Chapter 766- A Human needs to Pee
The blind mother, her hand on her husband’s now-warm, now-strong hand, trembled. The tears, the streaming tears, fell.
"Someone poisoned him?" she whispered. Her voice cracked. "But... who? Who would do this?"
The daughter, Lady Han, her dark eyes wide, stared. The information, the revelation that her father had been deliberately poisoned, was there.
"Someone planted the parasite," Tianlong said. His voice was even. "A demonic cultivator. On the merchant route. The attack was not random. It was deliberate."
The words, the implication, the dark, sinister implication that someone had targeted her father, hit the blind woman. Her body trembled.
"I would stay here to catch the culprit," Tianlong said. His voice carried the casual tone of a man making a minor schedule adjustment.
The blind mother, her composed face, the tears, the gratitude, fell to her knees. The bow, the prostration, was there.
"Thank you," she whispered. Her musical voice was broken. "Thank you, Immortal Master. Thank you."
He looked at her. His gold-crimson eyes, the assessment, held the calculation.
"You don’t need to thank me," he said. His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "But I would have to take some payment for this."
The words, the mention of payment, the transaction, the price, hit the room. The blind mother, still kneeling, tilted her head. The daughter, Lady Han, her dark eyes, wide, her face flushing crimson, stepped forward.
"I will pay whatever you want, Master," she said. Her voice was quiet. The words, the desperate, already-given, already-sold words of a woman who had already paid with her body, were there. She would pay more. Whatever he wanted. She had already crossed that line.
Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the daughter, held the acknowledgment. Then moved. To the blind mother.
"Your father is healing," he said, addressing the blind woman. "He needs rest. Lady Han, look after him."
The instruction, the dismissal, was clear. The daughter was to stay. The mother was to come with him.
Lady Han’s dark eyes widened. The realization, the understanding, the horror, hit.
"No," she whispered. Her voice was urgent. "Master, I... I can pay. I will pay. Whatever you—"
"It’s fine," the headmistress said. Her hand, on Lady Han’s shoulder, gripped. The squeeze, the restraint, the silencing, was there. "Your Master has spoken."
Lady Han trembled. Her dark eyes, wet, looked at her mother. The blind woman, standing, was composing herself. Her face, the mask, was back. The aristocratic dignity, the poise, was there.
"Immortal Master is kind," the blind mother said. Her warm voice was steady. "I will accompany him. Han, look after your father."
The words, the maternal instruction, the trust, was there. The blind woman, unaware of what was coming, unaware of the price, unaware of the transaction her daughter had already entered, extended her hand. Toward where she sensed Tianlong’s presence.
He took it. His hand, large and pale, held hers. Her hand, small, soft, the hand of a noblewoman, was warm.
They walked. Out of the bedroom, through the hall, into the garden. The headmistress remained behind, her hand still on Lady Han’s shoulder, holding the younger woman in place.
~ The Garden — The Walk
The garden was beautiful. The artificial lake, the small body of water fed by a spirit-spring, reflected the afternoon sky. The silver-leafed trees, the spirit-flowers, the medicinal herbs, the stone benches, the carved pavilion, were the pride of the Han estate.
The blind mother walked beside him. Her hand, in his, was guided. Her steps, measured, were careful. Her face, the composed, dignified face, held the warmth of a woman making conversation.
"This place," she said. Her musical voice was conversational. "My husband built the lake. Twenty years ago. He said the spirit-spring water was good for the herbs. He was right. The medicinal plants grew twice as fast."
She gestured, her free hand indicating the garden. The motion, the blind woman’s gesture, was practiced. She knew where everything was.
"He loves the chrysanthemums," she continued. Her voice was warm. "The golden ones. By the eastern wall. He planted them himself. Every autumn, they bloom and he sits there for hours. Just... sitting. Smiling."
The tenderness, the wifely devotion, the love for a man she had cared for through years of illness, was in her voice.
Tianlong listened. His gold-crimson eyes, on her face, held mild interest. The conversation, the domestic, mundane, human conversation about flowers and lakes and a husband’s hobbies, was something he rarely encountered. His world was one of power, cultivation, divine qi, and the bodies of women. This was... different.
"You are a good wife," he said. His voice was genuine. The compliment, the observation of a man who recognized devotion, was there.
She smiled. The expression, warm, slightly embarrassed, was there.
"Immortal Master is too kind," she said. Her musical voice was modest. "I merely do what any wife would do."
He looked at her. The blind eyes, the bandage, the beautiful mature face. The thick body, the enormous boobs, the wide hips. The grace, the dignity, the composure.
"You are beautiful," he said. His voice was calm. The statement, the direct, unqualified statement, was delivered without preamble.
She paused. Her steps slowed. Her hand, in his, tightened.
"Immortal Master," she said. Her musical voice was flustered. The compliment, from a being of such power, such presence, such divinity, was unexpected. "You must have seen jade fairies. Celestial maidens. Women of the upper realm whose beauty dwarfs mine."
She laughed. The sound, the warm, self-deprecating, modest laugh of a woman who considered herself ordinary, was genuine.
He looked at her. His gold-crimson eyes held the certainty.
"No one is as beautiful as you," he said.
The words, the statement, the absolute, unqualified declaration, hung in the garden. The blind woman, her face, her composed face, flushed. The pink, the red, the visible blush on her mature cheeks, was there.
"Really?" she whispered. Her voice was small. The question, the genuine, vulnerable question of a woman who had not been complimented in years, was there.
"Yes."
~ The Garden — The Toilet
They sat at the pavilion. The stone table, the stone bench, the tea set. The blind mother, her hands finding the cup, poured. The tea, warm, fragrant, was served.
They drank. The conversation, the easy, comfortable conversation about the garden, about the estate, about the flowers, continued. She talked about her husband’s favorites. About the herbs. About the seasons. About the years she had spent here, blind, tending the garden by touch and memory.
Then she stood. Her body, the thick frame, rose. Her hands, finding the edge of the table, steadied her.
"Forgive me, Immortal Master," she said. Her musical voice was apologetic. "I just need to freshen myself."
The euphemism, the polite, aristocratic euphemism for needing to relieve herself, was clear.
"Let me help you, my lady," he said. His voice was soft. The offer, the seemingly considerate offer of a man helping a blind woman, was there.
She laughed. The sound, the warm, slightly scandalized laugh, was there.
"Please, don’t, Immortal Master," she said. Her voice was gentle but firm. "It is unsightly. I can manage."
"No, it is not," he said. His voice was calm. Reasonable. "It is just human nature."