Chapter 3: Apprenticeship

Every word Wang Lin spoke was true, and he had indeed avenged Ma Liang.

Fang Zhiyi felt a swirl of complex emotions. Although her cheap apprentice lacked extraordinary talent in cultivation, he treated her, his master, with utmost respect and cared for her diligently.

Ma Liang’s character was beyond reproach, which was why Fang Zhiyi had initially chosen him as her final disciple among many.

Though the world of immortals was ruthless, devouring people without mercy, Fang Zhiyi’s path had been unusually smooth. As a result, her mindset was far purer than most. To her, temperament mattered more than innate talent.

She had no desire to raise a disciple who would betray and destroy their master and ancestors. Her gaze lingered on Wang Lin with a complicated expression.

When she had just used the soul-searching technique, Fang Zhiyi clearly sensed Wang Lin’s deep hatred. But she was not unreasonable—both Sun Dazhu and the grandson of Teng Huayuan deserved to die. Fang Zhiyi felt no misplaced compassion.

With that settled...

Fang Zhiyi glanced at Wang Lin casually, her expression cold and indifferent. “Are you willing to become my disciple?”

Wang Lin was stunned for a moment, then incredulously asked, “You mean to take me as your apprentice?”

Fang Zhiyi was powerful—stronger than anyone Wang Lin had previously encountered. When he first realized the original owner of this body was Fang Zhiyi’s disciple, he was frightened, fearing she would seek revenge for Ma Liang. Luckily, she was reasonable.

Once he understood this, Wang Lin did not hesitate; he knelt before Fang Zhiyi respectfully and said, “Master, please accept your disciple’s kowtow.”

At present, this master was strong, reasonable, and respected by all. From every perspective, having this cheap master was advantageous to Wang Lin.

Hearing this, Fang Zhiyi nodded lightly, glanced at Wang Lin, then seated herself on a nearby soft couch. “Can you cook?”

Wang Lin hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes.”

Fang Zhiyi averted her gaze awkwardly and said, “I’m hungry.”

Despite her formidable strength, Fang Zhiyi’s quality of life was zero, as if fate had closed one door but opened a window for her. When Ma Liang was alive, he had always prepared the meals.

Wang Lin nodded naturally. “Please wait a moment.” With that, he stepped outside.

...

Wang Lin was human. Lighting a fire and cooking was second nature to him. Soon, he had prepared four dishes and a soup. After some hesitation, he placed the food on a tray and slowly walked to the main hall’s door.

“Knock, knock, knock—”

“Come in.”

With a creak, Wang Lin pushed the door open. Instantly, the aroma of the food wafted toward Fang Zhiyi. She involuntarily curled her fingers but kept her head bowed, pretending not to notice.

Wang Lin seemed oblivious as he calmly set the dishes on the table. “Master, the meal is served.”

Fang Zhiyi responded softly and, after putting away her jade tablet, slowly rose and moved to the table.

Braised pork with preserved vegetables, white asparagus with heavenly wings, beggar’s chicken, stuffed three treasures, and pork rib corn soup—each dish was a feast for the senses.

Fang Zhiyi’s pupils contracted sharply. She fought the urge to drool, clearing her throat lightly. “Sit and eat together.”

She picked up silver chopsticks and placed a piece of chicken in her mouth. Her eyes lit up instantly, but she restrained her excitement, maintaining a calm demeanor.

Wang Lin sat opposite her.

After a while, Fang Zhiyi set down her chopsticks, still gazing longingly at the dishes. The food was delicious, but she could eat only a little.

Finally, she looked disappointed, stood up, and walked away leisurely. “Wait for me in the courtyard at the hour of the hare tomorrow.”

Wang Lin quickly rose in response. “Yes, Master.”

...

At dawn, the sky showed the faint light of daybreak, mist hung lightly in the air, and distant mountains appeared veiled in a delicate haze.

Wang Lin stood in the courtyard, sword in hand, waiting for half an hour without any sign of Fang Zhiyi. Yet, he showed no impatience.

Fang Zhiyi watched Wang Lin from afar. Though the body belonged to Ma Liang, their auras were completely different. Wang Lin stood there, exuding a faint aloofness and coldness, his imposing presence warning others not to provoke him.

Wang Lin did not sense Fang Zhiyi’s approach until she stood behind him and softly said, “Begin.”

Wang Lin was momentarily taken aback, then turned to her and saluted respectfully. “Master.”

Fang Zhiyi nodded, casually tossed a sword manual into the air, and sat on a nearby stone bench. In a breath, Wang Lin saw a teacup in her hand and a teapot mysteriously placed on the table.

Her movements were slow as she poured steaming tea from the pot and casually resumed reading her jade tablet.

Wang Lin dared not slacken. He gripped his long sword and began to practice. The sword manual seemed alive as it floated midair, and the wooden dummy depicted on the manual appeared before Wang Lin as if animated.

Wang Lin stood tall as a pine, the sword tip lightly flicking. Each smooth step he took traced sharp arcs of silver light.

Though Fang Zhiyi kept her head lowered, she watched Wang Lin closely. When she saw him err, she lifted her teacup and flicked tea toward him.

A few drops landed on Wang Lin’s wrist.

His wrist paused slightly, and the sword tip veered a few inches. He glanced at his wrist with a flicker of surprise before regaining composure. When he raised his sword again, its light grew even keener.

A gentle breeze stirred, leaves rustled, and some drifted to Fang Zhiyi’s feet.

Abruptly, she stopped her movements, set down the teacup, and stood. “Stop.”

Though Wang Lin felt a subtle difference, Fang Zhiyi was his master now, and he understood respect. He quickly ceased his actions and followed behind her.

Fang Zhiyi said nothing but her voice carried clearly, “Come in.”

Before Wang Lin could react, a beautiful woman entered—also a Nascent Soul female cultivator, someone far beyond his ability to provoke.

Fang Zhiyi nodded at the newcomer. “Feng Luan.”

“Zhiyi,” the woman replied, her gaze falling on Wang Lin with deep suspicion that set off alarm bells in his heart.