The hairpin was repaired. Lin Zhengdu looked it over from every angle, clearly proud of her craftsmanship. She waved for her junior sister to come over and pinned the restored hairpin into her blossom-shaped bun.
The junior sister held up a mirror, inspecting the hairpin from every side, seemingly admiring it—but in truth, she was using the reflection to sneak a peek at the black-robed sword cultivator standing across the room.
“Senior Sister,” the junior whispered to Lin Zhengdu, “is that your friend?”
“Mm,” Lin Zhengdu replied. “A friend I know from the Sword Sect.”
“Is he… here to see you about something?”
Lin Zhengdu’s hand rested lightly on the junior sister’s shoulder, but her eyes flicked sideways. Xie Guanqi stood nearby, arms crossed over his sword, eyes half-closed, his pale skin lit by the sunlight. The shadows cast by his lower lashes only accentuated the sharp angles of his face.
When color was stripped away like this, his features seemed even more striking. Too bad his aura was so sharp that, despite his beauty, he had an almost intimidating presence.
His lowered gaze was fixed on Lin Zhengdu. Their eyes met briefly, and Xie Guanqi visibly straightened, so focused he didn’t notice his sword slipping half an inch from his arms.
Lin Zhengdu quickly averted her eyes. “Probably waiting for his junior sister.”
The junior thanked her with a smile and ran off to dry herbs. Lin Zhengdu returned to her workbench and pulled out a sketchbook. Lately, she found writing characters frustrating; now she decided to draw instead.
Xie Guanqi stepped closer and sat down beside the bench.
Lin Zhengdu twirled her brush without putting ink to paper, glancing up with a calm, neutral smile. “You sick?”
Xie Guanqi shook his head.
“Well then, don’t sit here blocking the doctor’s work,” she said.
“I’m not waiting for Haijiao or Luoxia,” Xie Guanqi said. “I came looking for you specifically.”
Lin Zhengdu raised an eyebrow. “Speak, then. What is it?”
Though she kept smiling, Xie Guanqi sensed something off—today, Doctor Lin seemed… a little distant. She smiled, replied, didn’t avoid him, yet the faint coolness in her demeanor left him perplexed and uncomfortably anxious, as if sitting on pins and needles.
After a moment, he finally blurted, “Why aren’t you wearing a ring today?”
Lin Zhengdu replied lightly, “I have my Qian Kun pouch.”
“That storage ring… works better than a pouch,” he said.
“Is that so?” she countered.
Xie Guanqi opened his mouth to agree—but Lin Zhengdu anticipated him: “Still, I’ll use whichever I prefer.”
She habitually moistened the brush tip with her lips, then attempted to write—but no ink flowed.
Frowning, Lin Zhengdu checked the brush, even injecting a bit of spiritual energy—but still, nothing.
Xie Guanqi laid his sword aside and extended a hand, palm up. “Give it to me. I can fix it.”
Lin Zhengdu glanced at him but tossed the brush aside instead. It clattered into the bamboo holder alongside a few worn brushes.
“No need to trouble you,” she said. “It’s just a brush. Yuan Yuan! Lend me your brush.”
Lu Yuanyuan ran in from outside, handing over her brush. Lin Zhengdu reached for it, but the first attempt failed—Lu Yuanyuan clutched it tightly. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’ll return it, right, Senior Sister?”
Lin Zhengdu felt Xie Guanqi’s gaze and blushed, snapping, “Of course I’ll return it!”
“But last time… and the time before that…”
With a tug, Lin Zhengdu yanked the brush from Lu Yuanyuan, poking her forehead with the tip. “Go memorize the acupoints! No more nonsense!”
Lu Yuanyuan staggered off, rubbing his forehead, his smooth, naturally wavy hair drifting past Xie Guanqi’s line of sight.
Xie Guanqi watched him go before turning back to Lin Zhengdu—she pouted and frowned, sketching a pig head on her paper.
Infuriating! Everything goes wrong at once! Broken brush! Never before, never after—except when Xie Guanqi is around!
Her frustration grew; she drew a pig, then a dog, then a Qing Dynasty concubine wielding a machine gun against the pig. Xie Guanqi sat beside her as she sketched, both frowning, clearly lost in thought.
“I thought you said you had something to tell me? What is it—just to ask if I wore a ring?” she said, exasperated.
Finally, Xie Guanqi realized: Lin Zhengdu was angry. The reason was unclear—but clearly, it wasn’t him. Probably that junior had provoked her.
He glanced outside at the herb cabinet, noting a few disciples pretending to sort herbs but actually eavesdropping.
“Shall we step outside to talk?”
Lin Zhengdu stood, instructing her juniors to watch the workspace, then crossed the threshold. Xie Guanqi followed, sword in hand.
The sun blazed outside, the courtyard shimmering. Drying herbs cast shadows across the crimson walls. Lin Zhengdu and Xie Guanqi walked through the courtyard, their shadows gliding smoothly behind them.
Outside the rear gate, wild shrubs, roses, and thorny pears grew thickly. Summer was in full bloom—lush green leaves dotted with clusters of fragrant wild roses.
Lin Zhengdu stopped, arms crossed, turning to Xie Guanqi. “We can talk here.”
“I’ve been observing your cultivation all day,” Xie Guanqi said. “The main problem isn’t effort or time—it’s your slow spiritual accumulation.” In plain terms: her talent for cultivation was limited.
Lin Zhengdu scoffed. “Sorry, I’m naturally slow. Can’t compete with you, genius sword cultivator with lightning-fast energy accumulation.”
“Be careful with your food next time,” he added. “Quick accumulators like you and me spread toxins faster. Even reincarnation would be faster!”
Lin Zhengdu blinked at him.
Xie Guanqi’s sincerity was unmistakable—so much so that it only made her more annoyed.
“I’m not happy,” she said flatly. “Just this? If nothing else, I’ll go back.”
Xie Guanqi grabbed her wrist. Irritated, she tried to pull away, but his grip held firm, warm and unyielding.
“But I’ve already thought of a solution,” he said brightly, eager for credit. “We could cultivate together—dual cultivation.”
Lin Zhengdu blinked.
Xie Guanqi leaned closer, excited. “I studied it carefully. There are two ways to improve without relying on effort: elixirs, or dual cultivation. Elixirs give impure power, but dual cultivation lets two people share their strengths for efficient growth.”
“My energy is pure. I can lend it to you directly—no risk of inflated power.”
Lin Zhengdu stammered, “You… spent the past few days asking someone in the Hehuan Sect about dual cultivation?”
“Mm-hmm. I took notes too. Look!” He handed over a small notebook, still holding her wrist.
Lin Zhengdu cautiously opened it. The first page—thankfully—wasn’t an erotic illustration, but a legitimate cultivation manual. Neat handwriting, dense red annotations in his slightly childish style, mixing serious instructions with absurd side notes:
“Don’t talk about cultivation when alone with Yun Ni, or she might play with me.”
“Duel with Yun Ni at night—she lost badly.”
“Duel with Master—fifty-fifty.”
“Is Lin Zhengdu asleep? Hope not—I can’t sleep.”
“Passed by the duel stage—none match me.”
“Today’s lunch was braised beef. Don’t know what Lin Zhengdu ate.”
Reading these, Lin Zhengdu went from shocked, to embarrassed, to quietly amused.
She laughed and asked, “Are these annotations or a diary? You write everything!”
Xie Guanqi blinked, realizing this was the first truly friendly smile she’d given him all day.
“Not a diary. Just notes on what happened while annotating. I have this habit,” he said.
Lin Zhengdu continued flipping pages, leaning with each turn. He mirrored her head tilt.
Bright sun overhead, shadows of wild roses around them—they studied together. She realized that ‘dual cultivation’ wasn’t sexual at all. More like passing on martial skill: the more advanced cultivator guides, merging spiritual energy safely.
A completely wholesome practice, which explained her earlier overreaction.
She hesitated. “Still… can we even do it? You’re Fire-rooted, I’m Water-Wood. Seems incompatible.”
“I asked Yun Ni. Even if roots clash slightly, it still works. I have plenty of energy, so it’ll be fine.”
Lin Zhengdu closed the book. “I need time to think. And you didn’t tell anyone, right? Yun Ni doesn’t know your reason?”
“Not a word,” he replied.
Satisfied, Lin Zhengdu pocketed the book, walking ahead lightly. Xie Guanqi followed, whispering, “How long will you need? Any concerns? Tell me, I’ll handle it.”
She tilted her head, answering softly: “I don’t know. It’s a big decision, so I’ll need time.”
“How long? Two days? Three?”
“I’ll think for four days,” she said, mischievously.
Xie Guanqi frowned. “Four days?”
“I’m Water-Wood, you’re Fire. If anyone suffers, it’s me. Four days is nothing.”
He grumbled. “Four days? I could finish the whole manual and annotations in that time.”
She yanked her sleeve free. “Anyway, I need four days. Deal with it.”
He sighed, still holding a corner of her sleeve. “I didn’t say I’m unwilling… Lin Zhengdu, are you in a bad mood? You’ve been mean to me today.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
“You didn’t smile when you first saw me. Your smile was bad later. You said you disliked my New Year gift. Your junior sister has curly hair. Your brush broke and you wouldn’t let me fix it…”
Lin Zhengdu gagged him. “Nonsense! The first three, fine. The rest—what are you even talking about?”
Indeed, how could he care about Lu Yuanyuan’s hair or her brush?
Xie Guanqi stayed silent, partly because she was pressing his mouth, partly because her proximity made him dizzy. Her hands were cold, her scent intoxicating—he understood now why other sword cultivators felt faint near her.
“Too light,” he muttered.
Lin Zhengdu frowned. “?”