Synopsis:
In the world of cultivation, Shen Qingyan is famous as a “model of proper conduct.” He meditates at exactly the angle specified in the Daoist scriptures, must place a cup of tea precisely three inches from the edge of the table, and even the length of wrist showing from his Daoist robe’s sleeve has to be accurate to the millimeter. It’s said that half of his disciples’ exams involve “reproducing their master’s standard movements.”
Xie Ci was the disciple he took in under these strict standards, and his daily performance could only be described as “the ultimate rule-follower”: he recites the scriptures without missing a word, complete with expressive annotations; when he practices swordsmanship, even the arc of his sword tassel matches his master’s perfectly; and the copper brazier he uses to warm his master’s hands always stays at the perfect temperature, “warm but not hot.” The whole sect assumes these two have turned “cultivating immortality” into “a demonstration of exemplary conduct.”
Until one snowy day, when Shen Qingyan was crouching by the lotus pond refining pills, two hands suddenly clamped around his waist from behind. The grip wasn’t hard, but it was stubbornly strong. He turned around and saw Xie Ci’s usually obedient face, his eyes red at the corners. “Master, the rules you taught me never said a disciple wasn’t allowed to hug you, did they?”
Shen Qingyan looked down at the red marks on his waist, then touched the Heart-Cleansing Talisman crushed inside his sleeve. Suddenly, he felt that after three hundred years of living by the rules, he might be about to fall into the hands of this little madman who called him “Master” every day.
