Zhou Lixin, as he grew older, became increasingly obsessed with finding an elixir of immortality. Because of that obsession, Daoist Wu Qiu managed to earn himself the position of National Preceptor. Some said he truly possessed extraordinary skills; others claimed he was nothing more than a charlatan. Whether he was a genuine master or just a wandering trickster—no one really knew.
Zhou Xing said, “I’ve troubled you, Daoist.”
Years ago, the first time Wu Qiu laid eyes on Zhou Xing, he had marveled that this young man carried an air of immortality and was determined to recruit him into the Daoist path. Unfortunately, Zhou Xing had only smiled and said he was a man of the mortal world—not destined to become a celestial being. That matter had ended there.
“So this little girl is the princess you married,” Wu Qiu said with a click of his tongue. “Not bad, not bad at all.”
Fengguang gave an awkward laugh. “Daoist, you’re not so bad yourself.”
The old man chuckled. “Little girl, I mean it—you’re truly something special.”
Then, quite suddenly, he sighed.
The faint smile in Zhou Xing’s eyes faded. “Daoist, have you perhaps divined something again?”
“The secrets of heaven must not be revealed,” Wu Qiu replied mysteriously, shaking his head. “In any case, seeing you safe puts my heart at ease. I’ll take my leave and return to my alchemy. Take care of yourself.”
Before Zhou Xing could say another word, Wu Qiu had already used his lightness skill to dart away—so fast it looked as if someone were chasing him.
“Fengguang…” Zhou Xing reached out and took her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“N–nothing,” she said, shaking her head.
But as the Daoist departed, an old voice echoed in her mind:
“If anything happens to Zhou Xing, come find me at Wu Qiu Temple outside the city.”