The Cold and Aloof Palace Master's Daily Demon-Slaying Life

The wooden door of the old house closed silently behind me, shutting out the moonlight and noise from outside.

Zuo Qingqiu stood in the narrow entrance hall, her gaze slowly sweeping over everything that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

The courtyard was small, with three main rooms and a side room on the east and west sides. The ground was paved with bluestone slabs, and a few clumps of withered yellow weeds sprouted from the cracks, trembling slightly in the night breeze.

The old plum tree in the corner, its branches gnarled and twisted like iron, had long since lost all its leaves in this late autumn season, leaving only bare branches piercing the night sky, much like a silent vigil.

Everything was cleaned up very well.

The bluestone slabs looked as if they had just been washed with water, gleaming damply in the moonlight. There were no cobwebs under the eaves, and the window paper was as good as new.

The two faded old lanterns, even wiped clean, revealed a dim warmth through their dusty red gauze.

The Zuo family did indeed put in a lot of effort to please her, their "ancestor".

To maintain an old house that has been uninhabited for seventy years to this extent requires people to take good care of it year after year.

She accepted this "filial piety," but that was all.

She walked across the courtyard, the bluestone slabs beneath her feet echoing softly.

The night breeze carried the scent of distant mountains and forests, mixed with the unique aroma of old wood and earth from the old house.

The smell instantly transported her back to her distant childhood, to those summer nights spent lying in the courtyard, watching her mother mend clothes under the lamp while her younger sister played on her knees.

She pushed open the door to the main room.

"Squeak—"

The sound of the door hinges turning was particularly clear in the quiet night.

There were no lights on inside, but moonlight shone through the open door and window paper, enough to make out the outlines.

The main hall was small, furnished with simple tables and chairs, all made of ordinary wood and old-fashioned in style, but they were wiped spotless, and even the tabletops reflected a cool light.

Zuo Qingqiu's gaze fell directly on the offering table placed against the wall at the deepest part of the main hall.

The altar is made of fine sandalwood, with a dark color and simple cloud patterns carved on it.

On the table, three memorial tablets stood side by side.

On the far left: First examine the spirit tablet of Zuo Gong Zhongchun.

Center: Memorial tablet of my late mother, Ning Yuhe (left mother).

On the far right: the memorial tablet of my late sister, Zuo Lengqiu.

In front of the memorial tablet, there was an incense burner, candlesticks, and offering plate, with even some fresh fruits and snacks on the plate, which were obviously just replaced today.

Zuo Qingqiu stood quietly in front of the offering table for a moment.

Moonlight streamed in through the doors and windows behind her, casting her long shadow on the offering table and memorial tablets.

Dressed in white, she appeared exceptionally solitary in the dimly lit hall.

After a long while, she raised her hand and took out a slender stick of incense from the storage bag at her waist.

The incense is a superior "soul-soothing incense," made from spiritual herbs that nourish the spirit and calm the mind. It has a soothing effect even on the souls of mortals.

She didn't use a fire tongs; she simply rubbed her fingertips together, and a wisp of almost imperceptible immortal energy flowed through her.

"puff."

The incense stick ignited spontaneously without a flame, producing a small, dark red spark. Wisps of smoke rose and twisted in the moonlight, releasing a delicate and soothing fragrance that seemed to calm the soul.

Zuo Qingqiu held incense sticks in both hands, raised them to her forehead, and solemnly bowed three times to the three memorial tablets.

Then he stepped forward and inserted three incense sticks into the incense burner.

The wisps of smoke rose straight up, spreading in the air and swirling around the memorial tablet, like an invisible bond connecting the living and the dead.

Having done all this, she took two steps back, looked at the three cold wooden plaques, her lips moved slightly, her voice was very soft, yet each word rang out clearly in the empty hall:

"Father, Mother, Little Sister."

"I'm back."

"Today, I have attained the Golden Elixir and become a True Lord."

She paused, as if carefully choosing her words, or perhaps simply letting the words linger in the air a little longer.

"Did you...see that?"

"Father, you left too soon, without seeing your daughter become successful. But you always said that in this life, one should not seek great wealth or status, but only to have a clear conscience and live with dignity. Your daughter... should not have disappointed you."

"Mother, you suffered your whole life and never had a good day. Your daughter has become the young master, but you... Now that your daughter is capable, she can no longer take care of you. I only wish that you and Father can have less to worry about and more peace in the afterlife."

Her gaze finally settled on the memorial tablet on the far right.

"Little sister..."

The voice was lower and slower, with a barely perceptible tremor.

You said you wanted me to take your share and see scenery you'd never seen before.

"I'm going."

"I saw the scenery above the Purple Mansion, and the vastness of the Golden Elixir Path. I became a True Lord, with a lifespan of ten thousand years. From then on, the world was vast, and I could roam freely."

"But……"

She closed her eyes, her long eyelashes casting soft shadows beneath her eyelids.

"Now, I'm the only one left who's looking at the scenery."

The wisps of smoke still curled up, swirling around the memorial tablet, as if responding to the deceased, or perhaps merely a playful tactic of the night wind.

Zuo Qingqiu opened her eyes, her gaze clear and lucid, all outward emotions concealed.

She walked to an old wooden chair next to the altar, brushed off non-existent dust, and sat down.

The chair was hard, making it a bit uncomfortable.

But she just sat quietly, her gaze fixed on the offering table, on the memorial tablets and the wisps of incense smoke, as if trying to see through these cold objects to the faces behind them, faces that were already blurred but deeply etched into her bones.

The moonlight shifted, moving from the doorway to the window.

The light and shadow in the hall also changed accordingly.

Zuo Qingqiu sat there motionless, as if she had become part of the old house, blending into the silence that had been forgotten by time for seventy years.

Memories, like a tide, silently washed over me.

-

The earliest memory is a warm yet rough touch, the fragrance of sunlight mixed with soil and rice ears.

That was the outermost edge of the Cuiwei Mountains, on the edge of a vast spiritual field, a small farmhouse consisting of a few ordinary tiled houses. The courtyard was not as refined as it is now; the fence was made of rough bamboo poles, farm tools were piled in the corner, golden rice was drying in the yard, and a few chickens strolled leisurely by the fence.

"Qiu'er, slow down! Don't fall!"

A woman's gentle, smiling voice came from behind.

That's my mother, Ning Yuhe.

In my memory, my mother always wore a faded coarse cloth dress, her hair simply tied up with a wooden hairpin, and her face bore the marks of years of hard work. But when she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons, which was very beautiful.

Back then, she was just a little girl with two pigtails, running barefoot on the threshing ground, chasing a fluttering butterfly.

The sun warmed my back. The air was filled with the fresh scent of newly harvested rice, mixed with the earthy smell and the slightly astringent aroma of grass and trees.

That was the most familiar and comforting taste from her childhood.

Father Zuo Zhongchun was a man of few words, with dark skin and rough, calloused hands. He didn't talk much, but his eyes always softened when he looked at her and her sister.

During the off-season, he would carry her on his shoulders and wander along the field ridges, pointing to the majestic main peak shrouded in mist in the distance, saying, "Look, that's our Zuo family's sacred mountain, the place where immortals live."

At that time, she felt that her father's shoulders were the most secure place in the world.