The Beloved Master's Mad Dog Disciple - Chapter 1

Her life belonged to Shen Yanting.

Thirst.

Bo Xuenong felt as if she were being roasted over a fire, her lips and throat parched beyond endurance. She couldn’t help but imagine cool water trickling down her lips and into her mouth, the delicate coolness quenching the tormenting heat.

But imagination couldn’t quench her thirst. Instead of water, she received only a more overwhelming heat.

Gradually, she found it harder to breathe. She gasped for air, but each breath brought a deeper burning pain in her throat. The thin air seemed to crush her throat, threatening to suffocate her.

Bo Xuenong instinctively reached for her throat.

Her outstretched hand faltered. Her frail body was tightly bound by long ropes conjured from flames, the fiery cords relentlessly searing her flesh, as if determined to strip away every last drop of moisture.

Her lips cracked, seeping strands of salty bl00d.

Bo Xuenong licked her lips, tasting the metallic tang.

Confused, she lifted her head, only to be met with sudden darkness. All she could feel was heat and pain.

What… what’s happening?

For a moment, Bo Xuenong drifted in a daze. Then, a familiar female voice echoed in her ears: “Nong’er, Nong’er.”

The woman’s voice was soft, gentle, and melodious.

Bo Xuenong’s ears twitched slightly as she instinctively followed the sound.

Her hand instinctively reached out toward the voice, trying to grasp the speaker. But bound by the burning ropes, she was powerless to act on her desire. Her outstretched fingers could only twitch slightly.

She didn’t know who was speaking, only that her instincts compelled her to draw closer. When she realized she was helpless, a bitter smile crept across her face, and a clear thought drifted through her mind: I’m going to die.

“Nong’er…”

The voice grew closer, and Bo Xuenong could now hear the faint sobs mixed within it. A sharp pain pierced her heart.

Don’t… don’t cry.

The words she desperately wanted to say never left her lips. The flames had already ravaged her throat in mere moments, rendering her incapable of speech.

The speaker, likely aware of her immobility, leaned closer. Bo Xuenong’s fingertips brushed against something warm and soft, and her heart began to tremble violently.

Instinctively, she struggled, terrified that the flames would follow her hand and burn the person speaking to her.

Her struggling fingers were gripped tighter and tighter. Just before her sense of smell vanished completely, Bo Xuenong caught a faint, familiar fragrance. She frantically searched her memory and finally identified its source: Master…

Bo Xuenong couldn’t call out. Her slightly parted lips couldn’t utter the familiar title, but they did manage to spit out a few sparks.

“Master… Master, let go.”

Bo Xuenong felt her strength failing. She was terrified that Shen Yanting would be burned by the fire ropes, yet she could only cry out inwardly.

Shen Yanting didn’t understand her heart. Instead of releasing her grip, she tightened her hold on Bo Xuenong’s hand. “Nong’er, you’re being foolish.”

The voice in her ear grew clearer. Bo Xuenong not only heard the weeping but also understood the guilt in it.

Finally regaining her senses, Bo Xuenong grasped her situation.

Earlier that day, she and her master, Shen Yanting, had traveled to the Holy Serenity Sect to deliver congratulatory gifts, celebrating the Sect Leader’s acceptance of a beloved disciple. Unexpectedly, they were ambushed by a Demonic Beast midway. Though the beast’s individual power was weak, its sheer numbers overwhelmed them. Caught off guard, both she and her master suffered severe injuries, forcing them to resort to a Forbidden Art: sacrificing herself to heal Shen Yanting.

The fire ropes were the Covenant Seal of this Forbidden Art. They would burn through her bones, incinerate her flesh, and drain her last drop of bl00d.

When that happened, she would die, but her master’s injuries would be healed.

Given Shen Yanting’s abilities, once the wounds inflicted by the ambush were healed, she could safely escape.

The thought eased her pain. A contented smile tugged at the corners of Bo Xuenong’s lips.

She was going to die, but she would die for her master.

There could be no better way to die.

“Senior Sister Bo! Senior Sister Bo!”

The shrill, piercing voice sliced through Bo Xuenong’s ears like a sharp knife, the intense pain instantly jolting her awake.

Bo Xuenong’s eyes snapped open, and the first thing she saw was a longsword suspended above her head.

The ink-black blade had already been drawn from its sheath, gleaming with a cold, lethal light.

The sword’s tip hovered a mere fist’s width from her face, poised to plunge straight down and pierce her skull at any moment. Yet Bo Xuenong remained calm, her mind lingering on the recent memory. The raging flames had vanished without a trace, the searing heat that had enveloped her had dissipated, and even the pain was gone. All these signs told her that it had merely been a dream.

Just a dream…

Five hundred years ago, Shen Yanting had rescued Bo Xuenong from a sea of corpses. From the moment she became her disciple, she had secretly vowed that her life belonged to Shen Yanting. If she could truly die saving her master, as in her dream, she would gladly smile in the afterlife. To have missed out on what she considered the most glorious way to die left her with a profound sense of regret.

Leaning back against her pillow, she gazed up at the sword and murmured softly, “Xuanmo, why was it just a dream?”

Bo Xuenong couldn’t get an answer from her sword, even though it was a rare treasure. After all, it hadn’t yet developed sentience; how could it possibly respond to its master’s strange thoughts?

The voice outside the door persisted: “Senior Sister Bo, the Sect Leader requests your presence at Warm Moon Hall.”

So noisy.

The noise irritated her.

The Sect Leader… the Sect Leader was irritating too.

If only everything had been real. She would already be dead, having sacrificed herself for her Master. No more noise, no more having to deal with that bothersome Sect Leader.

Bo Xuenong tugged the blanket over her head, trying to block out the noise completely. But the female disciple’s voice only grew louder.

Too noisy.

So noisy I want to kill her.

With a thought, the longsword hovering above her head shot out. Bo Xuenong leaped from the bed, a faint chill radiating from her palm as she caught Xuanmo before it could fly out.

She tucked the sword into her robes, her voice barely a whisper: “If I kill her, Master will be displeased.”

At the mention of her Master’s name, Xuanmo trembled twice, its glow dimming significantly. It flew back up, not toward the door, but toward the scabbard hanging on the rack. Bo Xuenong secretly praised: As expected of a sword given by Master. Just like me, it obeys her commands. A truly excellent sword!

Xuan Mo Du had already given up, so Bo Xuenong naturally resigned herself to her fate as well.

She touched the jade bracelet on her wrist, and a delicate bronze mirror appeared in her palm.

With a gentle tap, the mirror floated up from her hand, hovering before her. The reflective surface expanded slightly, just enough to reveal half her body.

The face reflected in the mirror was exquisitely beautiful, its features soft and gentle at first glance.

Yet her eyes held a chilling coldness, and the corners of her mouth turned downward, lending her an air of unapproachability.

No.

Master wouldn’t approve of this.

Dissatisfied, Bo Xuenong pressed her fingertips lightly against the corners of her mouth, shaping them into a more pleasing smile. Her eyes softened with a gentle blink. Only then did she put away the mirror, open the tightly shut door, and find two exceptionally young female disciples standing outside. They immediately bowed upon seeing her.

“Senior Sister Bo! The Sect Leader requests your presence at Warm Moon Hall!”

Bo Xuenong hastily offered a supporting gesture and asked softly, “Thank you for your trouble, Junior Sisters. May I ask why the Sect Leader has summoned me?”

The two disciples exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison. “Senior Sister Bo, we wouldn’t know.”

“Thank you for your trouble, Junior Sisters. I’ll go immediately,” Bo Xuenong said, cupping her hands in a polite bow, a gentle smile gracing her face. “Junior Sisters, I’ve prepared Spirit Tea in my room. Feel free to help yourselves before you leave.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Senior Sister Bo, but we must inform the other Senior Sisters and Brothers. We can’t stay long.”

The two female disciples hurried away, a sight that pleased Bo Xuenong slightly.

There was no Spirit Tea prepared in her room, only a collection of longswords with a particularly bloodthirsty aura.

Bo Xuenong reached behind her, and with a flicker of ethereal light, Xuanmo flew out, automatically fastening itself to her waist. A thin, icy glow shimmered at her fingertips as she lightly brushed her earlobe with two fingers. Suddenly, the voices of the two departing disciples echoed in her mind—they were discussing her.

“I never expected Senior Sister Bo to be so good-tempered. I thought she’d snap at us like Senior Sister Jin if we interrupted her cultivation.”

“Didn’t you hear the Senior Brothers and Sisters when you joined the sect? Elder Shen’s disciple is known for having the best temperament among the seven Inner Sect Disciples.”

“It’s hard to believe someone as aloof as Elder Shen could raise such a gentle and good-natured disciple.”

“……”

Bo Xuenong didn’t like hearing those words.

They didn’t understand anything. Her Master was an Immortal Elder, and it was only natural for Immortal Elders to speak sparingly.

It wasn’t coldness; it was simply how Immortal Elders were supposed to be.

The Suspended Ink Sword at her waist hummed, sensing its master’s intent. It seemed ready to sever the heads of the two disciples with a single command.

Bo Xuenong pressed her hand against the sword and whispered softly, “Master would be displeased.”

Both the Suspended Ink Sword and Bo Xuenong seemed to deflate at once. She patted the sword reassuringly and decided to let go of her grudge against the two disciples.

With a gentle flick of her long sleeves, the door behind her closed. She leaped into the air, heading toward Warm Moon Hall.

Bo Xuenong had barely run a short distance when she spotted a familiar figure beneath a purple bamboo grove. Her pace slowed, and she stopped a short distance away.

A woman stood beneath the bamboo, wearing a lake-green silk robe. She appeared slightly older than Bo Xuenong and possessed even more striking features: fair skin and exquisitely painted eyebrows and eyes.

Her long, ink-black hair was simply pinned up with a green bamboo hairpin, the austere arrangement radiating a chilling elegance.

Her face lacked the gentle warmth of Bo Xuenong’s. Instead, her features resembled a meticulously crafted green bamboo sword, its surface shimmering with a faint, cold light—sharp but not enough to wound. Yet there was no denying her extraordinary beauty, especially when dappled sunlight filtered through the purple bamboo leaves, casting shifting patterns across her pale skin, making her beauty utterly captivating.

The woman naturally noticed Bo Xuenong, but she remained silent, standing beneath the purple bamboo, calmly observing her.

Even when her gaze focused intently on someone, her eyes remained devoid of warmth.

She seemed like an immortal untouched by worldly concerns, guarding her unique aura of cold detachment and solitude.

This didn’t intimidate Bo Xuenong. She was adept at finding the faintest traces of warmth even in the coldest, snow-covered landscapes.

At that moment, Bo Xuenong felt a mix of secret delight and guilt. Her Master was watching her. She must look very well-behaved and gentle right now—exactly like a good disciple and a good Senior Sister should, right?

Bo Xuenong’s anxiety was understandable.

In the current cultivation world, the Cloudmist Sect, Nirvana Water Sect, and Nethergate Sect stood as the three great powers, with the Cloudmist Sect indisputably at their head. It was the undisputed number one immortal sect.

Although the Imperial Tranquility Sect, where they resided, was merely a third-rate minor sect, Bo Xuenong’s master, Shen Yanting, had once been the Cloudmist Sect Leader’s most esteemed disciple. Having received the most orthodox cultivation lineage, she held the welfare of all living beings in her heart, dedicating herself to saving the world and its people. She embodied the true essence of a celestial being. Bo Xuenong feared that if Shen Yanting discovered her only disciple’s less-than-pure heart, she might be expelled from the sect.

Bo Xuenong dared not meet Shen Yanting’s gaze. She lowered her head and hastily bowed in greeting, “Master!”

Shen Yanting, usually sparing with words, would always respond with a simple, “Nong’er.”

Though Shen Yanting’s voice was cold, like freshly melted snow, chilling everything it touched, Bo Xuenong’s heart remained warm. She struggled to suppress the slow upward curve of her lips at hearing that “Nong’er,” and asked in a soft, respectful tone, “Why is Master here?”

“Passing through.”

Because Shen Yanting rarely spoke, even a few words from her could send Bo Xuenong into a frenzy of excitement. For instance, when Shen Yanting asked, “Where are you going, Nong’er?”

A deep joy surged into Bo Xuenong’s eyes, but she quickly lowered her head to conceal it, striving to appear composed. “The Sect Leader summoned me to Warm Moon Hall.”

Shen Yanting nodded. “Let’s go together.”

“Did the Sect Leader summon Master as well?”

“No.”

Then why is Master going?

Bo Xuenong suppressed the question that threatened to escape her lips and obediently followed Shen Yanting as she moved forward.

The distance between them was small enough that Bo Xuenong could almost catch a whiff of her Master’s unique fragrance. Her smile grew more genuine, softening her features into a gentle, watery warmth. Along the way, disciples couldn’t help but glance at her, and she overheard them praising her as a Senior Sister who seemed kind and approachable. She imagined Master must have heard them too.

Bo Xuenong decided to forgive the Junior Sisters who had disturbed her sweet dreams, as well as the Sect Leader of the Imperial Tranquility Sect, who spent her days on trivial matters and frequently summoned disciples for heart-to-heart talks.

After all, she owed them her gratitude for this opportunity to walk alongside her Master.

For now, Bo Xuenong didn’t want to die. It was too soon. She needed to die at the moment when her Master needed her life the most!