Xie Guanqi blinked and asked, “What did you just say?”
Lin Zhengdu replied, “I was asking what you’d like for your birthday. A sword manual? Or some kind of pill? I really like giving gifts, so I want to return the favor—but I can’t figure out what hobbies you really enjoy.”
“I don’t need someone else’s sword manual… As for a birthday gift, I’ll tell you when I’ve decided,” Xie Guanqi said.
Her birthday was in October—still a long way off—so Lin Zhengdu nodded. “Alright. But what were you thinking just now? I asked you twice, and you didn’t react at all.”
Xie Guanqi tapped her finger to her lips. “I was looking at your mouth. Your lipstick is smudged.”
Lin Zhengdu’s eyes went wide. Shocked, she instinctively covered her mouth. After putting some distance between herself and Xie Guanqi, she ran back to her room, flopped in front of the dressing table, and checked the bronze mirror carefully.
Sure enough, her lipstick was blotchy, and the edges had smeared beyond her lip line.
She took out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth, pursing her lips and trying to remember Xie Guanqi’s expression. He had clearly been daydreaming before.
Why was he spacing out? Was he staring at her smeared lipstick, or just lost in thought about something else, and only noticed the smudged color when she snapped him out of it?
Lin Zhengdu twisted in indecision, wringing the handkerchief she’d just used into a messy bundle. Finally, she rolled it into her palm, tossed it like a basketball, and stood up with a nonchalant look plastered on her face.
Because Xie Guanqi was calm—so she refused to lose face here. Even if she wasn’t entirely sure what there was to compete over between them, she decided to act confident and unbothered.
It made her feel a little steadier.
She asked Xie Guanqi about the medicine he used on the plague corpse and then pretended to check the body for completeness.
At first, she only intended to show she had something to do, but after a while, she completely forgot about Xie Guanqi.
It was her first time seeing a real plague corpse, which looked like a human grown huge and covered in long white hair.
“Was its skin like this before it died?” Lin Zhengdu asked.
Xie Guanqi explained, “Plague spirits’ skin darkens as their cultivation increases. Low-level ones are as white as snow.”
Lin Zhengdu put on gloves to touch the corpse, discovering its fatal wound—just one, right in the center of its thick neck: a thin, piercing slash, with the surrounding skin burnt black and hardened.
One sword to kill… what a powerful blade!
Xie Guanqi said, “Besides plague spirits, there are even stranger monsters and demons beyond the mountains.”
Lin Zhengdu waved him off. “Forget it. Studying the corpse is fun, but facing a live monster or demon? That’s a little too scary.”
Xie Guanqi closed his mouth. Lin Zhengdu thought she’d beaten him with her laziness.
She took off her gloves and said, “I’ve been training like I promised. I’ve made progress, but some things don’t improve just because I try. I feel like I’m still far from the middle of the Second Realm; reaching the Third Realm by year’s end seems unlikely.”
She glanced at Xie Guanqi as she spoke.
Unexpectedly, he didn’t look disappointed or frustrated. He simply nodded, “I see. You’ve improved a lot—you must’ve worked very hard.”
Then he slowly gave her a thumbs-up.
The gesture was oddly amusing, and Lin Zhengdu couldn’t help laughing. She pressed her lips together and rubbed her neck with the back of her hand. “It’s not that great…”
Even though progress was slow, and reaching the Third Realm by year’s end seemed impossible, she had no intention of slacking off. She’d promised Xie Guanqi, so whether or not she made it, she’d keep working until the end of the year.
That was what she told herself—but the next morning, when Xie Guanqi knocked on her window, she couldn’t help questioning herself: Why am I working so hard? Cultivation doesn’t inherit wealth! No magical powers reward me for effort!
She forced herself out of bed, expression blank, and opened the window. The morning sunlight streaming in made her squint before she finally saw Xie Guanqi standing there.
Still in her nightdress, she compared herself to him—fully dressed, holding his beloved sword.
“You’re not here to drag me out for training, are you?” she asked.
He hummed, “I’ve finished my morning session.”
She leaned on the windowsill, rubbing her face with her hands. A few strands of hair stuck up in all directions when she let go.
Sighing, she said, “Fine. But let me eat breakfast first… Have you eaten?”
He pulled out two rice balls wrapped in lotus leaves, still steaming. “From the Sword Sect’s dining hall, chicken and mushroom filling. Want one?”
“I’ll eat.”
After breakfast, Lin Zhengdu had forgotten her morning annoyance, changed, washed up, and headed out to patrol the mountain.
Xie Guanqi didn’t comment on anything she did. Even when she paused to stare blankly at a squirrel’s nest, he just sat silently nearby—and reached into the nest.
The newly aware squirrel froze, utterly shocked, as he took a pinecone and an acorn, putting them into his bag.
The squirrel, realizing, puffed up its tail and squeaked at Lin Zhengdu, pointing at him. It didn’t dare confront him directly; even restrained, a young swordsman was too intimidating.
“What are you doing with the squirrel’s stash?” she asked.
“I want to see what’s inside,” he replied.
Lin Zhengdu laughed. “…Are you eight years old? Give it back!”
Without blinking, Xie Guanqi returned the pinecone and acorn. They continued their patrol. Back at the courtyard, Lin Zhengdu found similar pinecones and acorns and gave them to him.
His large palms could hold both at once. He held them up, sniffed, and detected a faint herbal scent—just like Lin Zhengdu’s.
After gathering everything, she asked, “You’re not planning to stay here all day, right? Doesn’t the Sword Sect have daily duties, like patrols or sparring?”
He said, “The pinecones and acorns you collected look better than the squirrel’s. As a personal disciple, I don’t handle regular duties. So I’ll stay here all day and watch your training.”
“Of course they look better! I pick these for crafts, selecting the most perfect ones… The squirrel collects them just to survive winter, so the purpose is different.”
She warned him, “Just so you know—I won’t give up my hobbies for training!”
If he thought cultivation meant abandoning everything else, then they probably weren’t compatible as friends.
For the whole day, he simply followed her, not interfering, though she occasionally stopped him from doing ridiculous things.
Lin Zhengdu suspected swordsmen might all have ADHD.
When Xie Guanqi returned to the Sword Sect, dawn had just begun to lighten the sky.
The juniors were in early sword training. Older disciples were used to this hour; the younger ones were like wilted vegetables, yawning and wobbling.
One particularly small disciple straightened up and swung her sword when she saw Xie Guanqi. Her little junior, mid-yawn, barely dodged. Mingzhu, covering her cat-ear hairstyle with a new bead ornament, glared, “What are you doing? If you break my bead, you owe me!”
The junior pretended not to hear and continued practicing.
Mingzhu froze, glanced at the others: all the senior disciples were practicing in perfect form, some even forming a sword formation.
Just outside the formation, dressed in black, came the eldest senior returning from some mission, looking ominous.
Mingzhu shivered just seeing the corner of his robe and gripped her sword tighter.
Xie Guanqi walked straight through, lightly pressing the sword sheath; the formation collapsed instantly, swords flying. No one dared retrieve them. They could only glare at him and salute.
He nodded, advising, “Don’t practice formations together if your coordination isn’t ready. Flaws are more numerous than stars, and you’ll hurt yourself.”
Though eighteen, he still looked young among juniors in their twenties. No one argued and all acknowledged his words.
He pulled the second junior aside. “I’ve been training well! I feel I’m about to break through, maybe Fifth Realm!”
Xie Guanqi analyzed him—he was telling the truth—and patted him on the shoulder. “Good work, Luoxia.”
“I’m actually He Xiangfeng; Luoxia is my sword,” the junior corrected.
Xie Guanqi nodded. “Alright, I’ll remember. Luoxia, do you have a friend in the Hehuan Sect?”
He Xiangfeng sighed, “I know a few Hehuan disciples… Why?”
“I have something to ask them. Can you help me contact them?”
He Xiangfeng was confused, but it was the eldest senior’s request—he agreed.
After that, Xie Guanqi left the practice ground to duel his master at Yanchou Mountain’s peak. Personal disciples didn’t spar with ordinary juniors—they sparred directly with the master.
His fearsome reputation came partly from always walking out unscathed after dueling the strongest elder, then calmly eating five bowls of rice. Another reason: he was the first in the sect to openly tell the dining hall cook that some experimental dishes were bad—and demand no more experiments.
“Today’s experimental dish is—yam stewed with tomato and pickled vegetables!”
Lu Yuanyuan and Qinglan cried in despair, glancing at Lin Zhengdu, who had already eaten.
Qinglan: “Senior, is it good?”
Lin Zhengdu looked around to ensure the cook wasn’t nearby, then sighed: “Kind of bad.”
If not for afternoon duties at the Rejuvenation Clinic, she wouldn’t have come to the Medicine Sect’s dining hall—it was far from her quarters and required transferring through three teleport arrays. But the clinic was nearby. Still, she didn’t remember ever seeing such terrible dishes here before.
Lu Yuanyuan muttered, “Didn’t the cook only make creative dishes at the Sword Sect? Why are they appearing in our hall now?”
Qinglan whispered, “I heard a Sword Sect senior told him he had no talent for creative dishes, broke his spatula, and put a sack on his head to beat him.”
“Impossible,” Lu Yuanyuan scoffed. “He’s a Seventh Realm blade cultivator—how could a junior beat him?”
Qinglan pouted. “Not sure… I heard it was a Yanchou Mountain senior.”
Lin Zhengdu: “Who?”
Qinglan: “The senior who treated patients in your courtyard before.”
Lu Yuanyuan remained skeptical. The two argued loudly about whether a Sword Sect senior could defeat the cook.
Lin Zhengdu flicked their foreheads with a snap, making them cover their faces, tears in their eyes—the world quieted.
She patted them each on the forehead. “Alright, eat quickly. Then hurry to the Rejuvenation Clinic—you’ll be on duty for three months.”
The Rejuvenation Clinic was a sect facility for external patients. Disciples rotated every three months. Last time, Lin Zhengdu had been guided by two senior sisters; now it was her turn.
The afternoon was quiet; she taught them acupuncture points using straw dolls.
Dinner brought more experimental dishes. Lu Yuanyuan and Qinglan looked miserable. After sending them to the teleport array, she returned to the dining hall.
Some disciples were still eating, dazed. When the cook appeared with his giant knife, she blocked him.
The cook looked puzzled: “Who are you?”
“I’m a disciple of the Handan Hall,” she replied.
“Oh—the student of Fairy Peilan. What’s up?”
The towering man, knife on back, was intimidating even without showing cultivation aura.
She looked him in the eyes, sincere: “Has anyone ever told you your creative dishes are good?”
He was stunned, then delighted, rubbing his hands. “No—really? You like them? Tomorrow I—”
Lin Zhengdu cut him off calmly: “If no one says they’re good, why do you keep cooking? You have no talent—can you let a real cook handle the kitchen?”