“North of the Kunlun Mountains there flows a river whose force cannot overcome even a mustard seed; hence it is named Weak Water.” — Classic of Mountains and Seas

　　At the bottom of Weak Water lay a black, crystal-clear coffin. Inside it rested a young woman, her face invisible in the darkness. When the first morning sunlight touched the water’s surface and sparkled, the woman in the coffin seemed to stir. She suddenly opened her eyes and rolled them, trying hard to see something, but aside from a faint glimmer she could make out nothing.

　　She tried to sit up, but found that her whole body was completely immobile. She did not know why she was sleeping here, nor how long she had been here. Just as she resigned herself to sleep on, thunder rumbled, fierce winds whipped up, and torrential rain poured from the sky. What little light she had seen vanished into pitch black; she could see nothing and felt herself swaying, drifting with the currents.

　　“Rumble!” With deafening thunder, a bolt of lightning struck the coffin. The lid cracked open, and then something collided with it — the coffin flipped over. The young woman sank to the bottom. She struggled with all her might, but her body felt useless, obeying none of her will. I’m going to die, she thought helplessly, closing her eyes in despair and giving up the fight.

　　On Lone Egret Peak, at a crag’s edge, Qiwu Jun stood with his hands behind his back. He was tall and slender, white robes billowing, long white hair flowing. His features were like a painting: fair skin, high nose, well-shaped lips, sword-like brows, and starry eyes — truly an immortal from a picture. He looked down calmly at the world below, embodying the very essence of transcendent grace.

　　Qiwu Jun gazed into the distance, an inexplicable unease in his heart, a feeling that something was about to happen. Sure enough, what had been a sky of endless blue instantly turned dark with gathering clouds. Sensing the danger, Qiwu Jun hurried back to Wutong Cottage — his robes were already soaked through. Such a sudden, violent downpour was rarely seen in centuries.

　　Back at home, he was restless and uneasy. At the door he watched the fierce rain and leaping lightning. Suddenly, a bolt struck north of Kunlun, as if splitting sky and earth. A strange white column of light then shot through the clouds, intersecting the storm bolts. It looked like lightning, yet was not lightning.

　　Qiwu furrowed his brow. This was too strange: an extraordinary storm that just appeared out of nowhere, and a mysterious column of white light. Unable to ignore it, he summoned his sword and flew toward the pillar of light. He wove between lightning and storm winds, soaring above Weak Water, but found nothing unusual.

　　At last he gave up searching and landed on Fenglin Isle in the river’s midst, scanning all around — still nothing amiss. The thunder gradually faded, leaving only the downpour from that one day and night. By the next morning the sun had broken through the clouds again, returning the sky to clear calm, as if yesterday’s storm had been a dream. But Qiwu’s soaked clothes and the raging Weak Water before him were proof that it had indeed really happened.

　　When the storm finally passed, Qiwu Jun cast a spell to dry his clothes and hair, then flew to the riverbank of Weak Water. The river’s course had turned to chaos: debris and ruined walls lay everywhere. Not a living soul was in sight; likely the sudden flood had swept everyone away. Even cultivators, sworn to protect the people, are powerless before nature’s calamities — one can only yield to fate.

　　Qiwu Jun sighed and shook his head, preparing to leave, when he heard faint breathing. He stopped and turned: on the shore lay a single person — the only human figure for miles around. Qiwu approached, curiosity in his heart, and saw a young woman. It was the same woman from the coffin. She remembered only a blinding light and then sinking into the water, unable to breathe. After drifting who knows how long, she was washed ashore, still unable to move. Even opening her eyes was an enormous effort.

　　In the dim light she saw a figure approaching. She strained to make out the face but saw nothing clearly, only a blur drawing near. When the figure stood over her, she could only see the corner of its white garment.

　　High above, Qiwu Jun observed the scene. The woman lay on the shore wearing a sheer dress that clung to her wet body, revealing a delicate, graceful figure. Her feet were submerged up to the ankles, and her slippers had surely been lost to the flood. Strangely, her face — though she was barely conscious — was rosy and flushed, as if she were merely sleeping fitfully.

　　Seeing that the newcomer did not yet help her, the woman gathered what strength remained to reach out for the last hope before her. She lifted one hand; her feeble fingers could barely reach past her toes. Looking at her dying struggle, Qiwu could not bear it. He slipped off his outer robe and wrapped it around her, then gently lifted her in his arms.

　　Instinctively she curled closer into his embrace, relishing the long-missed warmth and trying to snuggle even nearer. Qiwu Jun thought to carry her back to Lone Egret Peak, but reconsidered — it would not be right. He regained his composed expression and went down the mountain in search of shelter.

　　At the foot of the mountain he found a simple thatched hut, home to a kind old woman. She was mending clothes in the yard when she heard someone arrive. Looking up, she saw a noble young man carrying an unconscious girl. Dropping her sewing, the old woman hurried out to greet them. Noting the water dripping from the girl’s skirts, she ushered Qiwu Jun into the house.

　　The interior was plainly furnished: a small square table and a narrow bed. The old woman straightened the bedding. Qiwu Jun carefully laid the girl on the bed. She seemed very reluctant to leave the warmth of his arms, her brow furrowed in discomfort. Qiwu Jun turned and gave the old woman a slight nod. “Please, madam, could you change her clothes?” he asked softly, bowing respectfully.

　　Qiwu felt a bit awkward. Being away from Zhaoyao Mountain for so long, he had forgotten how to interact with ordinary folk — especially elders. Even though he was tens of thousands of years old, he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with their ancestors. But facing this white-haired granny, he could not summon a prideful stance. Still, the famous Qiwu Jun bowing was a difficult thing for him.

　　Deciding he shouldn’t undress the young girl himself, Qiwu Jun stepped aside. He turned to leave, but noticed the girl still clutching his robe. He gently freed her fingers, pulling back the corner of his robe, and then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

　　Standing in the doorway, Qiwu Jun was deep in thought. After a while, the old woman came out and said, “Her clothes are changed. This girl probably caught a chill. I will brew her a bowl of ginger broth.”

　　“Thank you,” Qiwu Jun replied, returning to the bedside. The old woman had dressed the girl in a bright crimson gown — it looked exactly like a bridal underdress for a wedding. Qiwu Jun didn’t think much of it; perhaps the old woman had no other suitable garments.

　　He sat at the bedside and reached out to feel the girl’s forehead. It was cool to the touch — normal. He lifted the sleeve of the crimson dress to see her pale, soft wrist and took her pulse with three fingers — normal as well. He stood and cast a quick magical scan — everything was normal. Maybe I truly was just overthinking, he thought.

　　Just then, the old woman appeared with a bowl. “The ginger broth is ready. Please help this young lady drink it,” she said carefully, holding the bowl and smiling kindly.

　　Qiwu Jun glanced at the girl lying on the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he sat up and propped her gently against his chest. The old woman blew on her spoonful of broth and brought it to the girl’s lips. Perhaps she was starving; the girl obediently opened her mouth to sip.

　　“Cough, cough, cough!” Just as the old woman was relieved, the girl suddenly erupted into a fit of coughing. Qiwu Jun patted her back comfortingly while the old woman prepared a second spoonful. This time, the girl firmly refused to open her mouth. But the old woman insisted on feeding her.

　　Suddenly, with one big sweep of her arm, the girl caught the old woman unprepared. The spoon flew out of her hand, dropping to the floor, and the ginger broth splashed onto Qiwu Jun’s snow-white robe. Qiwu Jun looked at the girl with clear displeasure.

　　Under his gaze, the girl finally opened her tired eyes. She was indeed exhausted — too exhausted to continue sleeping, but the bitter brew and strange sensations forced her awake. When she opened her eyes, she saw the mark of the broth on the white robe above her, the old woman holding the empty bowl, and the broken spoon on the floor. Then she looked up and saw a familiar face.

　　Where had she seen this face before? She barely had time to think. If a glare could kill, Qiwu Jun’s look would have cut her into pieces. Frightened, she lowered her head guiltily and murmured, “Tastes awful,” explaining why she had just knocked over the spoon.

　　The old woman chuckled, “Child, that’s ginger broth to drive away cold. You were soaked to the skin; drink this to warm you up.”

　　The girl cast a crestfallen look at the old woman, clearly unwilling. Qiwu Jun took the bowl and brought it back to the girl’s lips. In a huff, she tilted her head back and drank it all in one gulp, her face contorting as if she had just swallowed poison.

　　The old woman took the empty bowl and went outside to cook. Qiwu Jun looked down at the girl in his arms; she was still unconscious as if she didn’t notice anything. He stood up.

　　“Ah!” the girl suddenly cried out, realizing her support was gone. Without warning she collapsed heavily, her head striking the edge of the bed.

　　Pain shot through her. She tried to rub her aching head, but found she couldn’t move her hand. She attempted to shift and find a more comfortable position, but she had no strength at all. Qiwu Jun, turning to leave, paused.

　　“Um... could you... help me? I... have no strength,” the girl managed, panicked.

　　Finally Qiwu Jun turned back to her. She lay rigid like a wooden doll on the bed, her eyes rolling wildly but her body utterly still. Her pulse and color were normal. She had no cultivation energy, truly an ordinary young woman — yet something about her was very odd.

　　Puzzled, Qiwu Jun gently adjusted the girl: propping a pillow under her head and pulling the blanket over her. He studied this seemingly normal but obviously unusual girl closely. The atmosphere grew somewhat eerie.

　　“Who are you?” the girl finally blurted out under his intense gaze.

　　Qiwu Jun hesitated for a moment, then answered quietly, “Su Mu.” It was an old name he hadn’t used in a very long time.

　　“Su Mu...” the girl repeated softly. This face definitely looked familiar, but the name sounded strange to her.

　　“And... who am I?” the girl asked again.

　　“Are you asking me?” Qiwu replied.

　　“Is anyone else here?” she looked around the room as if seeing properly for the first time.

　　“How should I know who you are?” Qiwu Jun found the situation mildly amusing. He had been about to ask her who she was, and instead she questioned him first. Did she really not know her own identity, or was she hiding something?

　　“You don’t know who I am? Then you... I... we...” The girl stammered, clearly wanting to ask something but not sure how.

　　“Just passing by,” Qiwu answered curtly.

　　“Oh, then thanks,” the girl said, a bit disappointed, then resignedly closed her eyes again.

　　Moments later, the corner of the girl’s mouth curved into a small smile. Qiwu Jun thought she had perhaps remembered something. But looking closely at her peaceful sleeping face and steady breathing, he realized she was simply asleep again, probably dreaming of something pleasant.

　　Qiwu Jun shook his head and walked back to the doorway, still deep in thought. It was midday now, and the sun was high. The old woman returned with a lunch: stir-fried greens, vegetable broth, white rice, and pickles.

　　“Sorry, the food here is humble. Please make do, young master,” said the old woman warmly.

　　“I have abstained from the Five Grains,” Qiwu Jun replied.

　　“Are you not an immortal from the Immortal Mountain?” the old woman suddenly realized and asked.

　　Qiwu Jun did not answer, but his silence made his meaning clear.

　　“What a blessing to see an immortal in my lifetime! Pardon my shabby home, I hope you are not offended,” she said, beaming.

　　“You are too kind. Thank you for hosting me,” Qiwu said politely.

　　“An immortal speaks so politely — it’s no trouble at all,” the old woman laughed, then left.

　　Suddenly a faint sound came from the bedroom. Qiwu thought the girl was awake and hurried to the bed. Instead, he found her still sleeping fitfully. Her expression told him she was having a very bad dream.

　　He watched her tossing and turning as if on a stage, waiting for her to wake. But quarter after quarter passed and she did not wake; her face twisted in pain, murmuring a nearly desperate “No... don’t... don’t...”

　　When tears finally streamed from her eyes to wet her hairline, Qiwu Jun could no longer remain indifferent. He reached out to gently wipe them away.

　　The moment his hand touched her face, the girl suddenly clutched his wrist. He pulled back, but her grip only tightened — as if finding new strength — and she trembled.

　　After a while, the girl’s breathing and emotions calmed down. Qiwu Jun again tried to withdraw his hand, but she still held fast to his wrist. He tried multiple times; each time he pulled away, her hand clung even more desperately.

　　Perhaps moved by the girl’s pitiful look, Qiwu Jun unexpectedly let her hold his wrist as she slept. He found a comfortable spot on the bed, sat down, and closed his eyes to rest.