Chapter 3

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. A year spun by, a rapid revolution in the grand tapestry of immortal existence. My attention drifted to other matters: minor squabbles between lesser sects, the occasional rogue cultivator needing attention, and the ever-present delicate balance of power within my own Blue Sky Sect. The conversation with Nehla faded to the back of my mind, a fleeting encounter amongst countless others. In the vast scope of immortal life, a single afternoon’s discussion could easily be lost in the endless swirl of time and events.

My focus returned to my own cultivation. The tribulations a cultivator faces were, as always, increasingly challenging, but with a strong mind and body, they could be withstood. The whispers and doubts manifested as illusions during my meditations grew more and more believable with each advancement, and one’s spirit must be its equal. Months continued to blend together. I taught and I guided, met with sect elders, received offerings from merchants, and watched the seasons change on my mountain. I’d nearly forgotten Nehla entirely.

Then, one crisp morning, as the mist clung to the lower slopes and the sun cast long shadows across my veranda, she returned. I was enjoying a quiet cup of tea, a habit that had become a ritual in my long life, when she appeared. It was not an abrupt arrival, but a subtle presence, a shift in the air. She stood a respectful distance away, her head slightly bowed, her hands clasped loosely in front of her.

Nehla looked ... different. There was a stillness about her, an acceptance that had not been there before. Her robes were simpler, her hair less elaborately styled, but her eyes held a newfound clarity. She was still beautiful, but there was a quiet strength in her features, a resignation that also suggested understanding.

“Sect Head,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “I have returned.”

I blinked, trying to place her. A flicker of recognition sparked in my mind, and then the memory of our previous conversation resurfaced, clearer now than it had been for many months. “Nehla,” I said, surprised. “It has been some time.”

“A year,” she replied, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again to meet mine. “And in that time, I have considered your offer.”

My curiosity was piqued. I motioned for her to take a seat, and this time, she moved with a fluid grace that spoke of inner resolve. I poured her a cup of tea, the steam rising in the cool morning air.

“And what have you decided?” I asked, my voice gentle.

Nehla took the cup with both hands, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. “I wish to become your concubine,” she stated simply, without hesitation. “I wish to learn the Dao of Submission.”

Her words hung in the air, surprising me with their directness. There was no trace of the doubt or resistance I had seen before. Only a calm acceptance, a quiet determination.

“You understand the implications?” I asked, watching her carefully. “You know what this entails?”

“I do,” she affirmed, her eyes steady. “I have thought of little else for the past year. I have seen the look of concern in my mother’s eyes. I have felt my own mortality. I have watched as the world continues without me, and I am afraid to be left behind. I have also considered your words and realized that what I have wanted, is not nearly so important, as what I truly need. I need purpose. I need direction. I need to live.”