The room returned once more to its former silence, even lonelier and more untouched than before.
Yin Weiyin stared at the wavering candle flame, lost in a daze. The cloying aftertaste of the bird's nest soup still lingering in her throat at this moment was like Chen Yi's scrutinizing gaze in the daytime—hard to dispel. Her autumn eyes lowered slightly, and for a time she grew weary of pure cultivation.
Only, to sit thus all night in such a withered trance, letting her thoughts rise and fall, was ultimately not good.
She drew a deep breath, forcing down that inexplicable heaviness.
The Taichua Goddess, with a Taoist Heart clear and bright—how could she slacken her very root for the sake of a few external disturbances?
She warned herself that no matter how fine Qin Yue's aptitude, he was at most an embroidery on brocade, a chance encounter that might add a little color to the long road of the Dao, yet by no means a necessity.
