Though he claimed it wasn’t that bitter, Xie Guanqi still accepted the candies Lin Zhengdu handed him, wrapping them carefully in a handkerchief before putting them away.
“Didn’t you say it wasn’t bitter?” she asked.
He folded the handkerchief neatly. “I’ll take them back for my junior sister.”
Resting her chin in her palm, Lin Zhengdu smiled. “How old is your junior sister?”
“…Not very old. Still a child.”
He avoided giving a specific age—he had no intention of letting her know that the youngest junior sister in his sect was actually the same age as him.
Fortunately, she didn’t press further. She only reminded him, “Don’t let kids eat too much candy, or they’ll get cavities.”
Relieved, his tone lightened. “Mm. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Has your punishment duty ended?” she asked.
“It has.”
After glancing at her expression, he added casually, as if it didn’t matter, “I didn’t hand in a blank paper for the written exam afterward. My results were… decent. And after this month’s final exam, I’ll graduate from the academy. No more classes.”
“Graduating, huh?” Her brows lifted slightly as she clapped for him with a grin. “Congratulations! So what’s next—leaving the Sword Sect to travel and train?”
She knew that in the Medicine Sect, once disciples passed both the written and practical exams, they could leave the sect to gain experience. She had heard the Sword Sect followed similar rules.
“I’ve been training outside for a long time already,” Xie Guanqi said calmly. “Now I just don’t have to come back for exams anymore.”
She immediately caught his implication and played along. “Because you’re much stronger than your peers, so they let you out early?”
“Mm-hmm!”
In his good mood, he nodded enthusiastically, his fluffy, curly ponytail swaying behind him.
Suppressing a laugh, Lin Zhengdu reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair—just as she expected, it felt soft and springy.
Xie Guanqi paused—confused, thinking, failing to understand—then gave up and pretended nothing had happened. “Doctor Lin, when do you plan to go out for training?”
She waved a hand, clearly uninterested. “My cultivation isn’t high enough. The Medicine Sect requires at least third-stage cultivation before allowing disciples to leave, no matter their specialty.”
“From second stage to third stage is quick!” he said without thinking.
“… ”
Lin Zhengdu sighed. “Do you remember how long we’ve known each other? Since the day you were carried into the Medicine Sect after being poisoned.”
“About half a year.”
She pointed at herself. “Then look at me—has my cultivation improved at all in that time?”
He fell into thought—and quickly realized that every time he had seen her, she had been at the early second stage. Always.
Lin Zhengdu leaned back peacefully into her chair. “But cultivators live a long time. I’m sure if I work hard enough, I can reach third stage before I’m sixty.”
Xie Guanqi was shocked. “You plan to eat in the sect cafeteria until you’re sixty? It tastes terrible.”
After a moment of stunned reflection, he added, “Though you could eat in the town below… but not often. The Medicine Sect doesn’t allow disciples to live among mortals long-term.”
Lin Zhengdu rubbed her nose awkwardly. “Well, if my cultivation won’t improve, there’s nothing I can do. Crooked methods might work faster, but I’m from an orthodox sect…”
After thinking for a moment, he said, “Do you want to try the Sword Sect’s training schedule? Your slow progress might be because Medicine Sect disciples tend to cultivate more loosely, each on their own.”
Curious, she pulled out paper and brush, asking him to write it down.
No ink grinding was needed—her brush was a low-level magical tool that produced ink on its own. As for how it worked, she had no idea. But in a world of cultivation, a self-inking brush wasn’t worth questioning.
Xie Guanqi held the brush in an awkward grip, though his writing was neat—almost too neat, like a child’s. Soon the paper filled with his schedule: starting before dawn with sword practice, warming up before sunrise, then meditating while facing the rising sun…
Before he could continue, Lin Zhengdu snatched the brush from his hand.
He looked up, puzzled.
“Stop writing. I’m not waking up before dawn to cultivate.”
“At that time, unless it’s cloudy, the sky is already faintly bright,” he explained.
She grabbed the unfinished paper as well, clasping her hands. “Spare me. My desire for mortal delicacies isn’t strong enough to push me that far.”
The moment she finished speaking, she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket.
Xie Guanqi’s gaze followed the arc of the crumpled paper until it landed neatly inside.
“If there were a method of cultivation that wasn’t tiring, would you try it?” he asked.
“Of course. As long as it’s not some crooked path—I’m from a proper sect.”
He chuckled. “So am I. I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“Then where would you find an easy method?” she muttered, shivering at the thought of that packed schedule.
If she followed it strictly, wouldn’t life become nothing but sword practice?
The topic ended there. Xie Guanqi still had to return to the Sword Sect, so he took his leave. Lin Zhengdu, too lazy to get up, simply waved from her chair.
After he left, she lay there staring at the stars—then suddenly sprang up, rushing into her room. Sitting before her dressing table, she opened a wooden box.
Inside lay two pearl ornaments—one delicate and beautiful, the other a chaotic mess.
The messy one had clearly been taken apart and repaired multiple times, leaving obvious traces.
Facing the mirror, Lin Zhengdu pinned the messy ornament into her hair. She blinked—and the graceful woman in the mirror blinked back, her composed expression turning playful.
She removed it and placed it into a separate box, shaking her head. “Such poor craftsmanship.”
But as soon as she said it, she couldn’t help laughing.
Imagining how that young sword cultivator had struggled over and over to fix such a small ornament—those hands capable of forging exquisite artifacts rendered helpless by tiny polished stones—
Propping her cheek on one hand, she tapped the smiling face in the mirror. “You’re terrible. How can you laugh at him?”
Then she answered herself, “Because it’s fun~”
The next time Lin Zhengdu saw Xie Guanqi was several days later.
That night, after a comfortable hot bath, she planned to read something dense to lull herself to sleep. She had just picked up the book when someone knocked on her window.
Her courtyard formation hadn’t reacted—so it must be someone familiar.
Puzzled, she walked over and pushed the window open—
—and Xie Guanqi appeared before her out of nowhere.
“…Huh?”
She looked up at him, bewildered.
The night wind stirred his long, curly hair. He held his priceless natal sword, dressed as always in plain black.
He extended one hand. In his palm perched a golden bird.
“A message bird,” he said. “For you.”
Confused, Lin Zhengdu took it. She knew these golden message birds were rare and expensive, prized for their accuracy.
He added seriously, “It only eats the belly meat of flying fish. This is dried meat.”
He placed a small pouch on the windowsill—labeled Flying Fish Meat in ink.
She looked at the bird, then at him. “Why all of a sudden…?”
“I’m going on a long journey,” he said. “At fastest, a year and a half. At slowest, about three years.”
She froze. “Leaving the mountain for extended training?”
He shook his head. “Not training. Finishing an unfinished mission. It was delayed because I was poisoned before.”
After a pause, he explained, “In the Snow Nation, plague wraiths run rampant. My task is to eliminate all of them.”
“…???”
Lin Zhengdu had never left the Medicine Sect. Everything she knew about the Snow Nation and plague wraiths came from books.
If those books were accurate, the Snow Nation was vast beyond measure, filled with water and ice spiritual energy.
And there were more plague wraiths than living people.
She touched her own forehead, then his.
He was warm—but not feverish.
“You don’t seem delirious. What nonsense are you talking about?”
He smiled slightly and lowered his head, letting her check more carefully.
“I’m not joking.”
She pulled her hand back and glared. “Getting poisoned once wasn’t enough? You want a second time?”
“It was an accident,” he said calmly. “I wasn’t poisoned while hunting them. A local invited me to eat pufferfish hotpot. I didn’t know the fish was contaminated.”
“… ”
“This time,” he added seriously, “I’ll learn my lesson. I won’t eat hotpot with the locals.”
Lin Zhengdu fell silent.
There were too many things to comment on—his recklessness, or the fact that even the Snow Nation apparently had mutated, plague-poisoned pufferfish.
But Xie Guanqi remained completely calm—his confidence rooted in absolute faith in his own strength.
“Do you have to go?” she asked.
He nodded. “I can’t abandon a mission halfway.”
“…Alright. Wait here a moment.”
She set the bird on the windowsill and ran off.
The bird hopped twice, fluttering its wings as if about to escape, its dark eyes glancing at Xie Guanqi.
It quickly realized—
he wasn’t looking at it at all.
He was staring at Lin Zhengdu as she ran off.
The bird took off—
—but before it could rise half a meter, Xie Guanqi caught it effortlessly without even turning his gaze, placing it back on the sill.
His palm was burning hot, fire energy curling around its feathers.
The bird immediately shrank in on itself, huddling like a fluffy ornament.
It had a strong feeling—if it tried to fly again, it would end up as roasted meat tonight.
Soon, Lin Zhengdu returned.
She had rushed, her breathing uneven, a faint flush on her cheeks.
She must have been about to sleep before I came, he thought.
Her long black hair fell loose over her shoulders. Her light, plain dress draped softly, like ink brushed into the air.
His gaze dropped to the folds of her skirt, to the pale blue ribbons woven among them. A warm fragrance drifted from her clothes and skin.
Then his eyes lifted to meet hers.
Before she could speak, he said first—
“Lin Zhengdu… when you were running just now, your dress looked really beautiful.”