Lin Zhengdu tilted her face up and smiled at Xie Guanqi, pointing at his hair. “It’s been almost a month—why is it still curly?”
Xie Guanqi reached back to touch the nape of his neck. The curled ends brushed against his palm. He didn’t dare tell the truth—the new hair that had grown in was actually straight, but he had used fire spiritual energy to curl it again.
Lowering his gaze, he asked casually, “Does it look strange?”
Lin Zhengdu shook her head. “Not at all. It looks nice—and very distinctive.”
His lashes lifted slightly, the corners of his lips curving upward. “I think so too—”
The smile was small, but it lit up his entire face, making him seem lighter, more lively. Even the lingering killing aura around him felt less intimidating.
Seeing him smile, Lin Zhengdu’s eyes softened as well.
Young people were so easy to read. Usually he put on a stern, aloof front, but a few compliments were enough to smooth his expression.
Then again, she wasn’t much different. Every time she came down the mountain to shop, a few extra praises from the hairpin artisan would have her buying ornaments she’d never actually wear.
She took out a box and tossed it to him. “The item you ordered—the artisan said you missed the agreed time, and she had to head home, so she asked me to pass it to you.”
The moment he caught the box, Xie Guanqi shot her a guilty glance.
Moonlight washed softly over her pale face. She was smiling—she didn’t look angry at all.
…She probably didn’t know what was inside yet.
He rubbed the box lightly and let his arm drop. “There was a secret realm trial today. I got delayed.”
“That explains it,” Lin Zhengdu said. “I could sense some killing intent on you earlier.”
At that, he frowned and examined himself. Sure enough, some of his aura had leaked out. He drew a slow breath, regulating his inner energy until the unsettling sharpness gradually receded.
“Walk together for a bit?” she asked.
“Alright,” he agreed quickly.
As they walked, the path grew narrower, until even the stone paving disappeared, replaced by a forest trail. The moonlight was blocked by branches, filtering down in scattered fragments, like stars clinging to them.
Lin Zhengdu watched her footing, occasionally lifting her skirt to step over shallow puddles.
Suddenly, Xie Guanqi spoke. “This is for you—”
She looked up to see him holding out the box.
One brow lifted slightly. It surprised her—but also didn’t.
She took it and opened it, lifting out the familiar pearl ornament as if examining it.
Light refracted off the cut surfaces of the minerals, casting shifting glimmers across her delicate features.
Tilting her head, she asked with a faint smile, “Why give me a gift all of a sudden?”
“…It’s not a gift.”
“Oh?”
Xie Guanqi pulled out a misshapen lump—the ruined ornament—and held it out to her. His lowered gaze betrayed his guilt. “It’s compensation. I used your bathing pool last time, and… accidentally stepped on your ornament and broke it.”
“I meant to fix it and return it quietly, but… my handiwork isn’t very good.”
Despite his junior brother’s advice to pretend nothing had happened, he had still gone back to retrieve the ornament he’d thrown away, carefully cleaning it.
The broken piece lay in his palm, looking small against his hands.
Lin Zhengdu glanced down at it—and almost laughed.
Objectively speaking, the craftsmanship was terrible.
It reminded her of the time he tied his wrist guards—he had only known how to tie dead knots. She wondered how he even untied them afterward…
In reality, she didn’t know—but she had seen it in a dream.
She sharply pulled her thoughts back and took the ornament from him.
“It looks a bit ugly,” he admitted. “I was going to throw it away, but… I thought you should decide.”
“It’s fine,” she comforted him. “Not that ugly.”
“Really?!”
His tone even lifted slightly.
She smiled sweetly. “I’m lying~”
“… ”
He lowered his head, visibly dejected. Even his fluffy high ponytail seemed to droop.
Lin Zhengdu found herself staring at his hair a moment longer, feeling an odd urge to touch it—it looked soft, springy.
She placed both ornaments into the box and snapped it shut.
“I’m teasing,” she added. “It’s really not that bad. Do I look that fierce?”
He shook his head.
“Have I never joked with you before?”
He hesitated, then shook his head again.
She hopped forward, blocking his path, puzzled. “If I look gentle and kind, and I joke with you, why do you always think I’ll get angry?”
He answered honestly, “Because I can’t tell when you’re joking or when you’re actually upset. No one around me jokes with me.”
“… ”
A sudden sense of guilt hit her—like she’d been bullying an honest person.
She rubbed her nose awkwardly. “You sword cultivators really lack a sense of humor.”
“Some do joke,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just not with me.”
“…Have you been ostracized?”
“The weak band together. They fear and exclude the strong. It’s only natural.”
Lin Zhengdu was stunned—half because he clearly knew he was being ostracized, half because he sounded… a little smug about his own strength.
She gave him a thumbs-up. “With that mindset, you’ll succeed at anything.”
He looked at her hand, confused. “What does that mean?”
“It means praise.”
He immediately returned the gesture. “Doctor Lin is also very good. Whatever you want to do, you’ll definitely succeed.”
She flushed slightly, lowering her arm and smiling to herself, her mood lifting.
Ahead, the sound of flowing water chimed softly. After passing several ancient trees, the view opened up suddenly—a river, its surface dotted with drifting fireflies and faint blue water spirits.
The last time they’d passed here, it had been early spring—bare and empty.
Now, lush water plants crowded the banks, hiding the stones beneath. From deep within the reeds came occasional birdcalls and the quacking of ducks.
Some plants had even spread onto the shore, blending with wild grass and shrubs.
Xie Guanqi stepped ahead, using his scabbard to part and press down the plants, carving a path through.
By moonlight, Lin Zhengdu finally got a clear look at his scabbard.
It was black—but not plain. Faint red patterns ran across it, resembling flowers, with tiny glimmers embedded along the side. The hilt bore a large red gemstone, darkly luminous, understated but unmistakably valuable.
When the scabbard brushed the reeds, fireflies burst into motion, their lights scattering over it, some settling on his arm and sword, draping him in a soft, dreamlike glow.
He turned his face to avoid a cluster of them and waved them aside. “Watch out for insects.”
She blinked and pointed to the sachet at her waist. “I have this—keeps them away.”
His gaze lingered briefly. At her waist hung all sorts of things—storage pouch, sachets of different colors, decorative weights, braided cords.
He looked away and continued forward.
Soon, they reached the teleportation array near her courtyard. From there, her roof was visible just above.
Holding the box, she joked, “Since we’re already here, want to come in for tea?”
“Alright.”
“…Huh?”
He looked at her calmly.
She was only surprised for a moment before smiling again, genuinely leading him inside.
What was there to fear from a boy like him?
She didn’t have real tea, but plenty of medicinal herbs that could be brewed. She deliberately chose the bitterest ones, mixed them, and poured hot water over them.
She wanted to see his reaction.
When she came out with the teapot, he was already seated on a lounge chair in the courtyard, sitting upright, his sword resting across his knees.
She poured him a cup. “Is this your natal sword?”
Every cultivator had one—like her master, Immortal Peilan, whose was a silk ribbon.
He nodded.
Sitting across from him, she rested her chin on one hand. “Can I touch it?”
He shifted the scabbard toward her—silent permission.
She reached for the large dark-red gemstone on the hilt.
The moment her fingers touched it, she hissed and pulled back—it was burning hot.
“This is a Phoenix Heart,” he explained. “Fire attribute. It’s hot.”
“…You don’t mean an actual phoenix heart?”
He nodded, then pointed to the faint silver threads in the hilt. “Dragon sinew.”
To the patterns on the scabbard: “Pure fire essence from the magma of Mount Buzhou. The design is based on the Three Paths Flower.”
He tapped the scabbard. “Kunwu stone from Liuzhou.”
Finally, one hand on the hilt, one on the sheath—he drew the blade half an inch.
A dim blue light shimmered like ghostly fire, illuminating his face.
His eyes shone, full of pride. “The blade is forged from a meteorite from Wind-Thunder Valley. No impurities. I forged it myself.”
With every material he named, Lin Zhengdu drew in a breath, her throat going cool.
Then he concluded, “Its formal name is Xie Weiwo. Its nickname is Goutou.”
“…Goutou? As in ‘dog head’?”
“A humble name keeps it grounded. Doctor Lin, do you have a natal weapon?”
Still stunned by the absurdly expensive “dog-head sword,” she shook her head.
“My master said it’s very important. Once chosen, it’s hard to change. I thought about it for a long time but couldn’t decide what I like, so I never made one.”
“Want to try sword cultivation?” he offered enthusiastically.
She shook her head. “I’m not interested in swords.”
Disappointed, he sheathed it and picked up the tea.
He didn’t realize how intimate it was to visit a woman’s home at night for tea.
Nor that she was teasing him.
Just as he’d said—no one ever joked with him.
He took a sip.
Immediately, his brows and nose scrunched from the bitterness—but he swallowed it anyway.
Lin Zhengdu rummaged in her pouch, pulled out two candies, and handed them over with a smile. “Too bitter? Want some candy?”
He set the cup down, quietly licking his teeth, maintaining composure. “It’s… not that bitter.”