Because He Zhuoming didn’t have any clean clothes, Lin Qingyun lent her another set—still red, with the style hardly changing at all. He Zhuoming suspected whether he owned piles of completely identical clothes.
Lin Qingyun said he had plenty of clothes and told He Zhuoming to simply throw away the ones she had worn. If she wanted to be frugal and wear old clothes repeatedly, she would have to figure out how to wash them herself, because he didn’t know any cleaning spells and had never washed clothes before.
He Zhuoming immediately accepted the clothes lent by her; after all, she had never washed clothes either.
There were no washing machines here, nor were there laundry detergent pods. He Zhuoming couldn’t figure out how to make clothes clean.
The doors and windows of the firewood room were all shut. With his back to the firewood room’s window, Lin Qingyun reignited the pile of branches in the center of the courtyard.
A cyan-white dragon descended from the sky, its massive body transforming into a handsome, tall, blue-dappled horse as it approached the ground. The steed sauntered over to Lin Qingyun, opened its mouth, and spat out a pitch-black, residual soul onto the ground, speaking in human language: “The remnants of the defiled god are all right here.”
A defiled god would inevitably be surrounded by a group of loyal followers, just as a righteous deity always had its disciples.
Lin Qingyun didn’t have the habit of bending down to pick up trash; with a flick of his lower leg, he kicked that mass of residual soul directly into the bonfire. The residual soul instantly shrieked in continuous agony, but the screams were confined within a radius of three steps around Lin Qingyun and the steed, unable to escape no matter what.
After burning the residual soul, he threw something else onto the ground: the wooden plaque that had hung from his waist during the day. A few hours ago, he had cherished it, yet now he discarded it onto the ground just like trash.
The wooden plaque rolled a few times on the ground, its carved characters and patterns smudged with mud, before finally being stepped on by the horse’s hoof.
Lin Qingyun rolled up his sleeve to wipe his hands and asked indifferently, “Where did this plaque come from?”
The horse lowered its voice: “Three months ago, you fulfilled a wish for a young man—you were in a very good mood back then and took this waist token from him in exchange.”
Lin Qingyun tilted his head slightly, frowning in confusion: “Did such a thing happen?”
The horse affirmed: “It did.”
Lin Qingyun spaced out for a moment, still unable to remember. But it was quite normal for him to forget; he was naturally a person with a very poor memory. Occasionally, he would meet thousands or tens of thousands of people in one breath, listening to their wishes, or he would suddenly run off alone to a place ten miles away from even finding a single candied haw to play dead.
Everything depended entirely on his mood.
He said carelessly, “Burn it.”
The horse bent its front knees and gave a gentle kick, sending the wooden plaque rolling into the bonfire. That seemingly ordinary bonfire actually possessed a terrifyingly high temperature capable of scorching even ghosts. The moment the wooden plaque drew near, it was burned into fine ashes, swept away in the airflow, leaving not a trace behind.
Lin Qingyun suddenly added: “Next time you fight, don’t make any noise. It’s too noisy.”
Without asking why, the horse submissively and habitually accepted this unreasonable demand: “Understood.”
After a while, He Zhuoming finished her bath and ran out of the firewood room, wringing out her hair: “Qingyun, Qingyun, Qingyun—help me with my hair!”
Only when she called his name did Lin Qingyun turn around to look at her: her hair was just a little past her shoulders, clutched in her palm, water dripping down her wrist in a cascade.
He reached out, his fingers threading through He Zhuoming’s damp locks.
The soaked strands wrapped around his skin like little snakes, but as water droplets were separated one by one, the hair touched by his fingertips became fluffy and light.
He lowered his gaze with a smiling expression, sweeping his look from He Zhuoming’s hair down to her face: she had just bathed, her skin was moist, and a hint of drowsiness lingered between her brows and eyes.
Seeing the horse resting nearby, she asked in astonishment, “It ran back on its own again?”
Lin Qingyun: “I told you, it knows the way back by itself… Your hair is done.”
The summer night was far too hot. Leaving her hair down and combing through it with her fingers, He Zhuoming soon felt the back of her neck, covered by her hair, breaking out in sweat.
She asked Lin Qingyun: “Do you have any hair ribbons? For tying hair, lend me a couple.”
Just as he had pulled out steamed buns before, Lin Qingyun gave his wrist a flip. Without even rummaging through his pouch, two crimson hair ribbons materialized in his palm.
The ribbons were very soft, embroidered with begonia flowers in gold thread. However, He Zhuoming didn’t recognize gold thread, assuming it was just ordinary shiny thread, so she borrowed the two items without any psychological burden, even remarking to Lin Qingyun: “Do you really like red?”
Lin Qingyun smiled and said, “Red is festive.”
There were no mirrors here, and He Zhuoming wasn’t very skilled at tying hair either. Groping around, she parted her hair to the left and right, tying two perfunctory low ponytails to call it a day.
In reality, both ponytails were tied askew—one a bit too high, the other too low, one too far forward, the other too far back—and some stray short hairs hadn’t been combed in, sticking out in a messy jumble and casting a fuzzy shadow across He Zhuoming’s forehead.
Since she couldn’t see it, it didn’t bother her. She sat by the bonfire, hugged her knees, and let out a long sigh.
Imitating her, Lin Qingyun also let out a long sigh.
He Zhuoming: “Qingyun, is something bothering you?”
Lin Qingyun: “No.”
He Zhuoming: “Then what are you sighing for?”
Lin Qingyun turned his head to glance at her, then copied her sitting posture, hugging his knees and curling up into a ball as he asked, “So, Xiao He, do you have something bothering you?”
He Zhuoming despondently rested her chin on her knees and said, “I have way too many worries—I want to go home, I haven’t even finished my homework, and the final exams are coming up soon. I don’t want to miss the exams, and I don’t even know if I can go back… What should I do if I can never go back?”
Lin Qingyun thought about it and said, “Then you’ll just have to stay.”
Hearing this, He Zhuoming froze, and tears began to flow immediately.
Seeing this, Lin Qingyun had no choice but to pull out his sleeve again to wipe He Zhuoming’s tears, complaining in his usual soft, spoiled tone: “Xiao He, why are you always crying?”
He Zhuoming sniffled, feeling deeply aggrieved: “I don’t want to cry on my own; it’s… you’re the one who makes me cry! Who told you to say something about staying—it’s all your fault!”
Lin Qingyun was baffled by the scolding and said, “Don’t you like hearing the truth? Then I’ll just tell you lies from now on. Stop crying, go get a good night’s sleep, and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll definitely already be inside your own home…”
Angrily, He Zhuoming pushed his hand away: “Don’t talk to me!”
In truth, He Zhuoming shouldn’t have been angry with Lin Qingyun—Lin Qingyun had saved her, promised to teach her cultivation tomorrow, and was the very first good person she had encountered after transmigrating…
Yet when she was angry, He Zhuoming couldn’t think of all that. She turned around with her back facing Lin Qingyun, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t speak to him until her anger subsided.
Lin Qingyun circled around to squat in front of her, still using his sleeve to wipe the tear tracks from her face—he missed, and his arm was swatted away by He Zhuoming once more.
When she batted away Lin Qingyun’s right hand, Lin Qingyun offered his left hand; when she batted away his left hand, Lin Qingyun immediately offered his right hand. He didn’t move his hands fast, each time timing it precisely so He Zhuoming could manage to hit them.
After playing a game of tai chi for a full round, He Zhuoming got annoyed and simply grabbed both of Lin Qingyun’s hands.
With a beaming, supportive smile, Lin Qingyun praised: “How formidable! You managed to catch both of my hands.”
He Zhuoming glared at him. After glaring for a while, her eye sockets grew sore, and she couldn’t help laughing despite herself.
Releasing Lin Qingyun’s hands, she clumsily rubbed her face to wipe away the remaining tear tracks, muttering, “What is even wrong with you…”
Lin Qingyun: “You smiled.”
He Zhuoming averted her face and gave a soft huff, though she didn’t refute Lin Qingyun’s words.
Lin Qingyun comforted her again: “Actually, what I said earlier wasn’t entirely a lie—you suddenly appeared in Wen County, so perhaps if we go take a look around there, we can find a way for you to go home.”
This comforting remark worked wonders. That very night, He Zhuoming dreamed that she returned to the modern world from Wen County.
However, because she had lingered in the novel world for a few days, her return to the modern world coincided directly with the start of the final exams—the first subject was chemistry, and she couldn’t understand many of the questions, breaking out in anxious cold sweat.
Before she had even finished the first page, she heard the teacher call out to collect the papers, and she finally couldn’t help crying. Crying and crying, He Zhuoming woke up. Seeing the dark, spider-web-strung ceiling of the farmhouse, it took her a long time to realize she still hadn’t gone home.
The window beside the bed was being hammered noisily from the outside. He Zhuoming climbed up and pushed the window open, squinting against the glaring outdoor sun.
Lin Qingyun was already fully dressed and standing outside the window, propping one hand on the window frame and smilingly calling for He Zhuoming to come out.
Today, they were leaving the village to head into the mountains to Wen County in search of clues.
He Zhuoming folded the red bridal gown into a cloth bundle and tied it to her body, the inside clinking with her gold and beads.
She retied her hair, braiding it into two crooked pigtails. Although there was no mirror, He Zhuoming knew her hair definitely wasn’t braided very well.
Because mom always braided her hair for her.
Thinking of this, He Zhuoming felt like crying again, but remembering she hadn’t drunk any water upon waking up today, she held back her tears.
Breakfast consisted of boiled eggs; Lin Qingyun had fished out the eggs from goodness knows where. Busy grieving over her hair, He Zhuoming ate her meal tasting nothing of it, having zero time to care where he had fished the eggs from.
Lin Qingyun had spent his time mentally rehearsing several sets of remarks—some relatively ordinary, some guaranteed to make Xiao He curse him, and some that could frighten her to tears…
However, until the meal ended, He Zhuoming didn’t speak a single word to him, and her expression looked rather listless.
Lin Qingyun heavily suspected whether she had heatstroke again, so he reached out to touch her forehead.
He Zhuoming looked at him in confusion—Lin Qingyun muttered to himself: “Not a heatstroke either.”
He Zhuoming: “I didn’t even get exposed to the sun, how could I have heatstroke?”
Lin Qingyun: “Ah, right! I made this!”
The topic of heatstroke reminded Lin Qingyun. With sparkling eyes, he let out a whistle, and the blue-dappled steed leisurely materialized from parts unknown, walking up before the two of them.
The horse was still wearing its previous equipment, except for a bamboo-woven hat added to its head.
Lin Qingyun slapped that hat onto He Zhuoming’s head, smiling amiably: “There, now you won’t have to worry about heatstroke.”
The shadow of the bamboo hat covered He Zhuoming’s entire face, and a refreshing scent of bamboo enveloped her as well.
Lin Qingyun stared at her, yet didn’t see her smile even once for the bamboo hat. She merely used both hands to steady the brim, adjusting the bamboo hat to a more comfortable angle, while her expression remained listless and sluggish.
Nevertheless, He Zhuoming politely told him: “Thank you, the hat looks really nice.”
Instantly feeling that there was no fun in it, the smile on Lin Qingyun’s lips faded as he replied, “I wove it for Qingyang. I’m just lending it to you so you don’t get heatstroke again.”
He Zhuoming: “Oh… well, thank you anyway.”
The steed stood beside the two of them, dutifully playing the role of a horse without revealing a shred of its extraordinary nature, nor inquiring into its master’s thoughts regarding the mortal girl.
Even though that bamboo hat didn’t fit its head at all and could only be worn by He Zhuoming, the horse would never raise any objections to anything Lin Qingyun said.
Because its master was a capricious person whose personality was as terrible as an emperor’s, and exposing the emperor’s lies was a quick way to be executed.
Lin Qingyun grabbed the reins and gave a tug, telling He Zhuoming: “The mountain path is very difficult to walk. Ride on the horse; I’ll lead the rope for you.”
He Zhuoming: “Aren’t you going to ride?”
Lin Qingyun shook his head: “Qingyang can only carry one person on its back at a time. If I rode it, you’d have to get down and lead the rope instead.”
Leaving aside whether He Zhuoming could hold onto this horse, just walking those steep mountain paths where human footprints were scarce without falling a single time from start to finish would truly be a difficult task for her.
Obediently, He Zhuoming climbed onto the horse’s back and settled herself. Holding the reins, Lin Qingyun walked outward—leaving the village still required passing through that paddy field. The distant farmhouses stood in silent rows, the sun making the tree leaves gleam, hot and glaring to the eyes.
Lin Qingyun snapped off a green rice ear and stuck it onto the horse’s headstall.
He Zhuoming asked: “What kind of grass is this?”
Lin Qingyun: “This is a rice ear, it produces rice grains—meaning, white rice.”
He Zhuoming pinched a tuft of raw green grains to inspect them, feeling no matter how she looked at it that they didn’t resemble white rice. Before Lin Qingyun said it was a rice ear, she had always thought it was wild grass like reeds.
The village gradually receded behind them, and the road conditions grew increasingly difficult to walk on to a visible degree, so much so that even though she was riding a horse, He Zhuoming couldn’t help tightly clutching the mane on the horse’s neck.
Meanwhile, Lin Qingyun, walking on foot, was as brisk as if he were walking on flat ground.
Riding a horse wasn’t comfortable, especially given the exceptionally steep mountain paths; even though He Zhuoming didn’t need to control the mount, she felt her bottom going numb from the bouncing.
Unable to endure it any longer, she slumped over the horse’s neck, looked at the back of Lin Qingyun’s head, and asked: “When can we ever walk out of these mountains?”
Lin Qingyun replied: “At this pace, it will still take five days.”
He Zhuoming’s voice suddenly shot up a few notches: “Five days?!”
Lin Qingyun: “Right, five days.”
He Zhuoming covered her tailbone with her backhand, pulling a mournful face: “No, no way. Five days? My bottom is going to split into four halves… No, eight halves.”
Lin Qingyun looked back at her to see a pale, sweaty, listless, pitiful face beneath the shadow of the bamboo hat.
He Zhuoming asked pitifully: “Isn’t there a faster way? Like, can’t we just fly out?”
Because the original novel’s plot was growing increasingly hazy in her mind, He Zhuoming couldn’t remember whether the male protagonist could fly. But in general xianxia novels, everyone could fly, right?
Wuxia dramas even had lightness techniques.
Lin Qingyun raised his face, smiling sweetly, while the words he spoke were: “Fly? I don’t know how. But Xiao He, cultivate well; once you become an immortal in the future, you can take me along for a flight and try it out.”
He Zhuoming pouted, extremely reluctant: “I don’t want to.”
Lin Qingyun: “Don’t be so stingy. Haven’t I been pretty good to you?”
He Zhuoming explained: “I don’t mean I won’t take you along; I mean I won’t become an immortal—once I get back home, I’m not going to study cultivation anymore.”
Lin Qingyun was puzzled: “Why?”
He Zhuoming: “Why… No reason at all! Why would I cultivate once I’ve already gone home? My ideal in life isn’t to be an immortal; in the future, I’m going to be a primary school principal.”
“Practicing cultivation and all that is just temporary training, just enough to protect myself. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t want any fighting or killing.”
Lin Qingyun: “Primary school principal?”
He Zhuoming thought about it and explained: “In terms of your terms here, it’s like a school proprietor… What do ancients call proprietors? Shopkeeper? Founder? Investor? None of those seem right…”
Her voice grew softer and softer as she spoke, finally trailing off into self-talk and mumbling. Even so, Lin Qingyun heard every single word she said.
He heard it clearly, but didn’t understand it.
By evening, they stopped to rest beside a shallow stream.
The dappled steed lowered its head to drink water, Lin Qingyun started a bonfire, and He Zhuoming paced back and forth by the stream, exercising her bottom, which had been seated all day long.
The evening sun was no longer scorching, so she took off the bamboo hat and placed it on the horse’s head, while she herself scurried over to Lin Qingyun’s side: Lin Qingyun held a short dagger in his hand, carving a wrist-thick wooden stick.
Half-squatting down, He Zhuoming asked: “What’s this? Are you going to skewer roasted meat with it?”
Lin Qingyun smiled and said, “Didn’t you want to cultivate? I’m making a wooden sword for you to teach you the basics first.”
Hearing that it was made for her, He Zhuoming instantly became well-behaved. She stopped wandering around picking up stones or pulling at wild grass, sitting down right beside Lin Qingyun to watch him work.