Chapter 44 Tang Hui Begins to Understand the Problem

Tang Hui spent the next morning aggressively pretending nothing unusual happened.

This strategy failed immediately.

Primarily because the pavilion disciples possessed the observational restraint of spiritually awakened pigeons.

The moment she entered the pavilion courtyard, three different disciples stopped talking simultaneously.

Tang Hui narrowed her eyes.

“…Why did everyone become quiet?”

“No reason,” one disciple answered far too quickly.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Tang Hui stepped into the pavilion proper and immediately noticed the consultation desk had been reorganized again.

Not dramatically.

Just… neatly.

Tea arranged properly.
Scroll stacks balanced.
Fresh paper prepared beside the inkstone.

Tang Hui stared at the table silently.

Then slowly turned toward the side windows.

Gu Beichen sat there exactly as expected.

Reading.

Calm.
Composed.
Entirely unaware that his consistent behavior had become emotionally dangerous.

Or perhaps—

not entirely unaware anymore.

That realization lingered unpleasantly in Tang Hui’s thoughts.

After yesterday’s marriage proposal incident, several things became impossible to ignore comfortably.

Specifically:

* Gu Beichen reacted visibly when other men showed interest in her,
* he remembered nearly everything she said casually,
* he kept integrating himself into her daily routines naturally,
* and worst of all—

Tang Hui liked it.

Ah.

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Tang Hui immediately walked toward the consultation desk before her own thoughts developed further.

“Good morning, Senior Sister Tang,” Lin Qingyue greeted gently from the records shelf.

Tang Hui nodded cautiously.

“You sound normal.”

“…Thank you?”

“It’s suspicious.”

Lin Qingyue laughed softly beneath her breath.

Traitorous behavior increasing lately.

The pavilion gradually filled with disciples as morning consultations began. Sunlight filtered warmly through the paper windows while conversation and laughter drifted naturally between the tables.

Comfortable atmosphere.

Far too comfortable.

Tang Hui sat down heavily behind the consultation desk while reviewing today’s appointments.

Several names immediately stood out.

Ah.

Relationship disasters.

Excellent distraction.

The first consultation involved two talisman disciples currently refusing to speak directly despite obviously liking each other.

Standard problem.

Tang Hui listened patiently for nearly fifteen minutes while both attempted explaining the situation through increasingly indirect complaints.

“She ignores me during training now.”

“You started avoiding me first.”

“You looked angry!”

“I was embarrassed!”

Tang Hui rubbed her temple once before catching herself.

No repetitive exhaustion habits.

Adapt.

She straightened again.

“You’re both idiots,” she informed them calmly.

The disciples froze.

Tang Hui gestured between them.

“You like each other. Neither of you communicated properly. Now both are panicking unnecessarily.”

Silence followed.

Then one disciple asked weakly:

“…That obvious?”

“Yes.”

The surrounding disciples laughed immediately.

Tang Hui continued professionally.

“Cultivators spend too much time treating emotional honesty like a battlefield.” She pointed toward them firmly. “Not every vulnerable conversation becomes life-or-death.”

The disciples looked thoughtful afterward.

Good.

Educational success.

Before the consultation ended, however, one nearby disciple suddenly raised a cautious hand.

“Senior Sister Tang…”

Tang Hui instantly distrusted that tone.

“Yes?”

“How do you know when someone’s presence becomes important to you?”

Ah.

The pavilion quieted subtly again.

Not obvious silence.

Just attention shifting naturally toward her.

Tang Hui leaned back slightly in her chair.

Then answered before thinking too carefully.

“When your daily routines start including them automatically.”

The words settled softly into the room.

Tang Hui paused afterward.

Because unfortunately—

she accidentally answered honestly.

Her eyes drifted sideways instinctively.

Toward Gu Beichen.

Dangerous mistake.

Again.

This time, however, the consequences felt worse because Gu Beichen looked directly at her immediately.

No confusion now.

No delayed realization.

He understood the implication instantly.

And somehow—

instead of awkwardness—

something gentler entered his expression quietly.

Ah.

Spiritually fatal.

Tang Hui looked away with the speed of someone escaping heavenly tribulation.

The surrounding disciples absolutely noticed.

Traitors.

Luo Ming entered the pavilion at the exact worst possible moment and immediately sensed emotional instability.

“What happened here?” he asked with visible delight.

“Nothing,” Tang Hui answered immediately.

“A lie.”

Correct.

Qin Yue followed several steps behind him carrying formation scrolls beneath one arm.

Tang Hui glanced between them automatically.

Again—
together.

At this point the universe itself lacked subtlety.

Luo Ming casually reached over to steady Qin Yue’s scroll stack before it slipped sideways.

Small gesture.

Natural.

Completely unconscious.

Qin Yue accepted the help without pause.

Also unconscious.

Tang Hui stared at them professionally.

Then suddenly realized something horrifying.

This was exactly how it started.

Not dramatic confessions.

Not overwhelming romantic declarations.

Just repeated presence.
Comfort.
Instinctive consideration.

People quietly becoming woven into each other’s lives before fully noticing.

Ah.

No wonder emotional disasters happened constantly.

Tang Hui finally understood why so many disciples panicked once feelings became obvious.

Because by the time realization arrived—

the attachment already existed deeply.

Dangerous profession.

Very dangerous profession.

As the consultations continued through the afternoon, Tang Hui found herself distracted more often than usual.

Not externally.

Professionally she remained composed.

Internally, however—

problems.

Because now every small interaction with Gu Beichen felt newly suspicious.

The way he handed her tea without asking preferences anymore because he already knew them.

The fact he noticed immediately whenever consultations overwhelmed her schedule.

The quiet consistency of his presence inside the pavilion every day.

And perhaps worst of all—

Tang Hui no longer questioned whether he would appear.

She simply expected him there.

The realization settled slowly but heavily.

Like rain soaking through fabric gradually until suddenly everything felt different.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled golden across the pavilion floor while most disciples drifted back toward cultivation duties.

For once, relative quiet settled over the room.

Tang Hui reviewed paperwork near the front desk while Lin Qingyue reorganized consultation archives nearby.

Luo Ming and Qin Yue argued softly over formation measurements near the courtyard entrance.

And Gu Beichen—

Gu Beichen approached her desk carrying fresh tea.

Naturally.

Tang Hui accepted the cup automatically before freezing halfway through the motion.

Because again.

Automatic.

Gu Beichen noticed the hesitation immediately.

“…What’s wrong?”

Tang Hui looked up at him.

Calm expression.
Steady eyes.
Quiet patience.

This man truly remained terrifyingly sincere.

She understood now why disciples panicked around feelings.

Because sincerity created no safe place to hide eventually.

Tang Hui exhaled softly.

Then before caution could stop her, she asked:

“Senior Brother… when did you start treating the pavilion like your own home?”

The question surprised both of them slightly.

Gu Beichen considered it seriously.

Then answered honestly.

“I don’t know.”

Dangerous response already.

But he continued.

“Maybe around the time you started treating it like mine too.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Across the pavilion, Luo Ming physically stopped speaking mid-sentence.

Qin Yue looked away toward the courtyard immediately.

Lin Qingyue nearly dropped an entire stack of records.

Tang Hui sat frozen behind the consultation desk while her own heartbeat suddenly felt alarmingly loud.

Because—

worse than the answer itself—

was the horrifying realization that he might actually be right.