Chapter Text
Extra IV: Huai Zhen
I am Huai Zhen.
Shifu gave me that name, saying it meant “to embrace the truth.” But I’ve always felt that whenever my shixiong and shijie mutter it, the looks in their eyes are… a little strange.
I grew up in Tian Yi Temple and have never met my parents. Shifu says that one fog-shrouded morning, when he pushed open the creaking wooden gate, he found me, a tiny baby bundled in blue cloth, lying beneath the old willow tree outside. I was apparently grinning up at the branches, one little hand reaching for the willow leaves as they brushed past my face. When Shifu saw that, his heart softened, and he carried me inside.
At first I didn’t have a name. Everyone in the temple called me all sorts of things: “Baby,” “Tree-Sprout,” “Willow-kid”… It wasn’t until I grew a bit older that Shifu stroked his beard, pondered for three whole days, and finally settled on the Daoist name Huai Zhen.
They all say I was born with a natural talent for “ruining the moment.”
What does that even mean? I honestly don’t know.
Like that time, I spotted Xiao Shunzi-shixiong slipping out of Auntie Wang’s kitchen, all shifty-eyed, his mouth glistening with oil. I happened to pass by and casually said, “Hey, Xiao Shunzi, you were sneaking meat buns from Auntie Wang’s steamer, weren’t you? You didn’t wipe the grease off your mouth.”
Strange… Why did Xiao Shunzi suddenly glare at me like he was about to breathe fire? And why did Auntie Wang instantly plant her hands on her hips and lock onto him with an even fiercer stare?
Later, I heard that Xiao Shunzi had been punished by being made to sweep the mountain path for an entire month. I truly didn’t understand. I only said what I saw. Why was he mad at me?
When I turned eight, Shifu began teaching me Daoist arts in earnest. I studied… with enthusiasm. Really! Very enthusiastically. After three months, Shifu had scratched a sizable bald patch into the front of his hairline, and several of his treasured Daoist whisks had snapped in two. Of course, he always insisted that they had broken while cleaning, definitely not because he had rapped me on the head too often.
In the end, Shifu called me over, looked me up and down for a long time, and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh so long I felt like even the Three Pure Ones statues in the main hall swayed with it.
He said, “This child… has the heart of an infant.”
“The heart of an infant?” I secretly asked Third Shijie what that meant. She held back a laugh, patted my head, and said, “It’s a wonderful idiom. It means your heart is as clean and precious as a newborn’s. The rarest virtue in the world.”
Oh. So it was praise. I nodded, half understanding.
But after that, Shifu more or less stopped teaching me Daoist arts. Only much later did I slowly start to suspect that, when it came to evaluating a cultivator’s talent, having the “heart of an infant” was not exactly a promising sign.
Time flew. I turned twelve.
Maybe it was curiosity about the ancient texts Shifu kept locked away. Maybe it was fate’s quiet nudge. But one day, while poking around the temple library, I stumbled upon an old book with a beast-hide binding, tucked into the dustiest corner of a forgotten shelf.
The pages were yellow and brittle, filled with talismans and incantations I could barely make heads or tails of. Nine out of ten made absolutely no sense to me. Pure fog.
Still, the heavens never seal all paths! Toward the end of the book, I found a small spell called “Heart’s Reflection Water Mirror.”
It looked… not that hard?
My heart started pounding like there was a rabbit bouncing around inside my chest. I slipped the book into my robes, darted back to my little room, and dragged out the old bronze basin I usually used to wash my face. After filling it with clean water, I sat cross-legged before it and tried to recall the steps from the book, carefully guiding what little spiritual energy I had into the surface of the water.
I failed three times. The water only trembled slightly. I refused to give up. I took a deep breath and tried a fourth time—focusing my mind, thinking of the person I liked the most…
A soft ripple suddenly spread across the surface, like moonlight plucking the strings of a zither. Then the water gathered into clarity, smooth as a mirror, and revealed a smiling face.
It was Third Shijie. She was smiling right at me, the deep dimple at the corner of her mouth sweet enough to hold honey.
I did it. I actually did it!
A surge of joy went straight to my head. Clutching the beast-hide book to my chest, I nearly rolled around on the floor.
Hmph. They always said I was no good at Daoist arts, that I was slow and simple. Well, starting today, I, Daoist Huai Zhen, would make my mark on the world with this one mystical art.
Watch out, bustling world beyond the mountain—Daoist Huai Zhen is setting out!
*** ***
And so it was, during that secret escape from the temple, that I met the nemesis of my life.
Strange, right? Someone like me—loved by everyone, with flowers practically blooming wherever I went, or so I firmly believed, and so sweet that even Auntie Wang could hardly bring herself to scold me—actually had an arch enemy!
And not just any enemy.
Though I was so hopeless at fighting that I could not even beat Xiao Shunzi-shixiong’s big yellow dog, my nemesis just happened to be one of the strongest cultivators in the realm.
The mighty war god himself.
Of course, when I first saw him, he didn’t look the part at all. He appeared in a… well, a soft, fluffy, outrageously adorable form.
That night, heart pounding with excitement, I charged into the bustling Mid-Autumn market hugging my bronze basin. The streets were ablaze with lanterns and noise. I found a corner, hung up my hand-painted banner, and with every ounce of courage I could muster, shouted the sales pitch I had rehearsed countless times:
“Heart’s Reflection Water Mirror! One low-grade spirit stone to glimpse the one your heart most longs to protect! Rare chance, fair trade!”
I yelled myself hoarse. Plenty of onlookers, but not a single paying customer. Just when I was about to give up and pack up my dreams, my first-ever customer finally appeared. And as it turned out… he’d be the only one.
Strictly speaking, the customer was a boy cradling a white cat.
He was really good-looking. Delicate features, an elegant bearing, though he looked a bit cautious. But the white cat in his arms? Wow! Not a single hair out of place, glossy as silk, practically shimmering under the lantern light. And its eyes! A rare shade of glazed blue, icy and striking. So gorgeous. It was obvious at a glance that this cat had been pampered like some little lord.
I liked it immediately. My fingers itched. I really, really wanted to pet it. But the moment the thought formed, the cat turned lazily and gave me a look.
Just one look.
My hand froze in midair. A chill ran straight down my spine, and before I knew it, I had very carefully pulled my hand back.
Why on earth was I afraid of a cat?
Moments later, I found out why.
With a sharp clang, my precious bronze basin went flying. That white cat had knocked it clean over with a single swipe of its paw. Water splashed all over me, and the basin clattered to the ground.
The boy panicked immediately and started apologizing—not to me, but to the cat!
“Xiao Bai, don’t run! I swear I don’t know that white-robed man…” he called, chasing after the flash of white that had darted away.
I stood there, drenched, staring at what remained of my stall, my thoughts tangled into a knot.
Hold on.
What kind of cat threw a tantrum just because it wasn’t the one who showed up in a heart-revealing spell?
And what kind of boy let a cat make a scene in public, then ran after it in a panic to apologize?
Clutching the slightly soggy low-grade spirit stone the boy had paid me with, I stood rooted to the spot, questioning everything I knew about cats, humans, Daoist arts… and life itself.
Maybe my “Heart’s Reflection Water Mirror” was a bit unreliable. But still! I wasn’t trying to cheat anyone. I would return the spirit stone to that kind, cat-loving boy.
Just as I was wondering how I could make my way to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to find them, something poked me hard in the shoulder from behind.
That sensation was far too familiar.
I turned my head slowly, stiffly.
There it was. A face wrinkled like dried tangerine peel, utterly expressionless, but his eyes clearly said, Are you itching for another whack? The end of a horsetail whisk rested right on my shoulder.
“…S-S-Shifu?!” I stammered.
And thus ended my grand ambition, my entrepreneurial dream—crushed under the bright full moon that was supposed to witness my rise to fame.
After that, I never found another chance to sneak out again.
But in the quiet days that followed, somewhere between reciting scriptures and getting thumped on the head during lessons, I would often remember that night. The dazzling cat with a terrible temper. The soft-spoken boy with too much gentleness in his eyes.
Did that boy ever manage to catch up to his cat?
And that cat—was he still so grouchy?
These questions lingered in my heart, unsolved mysteries I could not understand and could not quite forget.
*** ***
The second time I met my “lifelong nemesis” was during that chaotic celebratory banquet in Wu Du City.
Heavens above, who could’ve seen that coming? I was just tagging along with the elders from my sect to assist with post-epidemic duties, and somehow, in the sea of people, I spotted that boy from all those years ago. By then, he was all grown up, a famous figure across the cultivation world. Everyone called him Luo Binghe, Young Master Luo.
The low-grade spirit stone I had treasured for years was still tucked inside my wrinkled cloth pouch. After all these years, I had finally found its rightful owner.
I squeezed through the crowd, ran up to him, pulled out the stone, and desperately tried to explain that my spell back then must have gone wrong, that this spirit stone never should’ve been mine, and that I had to return it.
“You said you saw a man in white in the water! But the one you were thinking about was your ca—”
Before I could finish that crucial word “cat,” an invisible force corked my throat shut.
“Mmph! Mmm-mm-mm?!”
I’d been silenced. In broad daylight. Right in the middle of a celebration with representatives from all sects present!
I whipped around to see who had dared do this to me. Then I saw him.
Bathed in sunset light, he stepped through the sea of whispers and exclamations as if none of it could touch him. Silvery-white robes, black hair bound high, a presence colder than mountaintop frost.
“The Bai Zhan Peak Lord, Liu Qingge!” I heard an excited voice nearby.
Why would someone like him bother silencing a harmless nobody like me? I couldn’t help but take a few dazed steps forward, staring. Maybe my confusion was just that obvious, because he actually turned his head slightly. His blue-grey gaze passed through the crowd and landed squarely on me.
Just one glance.
And instantly, I was hit with a bone-deep chill of recognition. That icy sharpness. That terrifying authority that made me freeze on the spot.
And the way he treated Luo Binghe… It felt oddly familiar too.
For the first and possibly only time in my life, my brain began working at full speed. The white-robed immortal in the water mirror. The bad-tempered white cat at the Mid-Autumn fair. The war god standing before me…
They were all the same person!
Unbelievable. Unforgivable. So this esteemed Bai Zhan Peak Lord had once turned into a cat, flipped my stall, and now, back in human form, he had silenced me in public?!
A righteous fire of revenge, together with an even stronger blaze of gossip, surged inside me. This was it. I now held a secret that could shake the cultivation world!
I hurried back to my Third Shijie and her two elder sisters, who had become dangerously obsessed with writing bromance stories, and mimed it out with wild gestures, exaggerated expressions, and a great deal of frantic pointing.
The truth was about to be unveiled. My lifelong grievance would finally be avenged!
Then a whole lot of stuff happened. The Demon Realm invaded. There was a battle that shook the heavens. The entire cultivation world went through absolute chaos. Eventually, things calmed down. I heard my three shijie had finally finished writing their painstakingly crafted book.
I counted the days on my fingers and waited. Then I waited some more.
But whenever I followed Shifu into town, the legendary My White Cat Shishu never appeared on any of the bookstalls.
At last, unable to bear it any longer, I waylaid Third Shijie while she was trimming flowers in the garden.
“Shijie,” I asked eagerly, “that book of yours… when’s it going to be printed?”
Her shears paused mid-snip.
Third Shijie blinked. The little dimple at the corner of her mouth appeared, vanished, then appeared again as she smiled a little too sweetly.
“Ah, well… the manuscript… most of it… somehow got lost…”
Lost?! My eyes widened. That was the lamest excuse I had ever heard!
“How could the manuscript be lost?” I inched closer, lowering my voice. “Who would take it? And why? What exactly was written in there that couldn’t be shown to anyone?”
Her eyes shifted away for the briefest moment.
But before I could say more, somehow, in the blink of an eye, her guilty look transformed into the righteous air of a Shijie catching a junior in wrongdoing. She wrinkled her nose, lifted two fingers, and flicked me sharply on the forehead.
“You little busybody! Why are you asking so many questions? Go finish your lessons. Recite your scriptures. Off with you!”
I clutched my poor forehead and watched her turn back to her flowers as if nothing had happened, feeling deeply wronged.
Hey, hey, hey! My head again?
If they kept smacking it like this, how was I supposed to grow tall? And if I never grew tall, how was I supposed to travel the world, uncover legendary secrets—ah, no, I mean, embrace the truth with all my heart?
*** ***
Life after the great battle has been… not too bad.
True, I did receive the depressing news that my three shijie had “accidentally” lost their manuscript, which I still do not believe for a second. But! Some good things have happened too.
For one thing, I, Huai Zhen, finally get to visit the legendary Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, fair and square!
It’s the disciples from Qing Jing Peak who invited me. They insist I did them a huge favor back in Wu Du City and absolutely must come visit so they can properly thank me.
Huh? I helped them? I scratch my head, trying to recall. As far as I remember… I only seized the opportunity to return that spirit stone to Luo Binghe. How does that count as helping?
Then again, now that I think about it… things did feel a little strange back then. And there had been that white-bearded old man nearby, his expression darkening every time I opened my mouth.
Could it be… I accidentally ruined someone else’s moment again?
As it happens, my Third Shijie and her two equally dangerous sisters are also planning to visit a friend at the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, so we decide to travel together.
Being able to go out so openly, without worrying that Shifu will leap out of a corner with his whisk and haul me back by the collar, feels absolutely wonderful! The mountains look greener, the streams clearer, and even the chattering sparrows by the roadside seem especially adorable.
We stroll along at our own pace, stopping whenever we please, and eventually arrive at the foot of Cang Qiong Mountain.
The path is already rather steep, winding upward between old trees and jutting roots. I am walking and looking around at the same time, as any experienced traveler naturally would, when my foot catches on a raised tree root.
I pitch forward.
“Careful.”
A hand reaches out from beside me and catches my arm firmly.
I regain my footing and turn toward the voice, then pause.
The one holding me up is a half-grown boy who looks two or three years younger than me, and nearly a head shorter. Yet the hand gripping my arm is astonishingly strong, his fingers like a small iron clamp.
I am just about to thank him when the boy lets go. Without stopping, he darts ahead in a few quick steps, his grey-clad figure flickering between the tree shadows before turning around a bend.
“Eh…” I open my mouth. “What’s that kid rushing off so fast for?”
Behind me, Third Shijie lets out an admiring sound. “That child is no ordinary one.”
I rub my arm, still a little numb from his grip, and nod solemnly in agreement.
We continue climbing for a while longer. By the time we reach the mountain gate, I at last see the full grandeur of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.
And let me tell you: this place is marvelous.
Twelve peaks rise straight into the clouds like sharpened swords, imposing yet graceful. Most astonishing of all are the stone steps climbing the mountain, one after another, endless as they stretch upward, until they disappear completely into the wreathing clouds and mist.
This must be the legendary Cloud-Ascending Stairway.
Grand. Majestic. As expected of the greatest sect under heaven. It is much, much larger than our little Daoist temple.
I am still looking around in a daze when I catch sight of a familiar grey-clad back.
It is the child from earlier. He is standing beside the gate, speaking earnestly with the gatekeeping disciples. I move a little closer and finally hear what he is asking.
“…There really can’t be an exception? I’m only two days late.”
The gatekeeping disciples look troubled, but still shake their heads. One of them says, “This year’s entrance trial has already ended, young man. Come again next time.”
The boy falls silent for a while. He lifts his head and looks at the peaks towering into the clouds. Then, as if he has already made up his mind, he walks straight toward the endless stone steps leading up the mountain.
The Cloud-Ascending Stairway? He means to climb it directly?
“Xiao didi,” Third Shijie calls as she quickens her steps. “You don’t look like you’re from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Where are you headed?”
The boy stops and turns around.
This time, I finally get a proper look at him. His cheeks are still faintly puffed with frustration, making his face look like a steamed bun. His skin is sun-darkened, but his eyes are startlingly bright, filled with a stubbornness that refuses to bend.
Across his back is a long spear wrapped in strips of cloth; a water pouch and dry rations hang from his belt. One glance is enough to tell that he has traveled a long way.
He answers in a loud, clear voice, “I’ve come to seek a master!”
“Seek a master?” I perk up and move closer. “Who do you want to apprentice under?”
The boy puffs up his chest. “The Bai Zhan Peak Lord, Liu Qingge!”
Me: “!!!”
No way. My nemesis—bad-tempered, stall-flipping, silencing-spell-casting Liu Qingge the war god—actually has someone traveling thousands of li, going through all this hardship, just to beg to become his disciple?
Does this child not fear getting beaten every day?!
A vivid memory flashes through my mind: Liu Qingge during the battle at the Luo River, cutting down demon beasts as easily as slicing melons.
I shudder despite myself and kindly try to warn him. “Uh… little brother, listen. The person you want as your Shizun, he’s, um, very fierce. He hits people really, really hard.”
Unexpectedly, the boy’s eyes shine even brighter. He lifts his chin and says, loud enough to shake my ears, “I’ve heard all about it! I’m not afraid!”
Alright, alright. I understand. You are not afraid. No need to shout.
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect really is something else. Back at our temple, no one would ever be this eager to get beaten up—I mean, to learn martial arts. Perhaps that explains why Tian Yi Temple has remained so unimpressive all these years.
While I’m left blinking in bewilderment, the three shijie beside me all light up like lanterns. All six eyes gleam with a look I know all too well: “We’ve found a new source.”
Third Shijie clears her throat and puts on a smile far too kind to be trusted. She pulls out a beautifully made transmission charm and presses it into the boy’s hands.
“Xiao didi, what admirable ambition! In the future, if you happen to witness any… interesting stories about your Shizun, or notice a certain special someone visiting Bai Zhan Peak, you can use this to let us know, alright?”
The boy looks confused. “But… I haven’t been accepted as his disciple yet.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine!” Second Shijie says, patting him confidently on the shoulder.
Perhaps realizing that they sound a little too eager, Eldest Shijie adds in a dignified tone, “Of course, should you encounter any difficulties in Daoist arts, you may also use the charm to ask us for advice. Tian Yi Temple has its own strengths.”
I stare at them in disbelief.
Shijie. Please. Have we learned nothing? Your last manuscript disappeared under extremely suspicious circumstances. Do you really think the next one will have any chance of surviving?
The boy still looks a little puzzled. His gaze passes over the Tian Yi Temple robes we are wearing before he politely accepts the transmission charm, tucks it carefully into his robes, and thanks us.
Then he turns back toward the Cloud-Ascending Stairway and begins his long, determined climb.
As for us, we go to the gatekeeping disciples and explain why we have come. They welcome us and lead us toward a Shrinking Ground Array near the mountain gate.
It turns out that Cang Qiong Mountain is far too high. If people like us climb on foot, it can take days. So there is a teleportation array near the mountain gate that lets ordinary visitors skip the steepest part.
“Then why can’t the child use the array?” I ask.
One of the disciples lets out a long breath.
“That kid’s name is Yang Yixuan. Stubborn one, isn’t he? He missed the entrance trial because he stopped on the road to save an old man who had been hit by a carriage. Now he insists on climbing the Cloud-Ascending Stairway himself, saying he wants to show his sincerity and persuade the immortal master to accept him as an exception. Haven’t seen a child with that much resolve in years…”
I turn to look back. Yang Yixuan’s small, determined figure is already some distance up the first stretch of stairs, still climbing, still moving forward.
Tsk.
As expected of my nemesis.
Even the people who want to become his disciples are stubborn enough to frighten me.
I lift my head and look toward the peak hidden behind layers of cloud and mist, silently muttering in my heart:
May the person above those clouds grant this little brother his wish.
Or, well… may this little brother be strong enough to endure his future Shizun’s temper, and still keep his spirits up through all that training.
*** ***
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect really is a magical place.
After stepping out of the wondrous Shrinking Ground Array, we climb a bit more and cross a skybridge that looks like a rainbow suspended in the air. At the other end, we arrive at a peak shrouded in mist and fragrant with flowers.
Our guide tells us this is Xian Shu Peak, where the sect’s female cultivators reside. The friend my three shijie have come to visit lives here.
Her name is quite peculiar: Liu Su Mian Hua. She is even more peculiar in person. Her face remains hidden behind a sheer veil, leaving only her cool, aloof eyes and brows visible.
For some reason, those eyes look incredibly familiar to me, and something in me goes cold. If not for the complete lack of killing intent in her gaze, I might have suspected that my nemesis himself had put on women's clothing and was sitting right here!
My three shijie, on the other hand, are extremely warm toward her. The moment they meet, it is all “jiejie this” and “goddess that,” as though they were long-lost family.
After a bit of small talk, Second Shijie solemnly pulls a small cloth bundle from her storage pouch. Inside is the only surviving fragment of My White Cat Shishu. She reverently presents it to Liu Su Mian Hua for her critique, as though offering up some sacred text.
The veiled lady accepts the manuscript and lowers her gaze to read. For a while, the only sound in the pavilion is the soft rustle of turning pages. I crane my neck to peek and notice her brows occasionally furrowing or lifting as she reads.
Finally, she places the pages on the stone table, looks up, and speaks through her veil. Her voice is still cool and calm, yet carries the kind of unquestionable authority that makes me straighten my back instinctively:
“The idea is promising, and there is real thought behind the setup. The writing, however, strains a little too hard for effect, and some of the emotional beats follow familiar patterns too readily.”
She pauses and taps a particular page with one finger.
I sneak another look and catch a few phrases scattered across it: cat ears, a swishing tail, bare feet, pale skin. What sort of nonsense is this, Shijie?
“This part especially,” Liu Su Mian Hua continues. “The gong-shou roles are too rigid, the push-and-pull stays on the surface, and… this stretch leans too hard on soft, ornamental vulnerability. It needs to be reined in before the scene can find its proper atmosphere.”
Me: “???”
I scratch my head furiously. Cang Qiong Mountain Sect really is the greatest sect under heaven. Its doctrines are clearly unfathomable! I understand every single word she just said, but strung together, they sound like an ancient incantation from another realm.
What are “gong” and “shou”? What’s “ornamental vulnerability”? And why does a story need “atmosphere,” like a formation array?
They must be some kind of secret technique or alchemical refinement term. Clearly, I’ve still got a long way to go on the path of cultivation!
Meanwhile, my three shijie look genuinely thoughtful. They eagerly lean in and bombard her with questions:
“Jiejie, how should we revise this section to make it suit your b—I mean, the character better?”
“And this part? How can we keep the tension without making it feel too greasy?”
They’re deep in their mysterious writerly jargon again.
I yawn and drift off to the side, watching the clouds roll lazily past. The pavilion is practically buzzing with their discussion, and by the looks of it, they could keep this up all day.
Still, the more I glance back at Liu Su Mian Hua, the more I feel as though Liu Qingge himself is sitting here, coolly reviewing a romance written about him. The sheer absurdity of the thought sends a shiver down my spine.
I excuse myself and head off to Qing Jing Peak to visit Ming Fan and the others, as originally planned.
Guided by a senior disciple, I cross another rainbow bridge and arrive at a peak covered in bamboo.
This place is nothing like Xian Shu Peak. Bamboo shadows sway gently in the breeze, simple huts nestle among the trees, and a small waterfall murmurs nearby.
The disciples from Qing Jing Peak are already waiting. As soon as we arrive, they come forward to greet us.
The tall one is Ming Fan-shixiong; the cheerful girl with twin braids is Ning Yingying-shijie. The others, I’m told, all “fought beside me” in Wu Du City… though to be honest, I still don’t remember exactly what we fought.
But that doesn’t stop us from becoming fast friends. Before long, we are laughing and chatting as though we have known each other for years.
In the middle of our conversation, two figures appear along the path.
One wears grey robes and a tall guan, looking composed and dignified as a mountain.
The other wears silvery white robes, his dark hair tied high, his expression aloof.
It’s him, my nemesis!
“Zhangmen-shibo!”
“Liu-shishu!”
The Qing Jing Peak disciples immediately straighten up and bow respectfully.
The man in grey, Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan, smiles gently. Liu Qingge merely gives them a slight nod in return.
Then those icy blue-grey eyes sweep over to me. He says nothing, but my back stiffens at once, and I instinctively shuffle behind Ming Fan-shixiong.
Luckily, they do not linger. The two head straight for the largest bamboo house.
At the door, Sect Leader Yue stops and knocks. His voice is unusually soft, almost tentative.
“Xiao Jiu…”
The bamboo door flies open with a crack. Sect Leader Yue steps back quickly, but not quite quickly enough. The edge of the door clips his forehead.
Sect Leader Yue sighs, “Qingqiu-shidi, I only wanted to talk.”
A sharp, cold voice comes from inside.
“What is there left to say? You’re twenty years too late.”
Sect Leader Yue falls silent. His eyes lower for a moment before he says quietly, “…I’ll come again tomorrow.”
I stare from a short distance away. What just happened?
Sect Leader Yue remains where he is for a long moment before finally turning away. As he passes us, I notice a faint red mark on his forehead. Yet he carries himself as calmly as ever. He even pauses beside Ming Fan-shixiong and says, “Take good care of your Shizun.”
Seriously? If I ever spoke to Shifu like that back at Tian Yi Temple, he would have grabbed his whisk and chased me from the main hall all the way to the vegetable patch behind the kitchens!
I cast one last admiring glance after him. A true cultivator indeed!
Through all this, Liu Qingge watches with his brows drawn together, looking as though he has seen this scene one too many times. Then, without a word, he walks straight into the bamboo house.
I freeze, half expecting something, anything, to be thrown out.
But nothing happens. No door slam. No flying teacups. Only a cold snort comes from inside.
Beside me, Ming Fan-shixiong lets out a breath at almost the exact same time I do.
The door remains open, and before long, the sound of conversation drifts out from inside, too indistinct for me to make out the words.
So weird. So weird.
What kind of person shuts the door on someone like Sect Leader Yue, yet can somehow put up with talking to my nemesis? This Qing Jing Peak Lord is no ordinary man.
The longer I stay at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, the more magical it seems. Things here are much harder to make sense of than back at our little Daoist temple.
The disciples of Qing Jing Peak take me to the guest quarters. To my surprise, they have even prepared all sorts of thoughtful little gifts for me, including a bamboo-embroidered sachet, a small jade clasp, and some Hundred-Flower Candy.
I thank them one by one and solemnly accept everything. Then I dig into my own cloth pouch and pull out a thick stack of talismans, handing one to each of them in return.
These are the fruits of all my recent hard work!
I have been experimenting with all kinds of amusing little spells. There is the Blossoming Brush Talisman, which makes a calligraphy brush dance around on its own, and the Color As You Will Talisman, which can briefly turn an object whatever color the user has in mind.
Ever since Luo Binghe personally confirmed that my Heart’s Reflection Water Mirror had actually worked correctly all those years ago, my enthusiasm for Daoist arts has skyrocketed!
Turns out I’m not stupid after all. I just… distributed my talent points a little crookedly.
After we finish exchanging gifts, Ming Fan-shixiong and the others show me around Qing Jing Peak. Everywhere we go, the pavilions and courtyards are elegant and beautifully kept, surrounded by flowers and greenery.
As we wander, we come to a somewhat desolate spot near a secluded bamboo grove. Beside the grove stands a small, weathered wooden hut.
“Who lives here?” I ask casually.
“This was Luo-shidi’s old residence,” one of the disciples replies.
“Oh.” I nod. So Luo Binghe used to live rather simply.
My gaze wanders to the side, where I notice a small mound of earth a short distance from the hut. It is neatly kept, with a smooth wooden plaque standing at its head.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the small round mound.
A hush falls over the group.
Ming Fan-shixiong lowers his voice. “That’s… the memorial grave we made for Lord Xiao Bai. Just somewhere for us to remember him.”
Lord Xiao Bai?
The name sounds strangely familiar. I scratch my head, unable to recall where I’ve heard it before. Seeing how upset they all look, I somehow get swept up in it too, and my nose begins to sting.
“We come here every month,” Yingying-shijie adds, her voice a little hoarse. “Pull weeds, keep him company.”
Someone beside her grumbles, “Luo-shidi is really… too heartless. It’s been so long, and he hasn’t come back even once to visit Lord Xiao Bai.”
Another immediately retorts, “Don’t say that! Luo-shidi… he must be hurting more than any of us. Lord Xiao Bai treated him so well back then.”
Wait a second. My sorrow screeches to a halt.
What Luo-shidi? What Lord Xiao Bai? Don’t tell me they mean…
The more I listen, the more wrong this sounds. My suspicions begin snowballing inside my head. I look at the lonely little grave mound, then at the Qing Jing Peak disciples around me, their eyes already red as they reminisce about “Lord Xiao Bai.”
Finally, I blurt out, in a voice full of bewilderment, “Why are you all like this? Didn’t you just talk to Xiao Bai a moment ago?”
“Huh?” Ming Fan-shixiong freezes, utterly confused, voice trembling. “Wh-what do you mean we just talked to Xiao Bai? Xiao Bai… Xiao Bai already—”
I spread my hands and answer without thinking, “Xiao Bai, isn’t he Bai Zhan Peak Lord Liu Qingge? Isn’t he Luo Binghe’s perfectly legitimate, absolutely genuine—Cultivation Partner?!”
When they hear my first sentence, their mouths open wide enough to fit an egg.
By the second, their jaws practically hit the ground.
Huh? Weird. How come people from the same sect don’t even know about something this earth-shattering?
Watching them all freeze in shock, a tremendous sense of smug satisfaction rises inside me. I’m the only one who knows the truth!
I plant my hands on my hips and throw my head back in laughter.
“Hahahaha! How do you all not know this? It’s so obvious!”
I’m laughing my heart out when I suddenly notice the shock on their faces has turned into pure terror. They frantically wink and wave their hands at me.
The air grows unnaturally still. Even the rustling of bamboo leaves vanishes.
A chilling aura of danger spreads from behind me.
My laughter catches halfway out, trailing off awkwardly until it fades into nothing. Stiffly, inch by inch, I turn my head.
My nemesis stands there at the edge of the bamboo grove. White robes like snow. Posture straight as a drawn sword. His devastatingly handsome face is now frozen over with ten thousand years of ice.
My life is over.
That is the only thought that flashes through my mind before a sharp burst of sword qi from Cheng Luan sends me flying into the sky, turning me into a shooting star.
Well… at least this time, before getting shut up again, I finally managed to shout the truth I’d bottled up for years in front of a whole crowd.
…That’s kind of nice?
Nice my foot!
Why? Why am I the one who gets hurt every single time from beginning to end?
Heavens above! Earth below! I have truly borne far too much for this world. Far too much!
*** ***
The wind whistles softly past my ears as I rise higher and higher.
A little cloud drifts lazily by. I reach out to grab it, but my fingers catch nothing but cold mist. A few birds flap past me, chirping as they go, their beady eyes peering at me as though they are laughing.
Hmm… all things considered, flying through the air like this isn’t that bad. The sky is blue, the wind is gentle, and the view is stunning. If only I could actually fly or ride a sword, and my story weren’t destined to end in a very unpleasant splat.
Just as my thoughts begin to wander, I spot something—someone—beside me. Is that a… birdman? Oh no, wait. It’s a person riding a sword!
Liu Qingge.
He’s standing calmly on that murderously sharp Cheng Luan sword, arms crossed. His white robes flutter faintly with the wind. Somehow, he is rising right alongside me, keeping perfectly level with me. His cool blue-grey eyes are fixed on me as though he is examining some strange, possibly idiotic creature.
Tch. So what if you’re good at fighting? So what if you can fly?
I cross my arms too and glare back at him, trying to look as fierce as I can.
I might be imagining it, but I think the corner of his mouth twitches a little. Even that icy look in his eyes seems less sharp than usual.
Bah! I must be seeing things. Must be the sun in my eyes!
Then, panic.
My upward rush is fading! I slow down, then slower still, until for one strange moment I seem to hang motionless in midair.
And then, gravity remembers me.
“Aaaaahhhhh!”
I flail wildly through the air, letting out the most tragic scream of my life. Just as I brace myself for the inevitable meeting with the ground—
A hand catches me by the back of my collar.
The wind turns shrill. We shoot forward at blinding speed, a white blur beside me. Liu Qingge’s Cheng Luan slices through the air, and me? I’m dangling like a trussed-up chicken, tears flying, senses screaming.
This is not flying. This is surviving a one-way trip to the underworld.
The terrifying speed suddenly stops.
We’ve arrived at some peak. Before I can even see clearly, Liu Qingge casually lets go of my collar and tosses me toward the ground.
“Waaahhhh!” I shriek. But the impact never comes. A wave of spiritual energy cushions me, gently catching my fall. I land upright and whole, not even scraped.
Liu Qingge descends lightly, stepping off Cheng Luan without sparing me a glance, and strides briskly away.
I look ahead.
At the entrance to a refined courtyard, a tall young man in black robes leans against the doorframe, practically glowing with anticipation. Those pretty eyes are fixed longingly in our direction.
Who else could it be but Luo Binghe?
“Shishu!” He straightens immediately at the sight of Liu Qingge, his face breaking into a sunshine-bright smile. In a few steps, he closes the distance, naturally reaching for Liu Qingge’s sleeve, his voice sticky-sweet with playful grievance. “You were gone for so long. I was getting worried.”
“Ran into a noisy sparrow on the way. Took a detour to deal with it.” Liu Qingge doesn’t shake him off. His voice is calm, but wait… was that softer than usual?! “You hungry?”
“A little,” Luo Binghe replies, snuggling even closer, practically pressing himself against Liu Qingge. “I was thinking of Shishu’s spirit mushroom soup…”
“Mhm. I’ll make it now.” Liu Qingge nods, then gives Luo Binghe’s wrist a light squeeze before letting go.
…What am I seeing?
I stare, mouth open.
Forget it. Forget it. I dust myself off and huff.
For the sake of saving me from a very ugly landing just now, I, Huai Zhen the Righteous, the newly awakened cultivator of dazzling talent, shall bestow upon you a final act of kindness.
No need to thank me too much.
But before that, I demand justice!
I point at the two of them, almost glued together as they enter the courtyard, and proclaim at full volume:
“You better invite me to the wedding! I—want—to—sit—at—the—main—table—!”
The two figures stumble.
And perhaps my voice is a little too loud, because now the disciples training in the distance all turn to look.
…Did I say too much again?
This time, I really didn’t mean to!
Anyway, that about wraps up my journey to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. When I return home, I’ll have plenty of stories to tell: the Cloud-Ascending Stairway, a Shrinking Ground Array, rainbow bridges; a hotheaded future disciple, a mysterious author-lady, and all sorts of strange things going on across the twelve swordlike peaks.
And most importantly, about the two people who treated me to a feast despite the fact that I’ve accidentally exposed them multiple times. Cough. Ahem.
As for whether I’ll visit again to expose—uh, visit—them?
That depends on when my three shijie finally manage to write a new manuscript that doesn’t mysteriously disappear.
[1] 赤子之心, literally “the heart of an infant,” is a Chinese idiom referring to a pure, sincere, and uncorrupted heart.
[2] Gong/shou (攻/受) roughly correspond to the top/bottom roles in Chinese danmei.
*** ***
【Postscript: Water Mirror】
At the Bai Zhan Peak Lord’s residence, the evening breeze carries the fragrance of the osmanthus tree in the courtyard, mingling with the scent of spirit mushroom soup still lingering indoors.
The bowls and chopsticks have just been cleared when Luo Binghe, a little too eager, takes Liu Qingge’s hand.
“Shishu, come with me.”
He leads Liu Qingge out into the courtyard, where moonlight pools like quicksilver upon a stone table. At its center sits a pale jade basin. Beside it lies a golden talisman folded into a neat triangle, inscribed with intricate lines of arcane design.
“What’s this?” Liu Qingge’s gaze falls upon the talisman, brow faintly furrowed.
Luo Binghe picks it up. A spark of spiritual light flares at his fingertips, and the talisman ignites without wind, scattering into motes of gold that drift down into the water like fireflies.
“Huai Zhen the little Daoist gave it to me before he left. Says it’s his improved Heart’s Reflection Water Mirror…” He pauses, the corners of his mouth quirking up with mischief.
“Supposedly, this version lets two people look into it together.”
Liu Qingge’s brow twitches. A protest rises to his lips, but in the end, he only gives a low, noncommittal hum.
Luo Binghe’s smile deepens. He lifts a jade pitcher and begins pouring clear spring water into the basin. The splash echoes into the night.
“That year, during the Mid-Autumn Festival…” Luo Binghe tilts his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I said I saw a white-robed immortal in the water. And someone flipped the stall and ran off.”
The final drops fall, scattering across the basin like silver beads. Watching the water, Liu Qingge remembers the heady sweetness of the festival air, that cracked voice calling “Xiao Bai,” and that panicked escape he had long since buried.
“Old stories. No need to bring them up again.” Liu Qingge folds his arms, visibly uncomfortable, the shell of his ear tinged red beneath the moonlight.
Luo Binghe sets down the jade pitcher. His voice softens, honeyed.
“Shishu, let’s look again. This time, together.”
Liu Qingge does not move.
Luo Binghe leans closer, warm breath brushing the side of Liu Qingge’s face. His tall frame stops just short of touching, close enough to make it unclear whether he is asking for an embrace or about to steal one.
That sharply handsome face is suddenly far too near. His lips part, petal-soft and dangerous, with a hint of laughter.
“Or would Shishu rather I carry you over myself? Just like that Mid-Autumn Festival when I carried—”
“Don’t you dare!” Liu Qingge cuts him off before he can say anything more outrageous.
Luo Binghe laughs softly and, for once, does not press further. As Liu Qingge lowers one arm, Luo Binghe catches his hand. His palm is warm against Liu Qingge’s skin. His fingers slip between Liu Qingge’s and give a small, coaxing tug.
Liu Qingge keeps his expression cold a little longer.
Then the line of his mouth gives way. With a reluctant huff, he lets Luo Binghe lead him closer to the basin.
The spell’s light flickers. Images ripple across the water. The basin seems to deepen, its clear surface opening into another sky.
A vast, luminous full moon hangs above a quiet cliff by the water. Silver light spills down in layer after layer, flowing over stone, mist, and the dark shimmer of the river below.
At the edge of the cliff, two figures stand side by side.
One wears black martial robes; the other, silvery white robes. The wind in the water-born vision is soundless, yet their sleeves and hems stir as if truly caught in it. Their long hair lifts with the breeze, black strands threading together beneath the moonlight, faintly tangled across the ripples. In the shifting play of light and shadow, the two figures seem almost to merge, their outlines difficult to separate, as though a thread of fate twisted long ago had been set right.
This is… beautiful.
The last trace of Liu Qingge’s resistance fades without his noticing, and for a moment, he only watches.
“Shishu, look.”
Luo Binghe taps the surface lightly. The ripple sways the two figures in the water. Their robes lift with the motion, as though the next breeze might carry them from the cliff and into the moonlit sky.
“I’ve caught up to your shadow.”
His voice lowers. “I’m finally… no longer someone outside the frame.”
Liu Qingge gazes at this tableau, slowly letting it overwrite another: the painting he had once glimpsed in Luo Binghe’s study at Huan Hua Palace, where a lone white-robed figure stood beneath the moon, surrounded by emptiness.
That silhouette had kept a boy going through the darkness. And outside the Endless Abyss, he himself had chased that boy’s vanishing trail across ruined lands, always a step too late.
Luo Binghe said he had caught up to his shadow.
But perhaps that was only half of it.
Liu Qingge had thought he would be alone forever. And yet, in the end, he was the one who had been found.
The water ripples around the two figures standing side by side, and a thought rises to the surface.
The thought had been taking shape since that afternoon on Qing Jing Peak, amid the disciples’ stunned faces and Liu Qingge’s own embarrassment and irritation.
Later, after Huai Zhen shouted that ridiculous demand across Bai Zhan Peak, it had become clearer, too clear to ignore.
Liu Qingge had tried to press it down then. Yet it refused to leave. And now, looking at the two figures in the water, he finds that he wants it too.
Liu Qingge looks up from the water and finds Luo Binghe already watching him. The night breeze passes, cool against his face, which has grown a little too warm.
“I’ve been thinking,” Liu Qingge says, voice lighter than usual. “That little Daoist’s nonsense… wasn’t entirely wrong.”
He feels Luo Binghe’s hand go still in his.
Liu Qingge shifts his gaze away, uneasy.
“I mean… the wedding.”
His voice softens on the last word, nearly fading into the night.
For a moment, only the evening breeze moves through the osmanthus tree, rustling its branches in a faint, delicate whisper. The young man who usually chatters away at his side has suddenly gone silent. Liu Qingge feels his throat go dry, but still forces himself to continue.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. A simple ceremony would be enough. We can invite a few people who matter to us.”
He lets out a quiet breath.
“I only want… everyone to see you. To see you standing with me.”
The silence stretches until Liu Qingge can hardly stand it. He turns his head a little, uncomfortable, his gaze falling to the moon’s reflection trembling faintly in the basin.
“Of course, it may be a little soon. We can take our time.”
His lips press together. His jaw tightens, then slowly loosens.
“In any case, I mean what I said. I won’t take it back. Whenever you want it, then—”
Something warm falls onto the back of his hand.
Liu Qingge stops.
A single tear has landed there, startlingly hot against the cool night air.
He looks up.
Under the moonlight, Luo Binghe is still watching him. His eyes are red, lashes damp, but he does not look away.
“Binghe?”
Luo Binghe’s fingers close around his hand. For a long moment, he seems unable to speak. Then he lowers his head and presses his lips to the tear-damp skin on the back of Liu Qingge’s hand.
“I want it,” Luo Binghe says.
Liu Qingge’s breath catches.
Luo Binghe lifts his eyes again.
“I want the ceremony. I want the people who matter to see it. I want them to see me standing with you.”
His voice lowers.
“And I want them to know that I am yours, and you are mine.”
Even now, after everything they have already admitted to each other, hearing Luo Binghe say such words still makes Liu Qingge’s ears burn. He wants to scold him for saying something so shameless beneath the open moon, with the water mirror still glowing before them.
But Luo Binghe’s fingers only close more tightly around his, not quite steady.
“I want all of it. I just didn’t think…”
A small sound catches in his throat. His thumb brushes over Liu Qingge’s hand, slow and careful.
“I didn’t think you would ask first,” he says. His lashes lower. “I thought… it would have to be me.”
The words are quiet, but the ache in Liu Qingge’s chest spreads so sharply that, for a breath, he forgets what he meant to say.
“Absurd,” Liu Qingge says, the edge almost deliberate.
He lifts his free hand to Luo Binghe’s cheek. The skin beneath his palm is warm and damp. At the touch, a small smile breaks across Luo Binghe’s tear-wet face, sudden and bright beneath the moonlight. Then he leans slightly into Liu Qingge’s palm.
As always, the smallest bit of acknowledgment is enough to light him up.
“You really are impossible,” Liu Qingge mutters.
His hand slides from Luo Binghe’s cheek to the back of his neck. With a light pressure, he draws him down, until his own lips press against Luo Binghe’s, full and soft and warm beneath his.
Luo Binghe answers at once. His arm comes around Liu Qingge’s waist, tightening almost fiercely, drawing him in until there is no space left between them. The hand clasped around Liu Qingge’s does not loosen. He kisses him back with a sharp, trembling heat, and Liu Qingge feels it through every place they touch.
The night wind passes through the osmanthus tree, sending tiny golden blossoms drifting down like snow.
In the jade basin, the last glow of the spell fades. The image conjured upon the water slowly dissolves, leaving only moonlight spread across the widening ripples, still holding the reflection of two figures drawn together in a kiss.
One lifetime. The moon is full, and they are finally whole.