The two reconciled—Lin Qingyun lit a bonfire by the river, and He Zhuoming sat beside the fire, re-applying medicine to her palms and bandaging them with silk cloth.
Her bandaging was quite sloppy, but it still looked somewhat decent.
After gripping the wooden sword with her bandaged hands and swinging it twice, He Zhuoming suddenly understood why martial arts heroes in television shows always loved wrapping strips of cloth around their palms.
Because wrapping a layer of cloth really did make the grip feel exceptionally good.
Lin Qingyun propped his chin with one hand as he watched her, then suddenly spoke up to remind her, “You still haven’t applied medicine to your neck.”
Hearing this, He Zhuoming reached out to touch her neck. “Here… never mind, it has already healed.”
She yawned, drowsiness washing over her, and after murmuring a vague “goodnight” to Lin Qingyun, she curled up next to the bonfire and fell asleep.
He Zhuoming fell asleep as quickly as ever; this excessively young body possessed a persistence toward sleep that felt almost program-set, as if even if the next second were the end of the world, it wouldn’t delay a middle school student from sleeping before ten o’clock.
Listening to He Zhuoming’s increasingly steady breathing, Lin Qingyun reached into the bonfire and pulled out a handful of unburned wooden branches—he snapped the branches, bound them together with a strip of cloth into a crude humanoid shape, bit his own fingertip, and dripped a few drops of blood onto the “wooden branch person.”
The moment the blood dripped onto the surface of the branches, the crudely shaped “wooden branch puppet” instantly turned into a second “Lin Qingyun.”
Lin Qingyun blinked, and it blinked too; Lin Qingyun smiled, and it smiled too, dimples blooming beside its lips, the pearly light of long earrings swaying against its left cheek.
The two sat opposite each other, identical down to every single strand of hair, a resemblance even more perfect than that of twins.
Lin Qingyun stood up—and the “wooden branch puppet” sat down in the exact spot he had just occupied, lowering its eyelashes to gaze intently at the sleeping He Zhuoming.
He reached out and casually grabbed into the empty air, clutching an invisible thread: the person who had killed him, both his blade and his body had been stained with his blood; as long as Lin Qingyun wanted to find him, it would be useless even if the other person fled to the ends of the earth.
He took a single step, and the surrounding scenery instantly plunged into distortion. Lin Qingyun hadn’t lied to He Zhuoming; he truly did not know how to fly on a sword. Such an ancient and slow-acting method of travel was something he had no use for at all.
When he traveled, he either walked on his own two legs or, just like now, arrived straight at his destination in a single step.
The surrounding distorted patches of color resolved into distinct clarity within a few brief moments, but the scene had already changed from deep mountains and old forests to the main hall of a simple post station. Two lanterns hung at the entrance of the hall, and only a single guest sat inside—a blade-wielding swordsman dressed in black.
On the table in front of the swordsman sat a jar of wine and a plate of meat. The meat was almost untouched, but the jar of wine was already nearly empty.
It was a strong liquor, yet the swordsman who had consumed so much of it showed not the slightest trace of intoxication. His expression was numb and indifferent; no matter how much wine he drank, it could not bring even a moment of respite to the pain in his heart.
Lin Qingyun sat down opposite the black-clad swordsman—he had already changed his clothes into clean, soft red garments embroidered with large golden begonias. The radiance of the red clothes made his smiling face look all the more handsome and harmless, while also making him appear completely out of place in this post station.
The post station was too old and dilapidated, the swordsman drinking inside was too coarse and unrefined, and the short-haired, smiling youth looked in every way like a pampered young master from a wealthy household.
The black-clad swordsman looked at him coldly. “I knew you wouldn’t die.”
Lin Qingyun tilted his head and asked with a mild, smiling expression, “Do we have a grudge?”
The swordsman’s emotions surged. “You actually forgot about me!”
Lin Qingyun replied without a shred of apology, “My memory isn’t good. Being forgotten by me is a completely normal thing.”
The swordsman suddenly lashed out, the blade in his hand tearing through the air to slash at Lin Qingyun—this was an extremely fast and powerful strike, its overwhelming momentum cutting off almost all possible retreats for his opponent.
This was clearly a strike meant to ensure victory!
Yet it slashed through empty air—
After his slash missed, the black-clad swordsman’s face filled with utter bewilderment. Immediately afterward, he felt an excruciating pain in his wrist; the strike that was supposed to be a guaranteed hit had actually landed on his own wrist!
Both of his hands, along with his blade, dropped to the ground. An icy, invisible force clamped onto his chin and dragged him right in front of Lin Qingyun.
The youth lowered his gaze to look at him, still wearing a smiling expression, and asked in a calm tone, “Look into my eyes. Come on, tell me, what kind of grudge is there between us?”
The black-clad swordsman met those smiling, crescent eyes, and he drifted into a trance. In an instant, the intense hatred and pain in his heart were stripped away by a bizarre force.
The face of the youth before him grew increasingly blurred. A fear unlike anything he had ever felt welled up in the depths of his heart, and he vaguely saw a tall, crimson deity statue replace the youth, gazing down upon him.
The swordsman replied in a drifting voice, “Ten years ago… I once offered incense oil to you inside the Pear Garden Divine Palace… I made a wish to you back then… wishing to pass the initial sect trials… wishing to become a true cultivator… so I could bring glory to my ancestors and make my family proud of me…”
Lin Qingyun cupped his cheek with one hand, looking somewhat puzzled. “Did something like that happen?”
The swordsman continued, “You responded to me back then—you responded and said you would grant my wish, only that I would live a very lonely life in the future… But you didn’t tell me! You didn’t tell me that my family dying unnatural deaths was what you meant by living a very lonely life!”
His natural talent had originally been mediocre, falling somewhat short of the admission standards for the local immortal-cultivation sect.
Yet on the very night he received his response, the son of a sect elder got into a fight with someone else and accidentally hurled a lightning-summoning spell straight at his home. The spell took effect far too quickly, and his entire family—his wife, children, and elderly relatives—all perished beneath the lightning strike.
To compensate him and bring closure to that karmic tie, the sect broke its rules and accepted him as an inner disciple. Though his talent had originally been ordinary, after entering the inner gate he suddenly experienced a sudden flash of insight, his cultivation progressing with astonishing speed. By the age of nearly thirty, he had already earned the qualifications to compete for the position of sect elder.
He had always believed that he could cultivate so quickly simply because he worked hard enough. It wasn’t until the grand sect ceremony, when he was granted an audience with the sect master, that he was told he carried the aura of a true deity’s blessing on his body—
This reminded the swordsman of the wish he had once made inside the divine palace. It turned out that it hadn’t been his withered wood springing back to life at all; it was simply that the wish he had made had taken effect!
“If you had told me in advance that I would pay such a price, I never would have agreed!”
The swordsman’s emotions grew increasingly agitated. The more agitated he became, the more blood flowed from his wounds, making him look deranged and terrifying.
Yet Lin Qingyun, the one being questioned, remained entirely calm. He had even shifted his gaze away from the swordsman, staring blankly instead at a spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling.
The swordsman’s accusation, written in every drop of blood he shed, washed past Lin Qingyun’s ears like plain water, leaving no impression upon him whatsoever.
He had granted wishes for countless people, but generally forgot about them as soon as he was done. Stories similar to this swordsman’s were things he had heard at least a hundred times over.
He complained in a breezy tone, “Just for a trivial matter like this?”
The swordsman struggled furiously. “You call this a trivial matter? The lives of dozens of people in my entire family! In your eyes, this is a trivial matter? How could a bastard like you ever be worthy of being a true deity! How could you be worthy of possessing a divine palace and mortal incense! You—”
His words were cut short before he could finish cursing. From his lips down to his neck, his flesh and skin began to melt, turning his flesh and blood into a crimson puddle, even dissolving his tongue along with them.
Lin Qingyun stood up, stepped over the severed hands and blade on the floor, and continued his complaints: “It’s all Xiao He’s fault. Why was she so overwhelmingly curious? Even after chasing all the way here, she just ended up listening to a bunch of nonsense.”
“Why are you shouting so loudly? You only lost your entire family and had your hands cut off; I’m the one who’s been killed five times, and I haven’t even made a fuss.”
While complaining, Lin Qingyun picked up a broom from the corner, lifted it to sweep away the spiderweb on the ceiling, and conveniently swept up the fallen leaves at the entrance as well.
He Zhuoming usually slept until the sun was high in the sky, but today, she broke all precedent by waking up early—while the sun had yet to rise and the sky was still shrouded in a dim, misty dawn, she woke up.
This was entirely thanks to the fact that before going to sleep last night, she had repeated to herself ten times that she needed to wake up and cultivate before the sun rose.
She had long since committed the breathing and meditation incantations to memory. Once the sun finally rose, He Zhuoming completed her “morning exercise,” let out a long, spirited breath, and then turned her head to see Lin Qingyun’s face.
He Zhuoming greeted him, and Lin Qingyun smiled and nodded, but did not speak.
The two continued on their journey. He Zhuoming’s physical agility had improved significantly, and she could now climb across steep mountain paths on her own. Yet as they walked, He Zhuoming felt more and more that Lin Qingyun was acting a bit strange.
Although he still smiled as pleasantly as always and frequently reached out to steady her whenever her footing slipped, he hadn’t uttered a single word from morning until now.
Was Lin Qingyun really such a silent person by nature?
As she walked, He Zhuoming cast suspicious sideways glances back at Lin Qingyun.
Unlike her stumbling and halting progress, Lin Qingyun moved freely and effortlessly among the mountain rocks, as if walking on flat ground. Aside from keeping his mouth shut all this time, judging purely by appearance, his walking posture looked even more like a normal person’s than He Zhuoming’s.
He Zhuoming couldn’t help asking, “Qingyun, why haven’t you spoken at all today?”
By then, Lin Qingyun had already walked ahead of He Zhuoming. Hearing her question, he turned back to look at her, his long, dense eyelashes fluttering slowly twice, before flashing a broad, bright smile at her.
He Zhuoming was baffled and uncomprehending: Why did he suddenly start smiling? Though he always wore a smile anyway… How strange.
As soon as he finished smiling, Lin Qingyun turned his head back and continued walking—ahead of them lay an uphill slope of jumbled rocks. His body agilely scrambled up it, reaching the top in just two or three moves.
Though perplexed, He Zhuoming quickly followed his lead and climbed up the rocky slope. However, she wasn’t as skilled at mountain climbing as Lin Qingyun, and by the time she finally hauled herself up, she was already panting and out of breath.
Lin Qingyun patted He Zhuoming’s shoulder and pointed ahead.
Following the direction he indicated, He Zhuoming felt her fatigue vanish in an instant, replaced by joyful cheers. “We’ve finally made it out of the mountains!”
Ahead of them, the scenery was no longer a succession of overlapping mountain ranges, but flat land, dirt roads, and a distant city wall.
However, that city wall was far away. Even with He Zhuoming’s vastly enhanced eyesight, she could only make out a blurry outline. If she and Lin Qingyun wanted to walk there on their own two feet, it would take at least another two days.
There was good news, however: before nightfall, they came across a post station—it was old and dilapidated, with two faded lanterns hanging at the entrance, and a sign on the roof bearing three large characters: Wending Post Station.
The sign with the characters was also aged and worn, written in cursive script with the paint peeling, causing He Zhuoming to stand there staring for a long time before she finally managed to make out those three characters.
He Zhuoming muttered to herself, “Even if it’s an abandoned place, having a roof over our heads is still better than sleeping outside…”
The post station looked so run-down that He Zhuoming naturally assumed no one lived there. Without calling out a greeting, she stepped directly forward and pushed open the heavy doors of the post station, only to find an old man standing right behind the threshold. Startled, He Zhuoming jumped back and immediately aimed her wooden sword at him.
The old man was given a fright as well, raising the iron pitchfork in his hand to point at the two of them. “What kind of people are you?!”
He Zhuoming turned to look at Lin Qingyun. Lin Qingyun maintained an innocent, amiable smile and tilted his head at her.
Still not speaking.
Looks like there was no counting on this mute.
Left with no choice, He Zhuoming had to face the situation herself, pressing on despite her misgivings. “We’re here to ask for lodging.”
The old man remained full of vigilance, gripping his iron pitchfork tightly. “Lodging? This is an official government post station and is not meant for ordinary people. Do you hold official government posts?”
The question left He Zhuoming completely bewildered—official posts? A government post station? Wait, did this immortal-cultivation world have a government too?
Lin Qingyun, who had remained silent all this time, suddenly stepped forward, fumbled around inside his sleeve, and produced a jade token which he handed to the old man.
Catching sight of the crane crest carved on the jade token, the old man’s attitude instantly turned respectful. He received the token with both hands, inspected it carefully, and then respectfully returned it to Lin Qingyun. “So you are musicians from the Pear Garden. Please come this way, the two of you.”
He bent his hunchbacked back and made an inviting gesture. Feeling utterly clueless, He Zhuoming instinctively looked back at Lin Qingyun, hoping he would explain a few things to her.
Their eyes met. Confronted by He Zhuoming’s inquiring gaze, Lin Qingyun curved his eyes into a smile, yet remained entirely silent.
With no other options, He Zhuoming simply followed him inside.
Every corner of the post station revealed age and decay, with the only reasonably clean area being the floor of the main hall, which was damp, clearly having been scrubbed down recently.
Rubbing his hands together, the old man explained, “A disciple from an immortal sect stayed here overnight yesterday. Who knows what kind of unclean thing he provoked, but he ended up dying right here in the main hall last night—though please rest assured, I’ve already scrubbed away all the bloodstains on the floor, and I’ve prepared the immortal master’s remains and laid them out in the back courtyard. Tomorrow morning, the bailiffs from Wen County will come by to haul him away.”
He Zhuoming was utterly shocked by what she heard. Wait, why could this elderly gentleman speak so calmly about this? Was dying an everyday occurrence in this world?!
She couldn’t help leaning a bit closer to Lin Qingyun, gripping her wooden sword tightly with one hand while secretly tugging on Lin Qingyun’s sleeve with the other.
Lin Qingyun lowered his gaze, swept a glance over her hand, and quietly swapped positions with He Zhuoming, standing right between her and the old man to act as a silent, buffering barrier.
The old man paid no mind to their small actions, asking Lin Qingyun with utmost eagerness and flattery, “Would the esteemed musician like to go rest in your room first, or would you like to eat something first?”
“The three rooms upstairs have all been cleaned and are ready for you to rest in. If you wish to dine in the main hall, we have cured braised beef, some Chinese cabbage I grew myself, and Apricot Blossom wine.”
Lin Qingyun turned his face to look at He Zhuoming, using his eyes to signal that she should make the decision.
Remembering the old man’s mention of someone dying in the main hall, He Zhuoming said, “We want to go upstairs and rest in our rooms first. Can the food be brought up to the room?”
The old man replied, “Of course—these are the keys to the two upper rooms inside. I’ll go prepare the food now; the two of you may head up yourselves.”
He unclipped two keys from his waist, handed them to Lin Qingyun, and walked away.
Upstairs, they indeed found three doorways, all secured with large bronze locks.
Lin Qingyun casually picked up one of the keys and handed it to He Zhuoming, but she didn’t take it, instead asking in return, “We’re getting separate rooms?”
Lin Qingyun didn’t see anything wrong with such an arrangement and nodded toward He Zhuoming.
He Zhuoming reached out, hooked her arm around his, and pulled him downward—Lin Qingyun didn’t understand what she meant, a look of confusion crossing his face while his body remained planted firmly in place, unmoving.
Seeing this, He Zhuoming simply stood on tiptoe, leaned against Lin Qingyun’s shoulder, put on a serious expression, and lowered her voice to whisper, “Didn’t you hear what that old grandfather said just now? There are monsters in this post station! A professional cultivator died here last night!”
“According to novel tropes, if we stay in separate rooms at a time like this, one of us is definitely going to run into trouble…”
As she spoke, her expression was solemn, her hands brought together near her lips—Lin Qingyun could feel a wave of warmth brushing past his earlobe along with the young girl’s breezy words.
He hadn’t understood a single thing He Zhuoming was saying, because after all, he wasn’t a complete person, but merely a wooden branch puppet whose capacity for thought was extremely limited.
Yet when Xiao He leaned in close to speak to him, the wooden branch puppet felt the meager few drops of blood inside its body growing hot.
It was impossible to tell whether that heat came from the breath Xiao He blew against his ear or the boiling surge of blood within him. It instantly burned straight through the wooden branch puppet’s skin, giving it the illusory sensation that it was about to be burned alive.
Driven by the instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm, the wooden branch puppet couldn’t help taking a few steps back, instantly putting distance between itself and He Zhuoming.
The shoulder He Zhuoming had been leaning on for support vanished abruptly. Lunging into empty air, she stumbled two steps forward, completely baffled. “What’s wrong?”
The wooden branch puppet lowered its gaze to stare at He Zhuoming—its smooth brain, incapable of much thought, was filled with confusion at that moment.
The puzzled look on He Zhuoming’s face gradually gave way to worry. “You’ve been acting weird since this morning. Not talking at all, acting like a mute—why are you just standing there smiling like that? Though you usually smile all the time anyway… this is so weird.”
“Why do you look kind of… like you’ve lost your mind?”