Chapter 35: Husband And Wife

A few minutes later, after we had both changed into fresh, dry robes, myself in a relaxed black scholar’s tunic and Qingxue in an elegant, embroidered lavender dress without her veil, the tension of the long ride had vanished completely.

She stood by the table, nervously adjusting her sleeves, her cheeks still carrying that faint, lingering blush from the innkeeper’s lobby.

I walked over, took her small, cool hand in mine, and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Listen to me, Qingxue," I said softly, looking straight into those dark, mesmerizing obsidian eyes. "Tonight, forget that I am your Master. Forget that you are my disciple. Out here in the mortal world, we are simply husband and wife. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me."

Shen Qingxue looked at our joined hands, then up into my face. The gentle, unwavering warmth in my gaze completely melted whatever lingering hesitation remained in her heart.

A radiant, beautiful smile curved her lips, her eyes curving into lovely crescents. "Yes... husband."

"Much better," I laughed, patting her cheek lightly. "Now come on. Let’s go get some hot food. Sitting downstairs in an inn like this is the best way to hear what the world is actually whispering about."

Holding hands, we descended the stairs and found a quiet corner booth on the lower floor. I ordered a generous feast of spiced roast venison, braised river fish, and a pot of sweet plum wine.

As we ate, the rowdy chatter of the packed common room washed over us, providing a treasure trove of traveling gossip.

A group of wandering mercenaries at the next table were loudly debating the recent rise of a young sword prodigy from the Mount Taixuan Sect, who had reportedly slain a four-hundred-year-old serpent demon with a single strike.

Across the room, several salt merchants were grumbling about increased imperial tolls along the southern highways, while an old traveling storyteller near the hearth was dramatically recounting rumors of an ancient immortal’s cave-abode that was supposedly unsealing somewhere in the Eastern Wilderness.

I sipped my warm wine, leisurely feeding tender pieces of venison to my blushing, obedient wife, thoroughly enjoying the vibrant, noisy rhythm of the mortal world.

To be fair, half the rumors being yelled across the tables were grossly exaggerated fairy tales like that one drunkard claimed an ancient sovereign’s tomb had unsealed in the southern swamps, raining spirit gold onto mortal cabbage patches.

None of it was truly critical information, but listening to the noise was oddly fascinating. Having spent so many years holed up on Lonely Cloud Peak doing nothing but cultivating and avoiding mortal troubles, I had completely lost touch with the current state of the world.

Quite a few sects and prominent clans mentioned in the rumors hadn’t even existed when I first joined the Mystic Cloud Sect. The world had kept moving, shifting alliances and birthing new prodigies, while I had been sitting on a bamboo chair watching the clouds roll by.

"Master—I mean, husband," Shen Qingxue’s soft voice broke through my thoughts. She had pushed her veil aside, nibbling delicately on a piece of steamed lotus cake. Her obsidian eyes glanced cautiously toward a table of loud, scar-faced caravan guards arguing over dice.

"Do cultivators truly fight over ancient tombs that often?" she asked, tilting her head. "From the way those men speak, it sounds as if the moment an immortal relic appears, thousands of people simply slaughter one another in the mud."

"That’s because mortals only hear about the bloodbaths," I said with a chuckle, picking up a glistening piece of glazed venison with my chopsticks and feeding it directly to her lips. "In reality, it’s far worse. A true high-tier ruin doesn’t just attract wandering scavengers, it attracts ancient sects who will happily exterminate an entire city just to keep the location secret. That’s why you always stay clear of flashy commotions unless you have absolute, crushing strength."

Qingxue chewed the sweet meat obediently, faint, lovely flush dusting her cheeks as my fingers brushed her chin.

"Then... if you ever found an ancient ruin, would you go?" she asked, a trace of mischief flickering in her dark pupils.

"Me?" I snorted, taking a hearty sip of wine. "Only if the entrance opened directly inside my bedroom and the divine treasures carried themselves into my storage ring. Otherwise, why bother sweating in dark caves when I can comfortably sit under a tree and eat roast pheasant with a gorgeous wife?"

Qingxue paused, then let out a soft, melodic laugh that sounded like silver bells chiming in a gentle breeze.

"You truly are the laziest immortal under heaven, husband," she teased, leaning her elbows against the wooden table and resting her chin in her hands. The icy, defensive hostility that had shadowed her soul for a month seemed entirely melted away. "In the Dayun Kingdom, my father’s officers used to say that a true warrior never rests, waking before dawn to polish their spear until their hands bleed. If they saw you spending half the day lying flat, they would probably lose their minds."

"And look where that excessive spear-polishing got them," I countered with a relaxed grin, tapping the tip of her straight, delicate nose with my chopstick. "Your husband’s supreme Dao is the art of strategic leisure. Hard work only brings calluses, knowing when to enjoy life is the true path to longevity."

She smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling into sweet crescents. Seeing her banter back so effortlessly, tossing out jokes instead of tense, guarded answers, made the entire noisy dinner worth every silver tael.

We lingered at the table for another half hour. I kept half an eye on the surrounding crowd, half-expecting some cliché, arrogant local young master or drunken mercenary to march over and demand to inspect my veiled companion.

It was practically an unwritten law of the cultivation world that beautiful women sitting in mortal taverns attracted arrogant flies.

Fortunately, though our luxurious traveling cloaks and refined posture drew plenty of curious glances, nobody was stupid enough to cause a scene. The locals might have been rough, but they weren’t blind; anyone traveling with high-grade warhorses and a calm, untouchable demeanor carried trouble written across their foreheads.