Lin Zhengdu handed over the ancient text that recorded information about the white dragon pearl—and along with it, she returned the true dragon pearl to Xie Guanqi.
But he only accepted the book.
“Can’t a real dragon pearl be used in medicine?” he asked.
“It can, technically…”
“Then you keep it.”
He tucked the book into his robes and lowered his head, slipping his wrist guards back onto his arms.
They were tied with cords, awkward to fasten with one hand. Xie Guanqi skillfully caught one cord between his teeth, pulling the other with his free hand and knotting them together in a practiced motion.
When he moved to do the same with the other wrist guard, Lin Zhengdu let out a faint sigh and stepped forward.
“Give me your hand.”
She took his arm, her pale palm supporting the underside of the guard.
His clothes were black. His wrist guards were black too—not leather, but a rough, stiff fabric layered thickly. Beneath it, she could feel something rigid—thin sheets of metal sewn inside.
She remembered that the Sword Sect was far from poor. Their standard-issue robes were fine, well-tailored garments—soft, fitted, elegant yet practical. Most disciples wore them, especially those who spent all their spirit stones on their swords.
But she had never seen Xie Guanqi in Sword Sect attire.
He always wore simple black or gray clothing—plain, unadorned, always the same. Even his wrist guards never changed.
Lin Zhengdu couldn’t help but think that if he wore this outfit into a real fight, it wouldn’t last even a quarter of an hour before being blasted to dust.
Once the guard was secured, she released his hand.
She had kept her head lowered the entire time, never once meeting his eyes, nor asking about his clothes.
But while she avoided looking at him, Xie Guanqi was watching her from beneath lowered lashes.
Just as she turned to leave, he reached out and caught her sleeve.
The fabric was light—thin cotton gauze—soft as drifting smoke in his grasp.
Lin Zhengdu froze for a moment before slowly lifting her gaze to meet his.
“Is there something else?”
“You…”
He stopped mid-sentence, words failing him.
The last time she had avoided him, he had pressed her for answers. He had seen through her evasions, her deliberate attempts to deflect.
Sometimes, not knowing simply meant the other person didn’t want to say.
Pushing too hard would only make things worse—for both sides.
So he hadn’t pursued it. He had returned to the Sword Sect, quietly disappointed.
On the way back, he had seen her bounty posted at the Medicine Sect’s notice board—a request that had been hanging there for years.
He thought of it as repaying a debt. A dragon wasn’t much.
So he took the mission.
Before leaving, he had even told the disciple in charge not to mention his name. He had planned to complete the task quietly and leave the pearl at her door—no meeting, no words.
He liked Physician Lin’s personality, that much was true.
But he didn’t need to be her friend.
If she didn’t like him, he could simply stay out of her way.
He would never lower himself to force a friendship where he wasn’t wanted.
Xie Guanqi had his pride.
But when he arrived at the small courtyard on Medicine Mountain, it was as if his feet had taken root.
Excuses came naturally—
The dragon’s body could be useful medicine too; if he was repaying her, he might as well give it all.
The rain was heavy—better to hand over the pearl personally, in case it got blown away.
Since he was already there, soaked through and chilled, asking for a cup of hot water wasn’t too much, was it?
…
After all that—
What he really wanted to ask was:
Why did you dislike me before?
Did I do something wrong?
He stared at her face, and in the end only managed to say:
“I need to return to the Sword Sect for morning lessons.”
Lin Zhengdu blinked. “You still have morning classes?”
“Yes. Sword practice in the morning, study in the evening.”
She looked even more surprised. “The Sword Sect has academic classes too?”
“Of course.”
She stepped aside, clearing the doorway. “Then go quickly—don’t be late.”
He nodded and left at once.
For the first few steps, he walked stiffly, almost out of sync with himself. After a while, his stride steadied.
At the steps, he turned back.
Lin Zhengdu was leaning on the railing, brows slightly furrowed as she watched him leave.
Their eyes met.
Startled by his sudden glance back, she straightened abruptly, eyes widening, shoulders tensing—
Like someone caught watching when they weren’t supposed to.
Before she could recover—
Xie Guanqi turned and came back.
Two long strides carried him across the steps, wind brushing past her face as he closed the distance.
He grabbed her sleeve again, expression serious.
“I still want to ask—why did you ignore me before, and why are you fine now? I don’t understand.”
He needed an answer.
He couldn’t stand that vague, ambiguous feeling lingering around him.
Lin Zhengdu instinctively stepped back, but his grip stopped her after only two steps. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
His gaze was like his sword—sharp, direct, relentless.
She panicked for a moment, then forced herself to calm down. This wasn’t her first time handling something like this.
“When did I ignore you?” she asked, lifting her chin.
“The two days before I left… Did I do something you disliked?”
“No. Nothing like that. I just…”
She couldn’t very well admit she’d had a romantic dream about him.
But she couldn’t brush it off vaguely either.
After a moment’s thought, she said, “I just had a nightmare.”
“The wings of a nightmare beast are hanging in the medicine room. That night I fell asleep there and dreamed I treated you to death—and your master came with a sword to demand justice.”
She sighed softly, looking up at him. “It scared me to death. After waking up, I was a bit afraid of you. I told you I just needed a few days—but you left on your own, for no reason.”
Xie Guanqi froze.
Under her gaze, his confidence faltered. His hand loosened from her sleeve.
“I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not entirely your fault,” she said gently. “I wasn’t honest either.”
After a pause, she smiled.
“It would’ve been strange to say, right? That I dreamed of accidentally killing you.”
This time, her smile was genuine.
Because if she had told the truth back then—
That she had dreamed of something far more intimate—
That wouldn’t have been merely strange.
It would’ve been… improper.
And even now, she had no intention of saying it.
Xie Guanqi hadn’t lied. The Sword Sect did have morning classes.
But attendance wasn’t mandatory.
You could skip if you wanted—just don’t fail the monthly exams, or you’d be publicly humiliated in rankings and possibly beaten by your master.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Like Xie Guanqi.
Elder Yun’s only requirement for him was simple: don’t rank last.
No one expected more. After all, his swordsmanship was already so exceptional that it made others reluctant to even be in the same sect as him.
If his academic performance were also top-tier—
What would that leave for everyone else? Hang themselves?
The very same Xie Guanqi, who inspired such despair in his peers, stood waiting by the door until his junior sister finally finished class.
She was cheerfully saying goodbye to friends, candy in her mouth—until she turned and saw him standing there expressionless.
She swallowed the candy whole in shock, nearly choking.
“Senior Brother… you’re back?”
“Mm.”
After a moment, she blurted out, “I’ve been practicing hard! Second Senior Brother said I’ve improved—I might be able to enter a秘境 next year!”
Xie Guanqi glanced at her once. “He’s lying. With your current cultivation, you’d die in two days.”
“….”
“Did you take notes in class this month?”
“I did! I didn’t get distracted at all—I wrote down everything the teacher said!”
He held out a hand. “Let me copy them.”
“?”
She handed over her notes in a daze.
After flipping through them, he nodded in satisfaction and walked off, already calculating how many days he had left to cram two months’ worth of missed lessons.
Meanwhile, Lin Zhengdu was dealing with the dragon.
It was simply too large.
Even though she admired its majestic form, there was no way she could keep it intact in her courtyard.
And even in death, its aura lingered—frightening nearby low-level spirit beasts and affecting the plants.
For the sake of the ecosystem, it had to be dismantled.
After a full day of hard work, she finally broke it into several massive pieces—each larger than herself. Too tired for precision work, she packed them all into her storage artifact.
Dinner was simple—mashed potatoes with sauce.
After eating, she slumped in her chair, absentmindedly turning the dragon pearl between her fingers.
It was beautiful.
But her thoughts weren’t on it.
They drifted instead to the young sword cultivator who had brought it to her.
She couldn’t figure him out.
He said he wanted to be friends—
But his actions didn’t quite match that.
It felt… ambiguous.
A subtle kind of ambiguity.
She had been seventeen twice.
The first time, she’d even been in a relationship.
But no one killed a dragon just to pursue someone.
The more she thought, the less certain she became.
Maybe she was overthinking it.
And besides—
Seventeen was so young.
Seventeen was troublesome.
The more she considered it, the more she felt it wasn’t something she could simply “bite into.”
Just as she was lost in thought, the courtyard gate slammed loudly.
She sprang up, tucked away the pearl, and went to open the door.
Outside, Qinglan burst in, crying loudly.
“Senior Sister! Lu Yuanyuan pulled my hair!”
A boy with cat ears followed behind, his face scratched, rolling his eyes.
“You said you were going to neuter me first!”
Lin Zhengdu glanced down—her junior sister’s hair was half undone, her bead ornament missing.
She sighed inwardly.
Taking one by the hand and the other by the sleeve, she led them both inside.
She treated Lu Yuanyuan’s wounds first, then wiped Qinglan’s tears and began fixing her hair.
“Where’s your hair ornament?” she asked.
“I don’t know… I lost it…”
Lin Zhengdu opened her jewelry box and found a purple beaded hairpin.
She remembered it came as a pair.
But no matter how she searched—
She couldn’t find the other one.