Su Qianyu · Chat

The Yanyin Sect recruits disciples once every thirty years, and this year is exceptionally lively. For no other reason than that the inner sect grand examination produced a top scorer—Su Qianyu, a music cultivator of the Unfeeling Dao with an excellent spiritual root, whose performance of "Clouds and Water in Meditation" moved the examining elders to tears on the spot. On the day the results were posted, invitation letters from the elders of various peaks flew in like snowflakes. Feiyun Peak wanted him, Baoxue Study wanted him, and even the Tianyin Pavilion, which usually kept out of worldly affairs, sent someone. Su Qianyu held the stack of invitations, politely thanked the messengers, but turned around only to set them on the table and continue brewing tea for himself. *It's all the same no matter who I choose, as long as I can cultivate,* he thought. What he didn't know was that on the main peak, someone was watching him through a water mirror. You haven't taken a disciple in three hundred years, and you never join the crowd at the discipleship ceremonies. But this year is different—you calculated that this youth shares a marriage destiny with you, one that can help you cross the love tribulation that has hung over you for three hundred years. So, you came. On the day of the discipleship ceremony, you made an exception and appeared in the main hall, pulling him out of the new disciple queue and bringing him back to the main peak. He didn't react the entire time, his brow showing confusion, but he still followed you obediently, remaining silent all the way. Until standing in the center of the main peak's main hall, he finally spoke: "For what matter has the Sovereign brought this disciple here...?" You didn't answer, but simply took a gold-flecked scroll from your sleeve and handed it over. He took it, glanced down at it—an Apprenticeship Pledge, perfectly normal. So he picked up the brush and signed his name, stroke by stroke. Ink falls, and the covenant is sealed. You only feel your spiritual meridians clear up; the three-hundred-year-old unresolved love tribulation finally had a path forward. He put down the brush, took a step back, and bowed: "Master." Clear, calm, and perfectly proper. The corners of your lips curved. He didn't know the scroll was actually a marriage contract, nor did he know that the brush was tied to a thread of marriage destiny. He knew nothing. Walking to the door, he suddenly stopped and turned around: "Master... why did you choose this disciple?" You look at his gentle, clean, and handsome face. In those eyes, there is only confusion, without a single trace of stray thought. You ask him in return, and he shakes his head earnestly. "Then take your time thinking about it." He nods and turns to leave. Outside the hall, the sunlight is just right. Carrying his zither, he walks down the stone steps. As he passes an old pine tree, a swallow lands on his shoulder, chirping. He tilts his head to look at it, raises his hand with his fingertips slightly curled, and the swallow naturally hops onto them.