The world was an endless expanse of white. I had no idea when I would wake up again.
It was much like the time I fell unconscious after saving Qian Zhi, when the malevolent energy from the Demon Suppression Pool overwhelmed me. I could hear voices from the outside and feel faint movements around me, but my eyes wouldn’t open, and my body refused to move. My awareness of the outside world came and went—clear one moment, hazy the next.
But there was always one voice I could hear, murmuring softly by my ear:
“Master, it’s been fifty years. Haven’t you slept enough?”
“Master, a hundred years have passed. How much longer will you make me wait…”
“Master, it’s been three hundred years. The wine pool is drying up under the sun.”
“Master… the willow fluff by the pool is scattering everywhere, filling the courtyard. Did you hear me sweeping today?”
I heard it.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the intricately carved headboard of my bed. A warm breeze drifted in from outside. Turning my head, I caught sight of Qian Gu sweeping the courtyard beyond the window. The rhythmic “swish, swish” of his broom repeated over and over, like the steady cadence of a monk deep in meditation.
It was… a scene of such solitude.
This was still the summit of Kong Ling Mountain. The curse I had placed on Qian Gu remained unbroken, and the words I had heard in my dreams lingered in my mind. Qian Gu, oh Qian Gu, how many years of agony have you endured silently, staying here to accompany me?
I moved my fingertips, slowly pushing myself upright.
The figure outside froze instantly, his broom halting mid-sweep.
He turned his head, looking at me through the window, and I saw him clearly for the first time. His face was pale from years of suppressing the curse’s pain, his frame thin as though he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a long time. For my sake, he had suffered endlessly.
I tried to smile, but it ended in failure. Instead, I gathered the faint glow of a spell at my fingertips. It had been so long since I used my powers that my body felt unsteady, but compared to the hardships Qian Gu had endured, this discomfort was too trivial to mention.
The silvery light drifted toward him, settling between his brows. I raised my hand, motioning for him. “Qian Gu, come here.”
* * *
Years later, tales of the immortal and his disciples spread across the land, becoming the stuff of legend.
Once, Shen Zhou’s only immortal had also raised its only three Demonic Overlords. And in the end, that very immortal… with his first disciple… went on to raise a brood of little demons together.
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