Drake said calmly, “The four seasons make no difference to me. I just find it troublesome—and I’m too zy to change them.”

  Lauren: “…” So, he never liked the damn icebergs to begin with?

  ......

  On her way back to her courtyard, a voice suddenly echoed in her head.

  “Your master is quite capable.”

  Lauren nearly jumped out of her skin. She clutched her chest and quickened her pace.

  Only after shutting the door behind her did she dare breathe again.

  “Hey! Didn’t I tell you not to talk outside this room?” she snapped. “Can you please shut up already?”

  Drake was like a living satellite—razor-sharp spiritual sense, eyes everywhere. How could she believe he wasn’t spying? And if he found out about her connection to Sky-Covering Valley, how the hell would she expin it?

  The better her master treated her, the more terrified she became that he’d discover the truth.

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “You’re really asking?” Lauren hissed. “Who are the people in Sky-Covering Valley? A bunch of fugitives hunted down by every righteous sect in existence. If you’re hiding inside me, then hide. Don’t stir up trouble, okay?”

  “Have the people of Sky-Covering Valley ever treated you badly?” Little Four Legs countered. “Think of Flower Wife, who raised you for three years.”

  Lauren: “…” Great. So he remembers that too. His memory’s coming back.

  “That’s different. And what, you want me to sit down with Gerald and the others and have a reasonable chat about it? That’s suicide.”

  Little Four Legs gave a low tsk and chuckled.

  Lauren gred. “What the hell are you ughing at?”

  “Nothing. I just think your master might be more trustworthy than you.”

  “…” Lauren: “Then go to him. I heard he could ascend any time he wanted, but no one knows why he hasn’t. Ask him yourself—see if he doesn’t crush you like an ant with his cultivation.”

  But Little Four Legs didn’t even acknowledge the sarcasm. “Look—he’s covering the sky. That means he might know something.”

  Lauren froze. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “…” Little Four Legs sighed. “You don’t have much time left. Go practice your sword.”

  “Hey! I know you’re talking about that giant eye in the sky. Expin clearly!”

  “With your current level of cultivation, knowing too much will do more harm than good. Practice your sword. Maybe, when the time comes, your master will tell you himself.”

  ...........

  Tarot arrived not long after to find Lauren practicing swordpy.

  “Hey! I go down the mountain for a bit, and when I come back, the whole pce looks like spring. What happened?”

  Lauren slid her sword back into its sheath and walked over. “Master melted the iceberg.”

  Tarot blinked. “Wait, what? He actually melted the thousand-year-old iceberg? Why—did something happen to him?”

  Lauren gave him a look. “Brother, you’ve misunderstood. Master doesn’t ‘love’ ice and snow at all. He said he’s just too zy to change it. From now on, we can pick whichever season we like.”

  “…Really?”

  “Yeah. I told him today I wanted to practice somewhere without snow, like Peach Blossom Mountain. So he melted the iceberg.”

  Tarot gasped, staring at her like she’d just stabbed him. “That’s all it took?”

  “Yes.”

  Inside, Tarot’s chest twisted with sour resentment. He remembered once compining that the snow reflected too much light, ruining his practice of dark arts. He’d begged Master to change it. Master’s answer? Practice in the snow and stop whining.

  But now, Junior Sister says she wants to practice swordsmanship without ice, and he melts away a thousand years of snow and gciers in half a day.

  “This is… Master is so damn biased.”

  Lauren blinked, confused.

  “Brother, don’t you like spring? If you prefer another season, just switch it. Master said we can change whenever we want.”

  Tarot barked a ugh. “Do you think you’re Master? It took him half a day to melt the gcier. If I try changing the season with the formation pte, it’ll take everything I have—and I’ll be bedridden for two weeks afterward.”

  “Ohhh.” Lauren tilted her head. “No wonder. Master told me if I wanted to switch again, I should come find you, Senior Brother.”

  Tarot: “…”

  ......

  The day of departure for the Hidden Mist Secret Realm had finally arrived.

  Lauren had just opened her door when she nearly jumped out of her skin—Drake was standing right there.

  “Master,” she greeted quickly.

  “The time has come,” Drake said. “Follow me down the mountain.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. For a moment, she’d thought he’d forgotten entirely and was debating whether to remind him. But here he was.

  In just a few breaths, Drake had already led her to the Thunder Sect’s rgest open-air pza.

  Gerald was in the middle of drilling the disciples set to depart when Drake suddenly appeared.

  At once, the entire crowd dropped into formal bows.

  “Greetings, Grand-Uncle Master.”“Greetings, Immortal Venerable.”

  Voices rang out in unison, and the pza sank into silence.

  Drake flicked his wrist, and the disciples straightened immediately.

  Still, everyone stood stiff and awkward, hardly daring to breathe. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

  Lauren stole a gnce at her master. For just a moment, she caught the weary helplessness in his eyes—like he’d had more than enough of this nonsense centuries ago.

  It hit her then: So that’s why he’s always holed up in Starfell Summit. His status was so terrifyingly high, everywhere he went people grovelled like this. No wonder he found it unbearable.

  Gerald finally stepped forward. “I wonder what advice Immortal Master has, coming here in person?”

  Drake gestured at Lauren. “She will accompany you to the Hidden Mist Secret Realm.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

  Gerald’s eyes flickered. So my guess was right. He cupped his fists. “Yes, Immortal Master.”

  Lauren bowed deeply. “Thank you, Mr. Gerald”

  Gerald smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, Junior Sister. Please, come with me.”

  All around them, Thunder Sect disciples were buzzing with suppressed curiosity. None of them dared speak openly, but eyes followed Lauren like hawks.

  This was her—the mysterious disciple Drake had accepted at the Ascension Conference three years ago? And now she was qualified to enter the Hidden Mist Secret Realm?

  “Three years… only three years, and she already meets the requirements?” one disciple whispered.

  “What level is her cultivation now?” another murmured.

  From a distance, the younger disciples couldn’t even make out her features, but they still whispered as if afraid she might turn and bst them with a single look.

  “To enter the Hidden Mist Secret Realm, you need at least the eighth level of Foundation Establishment,” someone muttered.

  Among them stood Warren—who had joined the sect the very same day Lauren had. Since the moment he learned she was chosen by Drake, he’d carried that envy in his chest like a thorn.

  So this is what it means to have an Immortal Venerable for a master… He clenched his fists. In just three years, she’s already left me in the dust.

  “Back then, we were equals,” Warren thought bitterly. “Now the gap between us is a damn canyon.”

  A junior tugged at his sleeve, wide-eyed. “Warren, you entered the sect with her? With… with Master’s disciple?”