Completely unexpected—he appeared unexpectedly, and then spoke words just as unexpected.
Yet Xie Guanqi wore an expression of absolute certainty, his voice calm and even. It was as if suddenly showing up by Lin Zhengdu’s side was the most natural thing in the world.
Lin Zhengdu touched her lips. The cherry-red rouge had smudged slightly onto her perfectly manicured fingertips. Realization hit her, and she said, “I’m not sick. It’s the lipstick—that’s why my lips look red… The Sword Sect isn’t all men. Haven’t you ever seen the female disciples wear makeup?”
She had seen quite a few Sword Sect women wear lipstick.
So the question Xie Guanqi asked struck her as… dumb.
He answered calmly, “I never noticed—so this is what rouge is.”
Curiosity shone clearly in his dark eyes as he leaned in slightly closer. The warm aura unique to a fire-attribute swordsman brushed past her, driving away the drifting water spirit lingering above the river’s surface.
His gaze hadn’t blinked since he first looked at her, nor had it wavered from her form.
The color was vivid red, with a sweet, fruity scent—cherry or apricot—covering her lips, but not perfectly following their natural contours. At the corner of her mouth, a tiny smudge painted the skin in a faint pink.
The same bright color adorned the dress she wore that day: a lively red with gold patterns along the edges.
Xie Guanqi didn’t come uncomfortably close—at least not beyond what could be considered polite. But Lin Zhengdu still felt her heart flutter and a dizzy lightness sweep over her. Her breath quickened unconsciously, and with each inhale, it seemed her lungs were filled with his fire-infused warmth. She bent to gather the red skirt the sheath had held, hugging it to her chest, and subtly shifted backward to create distance.
Xie Guanqi straightened, lowering the sheath to his side. “I came to your courtyard but didn’t find you, so I thought I’d try my luck here.”
He gave a light laugh, the last words carrying a small upward inflection: “Looks like my luck was good.”
Lin Zhengdu blinked. “…Good luck for what?”
“To celebrate your birthday with you.”
Her eyes widened. “You… you knew today was my birthday?!”
“You told me,” he said simply.
Instinctively, she wanted to argue—but as her mouth opened, she realized it must be true. After all, he was standing right there.
“When… did I tell you?” she asked, puzzled.
“At New Year’s,” he replied.
Lin Zhengdu tried to recall that night—she remembered drinking, taking off his bracers to put them back on, touching his face…
But when had she ever mentioned her birthday?!
She tapped her nose, sulking. “I was drunk. I must’ve forgotten.”
Xie Guanqi accepted this without hesitation. “My birthday is October eighteenth.”
Lin Zhengdu nodded. “Okay… I’ll remember that…”
She propped herself on a rock with one hand and stepped into the shallow water.
The riverbed was paved with worn, smooth pebbles, still uncomfortable underfoot. She glanced down to check her step and avoid twisting an ankle—only to notice that Xie Guanqi had simply stepped into the water in his boots.
The flowing water shimmered across his black leather boots, washing over Lin Zhengdu’s rolled-up bare calves.
His boots, like his clothing, were entirely black, unadorned, simple—yet the fit on his long legs made the lines sharp and elegant.
Lin Zhengdu studied him for a moment, feeling awkward. She shifted three steps sideways, putting a noticeable distance between them.
Xie Guanqi tilted his head, curious.
“I’m holding my skirt,” she explained, “The light’s dim and I can’t see well—I’m worried you might step on me… I’m barefoot, and your boots… anyone stepped on by those would feel it.”
He glanced at his boots, puzzled. How could she tell just from the shoes that they would hurt if stepped on?
“I won’t step on you,” he said.
Lin Zhengdu murmured ‘hmm,’ but kept her distance. As she moved, water splashed with each step.
Xie Guanqi followed at a normal pace, a few steps behind, his eyes catching the half-submerged calves for less than a second before deliberately looking away. They waded to the shore together.
Once ashore, Lin Zhengdu let her skirt fall freely. The red fabric cascaded in folds, shimmering even in the night with its satin sheen.
Walking side by side back to the courtyard, she asked, “You didn’t tell anyone else about my birthday, right?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She sighed in relief. “Just you and me—no third party. My fellow disciples think my birthday is on September fifteenth.”
She hesitated, wondering how to explain having two birthdays—but Xie Guanqi didn’t ask.
Instead, he asked, “This is our secret, right?”
“…Yes,” she admitted.
“I’ll keep it,” he said.
Friends should have such secrets—shared and unbroken.
In good spirits, Xie Guanqi walked lightly, hopping slightly over puddles. The high ponytail of his long hair bounced with each step.
“Watch out for puddles,” he warned.
“I’m a water-root cultivator. I don’t need to see puddles to know where they are,” she said.
Once back in the courtyard, Lin Zhengdu split the longevity noodles she had packed with him.
Their table was full of dishes, and as two growing young adults, they ate with ease. Having learned from previous drunken episodes, she only took food from her storage ring, leaving alcohol aside.
After eating, Lin Zhengdu brewed a pot of digestion tea. They sipped it together in the courtyard.
Xie Guanqi eyed the tea carefully, having experienced how bitter her brews could be. He intended not to drink—but when she poured a cup for herself, she also pushed one toward him.
“Drink a little—it’s good for your stomach. Are you leaving at dawn as usual?” she asked.
He stared at the cup, unblinking. “Not leaving. The epidemic ghost situation is resolved.”
She was startled. “I thought it was supposed to take three years? This is only a year!”
He corrected her: “Three years at the slowest. If nothing goes wrong, it can finish in a year and a half. Three years accounts for extreme cases or reinfection.”
Even with the explanation, Lin Zhengdu was astonished. She had previously only seen him as a naturally talented swordsman—now she saw him as a truly formidable one.
After a moment, Xie Guanqi inhaled lightly and drank the tea in one gulp. It was swallowed too quickly to savor, but it wasn’t bitter. He lowered his eyes and examined the cup, concluding that she had probably switched the tea leaves.
Then he placed the cup down. “And this… is your birthday gift.”
On the table next to the cup lay a small, dark-purple wooden box, radiating spiritual energy. A mid-level storage artifact, it was exquisitely crafted with silver inlaid floral patterns—though Lin Zhengdu couldn’t identify the flower.
She examined it, touching the smooth inlaid surface that felt like polished jade—probably some kind of stone.
After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Give me a hint—what kind of gift is it?”
“A collectible you’ll like,” he said.
“Nightmare corpses?” she teased.
He shook his head, letting his eyes silently prompt her to open it.
It was her first real birthday gift in this world. She couldn’t quite describe the emotions, but she knew she would remember it for a long time. No one else would know its significance—just her and Xie Guanqi.
A true shared secret.
She unwrapped the box. A flash of white light, and the contents emerged.
A long-haired monster corpse, over forty feet tall, like a small mountain, stood before her.
She looked up in disbelief, feeling the dense snow spirit lingering around it, and the unresolved malice.
“…What is this?” she whispered.
Xie Guanqi’s lips curved, pride flickering in his calm expression. “The leader of the Snow Nation epidemic ghosts. An eighth-stage fiend.”
“I borrowed some medicine from the medical cultivators to preserve the toxins in its blood.”
Epidemic ghost poison had no known antidote. Many healers didn’t understand the underlying medicine, and samples were rare. Most victims died quickly, and the ghosts that carried the toxin lived in extreme climates. Once they died, their blood vaporized instantly.
Lin Zhengdu crouched by the monster’s massive paw—it resembled a human hand, half her height, bluish-black, with blackened claws.
She took a short blade from her waist and nicked the finger. A translucent drop of blood seeped out.
A sample! New poison! A skeleton! A specimen she had never collected!
Her heart raced from shock and excitement. Blushing, she held the vial of toxic blood, pacing around the corpse in disbelief, a thin sweat beading her nose.
Finally, she strode up to Xie Guanqi. Honestly, he looked terrifyingly handsome now. Falling for him seemed only natural.
“Th-thank you… for the gift,” she stammered, overwhelmed.
Her face burned; her heart raced; her eyes sparkled. It wasn’t poison she held—it felt like a love letter written in bashful handwriting.
He had known she would like it—but not that she would love it so much.
Standing close, with the courtyard light casting soft shadows, she looked up at him. His gaze fell clearly on the now-smudged lipstick on her lips.
Speaking, she moved them, and to calm her nerves, she licked them—taking a bit of lipstick inside.
“Xie Guanqi… Xie Guanqi?”
She spoke several times, but he didn’t respond. Confused, she waved a hand in front of his face. “Daydreaming again?”