Tumor Sword Immortal

Chapter 312 Snowstorm
It's snowing again.

First, a few ice flowers were scattered on the windowsill. Then, a gust of wind blew in fine snowflakes, which drifted in and landed on her long, silky hair.

The man's long eyelashes trembled slightly, his icy blue eyes moved slightly, glancing at the snow on his long hair before turning his gaze to the window.

Outside the window, there are endless snow-capped mountains.

The female disciple who had been standing not far away brought a soft blanket and covered him with it, then turned around and added a few more pieces of firewood to the stove.

As she walked, the slender jade ornaments adorning her white silk dress gently clinked together, making a tinkling sound.

The man watched her back, his gaze lingering on her unusually shapely figure as she squatted down, and said softly, "Come here."

His voice carried an ethereal echo.

The girl put down the firewood and obediently walked to the soft couch by the window.

The man sat cross-legged on the couch, reached out, wrapped his hand around her supple waist, and began to caress her soft skin.

A moment later, he reached his hand inside her dress again.

The cold fingers touched deep inside, and the girl bit her lip, letting out an instinctive groan.

The man tilted his head back and let out a sigh of relief: "It's hot."

This warmth seemed to bring his expression back to life.

A lingering taste remained on his withdrawn fingertips. He raised his hand, and the girl obediently bent down, opening her mouth to kiss his fingertips.

The man smiled and patted her head as a compliment.

"Are you adjusting well now that your sister is gone?" he asked.

The girl lowered her head and whispered, "Get used to it."

"You're not angry with me?"

"I'm not annoyed."

The man nodded: "The one who bought your sister is the manager of the Three Thousand Water Mansion in Leyangzhou. You've grown up in this icy and snowy place, so it's not necessarily a bad thing to see the scenery of Jiangnan."

The girl showed neither joy nor sorrow, but simply lowered her head and whispered, "What the master chooses is naturally good."

Looking at the girl's docile demeanor, he couldn't help but smile and asked, "Do you know why I sold your sister?"

The girl shook her head.

"Because I'm tired of it."

The man withdrew his gaze from the girl and turned it back to the drawing paper in front of him. The paper seemed to depict a portrait, but only a rough outline was drawn.

He picked up his brush and traced the black hair of the person in the painting again, then said, "When I get tired of you, I'll sell you too... And you? Where do you want to be a slave?"

The girl still shook her head: "I'll do whatever my master says."

The man sighed helplessly, "It's just not fresh enough, that's why I always get tired of it. I still need to train it more."

As he spoke, his hand, which was holding a pen, suddenly paused.

I raised my gaze, looking beyond the snow-covered mountains where the snow was getting heavier, not knowing where I was looking.

He opened his mouth, and the ethereal quality in his voice abruptly vanished. It was as if he were speaking to someone very close to him: "Why are you suddenly so excited?"

After he finished speaking, he paused for a long time, but no one responded.

However, the man's long, narrow, and beautiful eyes slowly narrowed, and a hint of amusement appeared on his face: "Unexpectedly, it was Him who succeeded first."

After saying that, he shook his head, somewhat wistfully, "That's true, He does the most, so naturally He responds the fastest, unlike me, who does nothing but laze around every day..."

There was no one else in the room except the girl, but the man spoke very vividly, and sometimes he would be interrupted halfway through his sentence.

He shrugged: "I'm helpless too, after all, I'm tied up with worldly affairs. You, on the other hand, have had a very comfortable life these past few years. Why don't you think about making some good efforts?"

Upon hearing the reply, the man's expression froze for a moment, then he chuckled and blurted out, "You bastard, always indulging in wishful thinking..."

Before the words were finished, a crisp slap rang out in the air.

The man turned his face away, as if he had been slapped. He wasn't angry, but a hint of mockery finally crept into his usually indifferent expression.

Before he could reply, footsteps came from outside.

He could only put down his paintbrush and look up.

Someone did come to the door. The person politely stopped at the door, knocked on the wooden door, and called out, "Uncle Gu."

The man replied, "Come in and talk. It's snowing outside, and I'm freezing."

The wooden door opened, and a boy dressed in light blue clothes scurried in with a grin.

The boy's cultivation was insufficient; when the weather turned cold, even his nose turned red from the cold.

Upon entering the room and seeing the roaring stove, he couldn't help but move closer. He wiped his nose and said with a smile, "Master sent me to call you, saying we're going to the Cold Pool of Creation."

The man nodded: "They mentioned this to me a month ago."

Before leaving, he began to tidy himself up. His clothes and shoes were not a problem, but his long, soft hair, which was winding on the couch, was a bit difficult to comb.

As he tidied his hair, he smiled apologetically at the boy and said, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

The boy quickly waved his hand.

He squatted by the stove, carefully watching his master.

Although there are many aloof seniors on the mountain, it is rare to find someone as solitary as Uncle Gu. His wooden hut is located alone on a precipitous rock on a dangerous peak. Unless it is a major event that needs prior notice, he is never seen moving around elsewhere on the mountain.

The boy looked around the room again, feeling a pang of regret. His master hadn't even taken on a disciple to take care of him. He was all alone in the wooden house every day. He wondered if the master was cultivating in seclusion or doing something else.

Uncle Gu tied his hair up in a long bun, his hands crossed, but he didn't put a hairpin in his empty hand.

He glanced sideways at the white-clad girl serving beside the bed.

The girl understood and carefully fastened the wooden hairpin for her owner.

With each movement, the slender jade ornaments on her white silk dress jingled crisply.

After tidying up, Uncle Gu got off the bed, his cotton socks touching the bamboo mat, and reached out to reach for his shoes.

The boy squatting by the stove had sharp eyes and immediately stepped forward to help his uncle with his shoes.

When he walked to the tatami mat, he saw a piece of drawing paper on the table.

The drawing paper shows an unfinished human figure, only the outline is drawn, and only most of the facial features are drawn, with the eyes, nose, and lips left unpainted.

The boy asked curiously, "Who is this that Uncle-Master drew?"

The man turned around, glanced at the drawing paper, and smiled, "A few old friends."

Although there were several figures, there was only one face. The young man thought that his martial uncle had just started drawing them and felt inexplicably apologetic: "I have disturbed martial uncle Gu's enjoyment."

“It’s alright,” the man put on his shoes and waved his hand. “It’s already finished.”

The boy was taken aback: "Huh?"

The uncle didn't explain. He got off the bed, patted his clothes, and gestured towards the door with his chin: "Let's go. You've made your master wait. He's going to lecture me again. He's the number one nag in Little Tianshan."

"Hehe, only you, Uncle-Master, would dare to say that to him." The boy laughed, following the man out of the wooden house and closing the door behind him.

The girl inside watched her master leave, glanced back at the painting on the couch, and then noticed the wind and snow outside the window growing fiercer. She carefully knelt down and reached out to close the window.

Just then, a strong gust of wind blew in, carrying the snow that had accumulated on the windowpane into the room.

The swirling snowflakes, meeting the blazing fire in the fireplace, instantly melted into water droplets, which, with a few soft sounds, landed on the man's drawing paper.

The girl was startled and quickly got up, only to see snow water clinging to her hair, falling onto the paper and outlining the unfinished contours of her face.

A few splashes of snow water seeped in, perfectly illuminating the eyebrows, eyes, nose, and mouth of the figures in the painting.

This was a young man in his early twenties, with a haggard face and tired eyes, but a slight upturn of his lips revealed a certain clear-headedness and nonchalance.

lifelike.

(End of this chapter)