Moonlight lingered, gentle and soft in the night.
Ever since she delivered the new quilt and made that pinky promise, Jinhsi’s late-night visits to Mo Hai’s small hut had become increasingly unabashed.
Every night, during the brief window when the patrolling guards rotated shifts, that small figure would break in through the window with practiced ease, carrying a food box in her hand.
The contents of the food box had evolved from the unappetizing “creative cuisine” of the early days into something far more presentable.
Sometimes it was steaming meat buns, sometimes osmanthus-sugared rice cakes, and once, she even brought a bowl of homemade fish soup—though it had so much ginger in it that the taste was a bit overpowering.
Yet no matter what she brought, Mo Hai accepted it all without complaint, finishing every last bite.
He knew this wasn’t just food; it was the clumsiest, most sincere expression of care from a girl who was never good with words.
“Tonight’s story is about a pathetic guy named Lu Mingfei, who gets admitted to a mysterious university called Cassell College and starts his journey of dragon slaying.” Mo Hai chattered animatedly while gnawing on a flatbread Jinhsi had brought, its crust baked to a light golden brown.
Jinhsi sat opposite him, her chin resting on her tiny hands, utterly entranced.
Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, reflecting Mo Hai’s silhouette along with that strange, fantastical world of dragon slayers.
Days like this were warm and comfortable.
Mo Hai even found himself thoroughly enjoying it.
However, he was well aware that the new mission objective unlocked by the system—becoming a “one-and-only” existence in her life—could never be accomplished merely by telling her a few stories every day.
He needed to intervene in her life, on a much deeper level.
For instance, her cultivation.
A few days later, when Jinhsi visited again, she seemed somewhat downcast.
“What’s wrong?
Are today’s snacks no good?” Mo Hai took a bite of the lotus pastry she brought and teased her on purpose.
“No…” Jinhsi shook her head, her small face filled with distress.
“My teacher taught me a new sword technique today called ‘Floating Light, Gleaming Cold,’ but I just can’t seem to practice it right.” Oh, isn’t that Jinhsi’s basic attack?
It can deal heavy damage.
But for a skill imbued with Resonator power, I wonder if the Innate Martial Path will work on it too?
She sighed like a little adult.
“Teacher said I…
well, have plenty of craftsmanship, but lack spirit.” Mo Hai let out a soft laugh, unable to resist reaching out to pat Jinhsi’s smooth hair.
Asking a young child to comprehend what “spirit” meant—wasn’t that just nonsense?
Wait.
On second thought, as a Resonator connected to the Sentinel, maybe it really was possible for her.
He still didn’t know whether the Innate Martial Path would exert its effect.
The Innate Martial Path was a potent talent whose enhancements applied across all aspects.
“Show me?” He dusted off the pastry crumbs on his clothes and stood up.
“In here?
It’s too small…” Jinhsi hesitated slightly.
“It’s fine.
Just swing a couple of times casually and let me see where the problem lies.” Mo Hai looked completely confident.
Although Jinhsi had her doubts, she still nodded.
She picked up a smooth branch she had scavenged from somewhere in the corner, shaving it clean to serve as a sword.
Then, taking a deep breath inside the cramped room, she began her demonstration.
Her movements were remarkably precise, every move and stance looking as though it had been measured with a ruler—exact, yet stiff.
Is our Jinhsi really this rigid?
QVQ, so frustrating!
Mo Hai didn’t interrupt her right away.
Instead, he quietly issued a command to the system in his mind.
“System, activate the ‘Combat Simulation’ feature.
Target: Jinhsi’s ‘Floating Light, Gleaming Cold.'” [Command received.] [Combat Simulation feature initiated…
Parsing target sword technique…] [Constructing data model…] (Combat Simulation was the second innate skill of the Innate Martial Path.
It allowed one to continuously practice and consolidate within a mental realm, or simulate an opponent to engage in combat virtually identical to a real battle.) In an instant, countless virtual Jinhsis surfaced in Mo Hai’s mind, practicing “Floating Light, Gleaming Cold” in various scenarios and manners.
[Initiating simulation deduction…
1,000 times…
5,000 times…
10,000 times…] [Deduction complete.
Identified three core flaws and seven optimizable details in the sword style.] Damn, it’s not even hiding it.
This talent is basically no different from a cheat code.
Mo Hai couldn’t help but marvel.
[Optimal demonstration plan generated.] To the outside world, the entire process took no more than a split second.
“Stop.” Mo Hai spoke up.
Jinhsi’s movements came to an abrupt halt, and she looked at Mo Hai in confusion.
“You’re doing it wrong.” Mo Hai shook his head and walked over to her side.
He picked up another short branch and assumed an opening stance.
“With the sword, what matters is the agility and unpredictability of the wind.
You’ve only learned its form, not its intent.” Maybe her Resonance power isn’t fluent yet?
As he spoke, he began to demonstrate.
The moves he executed were the exact same ones Jinhsi had just performed, yet the overall feel was entirely different.
If Jinhsi’s swordplay was a piece of craft carefully carved by an artisan, then Mo Hai’s swordplay was a genuine, free-flowing wind sweeping over the hills and blowing through the treetops.
It even carried a hint of sword prestige.
His movements were no longer bound by rigid standardizations; at times light and lively, at times swift as lightning.
What appeared chaotic on the surface contained an indescribable rhythm underneath.
Jinhsi’s eyes grew wider and wider, her little mouth opening slightly as she stared in total astonishment.
“How…
how do you know this too?” she stammered, her mind going completely blank.
Wasn’t he just a “friend” who was good at telling stories?
How could he…
how could he be even better than what her teacher taught?
“Don’t worry about how I know it.” Mo Hai pulled back the branch and began his “devil’s training.” “Look at this move—your wrist is far too stiff!
You have to imagine your wrist as the sword, and the sword as force—it needs to be supple and fluid!” “And this move…” “No good.
You look like my grandma doing Tai Chi.” Jinhsi was left utterly bewildered by his critiques.
Yet she could clearly feel that after adjusting according to Mo Hai’s instructions, her sword moves truly became different.
The previously sluggish energy inside her began to flow smoothly.
The once rigid forms began to carry a trace of natural harmony.
“Again!” Mo Hai’s voice sounded like a little drill sergeant.
Jinhsi gritted her teeth, gathered her focus, and followed Mo Hai’s guidance completely, practicing over and over again.
Sweat quickly soaked her bangs, sticking them to her cheeks.
Her breathing turned hurried and heavy.
Yet her eyes were brighter than ever before.
It was a radiant, focused light filled with the joy of discovering a new world.
Who knew how much time had passed, but by the time she was finally able to perform the entire optimized version of “Floating Light, Gleaming Cold” completely and fluently, she was so exhausted she could barely stand.
“Phew…
phew…” She leaned on the branch, panting heavily.
Mo Hai handed over a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water he had poured earlier.
“Wipe your sweat and drink some water.” Jinhsi took the cloth, rubbed her face haphazardly, then took the bowl and gulped down more than half of it.
She looked at Mo Hai, her clear eyes filled with bright, twinkling stars.
“Mo Hai, who…
who are you really?” “Didn’t I tell you?
I’m your friend,” Mo Hai said with open hands, taking it for granted.
“But…” “No buts.” Mo Hai interrupted her, then patted her shoulder like a little adult.
“Remember, you’re the future Magistrate.
You can’t always let people drag you by the nose; you need to have your own ideas.” “Whether it’s practicing the sword or living your life, it’s the exact same.” He stuffed the remaining half of the lotus pastry into his mouth and muttered incoherently, “Alright, dawn is coming soon.
Hurry back so you don’t get caught.” Jinhsi nodded.
She took a deep look at Mo Hai—a look that contained not just closeness and reliance, but a subtle…
admiration that she couldn’t quite put into words.
Nimbly climbing out the window, she disappeared into the dim light before dawn.
Mo Hai watched her receding back, the smile on the corner of his lips growing brighter.
[Ding!
Detected a qualitative change in the emotional bond of simulation target “Jinhsi”…] [Unlocked new bond attribute: Martial Arts Mentor.] Two days later.
On the martial grounds of Jinzhou.
An instructor responsible for teaching Jinhsi swordplay was staring at his star pupil with an expression as if he had seen a ghost.
Just a moment ago, Jinhsi had initiated a sparring match with him.
Then, within a brief ten moves, using a version of “Floating Light, Gleaming Cold” that felt both familiar and alien to him, she nimbly flicked the wooden sword right out of his hand.
That sword technique was elegant, fluid, and swift as the wind, completely exceeding the scope of what he had taught her and reaching an entirely new realm.
“Young…
Young Master, what…
what was that?” The instructor’s voice was trembling.
Could the Young Master be a martial prodigy once in a century who had suddenly achieved enlightenment?
Jinhsi didn’t answer.
She sheathed her sword and stood tall, her gaze passing over the shocked instructor toward the shadows at the corner of the martial grounds.
There, a thin, small figure was leaning against the wall, a piece of foxtail grass dangling from his mouth, giving her a thumbs-up gesture for “great job.” Unbidden, a brilliant curve arched across the corners of Jinhsi’s lips.