“Senior Brother, why are you here too?”
Clear night. The moon shone bright, and the stars stretched across the sky like a vast inverted sea, casting their light over the silent forested slopes of the Medicine Mountain.
A few fireflies drifted lazily through the small courtyard, occasionally landing among the lush mint. The formation in place kept the stone lanterns scattered across the courtyard lit at set times. Even if forgotten by their owner, they would ignite on their own, casting flickering shadows over the plants of varying heights.
Lin Zhengdu had just washed her hair and sat at her desk, running her fingers through her damp strands to remove excess water. Her hair, half-dry and still glossy, tumbled all the way down to her knees.
Lately, she hadn’t felt like experimenting with medicine or refining pills, so she had simply brought out an unfinished copybook to practice calligraphy. Yet her mind wandered incessantly, and the characters she wrote were precise in form but lacked spirit and strength.
After a page, her thoughts were still unsettled—if anything, they grew more irritable, replaying the words Ming Zhu had said to her.
Lin Zhengdu knew that Xie Guanqi was a swordsman of firm resolve and singular focus. He wouldn’t behave like the morally dubious protagonists in petty romantic novels—let alone a disciple of the Hehuan Sect, a respected orthodox school, who certainly didn’t spend his days thinking about seduction.
She had treated a few Hehuan Sect disciples and found them no different from disciples of other sects: attending classes, cultivating, traveling, meeting people, perhaps finding someone they liked and forming a Dao companion bond—or perhaps meeting no one, just gathering many friends.
So the most likely scenario was probably what Ming Zhu had assumed: a friendly disciple brought along a friend from another sect, casually introducing them to Senior Brother.
Or maybe Xie Guanqi had some matter to discuss and needed the help of a Hehuan Sect disciple, asking a familiar companion for assistance.
Rationally, Lin Zhengdu knew it was likely nothing more than that. Yet her heart couldn’t settle. While she fretted over petty thoughts, Xie Guanqi casually made new friends—how many close friends did he actually have?
A golden messenger bird flapped its wings and landed on her desk, stepping on one of the characters she had just written.
Lin Zhengdu stared at the bird as it chirped and fluttered. Looking out the window, she saw the bird’s cage completely empty of food and water.
She had watered the plants when she returned today but had forgotten to feed the bird.
Still, she felt no guilt, tapping the bird’s soft chest with her pen. “Blame your previous owner for this! Hmph!”
The bird tilted its body under the poke and continued chirping insistently. Lin Zhengdu got up, carrying dried meat to refill its food and water in the corridor.
The bird could not understand its master’s heart, fragile and fleeting like spring snow; it only caught the scent of meat and fluttered excitedly back into its cage to feast.
Lin Zhengdu leaned against a pillar and jabbed its raised tail feathers in frustration. “Eat, eat, eat! All you know is eating!”
“What kind of ‘close friends’—do you give rings to every friend? If you liked forging so much, why not be a thunder god?”
After scolding the bird, she realized how meaningless it was; after all, he didn’t write to her, and perhaps the gift of a plague ghost’s corpse didn’t mean anything—it was just a thoughtful gift between friends.
Besides, Xie Guanqi had originally gone to Snow Country to kill plague ghosts; it might have been incidental.
She returned to her room, crumpled the page she had practiced calligraphy on, and tossed it aside. “So annoying! So irritating!”
“Will Senior Brother Wang get beaten to death?”
On the sword practice platform, a young disciple, once again sent flying by Xie Guanqi’s flick to the forehead, staggered. The murmuring of onlookers drifted like leaves rustling in the wind.
Wang Xuenshi tried to rise and retrieve his sword, but as soon as he propped himself up, a buzzing in his ears hit him, and he collapsed with a thud.
Meanwhile, Xie Guanqi didn’t even draw his sword, his right hand behind his back, only using his left hand to contend with his opponent.
He stepped forward, casting a shadow over Wang Xuenshi, who panicked and rolled back.
Disciples of sword sects must stop when one party yields. Yet Xie Guanqi began the duel by muting Wang Xuenshi with a spell and sealing the platform with spiritual energy, leaving Wang Xuenshi no choice but to fight with his sword.
But it was hopeless. Not just losing—there was no hope in sight. Xie Guanqi didn’t even use a sword; a flick to Wang Xuenshi’s head left him seeing black spots, fearing his skull might be broken.
Suddenly, his mouth loosened—the silencing spell lifted, and the platform’s restrictions vanished.
Wang Xuenshi wiped his mouth and glared at Xie Guanqi. “Just wait! Using a muting spell on the sword platform—I’ll report this to the Disciplinary Elder!”
Xie Guanqi nodded calmly. “I’ll wait.”
Wang Xuenshi was speechless. This calm, nonchalant response made him feel like his punches were hitting cotton.
The purple bamboo disciples rushed forward, helping Wang Xuenshi to his feet and returning his sword. He was too weak to hold it, scowling at Xie Guanqi.
Xie Guanqi said simply, “Once the Disciplinary Elder has punished you, I’ll come continue training with you.”
Wang Xuenshi gasped. “Are you threatening me?!”
Xie Guanqi: “Just training with a fellow disciple. If your sword skills are lacking, look at your own faults, don’t always blame others.”
The words stung the onlookers, as this echoed what Wang Xuenshi had said days ago when he injured a fellow disciple—showing Wang Xuenshi’s hypocrisy.
Xie Guanqi returned the platform to his juniors and walked back through the crowd toward Yan Chou Mountain. He normally didn’t spar with peers; at his level, it would be bullying.
He had no interest in such things.
Later, along the mountain path, they ran into Ming Zhu, arm in a sling, descending. He’s stopped, calling, “Weren’t you given leave to rest at home?”
Ming Zhu: “I’m going to the Medicine Sect to have Dr. Lin clear the sword energy from my wound.”
Xie Guanqi paused at “Dr. Lin,” tilting his face slightly toward Ming Zhu.
He insisted on accompanying her, and Ming Zhu, relieved, allowed it.
At the Medicine Sect’s recuperation courtyard, Dr. Lin Zhengdu was arranging herbs. A young boy with faint demonic aura, delicate features, and long black curly hair adorned with beads blocked their way.
Ming Zhu pushed past her towering senior brothers: “I-I’m the patient here, to see Dr. Lin for sword energy. They’re my senior brothers.”
The boy’s green vertical pupils narrowed, still wary. “I remember you. Come with me.”
Xie Guanqi stayed behind, eyes lingering on the boy’s hair—a natural, silky, perfectly curled mane, unlike the slightly coarse hair produced by fire spirit techniques.
In the main hall, a young sword cultivator had his shoulder sutured by Dr. Lin Zhengdu, shirt half-removed, face flushed red. The boy helping whispered to Dr. Lin about the patient’s suspicious motives, clearly doubting his intentions.
“Your hands are so beautiful, Dr. Lin!” Ming Zhu couldn’t help but comment, eyes shining.
Xie Guanqi: “Hmm.”
Ming Zhu froze. He realized Senior Brother’s gaze had landed on Dr. Lin’s hands. What was happening?!
After finishing, Dr. Lin Zhengdu smiled: “All done. Go settle the payment next door.”
Ming Zhu, cautious, glanced between Dr. Lin and Xie Guanqi.
Once she was taken away by He Xiangfeng to pay, only Xie Guanqi and Dr. Lin remained.
A wounded swordsman approached, asking about the sutures and medicine.
Xie Guanqi frowned, interrupting: “See the doctor, don’t pester her.”
The swordsman, realizing Xie Guanqi’s presence was formidable despite no sword in hand, scuttled away to pay, leaving Xie Guanqi calm, silent, and utterly composed.
Dr. Lin Zhengdu returned to her work, hands arranging fine hairpins, bathed in sunlight, dressed in soft pink adorned with embroidered orchids, her right ring finger empty.