Chapter Fifty-Nine: Taking You as My Disciple

These thoughts, if truly examined, could indeed leave one feeling rather uncomfortable. Zora Weiyang, at his age, had seen through most things, yet some remained beyond his grasp. Still, there was a silver lining: having met this young girl, he could now appear openly on the boat, with legitimate reason. The boatmen would not trouble him; after all, on such a vast vessel, one more passenger was hardly a concern. More importantly, it meant a few extra taels of silver—a windfall, really, a stroke of luck that brought him ease.

Qiu Wan’er, naturally curious, found the journey somewhat dull. The arrival of the old man provided a marvelous opportunity for diversion. The Western Regions could hardly compare to the Central Plains, and if one wished to speak of their customs and peculiarities, ten days or half a month would scarcely suffice to cover it all.

Thus the young girl clung to the old man, questioning him about everything under the sun. Whether it was an innate good temper or something else, Zora Weiyang never showed the slightest impatience; instead, he answered her eagerly. She asked, he responded: about the landscapes of the mountain tribes, the customs and livelihoods, the melodies and songs, myths and oddities—anything he could tell, he did not omit. This made Qiu Wan’er feel comfortable. To outsiders, the pair’s age difference and mannerisms resembled those of a grandfather and granddaughter. If not for the old man’s features, which differed slightly from those of the Central Plains, they would surely have assumed as much.

Truth be told, the old man's presence was a blessing for the boatmen. The Three Rapids were not easy to navigate, especially upstream. Even with ten boatmen working together, steering the vessel through was no simple task. This was perhaps the most dangerous stretch along the Xiang and Wei Rivers. But with this old man, everything changed: his powerful strikes sent the boat gliding through the waters, and when one looked at him afterward, his expression and appearance remained utterly unchanged.

"Sir, your skill is truly remarkable! Even my master falls short by several degrees compared to you—I am deeply impressed!" There was nothing insincere in Qiu Wan’er’s words; she genuinely believed that such abilities could not be found elsewhere in the world. As someone who practiced martial arts herself, she could not help but show her admiration. When Zora Weiyang landed back on the boat, she could barely contain her excitement, rising from her seat. Compliments, even false ones, are pleasant to hear; these, however, were genuine. The old man, knowing his own abilities better than any, felt a surge of pride and a smile blossomed on his face—whether feigned or sincere, who could tell? He replied, "Little one, since my skills surpass your master's, why not take me as your teacher? If you do, I will teach you everything I know, and you will earn your place in the world of martial arts. What do you say?"

It was a great temptation. Everyone who roams the martial world dreams of standing out, and to do so, one must possess formidable skills. Whoever is strongest wins both fame and fortune. The old man’s prowess—if she could master even sixty or seventy percent of it—would make her an unparalleled expert. Many would wish for such an opportunity. So when Zora Weiyang fixed his gaze on the girl, his eyes brimmed with confidence, as though he were certain she would accept.

But this hope was destined to be dashed. Qiu Wan’er, though tempted, quickly suppressed the urge. With a hint of apology, she spoke as though refusing such an elder was a regrettable act: "Sir, your skills are indeed extraordinary, and I would wish to learn them. But I am already apprenticed, and without my master’s consent, I cannot take another teacher. So, please forgive me—I hope you do not think me ungrateful."

Such an answer was hardly satisfying, at least for Zora Weiyang. There was a sting of rejection, and his expression darkened for a moment before clearing again. A smile returned to his lips, whether genuine or not, and he sat down to regulate his breath—the earlier exertion had stirred his internal energy. "You needn’t be upset," he said gently. "The bond between master and pupil is all about fate, not to be forced. In Kunlun, things are different from the Central Plains; there, both sides must simply be willing, regardless of previous teachers. In fact, it is considered an honor for a master if a pupil has many teachers. When I first went to Kunlun to study, I had seven masters."

His words were calm, and whether there was any reproach, Qiu Wan’er could not discern. She felt a slight sense of melancholy. Indeed, customs differed between regions. If it were her choice, perhaps the ways of Kunlun would suit her better. But she was born and raised in the Central Plains, where “one day as a master, a lifetime as a father” was the rule. Moreover, as an orphan, her master, the Daoist Tianji, was perhaps more of a father to her than anything else. Thus, even if she yearned for such opportunities, she could not give voice to them. After a brief pause, she poured the old man a cup of hot tea and handed it to him, saying nothing more.

"You needn’t look so unhappy; if you cannot, I would never force you," Zora Weiyang said, seeing through the girl's feelings despite her attempt at concealment. Taking the tea, he sipped carefully—it was still too hot, so he drank only a little before setting it down. His gaze lingered on Qiu Wan’er, offering comfort. In truth, this moment was not much different from drinking water: desire does not always lead to fulfillment, and that is the greatest awkwardness of all. His words brought Qiu Wan’er a measure of relief; rather than lingering in indecision, it was better that he let go. She sat down as well, pouring herself a cup of tea. The rising steam seemed to blur her vision, and through that haze, she suddenly felt as though the old man were a true relative, someone whose warmth required no words. Her heart grew heavier with this realization.

"Sir, if you find your fellow disciples, will you return to Kunlun?" Both fell into a quiet silence. Silence, perhaps, is what makes an atmosphere most solemn. But breaking it was difficult. The tea cooled, its fragrance subdued, lingering only in faint traces. After what felt like ages, Qiu Wan’er finally spoke, her voice soft but clear.

"I do not know. The Central Plains are much more prosperous than Kunlun; these flowing waters and spring blossoms are unknown there. Yet this place has little to do with me—I have no relatives or friends here, no roots, and thus no reason to stay. If I find my fellow disciples and know they are well, I will have fulfilled my master's last wish. Then I will return to Kunlun, to the towering peaks and snow-covered rocks that are my true home."

Qiu Wan’er’s question stirred Zora Weiyang deeply. He spoke the truth: people must have a reason to remain in a place. In youth, ambition drives one to seek broader skies and grand achievements; but with age, that drive fades, and “fallen leaves return to their roots”—home becomes the greatest comfort.

Of course, such sentiments were still premature for Qiu Wan’er; she found them difficult to grasp. Yet seeing the old man's expression, she realized these were not happy words, and felt a twinge of guilt for having brought up the subject. Suddenly, as though struck by an idea, she paused and ventured tentatively, "Sir, when I see my master, I will ask him. If he does not object, I will take you as my teacher. Then you will have family in the Central Plains, and you can stay—wouldn't that be so?"