Staring at the youth in front of me—who appeared out of nowhere like a blooming flower—I firmly refused him. “I don’t take disciples.”
He looked up at me with utmost seriousness and replied, “That’s fine. You don’t have to take a disciple—you can just take me.”
Perhaps old age has left me unable to keep up with the minds of the young, but his response left me momentarily speechless. “Young man, I’ve lived in solitude for ten thousand years. I don’t play games, let alone new ones.”
“No problem,” he said with what seemed like an understanding smile. “I’ll play the games instead.”
“…”
Unable to win the argument, I resorted to shooing him out of my courtyard. He stood outside, his gaze fixed on me with what seemed to be a wounded expression. It made me anxious—I wanted nothing more than to slap this audacious brat out of Mistveil Mountain.
But I am a reasonable immortal. He hadn’t done anything outrageous, and aside from my courtyard, no part of Mistveil Mountain bore my name. I had no grounds to drive him away. So, I shut the door, leaving him outside to mull over his pitiful act.
I went back to my room and slept for three days. When I woke up, I assumed the boy must have left. But when I opened the door, I sucked in a cold breath.
He was leaning casually against the doorframe. The moment I opened the door, his gaze shifted to me, and a glimmer flashed in his eyes. “You’re awake,” he said with a smile. “Heading out?”
The saying “Don’t hit a smiling face” truly saved his life.
I ignored him, turning to walk down the mountain path. He didn’t ask questions and simply followed behind me.
At the foot of Mistveil Mountain lies Mirror Lake. I often leave a fishing rod there to pass the time when I’m idle. Today, as I settled in by the lake, the boy stopped moving. After lingering nearby for a while, he wandered into the woods.
I assumed he’d grown bored of following me and finally decided to leave. But before long, he returned from the woods with a flexible bamboo rod and a thin piece of grass string. Sitting three zhang (about ten meters) away from me, he cast his line into the lake and started fishing.
Before long, the sun rose, and a breeze rippled across the lake, small waves lapping softly at the shore. The sound unsettled me...
Then came a loud “splash,” and another fish was reeled in—by him, of course.
Meanwhile, my line remained still. I felt deeply wronged and couldn’t help turning to him, coughing lightly. “Are you part worm? How are you catching fish without any bait?”
He looked at the lake with an unperturbed expression and said calmly, “With my face.”
“…”
Shameless. Absolutely shameless.
After a moment of silence, he seemed to recall something, turned to me, and smiled. “If I tried to catch you, would you take the bait?”
I froze as if struck by lightning.
Though I looked like a girl in her early twenties, my soul had weathered ten millennia of storms! And this brat had the nerve... to flirt with me?
For a fleeting moment, I felt like an eighty-year-old granny being groped by an eighteen-year-old lad—a mix of shock and absurdity.
Clearing my throat, I decided that at my age, it wasn’t worth getting worked up over a child. Realizing I wouldn’t catch anything today, I packed up my fishing gear and started heading back.
Seeing me leave, the boy quickly threaded his catch onto a string and followed after me with the fish in tow.
As we neared the courtyard, he casually asked from behind me, “Do you prefer steamed fish or braised?”
I thought about it seriously. “Steamed—it’s fresher.”
“Got it.”
It wasn’t until after I replied that I sensed something was off. Before I could say another word, he strode into my courtyard with the fish. I followed him in, only to see him lighting a fire and preparing the fish with practiced ease.
I licked my lips. By the time he served the steamed fish at the table, I hadn’t managed to summon the words to kick him out.
The fish was his catch, the meal his work. I couldn’t just kill the chicken after taking the egg. After all, I am a deity with principles.
The boy, unfazed, helped himself to a bowl and chopsticks, sitting across from me at the table. I focused on my food, not even glancing up.
He ate about half his fill before setting down his chopsticks and looking straight at me. “You’re really beautiful.”
I choked on a fish bone.
After several coughs to save myself from suffocation, I glared at him as if I’d just swallowed dung. He, however, smoothly changed the subject. “Why don’t you take disciples?”
It was a good question. Why didn’t I take disciples?
Because once, I choked on a fish bone—and gave up eating fish.
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