On the first day my master led me down the path of the unfeeling Dao, he personally severed my threads of affection. For a hundred years, I watched my fellow disciples fall into ruin, consumed by love, while my Daoist heart stayed as clear as a mirror.
Until the day the Demon Venerable stormed our mountain gate and pointed his sword at my master’s throat, sneering:
“You tricked her into cultivating the unfeeling Dao just so you could refine her into a human puppet to take your tribulations for you?”
For the first time, my life-bound sword began to hum.
As my master turned in shock, my sword tip had already pierced his back.
