That piece of wood in Lin Qingyun’s hand gradually took the rough shape of a sword. He handed the wooden sword to He Zhuoming, saying, “Try it for size.”
He Zhuoming took the wooden sword and flourished it in her hand, performing a passable sword dance.
It looked like a very pretty sword dance, but in reality, it was quite clumsy, with flaws as glaringly obvious as the sun.
Lin Qingyun clapped and cheered, “Good! Fine sword dance! Have you ever learned how to use a sword?”
He Zhuoming accepted the praise quite contentedly, even with a hint of pride, and replied, “I learned sword dancing in youth class.”
Lin Qingyun reached out to take the wooden sword back and shaved off a section—He Zhuoming scooted over next to him and squatted down, asking, “Was the sword too long?”
She had felt fine using it and hadn’t thought the sword was too long.
Lin Qingyun said, “It was too long. If I didn’t trim it down, it would be awkward for you to execute your strikes.”
He had made the wooden sword according to his own sword-using habits, but the moment he saw He Zhuoming execute that flaw-ridden sword dance, he realized that He Zhuoming’s arms were shorter than his, and she was also shorter than him.
He shaved off that section of wood, and his gaze swept back to the young girl squatting beside him with her knees hugged: half of her face was bathed in the firelight, and the other half was submerged in the night, yet her features were exceptionally clear, black and white distinct, with neat and proper brows and eyes. She stared at the movements of his hands without blinking, but her cheeks were plump and rounded, the entire outline of her face enveloped in soft, unangled lines.
Childish, harmless, completely devoid of vigilance.
Like a domesticated, affectionate little puppy.
For some reason, Lin Qingyun suddenly felt a trace of indescribable awkwardness.
He Zhuoming kept staring at him as he worked, blinking at a very low frequency. This intense sense of being watched made the back of Lin Qingyun’s hand feel a little uncomfortable.
This was very wrong; given his status, he should have long been accustomed to millions of gazes. And Xiao He was just one person, with only a single pair of eyes—yet it was precisely Xiao He’s gaze that caused him to produce a kind of…
No, not produce—but rather realize.
He Zhuoming’s gaze made him realize that he was being watched.
He slowed down his movements and, on the premise of ensuring he wouldn’t ruin the wooden sword, also stared unblinkingly at He Zhuoming—he felt that his own gaze was far more focused and carried a much stronger presence than He Zhuoming’s.
Yet He Zhuoming did not feel it at all.
Until the sun on the west completely sank, until the wooden sword in Lin Qingyun’s hand was trimmed—He Zhuoming simply kept staring at Lin Qingyun’s hands as he carved the wooden sword, without once raising her eyes to look at his face.
Naturally, the gazes of the two became impossible to intersect.
Lin Qingyun poked He Zhuoming with the finished wooden sword. Completely unprepared, He Zhuoming was poked until she sat down hard on the ground.
She looked up at Lin Qingyun in confusion, “What are you doing?”
Lin Qingyun blinked, smiled innocently, and mimicked her tone of voice, “What did I do?”
He Zhuoming: “…Why are you poking me?”
Lin Qingyun: “You kept squatting there without moving, so I wanted to see if you had fallen asleep.”
He Zhuoming pouted, “Whose eyes open as wide as mine when they sleep? Ouch… My legs are so numb.”
She grabbed her own ankle and rubbed it, then stretched her two legs straight—Lin Qingyun placed the wooden sword on her lap and said, “Why are you sitting like that?”
He Zhuoming felt it was completely inexplicable, tilted her head, and cast her gaze back onto Lin Qingyun, “Like what?”
Lin Qingyun pointed to his own crossed legs, “At the very least, you should pull your legs in.”
He Zhuoming said as a matter of course, “But my legs are all numb, yay! Let me leave them like this for a moment; once my legs aren’t numb anymore, I’ll pull them in myself.”
As she spoke, her gaze shifted away from Lin Qingyun again, turning instead to study the wooden sword Lin Qingyun had given her, picking it up to stroke it and wave it about.
Yet with He Zhuoming’s level of swordsmanship, she still couldn’t tell what difference there was between this length of the wooden sword and the previous length.
She asked Lin Qingyun, “I have a sword now, what should I do next?”
Lin Qingyun said, “When the sun rises tomorrow, I’ll teach you the formula for exhaling and inhaling Qi.”
He Zhuoming: “Don’t I need to learn the sword manual first? Ah! If I learn it well, can I fly on a sword?”
Whenever she encountered things she completely didn’t understand, her attention and gaze would reconverge onto Lin Qingyun. Clutching the wooden sword Lin Qingyun gave her, her eyes shone brightly, looking at Lin Qingyun full of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.
Lin Qingyun half-眯ed his eyes, the corners of his lips curving up with a smiling expression as he explained, “Sword flight? Then you must at least have a natal sword of your own.”
He Zhuoming: “Then how can one get a natal sword?”
Lin Qingyun: “It depends on fate and opportunity.”
Hearing this, He Zhuoming became deeply discouraged, “What is this—isn’t this the same as saying nothing… Do all you cultivators use swords?”
Lin Qingyun said, “Those who use sabers and swords are the most numerous, but there are also those who use hooks, axes, spears, whips, and hammers. It depends on where an individual’s affinity falls.”
He Zhuoming played with the wooden sword, pondered for a moment, and raised a question: “What if a person has no affinity?”
Lin Qingyun smiled and spoke quite cruel words: “Haha, then they can’t cultivate immortality! But they can go worship more at temples; maybe there’s still a chance in the next life.”
There was a subtle thorn to his words when he spoke them, but He Zhuoming didn’t realize it, and her train of thought jumped to another matter.
Her legs were no longer very numb. Changing her sitting posture, she curiously asked Lin Qingyun, “Then do you have a natal sword?”
Lin Qingyun smiled, “Naturally I do—do you want to see it?”
He Zhuoming urged, “I want to see! I want to see!”
She remembered that in the original novel, the male protagonist had a natal sword, but she couldn’t remember where the male protagonist obtained that sword, nor what it looked like.
With a twist of his wrist, Lin Qingyun drew out the pitch-black soft sword wrapped around his waist—the firelight and moonlight intertwined on the sword body, and its luster didn’t look at all like a sword forged from metal, but rather more like silk.
The sword hilt held in Lin Qingyun’s hand was crimson red, decorated with red begonias.
He Zhuoming couldn’t help letting out an “Ah,” tossing the wooden sword aside, and propping her arms against the ground as she leaned in close to Lin Qingyun in astonishment, “This is actually a sword? I thought it was your belt!”