After the junior sister finished asking her question, the second senior brother didn’t answer her. Instead, for some inexplicable reason, he winked at her—his face twitching slightly in an odd, almost strained way.
The junior sister was instantly horrified.
“Senior Brother! Why are you throwing flirtatious glances at me like that? I don’t like old men who are that much older than me!”
Second Senior Brother: “…”
“I’m just not very good at spelling, but I do recognize rhymes.”
The calm explanation drifted down from above.
Still wearing a startled expression, the junior sister looked up—only then noticing that the senior brother they had been secretly gossiping about had, at some point, quietly walked over beside them.
Within the Sword Sect, disciples weren’t ranked by age, but by seniority and time of entry. Xie Guanqi was actually about the same age as the junior sister. However, he had been adopted by Elder Yun while still an infant, and as the elder’s only direct disciple, he ended up with many junior brothers and sisters older than himself.
The torrential rain in the sky had not ceased. Xie Guanqi held no umbrella, yet his body remained perfectly dry. Raindrops were repelled half an inch from him, blocked by an invisible barrier of spiritual energy.
The junior sister shrank guiltily behind the second senior brother.
“G–Greetings, Senior Brother…”
Xie Guanqi gave a slight nod and said, “Speaking ill of others behind their backs is not good. Next time, if you must gossip, do it when Master is present.”
The junior sister, still new to the sect and somewhat afraid of him, couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Why?”
With complete seriousness, Xie Guanqi replied, “Speaking ill of others makes it easy for the person in question to overhear—and beat you up. But Master is very strong, with few equals in this world. He can protect you.”
Second Senior Brother: “…Senior Brother, you should be teaching her not to talk behind people’s backs at all.”
Xie Guanqi said mildly, “When encountering someone you dislike, it’s only human to be a little critical. Luoxia, you needn’t be too harsh on yourself.”
Second Senior Brother laughed in disbelief.
“That’s a great speech—but my name isn’t Luoxia. Luoxia is my sword! Senior Brother! We’ve known each other for six years, and you still haven’t remembered my face or name?!”
Xie Guanqi fell silent for a moment. Faced with his junior brother’s accusation, he managed, with some difficulty, to squeeze out, “…Sorry.”
The second senior brother was both angry and amused.
“Don’t just apologize—at least promise you’ll remember next time!”
The junior sister still had evening classes to attend. When she left, she took both the sunflower seeds and the umbrella with her. The second senior brother took an umbrella out of his storage pouch, opened it, patted Xie Guanqi on the shoulder—and left as well.
He didn’t even leave Xie Guanqi an umbrella.
Xie Guanqi was used to it. Besides, he didn’t need one.
Still, whenever he encountered a heavy rainstorm, he couldn’t help recalling the time Doctor Lin had taken him into town. That day, too, there had been a torrential downpour. People all around them scrambled to take shelter, the crowd flowing past him like a humid school of fish.
Every face, every figure, appeared to Xie Guanqi as just another indistinguishable fish in that vast shoal. He couldn’t see them clearly. He couldn’t remember them.
Only Doctor Lin stood out.
She had gripped his wrist, running about like a headless fly.
Her hand had been cold. Rainwater dripped from her fingertips onto his wrist, damp and clinging—like the flick of a fish’s tail.
Xie Guanqi actually hated rainy days.
He possessed an extremely pure single fire spiritual root. Storms, thick with water energy, made him uncomfortable. Even though, as his cultivation improved, the influence of weather and environment diminished, the impressions ingrained since childhood remained.
And yet, that day, he had been glad for the rain.
The downpour had trapped him and Doctor Lin in the same pavilion. She watched the rain; he watched her.
When the storm finally subsided, he saw the corners of her eyes curve downward slightly as she smiled—a delicate, refined smile.
For a moment, Xie Guanqi thought rainy days were wonderful.
But Doctor Lin was afraid of him.
Though he didn’t know why, he recognized that avoidance all too well. The disciples in the Sword Sect who feared him behaved the same way.
When they couldn’t avoid him, they would face him with forced composure, making up half-true, half-false excuses to brush him off. Those clumsy lies were easy for Xie Guanqi to see through—but he never exposed them.
Because geniuses were always ostracized.
He understood. He understood it deeply.
What he didn’t understand was why Doctor Lin would be the same.
She wasn’t a sword cultivator, had no interest in swords, and wasn’t his enemy. She had no reason to fear that he might suddenly draw his blade and challenge her.
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure it out.
Staring at the dark night sky and the pouring rain, Xie Guanqi felt a heaviness settle in his chest.
Why?
Lin Zhengdu went to find the junior disciple in charge of the notice board to ask who had taken her bounty request.
The disciple shook his head.
“The other party requested anonymity—I can’t say. But don’t worry, Senior Sister. We have a time limit. If they fail to obtain what you need, we’ll repost your bounty.”
The notice board allowed anonymous postings and acceptances. Some medical cultivators preferred anonymity when they didn’t want others to know what they were working on.
But Lin Zhengdu was searching for the White Dragon Pearl to test medicine. Since she herself didn’t even know whether the medicine would work, there was no need to hide her identity.
After returning to her courtyard, her life quickly returned to its usual calm.
She gathered herbs on the mountain, recorded newly sprouted medicinal plants, tracked the population changes of spirit beasts—then returned to compound medicines and build flower racks.
She deliberately kept herself busy, leaving no time even to lie back in a chair and daydream. Whenever she had a spare moment, she would head to the backyard and hammer away at the Qiongqi bones she was processing.
She had decided to plant luoshi vine.
Luoshi thrived alongside moss and was a climbing plant. In the medicinal mountain, it seemed to have evolved carrion-eating traits due to environmental changes. With proper care, it could serve as a natural disposal system for harmful remains.
That afternoon, after transplanting a young luoshi seedling from deep within the mountain, the massive flower rack was finally complete. It stood by the lakeside atop thick moss, the polished white bones gleaming softly.
The newly planted vine was still tiny—too small even to wrap around the ankle bone of the structure.
After finishing everything, Lin Zhengdu stretched her arms and rubbed her neck. Passing through the courtyard, she noticed a few dry leaves blown into the corridor.
She paused.
After a moment’s hesitation, she walked through the corridor into the front yard.
Six days had passed without anyone cleaning it. Fallen leaves now covered the stone tiles.
Only then did she realize—Xie Guanqi had already been gone for six days.
The impact of that spring dream had gradually faded with time. Now, when she thought of him, she no longer felt the same awkwardness as before.
Aside from a vague sense of melancholy, she also felt a bit guilty.
Although he had been the one to leave without informing her—well, not entirely. He had at least said farewell to his master.
But she had been avoiding him those past two days, offering only perfunctory excuses.
Muttering to herself, Lin Zhengdu said, “I should find a chance to visit the Sword Sect and clear things up with Xie Guanqi… Honestly, if not for that dream, he’d actually make a very good friend.”
“A very good patient, too.”
He took initiative in cleaning, helped pass tools while she worked, and never mistook nails for hammers.
Before long, she found the perfect excuse to visit the Sword Sect—the Spring Equinox Tournament at the end of the month.
High above the clouds, seven-colored霞光 shimmered as cranes drifted freely through the sky.
Some cranes looked dignified and immortal-like. Others carried stolen fruit in their beaks, eating mid-flight and spitting out seeds recklessly—hardly befitting their supposed elegance.
Alongside the cranes were rune-engraved flying ferries.
These ferries ran every two hours between the Sword Sect and the Medicine Sect. Each trip cost two spirit stones, making them a favorite mode of transport for disciples who couldn’t afford spirit cranes—especially since flying swords and qi flight were prohibited over the sects.
“Ugh—this—ugh—boat—ugh—”
Lin Zhengdu clung to the ferry wall, vomiting so violently she nearly collapsed over the waste barrel.
Qinglan supported her with a sigh.
“There’s still another quarter-hour before we reach the Sword Sect. Didn’t you take seasickness medicine? How are you still this bad?”
“You don’t—ugh—get seasick—ugh—”
“…Alright, stop talking. Just focus on throwing up.”
When the ferry finally landed, Lin Zhengdu staggered off with Qinglan’s help. The moment her feet touched solid ground again, her eyes welled up with emotion.
Qinglan laughed.
“I really don’t get it. You get this seasick, so why insist on coming? This isn’t the first Spring Equinox Tournament—you never came before.”
Lin Zhengdu, who disliked going out—even skipping her own sect’s activities—had never attended before. So her sudden decision surprised Qinglan greatly.
Touching her nose, Lin Zhengdu replied, “Well… since I never came before, I got curious this year.”
They followed the crowd into the Sword Sect. After showing their tokens at the gate, a young disciple led them to the arena entrance.
The competition was held within an illusion realm. Outside it, layers upon layers of spectator seats rose in tiers.
The guide, still with baby fat on his face and carrying a wooden practice sword, bowed and recited a long list of rules—no attacking the barrier, no insulting competitors loudly, no relieving oneself improperly…
Finally, he added seriously, “Anyone who breaks the rules will be ejected by the formation!”
Qinglan, already familiar with the event, pulled Lin Zhengdu to find seats.
Soon, the area filled. Lin Zhengdu spotted several familiar faces from the Medicine Sect.
At the center, the illusion screen shimmered, then displayed the match list.
She scanned it quickly—but didn’t see Xie Guanqi’s name.
Frowning, she checked again.
Still nothing.
“This is all the participants?” she asked.
Qinglan nodded excitedly.
“Yep! There are more than last year—it’s going to be amazing!”
“Amazing?” a nearby Sword Sect disciple scoffed. “Then you’ll be disappointed. This might be the most boring tournament yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Senior Brother Xie from Yanchou Mountain isn’t participating! Without him, everyone else fighting is just… average.”
Qinglan tilted her head, puzzled—but before she could ask more, someone else spoke up first.
“Why isn’t Xie Guanqi competing?”
She turned—it was Lin Zhengdu.
The disciple shook his head.
“No idea. Maybe he has something else to handle.”
“Is skipping allowed?”
“If you’ve won three consecutive championships, you can decline. But Senior Brother Xie even participated last year…”
The disciple sighed regretfully.
Lin Zhengdu felt like sighing too.
She had thought she’d run into him here. After all, she was his savior—surely they’d have to speak if they met. And once they talked, she could clear up the misunderstanding.
But he hadn’t even come.