Since she couldn’t find a matching hair ornament, Lin Zhengdu simply switched to a ribbon and redid Qinglan’s hair. While working, she asked about what had happened.
Qinglan loved raising cats and often brought stray ones back from the foot of the mountain.
Recently, several of them had gone into heat, yowling nonstop through the night. To avoid complaints from other disciples about the noise, Qinglan decided to catch those cats and have them neutered. A few tabby civet cats were especially alert and hard to catch, so she had been staking them out for days.
That day, Lu Yuanyuan had been lying on a rock sunbathing in her original form—only to be mistaken for one of Qinglan’s cats and taken away to be spayed.
With a medicinal patch plastered across her face, Lu Yuanyuan fumed, “She even drugged me! If I didn’t have some cultivation and hadn’t woken up in time, I’d be a female cat right now!”
Qinglan protested miserably, “Who told you to sunbathe like that? And if you had to, why turn into a cat? All those tabbies look the same—how was I supposed to tell them apart?”
The two went back and forth, clearly gearing up for another round. Their shouting rose in stereo on either side of Lin Zhengdu, as if competing to see who could be louder.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lin Zhengdu sighed and scolded them both, then sent them off to stand by the corridor window holding hands as punishment.
After they left, she rubbed her ears. They had been so loud that even in the silence now, it still felt like thunder was ringing beside her head.
Then a thought suddenly occurred to her: Qinglan was also seventeen.
Her hand paused mid-motion against her ear, her expression turning subtle. She had always known Xie Guanqi was seventeen, and that Qinglan was too—but she had never really connected the fact that they were the same age.
The difference between them was just… too great.
Fortunately, Qinglan was only her junior sister, not a junior of a lower generation. Otherwise, it would feel even stranger.
Resting her cheek in one hand, Lin Zhengdu looked out the window. She saw Qinglan and Lu Yuanyuan standing there as ordered, their silhouettes framed by the open window. They were indeed holding hands—but secretly twisting each other’s tiger’s mouth (the space between thumb and index finger), grimacing in pain while stubbornly refusing to let go, glaring at one another with mutual distrust.
Lin Zhengdu sighed again. Then her thoughts drifted: I wonder how Xie Guanqi is doing back at the Sword Sect… I heard they have written exams. How did he do?
Xie Guanqi came in last place.
Not because the exam was particularly difficult, nor because his answers were especially poor—but because he had slept through the entire test and handed in a blank sheet.
Since the Sword Sect introduced written exams, there had been plenty of bad scores—but never before had anyone submitted a blank paper.
The Discipline Elder was furious. The exams weren’t meant to produce scholars overflowing with literary talent, only to enlighten minds and steady hearts. Writing poorly was acceptable—but handing in a blank paper and sleeping during the exam was blatant disrespect.
So Xie Guanqi was punished: he had to sweep Yushan Avenue.
Yushan Avenue was the long, wide road that ran through the entire mountain. Normally, different outer disciples were responsible for different sections, but since it was holiday time, the entire road was assigned to Xie Guanqi alone.
For a full month.
Lin Zhengdu leaned against a wall, dry heaving. Having eaten nothing, her stomach cramped, but nothing came out.
The senior sister who had come with her to deliver medicine waited until she finished, then handed her a sour plum. “You should’ve said you get seasick. This isn’t urgent—someone else could’ve come.”
Pale-faced, Lin Zhengdu sucked on the plum and waved weakly. “It’s fine… I can still walk…”
“Walk? Don’t be ridiculous,” the senior sister said quickly. “Just sit here and rest. There isn’t much medicine anyway—I’ll deliver it myself. Stay put and don’t wander off. On the way back, we won’t take the spirit boat—I’ll borrow a crane from the Sword Sect. At least it’s ventilated, and less bumpy. You might feel better.”
With that, she pressed Lin Zhengdu down onto a step and left with the medicine.
Every month, the Medicine Sect sold stable finished medicines to the Sword Sect at a discounted price. Two disciples were assigned to deliver them each time.
Usually, Lu Yuanyuan handled it for the Lotus Pavilion. But Lin Zhengdu had lent him an ancient book from her collection, and once he became absorbed in reading, he naturally passed the task to her.
She knew she got seasick and was afraid of heights, so she had prepared special medicine beforehand.
It hadn’t worked.
She had vomited from boarding to disembarking, and even now her legs still felt weak.
Thankfully, the sour plum helped a little. Standing on solid ground while sucking on something sour, the nausea gradually faded.
The afternoon sun was as vicious as a plague demon. Yushan Avenue stretched wide and open as ever, flanked by tall, dense pine trees whose shadows were sparse and useless against the heat.
Those patches of shade offered no coolness—only made the air feel more stifling.
Holding an umbrella, Lin Zhengdu strolled along the edge of the road. Even with shade, the harsh glare forced her to squint.
The avenue was unusually quiet. Aside from the sun bleaching the stone tiles white, there was almost no sign of life—let alone the young sword cultivators.
She wondered if they, too, avoided the summer sun, which felt almost like a toxic barrier.
She had heard some rumors about Xie Guanqi recently—how he handed in a blank exam and, when questioned, said he had simply been too sleepy and fell asleep during the test.
The Discipline Elder had been livid and immediately punished him to sweep the avenue.
Shading her eyes, Lin Zhengdu looked ahead. The sunlit tiles stretched endlessly, like fish flipped belly-up and left to dry in the heat.
No one in sight.
She wondered if she had come too early. Perhaps the Sword Sect was humane enough to let disciples work after sunset.
Just as she was thinking, a voice came from behind:
“Doctor Lin?”
She startled, gripping her umbrella, then slowly turned.
Xie Guanqi stood a few steps behind her, leaning on a broom.
He wasn’t wearing the standard Sword Sect uniform—dressed entirely in black. His long, curly hair was tied into a high ponytail, each curl gleaming under the sun like a black Christmas tree strung with tiny lights.
Switching the broom to one hand, he walked up to her.
“I came to deliver medicine,” Lin Zhengdu said, touching her nose.
“Deliver medicine?”
She explained briefly, then added, “My senior sister went ahead. I wasn’t feeling well, so I stayed behind.”
Then she paused, looking at his hair. “Your hair… can’t change back?”
He ran a hand through the curls, looking troubled. “I’ve tried several methods, but it won’t straighten. I’m thinking of cutting it—new growth should be straight.”
“That’s such a pity,” she said, glancing at its length. “You’ve grown it so long.”
“I can’t keep it like this forever…”
“Actually, it suits you.”
He froze for a moment, eyes widening slightly, then fell silent.
Lin Zhengdu didn’t mind and continued, “But in this heat, what are you doing with a broom?”
He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Punishment. Didn’t do well on the written exam—so I have to sweep for a month.”
He didn’t mention the blank paper.
She didn’t expose him either, only frowned slightly as she looked down the endless road. “Do you have to do it now?”
He nodded. “Punishment is always at this hour.”
She rummaged in her pouch and handed him a porcelain bottle. “Cooling pills. They’ll prevent heatstroke.”
He took it, opened it, and swallowed two without looking.
The bitterness hit instantly—his face scrunched up, veins twitching at his temple.
Lin Zhengdu tilted her head. “Bitter?”
He stuck his tongue out slightly—stained black by the pills. “Very.”
She smiled, untied a sachet, and said, “Give me your hand.”
He obeyed. She poured several translucent candies of different colors into his palm. Their sweetness quickly spread in the heavy air.
“Why give me candy?” he asked.
“Isn’t it bitter?”
“I’m not a child—I don’t eat candy anymore.”
He wrapped them in a handkerchief. “But my junior sister likes sweets. I’ll keep them for her.”
“As you like.”
The heat was oppressive. Lin Zhengdu raised her umbrella again.
It blocked his view, leaving him staring at the painting on its surface—a delicate girl carrying a willow tree on one shoulder. Odd, yet vividly drawn.
He stepped closer, walking beside her, but still couldn’t see her face.
“Will you come again next month?” he asked.
“No.”
He blinked. “Why not?”
She tilted the umbrella, revealing half her sun-reddened face and bright phoenix eyes, smiling faintly. “No reason. Why—do you need something from me?”
For some reason, his back felt cold under her gaze.
“Nothing. Just asking.”
“Don’t be so casual,” she said softly. “Adults aren’t that casual.”
He fell silent.
Walking beside her, he said nothing more.
After a while, she grew tired. Looking at the endless road ahead, she exhaled and lowered her umbrella.
“Xie Guanqi—”
He stiffened at being called by his full name.
“The White Dragon Pearl and the Nightmare—they don’t really matter to me,” she said gently. “If you happen to bring them back while you’re out, I’d be happy. But they’re not worth making a special trip for.”
“They’re not worth missing a match for, and not worth skipping class either.”
His chest tightened.
He wanted to say it didn’t matter—but before he could—
“Focus on your studies. Take your exams seriously. Don’t hand in a blank paper again,” she added softly. “This road is long, and the sun is harsh.”
He suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes.
Her gaze was gentle—but it burned like fire against his face.
He turned away and answered quietly:
“…Alright.”