? To look after me in my old age?” I asked with a touch of sarcasm.
His lips tightened, as if I had struck a nerve, though I couldn’t fathom why my words would hurt.
He glanced at the mess on the table before meeting my eyes again. “I’ll cook for you. Fish with you…” He hesitated. “I’ll even wash the dishes.”
So he really was here to look after me in my final days.
I pulled my arm from his grasp and looked him over. He had no trace of spiritual or demonic energy—just an ordinary mortal, or so it seemed. Why would a mortal, uninterested in immortality or cultivation, want to cook and fish for me? Was he planning to open a retirement home here?
Then again, with my declining abilities, it was also possible he possessed greater spiritual power than I could sense.
“Out with it,” I said bluntly, folding my arms. “What do you really want?”
He looked serious, his gaze burning as he answered, “What I want… is you.”
For a moment, it felt like I’d swallowed a fish bone.
“Young man,” I sighed, rubbing my temples, “did you not understand anything I just said? I’m at the end of my life. I can’t take disciples, let alone entertain thoughts of romance.” I spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “I. Am. Dying. I don’t have the time or energy to play games with you youngsters.”
Hearing this, his face grew even paler, as though my words had pierced his heart.
After a long silence, he tightened his lips and said, “It’s not a game…” He seemed to steel himself, clenching his jaw before saying, “Actually, I…”
I waved him off, unwilling to listen. “Let me make myself clear: I don’t take disciples anymore because my last one betrayed me. It broke my trust completely. As for this ridiculous notion of love—such nonsense doesn’t suit me. I’ve lived over a thousand years and barely entertained the idea in all that time. Now, even less so. Save yourself the trouble and leave.”
Before stepping into my room, I glanced back at him. He stood there amid the broken dishes, his head lowered, looking as dejected as a discarded, torn rag doll.
All this over a rejection? Was it really worth that much sorrow?
I scoffed and closed the door behind me.
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