After washing her feet and changing her shoes, Lin Zhengdu braced a hand against a rock and was just about to step back onto the bank when, all at once, a hand reached out in front of her.
In that bright crossing of moonlight and waterlight, she saw it clearly—the broad palm, calloused from years of gripping a sword.
She took it, borrowing his strength, and in a few quick steps crossed the scattered stones to the shore.
As she passed by Xie Guanqi’s chest, he lowered his gaze slightly, eyes lingering on the string of violet glass beads woven into her hair.
Under the moon, the beads shimmered with a crystalline glow, scattering tiny flecks of light across his cheek. Slowly, he released her hand. His gaze dropped lower—and he noticed her rubbing her wrist.
Where he had held her, a section had turned red, the imprint of his fingers stark against her porcelain skin.
Early the next morning, Lin Zhengdu rose at dawn. After eating two leftover pastries, she dragged the skeleton of the Qiongqi into the center of the courtyard to begin a second round of processing.
The Sword Sect might work efficiently, but when it came to materials, they were downright rough.
After dissolving the remaining flesh from the beast’s bones with medicinal solution, she discovered a massive hole in the top of the Qiongqi’s skull—about half a palm in size. From that hole, cracks spread outward like a spider’s web.
A piece of the lower jaw was missing. Two ribs were gone as well.
Running her fingers along the sword scars, she traced the still faintly warm, prickling surface of the bone. When her hand reached one of the cracked sections of the skull, she applied just a little pressure—
—and it crumbled.
Lin Zhengdu clutched her chest in anguish. “Violence! Utter violence!”
This was exactly why she disliked asking people from the Sword Sect to gather materials. Every time, they delivered things in fragments.
With the skull damaged like this, it was impossible to turn it into a flowerpot. She circled the massive skeleton, pondering whether to make it into a flower stand for the courtyard, or reshape it into a decorative feature for the backyard pond.
“Qiongqi bones?”
She looked up at the voice and saw Xie Guanqi entering through the gate.
“Yes—Qiongqi bones… Hm? You’re not in your room?”
“The courtyard’s too small. I went outside to find an open place to practice my sword.”
At that, Lin Zhengdu immediately lost interest in the bones. She strode over, grabbed his wrist, and began taking his pulse.
Caught off guard at having his pulse point seized, Xie Guanqi’s fingers twitched—but he restrained himself from pulling away.
She’s a physician, he reminded himself. It’s normal.
Gradually, the tension in his hand eased.
After a moment, Lin Zhengdu’s eyes widened in surprise. His internal spiritual energy was abundant, deep and steady—the damage from the epidemic wraith poison had already healed almost completely!
She hadn’t even had time to give him any restorative medicine yet.
“You use spiritual energy when you practice your sword?”
“Just morning drills. I don’t deliberately circulate it—but I’ve cultivated since childhood. My energy runs on its own in a continuous cycle.”
She released his wrist, sounding faintly regretful. “You’re recovering too quickly. No need for tonics for now.”
Xie Guanqi glanced back at the massive Qiongqi skeleton. The pale bones still glistened with moisture, clearly already treated.
Thinking of the flowers she kept in the courtyard, he asked, “Are you planning to turn this into a flowerpot too?”
She shook her head. “The skull’s too damaged. Can’t fix it. I’ll make it into a stand or an ornament… not sure yet.”
Her gaze drifted from the imperfect skeleton—
—to another, far more perfect “skeleton.”
Unaware that he had become an object of aesthetic evaluation in her eyes, Xie Guanqi stood there, frowning slightly as he examined the damaged bones.
Then, suddenly, he turned to her. “Does it have to be complete bones?”
“Well, not exactly any bones will do. Just like sword cultivators have their own aesthetic for swords, I have my own standards for bones.”
He went inside. When he returned, he carried a gift box.
Opening it, a soft glow spilled out—revealing the perfectly preserved corpse of a nightmare beast.
Compared to the enormous Qiongqi skeleton, this one was much smaller—but flawlessly intact. Its body was smooth and white as jade, and even its six pairs of delicate wings were unmarred.
Lin Zhengdu’s eyes widened. She circled it twice as if she’d seen a ghost, then reached out to touch its iridescent wings.
A faint residue of spiritual energy lingered—so much so that the moment she touched it, her mind swayed.
She quickly withdrew her hand and slapped her cheeks lightly to steady herself.
Looking up, she beamed. “For me?”
He nodded.
“This nightmare beast is so intact—did you hunt it?”
“My junior brothers and sisters did, during training. They gave it to me as a gift. I don’t hunt fourth-tier beasts. Too weak.”
She ignored that last sentence entirely, already muttering to herself in indecision.
“Flowerpot… or specimen display…? The bones are nicely shaped, and the color would make a lovely pot. I don’t have a pink-blue one yet—but I also don’t have a specimen this complete…”
She frowned deeply, hand drifting between her scalpel and dagger, unable to decide.
“Make it into a flowerpot,” Xie Guanqi said. “Next time I hunt one, I’ll bring you another for a specimen.”
She looked up sharply. “Didn’t you say you don’t hunt fourth-tier beasts?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Then I’ll hunt a sixth-tier one for you.”
His tone was casual, but his confidence was effortless, his eyes bright, his features striking—
—and for some reason, Lin Zhengdu felt a little embarrassed.
She rubbed her nose awkwardly. “That’s… too much.”
“You saved my life.”
“Your master already paid—”
“When I was unconscious, it was you who cared for me,” he said. “Besides… I think we get along well.”
He paused, then added, “I also think that if a pregnant woman is in danger, the mother should be saved first. If possible, then the child.”
Lin Zhengdu hadn’t expected him to bring that up again. Whether he meant it or not, hearing it made her genuinely happy.
She slapped his shoulder with a grin. “I think we get along great too!”
“Alright, then I won’t refuse. Next time you get infected again, I’ll treat you for free!”
With that, she made up her mind: the nightmare beast would become a flowerpot.
The imperfect Qiongqi bones were immediately abandoned and shoved back into storage.
Meanwhile, Lin Zhengdu threw herself into her workshop, fully focused on crafting her new skull flowerpot.
She didn’t make bone flowerpots out of anything sinister.
She simply liked them.
To her, bones were something fascinating—once part of a living being, now transformed.
In her previous life, she had once seriously debated whether to study archaeology—digging up the bones of the dead—or medicine—cutting into the bones of the living.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
By nightfall, the flowerpot was only half-finished.
Yawning repeatedly, she decided to sleep on the small bed in the workshop and continue tomorrow.
When the candle went out, darkness swallowed the room.
Moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating the half-finished skeleton on the worktable, casting it in a soft, luminous glow.
On a bamboo rack nearby, a pair of intact nightmare wings hung drying.
Bathed in that faint blue-pink light, the wings trembled slightly—like an insect trying to stir.
Fine, pale motes shook loose, drifting like fireflies through the air—
—and were slowly drawn toward Lin Zhengdu’s breathing as she slept, settling onto her.
She was awakened by knocking.
Groggy, she drifted to the door like a wandering spirit and opened it.
The moonlight tonight was unusually bright—so bright that the figure outside stood clearly revealed.
Everything else was hazy to her eyes—
—but Xie Guanqi’s face was perfectly clear.
She meant to ask what was wrong—after all, a patient knocking on a doctor’s door at night usually meant discomfort somewhere—
But the young man stepped forward, cupping her face.
Her head tilted back in his hands.
Before she could react—
he kissed her.
His breath was close, hot—like his fire-aligned spiritual root. The heat pressed against her face, invasive, seeping into her very breath.
She leaned back under the kiss.
Even when he lifted her, even when he carried her—
she felt dazed, unsure how to respond.
Her mind was empty.
Until he set her down on the worktable.
Moonlight washed over him, illuminating those peach-blossom eyes—now vivid, almost liquid with light.
Clear enough for her to see every lash.
She reached up, touching the curve of his eye.
He looked down at her—
no longer sharp and restrained as in the day.
Now… something softer. Richer. Dangerous.
Like a blade hidden behind beauty.
Knowing it could wound—
yet still unable to resist.
As if possessed, Lin Zhengdu leaned up and kissed beneath his eye.
She had never paid much attention to his appearance before.
But now she noticed everything.
The rough embroidery on his wrist guards scraping her skin.
The metallic clasp at his waist, ringing softly when undone.
It was a night of begonia dreams.
When she woke, Lin Zhengdu immediately rushed to take a cold bath, changing her clothes in a panic.
Outside, dawn was breaking. The sky was overcast.
No bright moon.
Nothing like her dream.
She couldn’t sleep again. Her heart raced.
Having a romantic dream wasn’t the problem—
having one about someone you knew was.
And no matter how she thought about it—
why Xie Guanqi?
And why so… vivid?
She shivered, rubbing her arms—
—and turned a corner straight into him.
There he was, dressed in black, sword in hand, hair tied in a neat ponytail.
She froze.
Of all times to meet him—
Xie Guanqi turned, spotted her, and walked over.
The movement stirred a breeze, lifting his hair and sleeves.
She had never noticed what he wore before—
but now, even in the dim morning light, everything seemed painfully clear.
The wrist guards. The belt. The sword at his side.
“You’re up early,” he said. “You don’t look well.”
She avoided his gaze. “N-no… just couldn’t sleep. You?”
He lifted his sword slightly. “I always train at this hour.”
The blade gleamed like moonlight—
and reflected straight onto his face.
Her heart jolted.
She stumbled back, hitting the railing, gripping it for support. Her face burned, pulse racing.
Not like the dream, she told herself.
In reality, his gaze was clear. Sharp. Upright.
Like the sword he held.
“Are you running a fever?” he asked, frowning.
She covered her face, muttered something, and fled.
Left behind, Xie Guanqi frowned in confusion.
After some thought, he concluded—
She must be sick.
Even healers could fall ill.
And Lin Zhengdu… didn’t exactly seem like a conventional one.
While practicing his sword, his thoughts kept drifting.
Her flushed face.
The red marks he had left on her wrist.
For the first time in his life, he realized—
there were cultivators like her.
Not weak enough to die from poison—
but still… fragile.
Still human.
By the time he finished and watched the sunrise, his mind had finally settled.
When he returned—
she was lying in the courtyard, a book covering her face.
He could hear her heartbeat. Awake.
He crouched beside her. “Doctor Lin, are you feeling better?”
She lowered the book, revealing a pale, weary face—
and looked at him resentfully.
He didn’t notice.
“Did you prescribe yourself anything? You look worse than this morning.”
“At least earlier you were flushed. Now you’re completely pale.”
She raised the book and tapped a page.
He glanced down.
It was a bestiary.
The page described nightmare beasts.
Expose their wings to moonlight, and they shed fine powder. Scatter it on yourself before sleeping—
and you will dream.
He read it. Thought for a moment.
Then looked up.
“…Do you want to dream?” he asked seriously. “Too many dreams disturb sleep.”
Lin Zhengdu: “……”
“You didn’t know their wings do this?”
“I don’t. I rarely leave intact corpses.”
After a pause, he added, “But if you want one preserved perfectly, I can do that.”
“You don’t have to worry. The next one I bring you will be even more complete.”