Since Sang Ying could remember, her father was always busy.
As sect master, he had much to do each day. The hall was always surrounded by countless people. Young and old faces, coming and going—Sang Ying knew none of them.
Sang Jingming didn’t let her appear before these people, nor did he allow her to go out and down the mountain.
The flower garden in the courtyard was where she spent the most time. Next was the small swing, where a servant puppet would push her back and forth.
When Sang Jingming occasionally found time to visit her, Sang Ying would clutch a little pink flower shovel and toss soil at him, angrily cursing him as a hateful thing.
He wouldn’t be bothered. His brows and eyes would curve as he lifted her up, tucking a small flower into her hair: “Today, if our Little Ying allows this despicable person one reprieve, she can read this storybook to this wretch. How about that?”
Sang Ying, huffy and puffy: “The last time wasn’t forgiven yet! Read two books!”
When she grew older, at seven years old, Sang Jingming brought back two youths from the foot of the mountain, putting his hand on her shoulder: “From now on, these two are your senior brothers. They’ll also live on the mountain.”
The two senior brothers had completely opposite temperaments. The eldest was slightly older, gentle and steady, very caring toward Sang Ying, sewing her clothes, braiding her hair, cooking delicious food. Only, her body was weak, so he never let her indulge too much.
The second was like a carefree butterfly, carefree and without proper form, tugging her pigtails to tease her.
They had no restrictions against going down the mountain. The second brother would bring back new toys every time, deliberately playing with them in front of her, watching her drool over them but pretend not to care, only giving them to her after he’d teased enough.
Sang Ying felt like she finally had playmates and was thrilled. She didn’t notice Sang Jingming spending less and less time with her, getting busier and busier.
At twelve years old, Sang Ying did something bold. While Sang Jingming was off the mountain, she used her own talismans to break open a formation and secretly snuck down the mountain alone.
When her two senior brothers discovered it, they were frantic. The off-the-mountain Sang Jingming dropped everything and rushed back. A group of people searched the world for her. While they searched, Sang Ying came back completely safe.
Well, not completely safe.
She was all dirty, her small face ashen with sweat covering it. Behind her, half-dragging, half-carrying, was a youth drenched in blood who was unconscious. Her tiny frame was pressed beneath him, stepping one foot at a time up the stone steps.
She raised her head, her hair sweat-soaked in strands, her eyes bright: “Look, I picked up a little brother to serve tea and pour water! I’ve decided to call him Little Tail because look, he actually has a little tail!”
Everyone was both angry and helpless.
But heaven didn’t grant her wishes. Later, this little brother became her little senior brother. Sang Ying was quite resentful about this, he came later, so why did he outrank her?
Her second brother chewed on a salted duck neck, laughing as he egged her on: “Fight him and you’ll naturally become senior sister.”
Sang Ying glared at him and grabbed the duck neck, shouting: “Dad—Second Brother is making me eat garbage from downhill—” “Ah ah ah ancestor, don’t yell! I was wrong!”
Although the picked-up little brother became her senior brother, Sang Ying still bossed him around as always, made him carry her after class, made him catch spirit fish from the back mountain, roasted fish on his sword, burned it and gave it all to him to eat.
At fifteen, on an ordinary evening, Sang Ying learned of a death. Sang Jingming’s death.
The one who told her was the Immortal Alliance Master, a kindly old man Sang Jingming had once brought her to meet, telling her to call him Grandpa Bai.
Grandpa Bai told her Sang Jingming died in the tribulation of the four-nines, heaven’s punishment. Every high-level cultivator faced this trial. She shouldn’t be too sad and should return with him to the Immortal Alliance.
Sang Ying asked: High cultivation, why would he die?
Grandpa Bai said nothing.
But after a while, he spoke again: Little Ying, you’re a smart child. Will you watch all your father’s years of hard work stolen by others, and yourself become a tool in another’s hands?
Sang Ying understood. After Sang Jingming’s death, she was the sole heir.
Whoever married her would openly, justly, and legitimately become sect master of Wuwenzong, the number one sect under heaven.
Sure enough, on the second day Sang Jingming’s death was announced, matchmakers flooded the Immortal Alliance, packed in so tight not even water could trickle through [1]so packed water cannot flow through (shui xie bu tong, 水洩不通) (Idiom), an overwhelming, impassable crowd jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3389874_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3389874_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });. Everyone claimed they’d already had a betrothal arranged, demanded the Immortal Alliance release her immediately, or they’d make trouble.
Grandpa Bai entered the closed room, set down a transfer of authority document and a gold-trimmed marriage certificate.
He sighed softly and said quietly: Grandpa Bai is old, can’t protect you forever. This is what he left for you. That child Jingming once told me his only wish was for you to live a safe and happy life in this lifetime, free from worldly entanglements. He’s saved considerable wealth here over the years, enough for you to live worry-free for a lifetime. Once things settle, I’ll send you to Penglai. Everything is arranged there.
Sang Ying: Give me the money. Anything else he wants to say?
Grandpa Bai shook his head.
Sang Ying picked up the transfer document and tore it into pieces.
Then picked up the marriage certificate, looking at the marital vows Sang Jingming had written in his own hand before her just days ago. She looked for a long time, then finally took up the brush and signed her own name.
Sang Ying said: It’s too loud outside. Tell them to be quiet for a while. I can’t hear my father scolding me anymore.
Nobody knew what Grandpa Bai did, but two days later, the unrest within Wuwenzong subsided.
The sect master’s son was still young. The Grand Elder was kind-hearted and temporarily assumed the sect master’s duties, handling sect affairs.
Sang Jingming hadn’t been dead a week when Sang Ying married.
A grand and lavish wedding, overwhelming in scale.
The entire Immortal Alliance sent disciples to escort her. Sang Jingming’s old friends, several big shots from factions that had long gone into retirement, and the Immortal Alliance Master stood by without leaving a step, following the marriage sedan. At the wedding, Wuwenzong’s Grand Elder sent congratulatory gifts.
Outside observers watched from afar, rumors flying, yet none dared move.
Outside the door, joyful music was loud and festive.
Inside the door, deathly silence, dim red candles.
Sang Ying sat on the bed, ice-cold fingers gripping the fan tightly, her nails digging into her palm without noticing.
She tried hard to suppress tears, biting her lip until it bled white, yet her eyes still couldn’t control the large teardrops falling like rain, splattering on the fan. The auspicious cloud pattern of dragons and phoenixes soaked and blurred into a mess.
The fan was gently pulled away.
The red veil was lifted, revealing the white flowers in her hair.
Sang Ying raised her head, through tears blurred, seeing a youth in red robes.
He leaned down and gently held her in his embrace, treating her like something precious and fragile. He held her, his voice very, very soft.
“Junior sister, cry.”
Perhaps because the youth’s embrace was so warm back then, or perhaps because his voice was so gentle it let people’s defenses crumble, Sang Ying remembered that night she threw herself into his arms, gripping his clothes tightly, wailing loudly.
Eventually leaning on his chest, without realizing, she fell asleep.
Sang Ying recalled crying so pitifully before him, her ears burning slightly. She averted her eyes, her tone casual and natural: “Got it. It’s just half an hour holding, no big deal.”
She pulled at her sleeves, prepared herself mentally, then grabbed his arm and yanked him into her embrace, cradling him like a child, holding his head against her shoulder.
“Is this fine?”
Xie Lingyu: “…”
Sensing his strange silence, Sang Ying asked out of concern: “What’s wrong? If you have a problem just say so.”
The youth’s tone was flat: “Doesn’t junior sister’s arm ache?”
Although he’d been made smaller in frame, changing from youth to young man, his build was still much larger than Sang Ying. Holding him like this required Sang Ying to exert effort to support him, and her shoulders ached under his head’s weight.
She honestly nodded: “It does ache a bit actually.”
The youth sighed almost imperceptibly, straightening up. He gripped her wrist in reverse, pulling her toward him. Sang Ying found herself leaning against his chest.
The cool familiar white sandalwood scent enveloped her. Sang Ying’s small face pressed against his heart, as if trapped in this small world, her whole body stiffened.
She spoke dryly: “That is, actually my arm isn’t that achy…”
“But I’m a bit tired.”
Sang Ying paused.
The night was quiet. The youth’s clear voice carried a hint of hoarseness at the edges, sounding sandy and ticklish in her ear: “I chased down the criminal all day. I took some injuries. Junior sister’s earlier posture made it hard for me to meditate and recover.”
Sitting ignored on a side table, Luoqing had the bed curtain lowered and couldn’t see anything inside: ?
Boss, those demons didn’t even touch your sleeve…???
Sang Ying suddenly understood. No wonder he didn’t go to the tavern but came to rest at the inn. He’d been injured.
Back when they were still at Minghua Mountain, Xie Lingyu would get injured during his training down the mountain. He’d never admit it, though. Even with the bone showing through, he’d flatly say it was fine.
Yesterday was the same, coming back from Ten-Thousand-Ice Valley on the way, she’d asked if he was injured, and he wouldn’t say.
This was the first time she’d heard such words from Xie Lingyu. It made her feel like a fierce guard dog suddenly showing a wound, asking for mercy. Her heart suddenly went soft.
She immediately stopped squirming and gently leaned against him: “Is this okay? Am I pressing on you? Will it affect your meditation?”
Xie Lingyu paused slightly, lowering his eyes toward the girl in his arms.
He gently lowered his eyelashes, hiding the emotion in his eyes: “It won’t.”
Then Sang Ying could rest. “By the way, with injuries do you need medicine? We should see a healer…”
“Junior sister, this task’s reward and last month’s wages.”
The youth suddenly thrust several storage rings into her hands. Sang Ying’s attention was instantly diverted. Recalling the Immortal Alliance incident, she spoke unhappily: “That’s right. Why did you ask those families for things right there in the hall?”
Xie Lingyu paused, his eyelashes slightly lowering.
The girl suddenly poked his shoulder, exasperated at his uselessness [2]hating that iron won’t turn to steel (hen tie bu cheng gang, 恨鐵不成鋼) (Idiom), the frustrated disappointment of wanting someone you care about to do better jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3389874_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3389874_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, pointing: “Xie Lingyu, you’re too foolish. How could you handle this face-to-face? You should secretly send each family a list!”
“These world families have deep pockets and care about their reputation, so they definitely won’t refuse. This way you’d get five sets of items! Think how much less you’d get now. What a loss! Next time remember one list per family, understand?”
Xie Lingyu: “…Understood.”
Sang Ying, satisfied he’d listened, nodded approvingly. From the two hundred thousand spirit stones, she counted out two hundred, intending to give them to him, then remembered the inn cost two hundred per night and deducted fifty, giving him one hundred fifty.
“Here, this month’s pocket money.”
“Too much?”
Sang Ying buried her small face in his chest and hummed, her hair hiding her reddened ears: “Considering your recent performance has been decent, I’m giving you a raise.”
It absolutely wasn’t because hugging felt nice! Definitely not!
The night was quiet, moonlight cool and clear, faintly casting silhouettes through the sheer bed curtains.
Sang Ying, warmed by spiritual power, her small face no longer pale but rosy, looked like an obedient little fox, sleeping soundly in the youth’s embrace.
The person behind her lowered his eyelashes, his eyes dark with turbulent, rich emotions.
After a long silence, he slowly reached for her hand, lowering his head to place a deep kiss on her delicate white wrist.
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