I Told My Amnesiac Master He Was My Husband - Chapter 3

His gaze was dark and still. He studied me without expression for so long that he seemed to be weighing every word for truth.

Sweat gathered along my back. Just when I thought he did not believe me, he looked away and nodded.

“So that’s what happened.”

Relief loosened my chest. I sat beside the bed and asked with concern, “Does anything feel wrong?”

He remained quiet. The corners of his eyes reddened, and he gave another small, almost aggrieved nod. “It hurts. Everywhere.”

Wounds carved by spiritual energy were difficult to heal. Even though I cleansed them with my own energy every day, they only scabbed over slowly. Of course he was in pain.

I looked down at his finely jointed hand. Pale, delicate skin wrapped slender bones, and blue-gray veins showed beneath it with a sensuality that made my mouth water.

After a moment’s hesitation, I reached out carefully and took his hand. When he did not pull away, I gathered enough courage to lace our fingers together.

Master’s hand was large enough to envelop mine with ease.

Soft. Warm.

So this was what it felt like to hold his hand.

I pressed my lips together to keep from squealing, my cheeks puffed and burning red.

“It’s all right,” I soothed him. “I won’t abandon you.”

At that reassurance, the master who had lost his memories gave me a gentle, obedient smile. His old languor and world-weary coldness were gone. He was still himself, yet entirely new.

It left me bashful, ashamed, and deliriously happy—a little mouse that had managed to steal the oil from Buddha’s own lamp.

I never told him I was a cultivator or revealed anything that had happened before. We pretended to be ordinary villagers and settled into a peaceful life.

The villagers accepted us. As far as they were concerned, we were a young married couple who had only recently moved in. When they heard my husband was in poor health, our warmhearted neighbors brought us eggs and wild game.

The mortal realm was peaceful now. Under the Human Emperor’s rule, the people lived and worked in comfort. The days when ordinary families went hungry were long past.

It took three months for Master’s wounds to heal completely.

Most of the time, he was quiet. While I worked in the yard, he would sit in a bamboo chair and doze in the sun like a lazy cat. We rose with the sun, rested at dusk, and shared three meals a day. We truly lived like husband and wife.

There was only one bed in the house.

At first, I was too embarrassed to share it with him. Things had moved so quickly that even I lost my nerve.

But Master knew none of that. Without his memories, he genuinely believed we were married.

And married couples naturally slept beneath the same quilt.

When night came and it was time for bed, I stood beside it with my face blazing and stammered, “I-I can sleep on the floor. I wouldn’t want to disturb your wounds.”

Already changed for the night, he lay on the inner side of the bed. He patted the empty space beside him and smiled invitingly.

“Come up here. Sleep with me.”

If I had not known Master’s temperament, those words would have sounded scandalously suggestive.

With his cultivation gone and his old injuries still troubling him, he could not bear the cold at night. The instant I climbed into bed, he pressed against me, wrapping both arms and legs around my body.

The fragrance that had once reached me only in precious wisps now flooded over me, drenching every breath.

I lay as rigid as a plank, too excited to move, my whole body burning.

He rubbed his cheek against mine and sighed in contentment. “So warm.”

With the man I loved in my arms, I spent night after night too happy to sleep. I would secretly breathe in Master’s scent until I was practically drunk on it, then rise at dawn with enough energy to plow two whole mu of land.

I did every chore in the house. Even when he tried to help, I could not bear to let my beautiful master labor. Those slender, delicate hands deserved to be protected.

But rumors slowly began to spread through the village.

People said I was keeping a pretty boy—that Tu Le’s husband might look like a heavenly immortal, but he lazed around all day and left every task to his wife. A handsome face with no use behind it, they said. Not worth feeding.

Somehow, the gossip reached Master.

The next morning, I woke to find him gone. When I stepped outside, I spotted him by the river with his sleeves rolled up, learning to wash clothes from the village women.

His ink-black hair, long enough to reach his waist, was tied back with a red ribbon. He swung the washing paddle with clumsy determination while the healthy, full-figured women around him sang in ringing voices.

Sunlight gleamed over his hair. A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his skin looked so smooth and lustrous I wanted to bite him.

An immortal once untouched by dust had descended into the mortal world and become my husband.

I had never aspired to much in life. Ever since I was young, all I had wanted was to make Master my man.

Now my wish had come true.

I stared until I nearly drooled. When I finally came to my senses, I hurried over and snatched the clothes from him.

“Why did you sneak out here by yourself?”

He smiled at me. “I should share the burden with you. I can’t let you do all the work alone.”