Chapter Thirty-Seven: When Disciplining Dudu, One Must Be Firm

I was born a demon, yet now I find myself in the celestial realm, staying by Zilian’s side. In truth, I ought to be grateful for that patch of golden scales I lost from my body. Though I discarded a thousand years’ worth of cultivation in a moment, it diminished the demonic aura clinging to me, allowing me to deceive so many cultivators, to fool Zilian himself, and come to stand beside him.

But deep down, I understand: since I have taken Zilian as my master, from now on I must learn the ways of the immortals from him. For millennia, the realms of immortals and demons have never seen eye to eye. I can’t help but worry that the immortal arts will be vastly different from the illusions of the demon world—perhaps even mutually repellent. Should I attempt to learn from Zilian, I fear it may backfire and harm me instead.

Fortunately, Zilian has not been in good spirits these past few days and has not yet spoken to me about learning spells or immortal techniques. While this secretly delights me, it also breeds a subtle unease.

Old Yuanxu once said that Lingyun Mountain is steeped in immortal energy, impossible for ordinary demons to approach, let alone climb. I suppose that on the day of the initiation, it was only because the barriers around the mountain were lifted that we demons managed to mingle in. But now two days have passed, and the mountain’s protective wards must surely be restored. Yet somehow, I feel nothing unusual at all. Could it be that after just two days, I have transformed from a little demon fish into a little celestial fish? The thought is almost laughable.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. I turned to see him standing outside.

“Master, you’re here!” I ran to him with a smile, unable to resist reaching out to tug at his sleeve.

I don’t know why, but while others treat their master with a mix of fear and respect, I never quite feel that way toward Zilian. I always wished he would see me as a peer—no, as a young man his own age. Yet every time I recall that he thinks of me as a man, a faint indignation stirs in my chest.

He merely nodded, gently prying my hand from his sleeve.

“Rise early tomorrow. I have business to attend to in the mortal realm, and you shall come with me, Little Fish.”

“Alright!” I agreed at once, excitement welling up inside.

The next day, before dawn had broken, I rose and began to pack my bundle. Why was I packing? Because Zilian told me just yesterday that we would be traveling together to the mortal world today.

To think, I have only just entered the sect two days ago, and already I am to journey with him to distant lands. The thought fills me with joy. Yet, I cannot help but fret: I have yet to receive my sword, have not donned the sect’s attire, and have not even had a chance to learn the most basic techniques. Surely, I will be nothing but trouble for him on this journey. The worry that I will be a burden gnaws at me.

Knock, knock, knock. The sound of knocking echoed again. It must be Zilian, come to wake me. I hurriedly set down my bundle and rushed to open the door, only to find—not Zilian, but my chubby little junior nephew, Dudu, whose round form barely reached my waist.

A pang of disappointment pricked at me. Still, it would not do to greet the little one with a sour face—after all, he came to see me so early in the morning. Not only would that wound his tender heart, it would also tarnish my own image.

I bent down kindly and looked at him with a gentle smile. “Rosy Cheeks, what brings you here so early? Have you come to deliver clothes for the sect leader again?”

I couldn’t help but pinch his plump cheeks a few times—the texture was truly delightful, so soft and smooth.

Rosy Cheeks looked somewhat aggrieved, his large, watery eyes brimming with complaint. He dared not voice his anger, but his lips jutted high in a pout, and his little fists clenched around the bundle of clothes he hugged—he was clearly quite upset.

I gave his cheek another twist, perhaps a bit too hard, for it immediately reddened and swelled. A sudden pang of guilt struck me—Heaven forbid Zilian should catch me bullying a child!

To smooth over the awkwardness, I turned my head and coughed loudly, then faced Rosy Cheeks again, putting on my kindest, most benevolent expression. “So, Rosy Cheeks, are you here to deliver clothes to my master again?”

As I spoke, I forced what I believed was an exceptionally gentle and loving smile onto my face.