Luckily, Mu Chun didn't scold him for being rude. After talking, he turned to Cheng Qian.
Only then did Cheng Qian realize that his master didn't actually have triangular eyes. His eyelids were just a bit droopy. Most of the time, his eyes were half-closed and wandering, which made him look kind of shady. But this time, when he opened his eyes wide, they were clear and sharp. His stare was serious—almost strict.
"Cheng Qian."
For some reason, whenever the master called Han Yuan, he would use a friendly "Xiao Yuan." But when it came to Cheng Qian, he always used his full name. It was hard to tell if he liked him more… or less. It felt formal—serious.
Cheng Qian raised his head, feeling nervous. His hand clenched tightly inside his sleeve.
"Come here," Mu Chun said. Then, noticing his own tone was too harsh, he softened his voice. His expression relaxed a little, and he repeated gently, "Come."
He raised his hand and placed it on Cheng Qian's head. His palm was warm, and his sleeve smelled like grass and leaves. That warmth slowly passed to Cheng Qian.
But it didn't help much—Cheng Qian was still anxious.
He remembered how the master had criticized Han Yuan for being "flirty" and irresponsible. Now he worried, What will he say about me?
His mind raced as he tried to go through his life, looking for any mistakes he might have made, preparing himself for a scolding.
Will he say I'm petty? Or not kind enough? Not friendly?
But instead of pointing out his flaws, Mu Chun seemed unsure of what to say. He paused for a long time, like he was searching for the right words.
Finally, after a long silence, Mu Chun said slowly and carefully, "You… you know what's in your heart."
That was it.
It was such a simple sentence, vague and confusing. Cheng Qian frowned. All the mental prep he did? Useless.
He blurted out, "Master, what do you mean by 'what's in your heart'?"
Then he immediately regretted asking, worried he sounded dumb like Han Yuan.
Trying to stay calm, he said more carefully, "Do you mean… I should keep a calm heart and focus on cultivation?"
Mu Chun didn't explain. He only nodded slightly and replied, "For now… yes."
For now? What does that mean? Will it change later?And what does 'even if it is' mean?
Cheng Qian was even more confused. He felt like there was something deeper his master wasn't saying, but since Mu Chun clearly didn't want to explain further, he could only force himself to stay calm and bow politely. "Yes. Thank you, Master."
Mu Chun sighed quietly. Though he looked like a middle-aged man, he was much older and could see through things clearly. He noticed that Cheng Qian, even though polite to everyone, did it more out of habit or pride than kindness. He acted gentle, not because he respected others, but because he didn't want to look bad in front of them.
There's a saying: "Those who always follow the rules can be the first to cause trouble when things go wrong."Even if Cheng Qian had talent and good understanding, his heart was far from the Dao. He wasn't easy to like—but he was proud. That made him hard to ignore.
Mu Chun let him go but couldn't help feeling a little worried that this kid might go down the wrong path one day.
Then, Mu Chun turned over an old, three-legged wooden table and called Han Yuan and Cheng Qian to come closer.
The back of the table was full of tiny worm holes and carvings. Surprisingly, between the worm holes were lines of tiny, dense writing.
"This," Mu Chun said, "is the first thing I pass down to new disciples. These are the Fuyao Sect's rules. You both must memorize every word. You have forty-nine days."
Looking at the scratched-up table and the rules written on it, Cheng Qian was honestly shocked. He thought something as important as sect rules should be carved into a stone tablet or something grand… not under a broken old table.
Han Yuan, beside him, stretched his neck and said, "Wow, what's this? It knows me, but I don't know it!"
Cheng Qian: "…"
A master who might've been a rat in another life, weird teachings, sect rules carved under a rotting table, a girly senior brother, and a clueless beggar kid as a peer… His cultivation journey was off to a strange start.With this kind of beginning, how can I even become immortal?
Cheng Qian thought his future looked pretty grim.
But later that evening, his mood improved. He found out that he had his own study room—and it had real paper and pens! Xueqing had prepared them just for him.
Cheng Qian had never used real paper before. His parents didn't care for education, and he had only ever drawn characters in the dirt with sticks. Over time, he'd secretly memorized characters from books and practiced on the ground outside his house. Using actual writing tools had always been a dream.
As soon as he picked up the brush, he got hooked. His master had only told him to copy the rules once a day, but by the time Xueqing came to call him for dinner, Cheng Qian had copied them five times—and didn't want to stop.
His writing looked messy at first—of course it would. But he tried his best to copy the original style from the wooden board. He wanted to memorize the rules and also mimic every stroke, line, and curve.
Xueqing noticed that every time he copied the rules, Cheng Qian would go back, fix the parts he didn't like, and focus even harder. Once he sat down, he didn't move for over half an hour. He didn't even notice when Xueqing entered the room.
That night, even though he was tired, Cheng Qian couldn't sleep. His wrist hurt a little, and the door rules kept floating in his mind.
He guessed the same person who carved the rules probably also wrote the plaque. Cheng Qian loved their handwriting and kept thinking about it. Since the table had only just been flipped over, the carving couldn't be too old.
Whose writing is that? Could it be Master's?
Eventually, he fell asleep, still thinking about it.
In his dream, he was wandering around Fuyao Mountain. He wondered, Why am I here? Where's Master? But he couldn't stop walking.
Then, he saw someone in a courtyard.
The figure was tall and slender, probably a man, but his face was blurry, hidden in dark mist. His hands were pale, almost blue—like a ghost's.
Cheng Qian froze. He took a few steps back but, worried about his master, gathered his courage and asked, "Who are you? Why are you in my master's yard?"
The man raised a hand, and suddenly, a strong force pulled Cheng Qian forward. Before he knew it, he was face to face with the figure.
The man touched Cheng Qian's face gently.
Cheng Qian shivered. His hand was ice cold—it felt like his whole body froze.
Then the man grabbed Cheng Qian's shoulder and said with a low laugh, "You're quite bold, little one. Go back."
With a push, Cheng Qian woke up on his bed. It was still dark outside.
After that dream, he couldn't fall back asleep. So he got up, watered the flowers, and waited for morning. When Xueqing came to wake him, he was already up—and Xueqing actually felt embarrassed to have gotten up later than him.
The preaching hall was a small pavilion with tables and chairs and an open space around it. By the time Cheng Qian and the others arrived, a young Daoist had already swept the place and started making tea.
Cheng Qian quietly picked a seat. The young boy served him a warm bowl of tea.
Even though Cheng Qian kept a calm face, he slightly shifted on the bench, inching to the side. He didn't mean to—but habits like that came naturally. Watching people serve him made him uncomfortable inside.
After waiting a bit, he heard footsteps. Looking up, he saw a young man walking quickly from the side path.
He wore a dark blue robe and carried a wide wooden sword in his arms. He didn't look around or slow down, even though a flustered Daoist boy was chasing behind him.
Xueqing whispered to Cheng Qian, "That's Second Uncle."
Cheng Qian remembered seeing the name "Li Yun" on a wooden sign, and quickly stood up, "Second Senior Brother."
Li Yun didn't seem to expect anyone to be there. When he heard the voice, he looked up. His eyes were darker than most people's, which made his gaze feel cold and distant.