The cloaked man told a brief account of Su Mu’s past. Ruoshui listened intently. She learned that Qiwu Jun’s life had been full of hardships — perhaps due to past misdeeds that made him a magnet for tragedy. But she also wondered what the cloaked man’s real motive was.

　　“Why are you telling me this?” Ruoshui asked.

　　“To tell you that Qiwu Jun keeps his distance from people,” the cloaked man replied. “Even as head of the Immortal Sects, he doesn’t take companions.”

　　“So?” she asked.

　　“So, if you want to stay close to him, you must marry him and become his wife,” he said bluntly.

　　“But you said he already has a fiancée,” Ruoshui protested, dizzy from the contradiction.

　　“If you want it, I’ll help,” the man promised.

　　“Why help me? Ruining someone’s marriage invites heaven’s wrath,” she said.

　　“I told you: seeing your devotion, I want to help you. Besides, Qiwu Jun and that Wuyang girl aren’t exactly a match in the first place. I don’t know why the old master arranged it,” he answered.

　　Ruoshui forced a bitter laugh. “Whether the old man matched them or not, it’s still a formal betrothal — parents’ decision, matchmakers’ words. This is a legitimate marriage. I can’t just break it.” But her heart felt hollow.

　　Seeing her resolve, the cloaked man schemed how to carry out his plan. “You’re too honest and kind — it makes me think small. But I feel we’re suited. Let me help you meet him.”

　　The offer was tempting. Ruoshui hesitated: why was he so eager to help her? What did he want? Still, a woman with nothing to lose might accept any chance. After thinking it over, she agreed to his help.

　　Days passed with no action. After a nightmare, she knocked on his door. “You said you’d get me into Qiwu Jun’s presence. When will you take me?”

　　“On the eve of his wedding,” he replied slowly.

　　“The night before his wedding?” she asked.

　　“Zhaoyao Mountain is the greatest immortal stronghold — fully guarded. You can’t just stroll in. On the night before the wedding there will be guests and mixed crowds — it’s the easiest time to slip in.”

　　It made sense. A mortal like her couldn’t enter the mountain properly. The cloaked man was clearly no saint — but he might be the only way.

　　“All right,” she agreed, though uneasy. The cloaked man teased, “Don’t forget to bring two jars of good wine for the celebration.”

　　Ten days later, the wedding drew near. Ruoshui asked anxiously, “Isn’t his wedding tomorrow? When will you take me to see him?”

　　“If you’re that impatient, we leave now,” he said with authority.

　　She hurriedly packed, grabbed the wine, and followed the man.

　　Qiwu Jun’s wedding was indeed an immortal affair: Zhaoyao Mountain draped in red silk and lanterns, every corner festive. Mu Lin Jun paced among disciples coordinating things, worried about any mistake.

　　Using an altered, clean face, the cloaked man blended into the crowd without effort. Under cover of night he slipped Ruoshui to Lone Egret Peak. Before she could gather her bearings he vanished.

　　This must be Qiwu Jun’s home, she thought — a barren peak with not a blade of grass. She stepped forward and accidentally touched the mountain’s barrier. It hummed and made her uneasy.

　　Qiwu Jun, who had been meditating, sensed a disturbance in the barrier and appeared before her in an instant.

　　“Ah!” Ruoshui jumped and backed away.

　　Qiwu Jun sized her up in the darkness and asked, “Is it you?”

　　“Su… Su Mu,” she stammered, feeling a strange pressure.

　　Qiwu Jun turned and walked away. Ruoshui shamelessly followed.

　　Inside the Wutong Residence the two sat facing each other in awkward silence. Ruoshui didn’t know what to say.

　　Qiwu Jun finally asked, “What are you doing here?”

　　“I… met a strange man who brought me,” she answered honestly.

　　“Who?”

　　She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

　　“What do you want?” he asked again.

　　She bowed her head. “I don’t even know who I am or where to go. I thought to come to you — could you take me in?”

　　“No,” Qiwu Jun cut her off without hesitation.

　　Ruoshui had suspected his refusal, but hearing it so flatly stung. She considered pleading but the seriousness of his face choked off any words.

　　The silence stretched. Ruoshui said, “I came to thank you for saving my life. I also heard you’re getting married tomorrow, so I brought two jars of wine to congratulate you.” She set the jars on the table, poured two cups, handed one to him and raised her own in one gulp.

　　Qiwu Jun looked at the cup, apparently not intending to drink. “You not drinking?” she asked.

　　“I do not drink,” he answered coldly.

　　“What? I heard you have lived a very long life and yet you don’t drink?” she said, surprised and bemused. “Life is short — one should enjoy it. Drinking solves sorrow. After all, your wedding is tomorrow — one big drunken spree is the custom!”

　　“Using drink to drown sorrow only deepens it,” Qiwu Jun countered.

　　“I’ve heard that too, but I think it’s wrong. One cup won’t do, so have two; two aren’t enough, have three; three aren’t enough, have a jar; a jar isn’t enough, have two; then keep going until you’re senseless and you won’t feel sorrow,” she declared, and drank another cup.

　　She made Qiwu Jun smile. He actually drank the wine she’d offered — spicy, but leaving a lingering taste that invited more.

　　After a few cups, Ruoshui, half drunk and full of grievance, burst out: “Why did you leave without telling me? Do you know how heartbroken I was when I woke up and you were gone?”

　　“All things come to an end,” Qiwu Jun said coolly, revealing no emotion.

　　“But you should have at least told me. You left without a word — no warning, no time to prepare. Do you know how hard it was? No one to carry me out into the sun, I had to learn to walk on my own and fell many times. No one bought me treats. Once my legs healed I wanted to find family but didn’t even know who I was or where they were. I wanted to find you, but I didn’t even know who you were…”

　　As she rattled on, he kept refilling her cup. She eventually slumped over the table muttering, and Qiwu Jun — in a rare, unplanned moment of distraction — sat propped, his mind drifting, and entered meditation.