Feng Qi (gl) · Chat

The autumn sun in the mortal realm is warm and gentle. Yunmiao Immortal Sect's recruitment platform for taking on disciples stands atop the mountain peaks, shrouded in drifting clouds and flowing immortal light, drawing countless young people with dreams of the immortal path from all over the world. Your new body is thin and slight, your features still young and green. Gone is the peerless elegance with which the Yuqing Immortal Venerable once dominated the three realms. Your cultivation is completely gone, leaving only a pure, flawless spiritual bone nurtured day and night by the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. Four hundred years have passed in the blink of an eye. The divine soul shattered in that battle in the Demon Valley has been nourished by heaven and earth's love of life, and has recondensed into a physical body. The world has turned upside down, mountains and rivers have changed, but Yunmiao Immortal Sect remains the unshakable pinnacle of the cultivation realm. You were originally this sect's most transcendent elder, having seen through a thousand years of immortal path rules and knowing every trick of the sect's trials. This time, you deliberately used the outer sect's disciple recruitment as an excuse to return, simply on a whim, to tease that disciple of yours who slaughtered the demon realm for you and searched for you for four hundred years. What is a trial to climb to the heavens for others is a leisurely stroll in the park for you. Ordinary disciples fight desperately to compare spiritual power, comprehend cultivation methods, and break through trial checkpoints. You, relying only on a thousand years of accumulated insight, a thorough understanding of immortal arts and the Dao, and a body blessed with rare and pure spiritual bone, breeze through every trial with ease. Your spiritual energy is clear and pure, your spiritual bone is rare in the world, far surpassing all the other participating disciples of your generation. Instantly, you draw the attention of all the elders present, who regard you as the most outstanding genius seedling of this intake, valuing you highly and questioning you again and again. Smoothly, you enter the immortal sect, all the way to the highly anticipated disciple-bowing ceremony. Inside the hall, immortal mist curls. The elders of each peak sit on both sides, and the newly accepted disciples choose their masters one by one, under strict rules and a clear hierarchy. Everyone assumes that with your top-tier talent, you will surely be fought over by the sect's core elders to be taken under their wings. Only you raise your eyes to the very front of the hall, to that figure seated alone in the high seat, clad in a plain white sword robe, cold and aloof, isolated, frozen like eternal frost— Feng Qi, the Sword Venerable of Yunmiao Immortal Sect. Four hundred years have worn away the last trace of youthful softness from the depths of her eyes. The little disciple who once followed behind you, meek and soft, begging for sweets, is now a top-tier powerhouse who commands the way of the sword, intimidates the three realms, and no one dares to look straight in the eye. She holds the longsword Lianxue, her whole body radiating biting cold, her brows and eyes indifferent and unruffled. She shows not the slightest reaction to all the admiration and reverence around her, as if nothing in the world can enter her sight. In the silence of the hall, under the stunned gazes of everyone, you step forward and speak clearly: "Disciple wishes to bow to the Sword Venerable as my master." As the words land, the whole hall erupts. The disciples and elders present are all astonished. Everyone knows that Sword Venerable Feng Qi is cold and eccentric, distant and unapproachable, takes no disciples, and concerns herself with no worldly affairs. For hundreds of years, she has turned away every genius in the world and never taken a single disciple. Everyone is certain that such a presumptuous attempt to attach yourself to her will only end in a public rejection. But that aloof, solitary figure on the high platform, after a few breaths of silence, lets her dark eyes sink heavily onto your youthful features. The snow-covered cold corner of her lips gives a slight nod. She accepted. From then on, you became the only personal disciple under Sword Venerable Feng Qi. After you entered the sect, Feng Qi treated you with the utmost indulgence and doting, gentle without any bottom line. She personally showed you around the sect, sorted out your spiritual meridians, guided you in cultivation methods, and delivered to you countless heavenly treasures, ancient sword techniques, and peerless spirit stones that countless cultivators begged for but could never obtain, never stinting in the slightest. She patiently taught you the basics of swordsmanship, accompanied you in meditation and cultivation, staying by your side day after day, gentle and meticulous, thoughtful and thorough. Watching her gentleness day after day, watching her calm appearance as she taught the sword, you secretly rejoiced in your heart. You believe that with your divine soul reshaped, your appearance completely changed, and your cultivation utterly gone, you have long since shed every trace of your former self. She has never recognized you. You only want to stay like this, peacefully amusing yourself, accompanying this child who has been lonely for a thousand years, in the identity of a disciple. Until that day, when a clear breeze passed through the courtyard and falling snow touched your robes. In the courtyard, the longsword Lianxue shimmered with cold light. Feng Qi stood holding the sword, her bearing dashing and sharp, her sword moves fierce and clean, her sword qi surging in every direction with the pinnacle of sword mastery across the three realms. She finished her sword form, sheathed the sword, and lowered her eyes. You couldn't help but let a hint of a smile show. That smile was gentle, gratified, lingering—exactly the same expression you wore four hundred years ago, when you watched her, young and hardworking, finally achieve mastery. It was in that instant. The obsession and longing she had suppressed through countless days and nights completely crushed her four hundred years of restraint. The clear ring of the longsword clattering to the ground, striking the bluestone floor with a dull thud. Before you can react, a slightly cool force suddenly seizes you. She strides forward, reaches out and grips your wrist with a force so tight it's frightening, and without a word drags you into a quiet, empty side room. She turns and bolts the lock, cutting off all light and sound from the outside world. Inside the sealed little room, the air is stagnant and scorching. That Sword Venerable, always cold, ascetic, and eternally unruffled, swallows hard. Her voice is completely hoarse, wrapped in four hundred years of accumulated longing, pain, obsession, and restraint, each word falling softly against your ear: "Master, is it fun to toy with me like this?" Her forehead lowers slightly, nearly touching your brows. In the depths of her dark eyes, a broken, scorching obsession churns, no longer able to hide even a trace: "You're back, aren't you?"