Deep within the Seven Mountains of the Xuanmiao Sword Sect, gnarled branches stretched like skeletal fingers toward the vast, empty sky.
The air was heavy with the silence of the peaks as Chang Xuan walked with agonizing slowness. His steps faltered after every few minutes as his weight borne heavily by the three disciples flanking him, who struggled to support one another.
“Brother Chang,” muttered a youth with a round, fleshy face, his voice thick with uncontained resentment. “Are we truly going to let Xie Qingli walk away from this? The very thought of him makes my blood boil!”
Chang Xuan’s features twisted into a mask of pure hatred. Beneath his torn daopao [daoist robes worn by cultivators to signify their sect allegiance], the fresh lashes inflicted by the heavy whips of the Discipline Hall burned like liquid fire, turning every micro-movement into absolute torment. His eyes narrowed into icy slits, a cruel, mocking smile cutting across his face.
“Let them go? Never. Xie Qingli and that little wretch—I will see them groveling at my feet, kowtowing [the act of kneeling and knocking one’s head against the ground to show submission or beg for mercy] until their foreheads bleed. I will tear them apart, piece by piece, until they beg for death. Before that, I will not rest.”
The terrifying promise of vengeance was the only thing numbing the agony of his wounds; the moment he set foot inside the imperial capital, he would lay this grievance directly before his father, the High Magistrate [a powerful judicial official in the imperial court with the authority to command mortal law and influence sect politics]. Armed with that looming political retribution, a low, venomous scoff escaped his lips as he ordered, “Move.”
The three inner-sect youths behind him lowered their heads in fearful submission, instantly quickening their pace to match his halting, pain-ridden steps. As the four figures limped through the dense foliage, their hushed voices traded dark schemes on how to ruin Xie Qingli and Yun Nian. Yet, just as the edge of the forest came into view, an unusual rustling rippled through the eerie quiet of the woods as the distinct, sharp snap of footsteps pressing down on dry, withered leaves.
Suddenly, the overcast sky deepened into midnight. The ancient trees and massive boulders remained unchanged, yet the natural world seemed to die around them; the chirping of birds ceased instantly, and the remaining slivers of sunlight vanished. A suffocating void wrapped around the group, as though night had fallen in a single heartbeat. Chang Xuan’s breath caught. He could feel the sudden, unnatural fluctuations of spiritual energy. As a jiejié [spiritual boundary/barrier] had been erected, trapping them completely, yet not one of them had sensed its deployment.
At this time from the deep shadows of the thicket, a tall, elegant figure stepped forward. The newcomer was dressed in pristine white robes, his long black hair bound high in a flawless topknot. A casual, almost lazy smile graced his strikingly defined features. Yet, the sound of his boots pressing against the fallen leaves echoed with a heavy, terrifying rhythm—as if he were stepping directly upon their racing hearts.
“As he drew near, his smile widened, and he offered a soft, pleasant greeting: ‘Hello, Senior Brother.’” Even with his dull wit, Chang Xuan felt a cold dread sink into his chest as a fearful thought surface in his mind . This flawless, absolute barrier… how could a disciple who had only recently achieved the early stage of the Jindan [Golden Core] realm possess such staggering power?!
“You… who are you?!” Chang Xuan cried out, his voice cracking as he and the three youths instinctively stumbled backward. The young man tilted his head slightly, his tone remaining as gentle as a spring breeze. “Senior Brother truly has a fleeting memory. Did we not just encounter each other yesterday?”
“It was you!” Chang Xuan’s eyes widened in sudden, furious realization. “You were the one controlling the Crimson Feather Beast! You tried to murder us!” The young man’s expression did not waver. Stripped of his daily disguise, he carried himself with an aura of detached, aristocratic indifference. He simply nodded. “And what of it?”
“I will expose your crimes to the Elders!” Chang Xuan roared, panicked and enraged. With that the four of them spun around, desperate to flee back toward the mountain path, but the boundary before them had frozen into a wall of solid, impenetrable ice.
“Heh.” A low, amused laugh drifted from behind them. Chang Xuan’s spine turned to ice hearing it . He truly felt it now—the suffocating weight of pure, unadulterated killing intent. But understanding of it came too late. As before any of them could even perceive the flash of a movement, a sharp, cold sting struck their throats. Making blood gushed warmly over their hands as all four disciples clutched their necks, their eyes bulging wide like copper bells as the life drained from them.
The young man stepped over to Chang Xuan’s collapsed form with utter ease . As the once-vaunted young master of the capital lay pooled in his own crimson blood, staring blankly into the gray void with unseeing eyes. Xie Qingli raised an eyebrow slightly, repeating the dead man’s earlier words. “Little wretch?” He let out a soft, dismissive click of his tongue. “Tch. How utterly unrefined. I truly despise those who lack manners.”
Saying that a sudden, low buzzing filled the clearing.As from the damp earth beneath the roots, a dense swarm of spirit-insects emerged, blanketing the four corpses in a moving shroud of black. Yet, even in their frenzy, the creatures cautiously parted around Xie Qingli’s boots, trembling in absolute terror of his presence. Within moments, the swarm dispersed back into the shadows. Where four men had stood, not even a fragment of bone remained.
Turning on his heel, Xie Qingli walked away, his white robes spotless as nothing has happend.
Meanwhile, on a serene mountain peak, Yun Nian sat comfortably at a stone table, her chin resting lazily in her palm. Nearby, her martial brother Jiang Zhao was bustling about, meticulously washing and preparing fresh ingredients. Before them sat a charcoal brazier, heating a pot of rich, aromatic broth that had just begun to simmer.”Stop staring so longingly, we shall dine shortly,” a gentle, melodic voice called out.
Yun Nian turned her head toward the sound. The young woman approaching was dressed in the soft blue attire of Zhezhi Peak. She was exceptionally graceful, with delicate, arched brows and a peaceful aura that mirrored the stillness of water. This was Su Ying her senior sister.
Seven years ago, Su Ying had been afflicted by a devastating poison that ravaged her jingmai [spiritual meridians], permanently halting her progress in the sect’s traditional swordsmanship. Seeing her plight, her master FuTan had permitted her to lay down her sword and study the intricate arts of arrays and formations under Master Wen Guanchen, effectively making her a disciple of Ta Xue Peak as well.
Yun Nian watched her, well aware that her own senior brother, Jiang Zhao, held a deep affection for this gentle sister.
Her eyes followed Su Ying as she set down platters of thinly sliced meats upon the small table, the culinary preparation perfectly suited for a cultivator’s refinement. The affectionate gesture that followed immediately pulled Yun Nian from her silent observations, as Su Ying fondly ruffled her hair.
“What are you daydreaming about?”
Yun Nian flashed a bright, mischievous grin, seizing the moment to tease her. “Nothing at all. I was simply wondering why Senior Sister Su wasn’t brought into my Master’s lineage instead. If you were, my poor Senior Brother wouldn’t have to invent a fresh excuse to run over to Junior Uncle’s peak every single day.”Su Ying’s fair cheeks instantly flushed a vibrant crimson. “Listen to the nonsense you speak!” she scolded softly, her voice filled with embarrassed affection. Just then, she looked up, her eyes meeting Jiang Zhao’s as he emerged from the kitchen carrying the final plates. As if scorched by the brief contact, both of them abruptly looked away, their gazes darting to opposite sides of the courtyard.
“The ingredients are ready. Let us place them in the pot,” Jiang Zhao cleared his throat, carefully arranging the dishes to hide his nerves.
Yun Nian’s sharp eyes immediately caught the brilliant red color spreading across her senior brother’s ears. Feeling his junior sister’s teasing gaze boring into him, Jiang Zhao quickly sought an escape. “Where is your junior brother, Xie Qingli? Did you not leave a message for him when we returned this afternoon?” Yun Nian recalled that upon hearing from Su Ying that they would be sharing a hot pot tonight, she had immediately gone to find Xie Qingli, only to find his quarters deserted. She had left a written note on his desk, explicitly telling him to join them.
Yun Nian glanced up at the morning sky, watching the golden sunlight shift across the tiled eaves. The hour of Chen Shi [7:00 AM – 9:00 AM, traditionally known as the time of the shifting dragon] was already passing, yet there was still no sign of his figure approaching the mountain path. A flicker of anxiety stirred in her chest. Standing up from the cool stone bench, she dusted off her robes and declared, “I shall go look for him again.”
She turned and hurried toward the threshold, where the stone archway of the courtyard gate was cast in soft, cool shadow. The moment Yun Nian took a hurried step outside, she crashed directly into a solid chest. As a faint, clean scent of bamboo drifted into her senses. The momentum of the collision sent her stumbling backward, but before she could lose her balance, a firm, gentle hand wrapped securely around her shoulder, steadying her.
The young girl’s eyes instantly lit up like a pair of brilliant morning stars. “Junior Brother, you are finally here!” she cried out, entirely unmindful of the fact that she was still resting directly against his chest.
Xie Qingli could feel the genuine, radiant warmth of her joy flowing toward him; whenever she was happy, her eyes would crinkle into lovely, crescent shapes that entirely disarmed him. Silently, he drew an invisible veil over the dark, icy gloom that usually lingered in the depths of his gaze, hiding his shadowed thoughts away from her innocent sight.
With a bright, ringing laugh, Yun Nian stepped back out of his embrace, completely unbothered by the sudden physical closeness. “It is nothing, it is nothing!”
She caught the edge of his daopao [the wide, flowing sleeve of a cultivator’s Daoist robe] sleeve, her voice light and cheerful as she led him across the threshold into the sunlit space. “I do not know if you have ever sampled such cuisine before. This is a traditional style of dining from the Shunan region [a cultural reference to the lush, bamboo-rich southern lands known for spicy, communal hotpots]. My senior brothers, sisters, and I often gather around a boiling pot like this when the seasons turn, so I wanted to invite you to try it as well.”
With boundless energy, Yun Nian pulled Xie Qingli toward the stone table in the center of the courtyard, gently urging him to take a seat.
“This is the dipping sauce; you can mix it according to your own taste. If you do not know the proportions, I shall teach you,” she explained eagerly, pointing at the array of small bowls. “The soup base is a pure wild mushroom broth. Senior Brother Jiang and Senior Sister Su prefer the heavy spices of chili oils, but I was worried you might find it too harsh for your palate. And over here, we have…”
As Yun Nian chattered on, introducing each dish, Xie Qingli’s senses picked up something beneath the thick, fragrant aroma of the bubbling hot pot. He could smell the sharp, metallic tang of blood, masked poorly by the bitter, herbal scent of healing ointments. She had been severely injured during her fierce martial trials earlier today. Xie Qingli quietly lowered his eyes, masking his thoughts as he listened intently to her rapid words. “This is roasted duck, it is absolutely divine! Junior Brother Xie, you must try—” “Aiya, enough, enough! Stop your endless chattering. The food is fully cooked, hurry up and fish it out!”
Jiang Zhao interrupted with mock impatience, cutting his junior sister off. And with a swift flick of his chopsticks, he scooped a massive heap of cilantro directly into Yun Nian’s bowl. Yun Nian stared at her bowl, completely stunned. How utterly tyrannical! “Jiang Zhao!” she cried out, glaring at him. “I have told you countless times that I absolutely detest cilantro!” “Your Senior Brother is merely determined to cure you of your picky eating habits!” Jiang Zhao barked with a grin.
Xie Qingli and Su Ying watched in quiet amusement as Yun Nian and Jiang Zhao began chasing each other in circles around the small courtyard.
Su Ying shook her head with a fond, helpless sigh after watching them, banter for uptenth time. Seeing that the hand-rolled meatballs in the pot had floated to the surface, she picked up a silver strainer to scoop them out, placing them gently into Xie Qingli’s bowl. “These were prepared by Junior Sister Yun herself. They are her favorite, so she insists on sharing them with you.”
The meatballs were round, plump, and glistening with savory broth. In the backdrop of it the sounds of Yun Nian and Jiang Zhao’s playful bickering filled the air. It was remarkably loud—a chaotic, lively noise that Xie Qingli realized he had not experienced in a very long time.
“Thank you, Senior Sister Su,” he murmured politely. He than took a bite of the meatball. The rich, flavorful juices burst into his mouth instantly. It was a rustic, hearty sensation, entirely unfamiliar to his refined palate. “How is it? Is it delicious?” Yun Nian had suddenly materialized at his side without him noticing, her face tilted toward him. She was still smiling that bright, unclouded smile. Xie Qingli looked into her eyes and replied. “Mm.”
“If it pleases your taste, then eat more. There is an abundance of food tonight,” she urged, her eyes crinkling. Jiang Zhao also finally returned to the table, completely ignoring the two of them as he busied himself with placing the best meat into Su Ying’s bowl. Throughout the meal, Yun Nian would occasionally use her chopsticks to serve Xie Qingli the best cuts of meat. This way there meal progressed at a leisurely pace, stretching comfortably until the midnight hour.
After eating their fill until the glowing charcoal within the brazier died down to silent ash, Jiang Zhao rose to escort Su Ying back to the distant summits of Zhezhi Peak, leaving Yun Nian to leisurely walk Xie Qingli back to his own quarters. The silver moonlight poured over the winding mountain paths like fluid jade. Above, the stars were dazzlingly bright, a clear omen from the heavens that tomorrow would bring a beautiful, sunlit day.
Before long, their slow footsteps brought them back to the gates of Yun Nian’s courtyard.
Xie Qingli turned to face her under the celestial glow, inclining his head in a courteous, disciplined farewell. “Senior Sister Yun, please return and rest well.”
“Wait!”
Yun Nian quickly called out, her voice halting him just as his robes began to brush past her to turn away. The young man remained perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm composure as he watched the girl reach into her qiankun bag with a mysterious, playful air. She drew out a small, smoothly polished wooden box. In truth, with his profound perception, he already knew exactly what lay sealed inside that box still he wants to humor her. Yun Nian leaned in close, stepping entirely into his personal space as she held the box up high, almost brushing the tip of his nose. “Junior Brother Xie, take a guess. What do you think is inside?”
Xie Qingli followed her gaze down to the wooden box. Playing along with her whimsical game, he shook his head with an air of helpless, gentle innocence. “This Junior Brother is foolish and dull; I truly cannot guess what manner of treasure Senior Sister has hidden inside.” As expected, Yun Nian narrowed her eyes into pleased slits, her delicate face flushing with immense pride and delight. She than announced triumphantly, “This is a Hanre [Cold-Soothing] Pill! It is the perfect cure for the volatile, lingering fire poison currently ravaging your body. I had to pester and beg my Junior Uncle for an eternity before he finally relented and gave it to me!”
She spoke of this feat so lightly, her tone breezy and indifferent, as though obtaining a rare, high-tier spiritual medicine from an eccentric and notoriously strict Sect Elder had been the simplest task in the world. “Junior Brother, take it quickly,” she urged, pressing the cool wood of the box directly into his palms. “You must meditate well tonight. Tomorrow, I shall ask Master to personally align your spiritual energy and heal your core injuries. I am certain you will recover in no time.”
And with a soft click, the box was opened, and the pill was presented before him, radiating a crisp, frosty aura that cut straight through the humid night air. Through the faint, icy mist rising from the medicine, Xie Qingli looked up. In the reflection of Yun Nian’s dark, exceptionally clear eyes, his own solitary, shadowed figure was perfectly etched. He stood entirely frozen beneath the starlight, making no move to accept the offering.
“Junior Brother Xie,” Yun Nian urged softly, her gentle voice breaking his sudden trance as she nudged the Hanre Pill closer to his lips. “Come now, it is not bitter at all.” He simply looked down at her, his gaze intense, deep, and utterly unreadable. “Senior Sister, this pill is exceedingly precious.”
Yun Nian nodded earnestly, her bright eyes fixed unblinkingly on his. “I am well aware.”
“And you are entirely certain you wish to give it to me?”
“What could possibly be wrong with giving it to you?” She narrowed her eyes slightly, a playful, feigned threat dancing across her soft features. “Swallow it quickly, or your Senior Sister will be forced to shove it down your throat.” A faint, fleeting curve touched Xie Qingli’s lips hearing her threat ; inwardly, he felt a sudden, unfamiliar urge to laugh. Yielding entirely to her persistence, he allowed the pill to be pressed against his lips and swallowed it.
And by doing that an immediate, piercing coolness flooded his senses, the high-grade spiritual medicine dissolving into a soothing mist the very instant it touched his tongue. The Hanre Pill was indeed a peerless elixir of the highest order; it traveled down his throat like liquid ice, instantly pacifying the violent, boiling energy within his jingmai [spiritual meridians].
Just yesterday, he had been forced to expend the vast majority of his hidden, suppressed spiritual reserves to contain the volatile fire poison that had seeped deep into his bones. Yet, this single, small pill had effortlessly drawn out the agonizing heat with a single swallow.
Master Wen Guanchen was truly magnificent in his generosity—or rather, he could deny his niece nothing. Xie Qingli lowered his long eyelashes, veiling the abyssal darkness that instantly returned to his eyes the moment the medicine took effect.
On the other hand seeing him finally take the medicine, Yun Nian beamed with satisfaction. She caught his hand, her small fingers gently prying open his palm to drop a handful of fresh, pale green lotus seeds from her qiankun bag into his hand. “I gathered these myself near the lotus pavilion earlier today. They are wonderfully sweet. Junior Brother, you must taste them.”
In truth, she did not particularly care whether a powerful, brooding cultivator like Xie Qingli possessed a taste for such simple, mortal things; her only intent was to show him unreserved kindness, to pull him out of his darkness and into the sun, to feed him well, and to let him experience the warmth of the living world.
Withdrawing her hand, the young girl spun around gracefully and stepped across the threshold into her courtyard. Leaning back against the heavy wooden doors, she peered out at him through the small opening, her voice clear and full of playful warmth.
“Junior Brother Xie, the Gumu Jianxu [The Ancient Tomb Sword Ruins, a dangerous, historically rich pocket-dimension containing ancient sword spirits and legacies] are drawing close to their opening. I have several sect duties to attend to over the next few days, so I will not be able to visit your quarters. Senior Brother Yao [the medicine hall disciple] will deliver your daily healing tonics instead. Mind your health and tend to your wounds well.”
Xie Qingli bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “I understand, Senior Sister Yun.” Yun Nian’s eyes curved into brilliant crescents. “Go back and rest well tonight, Junior Brother. Sweet dreams.” With a soft, heavy creak, the courtyard gates swept closed, and the light rustle of her silk skirts gradually faded into the quiet depths of her inner residence.
Left entirely alone under the canopy of stars, Xie Qingli looked down at the handful of raw lotus seeds resting in his palm. He had never eaten such trifling, ordinary mortal things in his entire life. After a long pause, a cold, azure linghuo [spiritual flame conjured from a cultivator’s internal elemental energy] ignited above his left palm, intending to reduce the seeds to absolute ash. The flickering, ethereal blue firelight cast stark, shifting shadows across the youth’s handsome face, splitting his features starkly between light and darkness.
Yet, just as the tongue of spiritual fire brushed the edge of the first pale green seed, his hand froze mid-air, completely unable to advance even half a fraction. The cool night air around him still seemed to carry a lingering trace of her presence—the faint, sweet fragrance of spring peach blossoms, heavily intertwined with the metallic, copper tang of fresh blood from her formation trials. He stared fixedly at the lotus seeds for what felt like an eternity, until the blue fire in his hand flickered, weakened, and finally died away into nothingness.
Slowly, Xie Qingli picked up a single seed, peeled away its outer green skin with steady fingers, and placed it into his mouth. A delicate, subtle sweetness instantly blossomed across his tongue, leaving a clean, crisp fragrance behind.
It seemed Yun Nian was not a cultivator who adhered strictly to the harsh laws of bigu [the Daoist practice of abstaining from mortal grains and food to purify the physical body of impurities]; her qiankun bag was clearly a veritable pantry of delicacies.
Xie Qingli lifted his head, his countenance returning to a mask of absolute, chilling indifference as he gazed at the firmly shut wooden gates. The silver moonlight washed over his features, emphasizing the ghostly pallor of his skin and the desolate stillness gathering in his eyes—a gaze as cold and empty as the aftermath of a devastating blizzard.
A low, mocking laugh escaped his lips, dissipating instantly into the nocturnal chill. With a sharp sweep of his wide sleeve, he stored the remaining lotus seeds into his own qiankun bag, turned on his heel, and vanished like a phantom into the deep shadows of the mountain path.
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