Impressive, Impressive—Almost Too Clever for Xiao He

Lin Qingyun's hand remained extended, holding out the hat, but He Zhuoming didn't notice. She had already walked past him, forging ahead, casually hacking at the plants along the mountain path with her wooden sword, occasionally tossing it up in the air like a toy.

She wasn't practicing swordsmanship at all—just having fun with an amusing new plaything.

After walking quite a distance, He Zhuoming finally realized she hadn't heard the sound of hooves following behind. She turned around belatedly and saw Lin Qingyun still standing there, bamboo hat in hand.

He Zhuoming waved at him. "What are you standing there for? Come on—we still have three days of travel! Don't waste time!"

Lin Qingyun clicked his tongue, expressionless, and set the bamboo hat back on the blue roan horse's head before catching up to her in a few quick strides.

He didn't take the horse's reins. The blue roan, wearing a hat that was clearly too small for it, quietly followed behind Lin Qingyun.

He Zhuoming bounced along as she walked, her words brimming with excitement. "Hey, hey, listen! My body feels so light now! If I ran the eight-hundred-meter dash right now, I could totally break a record!"

Lin Qingyun tugged at the corner of his mouth, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, really? How impressive."

He Zhuoming: "I feel like my swordsmanship has improved too—better than yesterday!"

Lin Qingyun: "Has it?"

He Zhuoming: "It has, it has! Look, look!"

Right in front of him, she tossed the sword high into the air—easily sending it seven or eight meters up—and caught it just as easily.

Gripping the wooden sword with both hands, she hopped in front of Lin Qingyun and said happily, "I caught it even like this! Pretty impressive, right?"

Lin Qingyun: "Very impressive. A dog catching a frisbee couldn't have done better."

He Zhuoming rubbed the back of her head and chuckled. "That's because you taught me well."

Lin Qingyun: "..."

Given that He Zhuoming usually said things that weren't particularly clever, Lin Qingyun needed a few seconds to figure out whether she genuinely meant it as a compliment or was firing back with "you're a dog too."

In those few seconds of deliberation, He Zhuoming had already scampered ahead of him again, darting forward to poke and stab at everything with her wooden sword.

The wooden sword had no edge, but it was hard, and whenever it swept through, all the flowers and grass in its path bent and broke—He Zhuoming had found a hint of spring-outing fun. After devastating a few bushes and reducing them to "fallen petals and scattered leaves," she felt a surge of pride as a "sword master."

Suddenly, Lin Qingyun's voice called out from behind: "Xiao He."

He Zhuoming stopped and turned around, looking at him with confusion.

Lin Qingyun stood a few steps back, beckoning her over as if he had something to say. He Zhuoming sheathed her sword and trotted back to him. "What is it?"

Lin Qingyun: "I saw your swordwork just now—it had some form to it. How about I teach you another sword technique?"

He Zhuoming's eyes lit up at that, and she nodded like a chick pecking at rice. "Yes, yes!"

Lin Qingyun didn't use his own sword. Instead, he borrowed He Zhuoming's wooden sword, reciting the sword technique's incantation as he demonstrated the movements.

This sword technique was single-handed, requiring no hand changes mid-move—simple and crude. Thus, Lin Qingyun could walk and wield the sword at the same time, doing both without issue.

He Zhuoming watched with unwavering focus, her eyes seeing only the sword, her ears hearing only the incantation. Just like the Qi-guiding chant that morning, she memorized it firmly after hearing it only once.

By the time Lin Qingyun finished, she didn't wait for him to ask. Already brimming with confidence, she said, "I've got it all! Both the incantation and the sword moves! I'll show you."

With that, she took the wooden sword and started moving—Lin Qingyun and the blue roan horse both watched her.

Both the horse and Lin Qingyun were somewhat taken aback, because He Zhuoming really had remembered everything. While most of the sword moves were mere shells of form with obvious flaws, for a mortal to replicate six or seven tenths of it in one pass was truly remarkable.

So clever it was almost unlike Xiao He.

After the final move, He Zhuoming spun around smugly and hopped in front of Lin Qingyun, pressing eagerly. "Did I do it right? I remembered the incantation right away—did I get every word right?"

She leaned in close, so close that Lin Qingyun could feel her blazing, vigorous life force brushing against his face. Both hands clasped behind her back, she smiled as she questioned him, gently swinging her wooden sword and tapping her own back with its blade.

Lin Qingyun saw his own reflection in her eyes. Suddenly, a tingling sensation raced up his spine—without thinking, he shoved He Zhuoming away.

Caught completely off guard, she was thrown seven or eight meters back, tumbling into a shrub with a cry of "Ouch!"

She crawled out of the bushes in disarray. Her already messy hair had been snagged by branches, leaving tufts sticking up in one spot and strands curling in another. Her two braids were barely holding together, and a few leaves were tangled in her hair ties.

He Zhuoming complained, "Why did you push me?!"

Lin Qingyun looked down at his own hand, equally shocked and bewildered—that instinctive shove had come entirely from reflex. By the time he realized what he'd done, He Zhuoming was already sprawled on the ground.

It was a strange instinct.

Like touching a piece of ice in winter, or holding a flame in summer—the body's self-protective reflex erupts with no need for thought, throwing the offending thing away and fleeing before the mind can catch up.

He Zhuoming patted her hair, sending leaves fluttering down. She straightened her clothes, checked for any tears from the branches, and breathed a sigh of relief. But when she looked up, Lin Qingyun was still standing there.

He looked a little strange—not answering her, not smiling as he usually did. Shadows from the trees fell across his hair and his silhouette, and without any expression, he looked positively cold.

He Zhuoming grew worried about him. She walked over and waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hey—Qingyun? Qingyun? Are you..."

Lin Qingyun grabbed her fluttering hand. When his lashes lifted, his face was once again wreathed in a smile. "I'm fine. Let's keep moving."

He Zhuoming blinked, slow to respond. "Oh... alright. Are you really fine? Just now you..."

Lin Qingyun repeated firmly, "I'm fine."

After saying that, he released He Zhuoming's wrist and walked ahead of her.

He had just felt her pulse, and he'd confirmed her strength—Xiao He was simply weak. Even after guiding Qi into her body and growing somewhat stronger, she was still just a slightly more robust ordinary person.

The gulf between their power was vast, and Lin Qingyun couldn't understand why, just now, in that instant, he'd been overtaken by such a strong urge to protect himself from Xiao He.

It was the first time in his life Lin Qingyun had encountered something he couldn't comprehend.

He Zhuoming watched his back as he suddenly sped up, quickly putting distance between them, and couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Lin Qingyun was so focused on walking that he didn't even bother with the blue roan horse—though the horse would follow on its own. He Zhuoming thought about it for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the reins attached to the horse's bridle.

The blue roan was so tall and large that standing before it, He Zhuoming felt terribly small. A sudden surge of insecurity washed over her; she held the reins in one hand and gingerly touched the horse's neck with the other.

He Zhuoming: "I'm holding the reins gently, so don't suddenly jump, okay?"

The blue roan thought to itself: Why would I have the mood to kick? Can't you see that little emperor walking ahead isn't smiling anymore? Let his mood fester a little longer, and he might just have the both of us executed... Xiao He, Xiao He, you'd better watch your step.

He Zhuoming was hungry.

The sun was blazing, she'd walked so much of the mountain path, and she hadn't eaten breakfast. Once the initial excitement of Qi-guiding and sword practice wore off, her stomach grew emptier and emptier.

She quickened her pace, trying to jog after Lin Qingyun—but when she sped up, so did he. He Zhuoming ran until her forehead was slick with sweat, but she still couldn't catch him; the distance between them remained an unbridgeable ten meters or so.

Soon enough, she was too tired to keep going. She looked up, saw that the gap hadn't closed at all, and, out of sheer frustration, sat down right on the ground.

When she stopped, Lin Qingyun stopped too. He turned to look at her; they stood there, staring at each other from a distance. He Zhuoming waved at him, gazing at him with a pitiful expression.

Lin Qingyun was silent for a moment, but in the end, he walked back to her and crouched down. "Why are you lying down? Didn't you say we shouldn't waste time on the road?"

Seeing that he'd come back, He Zhuoming pressed her advantage, flopping backward onto the ground. With a miserable face, she said in a weak voice, "But I'm so hungry... I didn't even eat breakfast this morning! I'm at a growing age—how can I skip breakfast!"

Lin Qingyun reached out and poked her head, expressionless. "Well, it's almost noon anyway. Why not tough it out a little and eat with lunch?"

He Zhuoming shifted her head to the side and replied feebly, "No, no, no—I have no strength left. I need to eat, or I'm going to faint."

Lin Qingyun smiled—though the smile looked rather cold—"Is that so? Then faint for me, why don't you?"

His tone was somewhat sinister, but He Zhuoming promptly closed her eyes, folded her hands over her chest, and lay there in perfect serenity, looking like she was one white cloth away from being covered in it.

She said faintly, "I've already fainted."

Lin Qingyun lowered his gaze and stared at her without moving. He Zhuoming didn't budge either. Her breathing, initially quite awake, gradually evened out until it seemed she might actually fall asleep.

He reached out and pinched her cheek, twisting it—He Zhuoming yelped and jumped up, slapping several times at the back of his hand.

Lin Qingyun released her and smiled. "Didn't you say you fainted?"

He Zhuoming rubbed her cheek and muttered, "That hurt!"

Lin Qingyun extended the back of his hand to her. "I barely used any strength. Didn't your slaps hurt me more?"

The back of his hand was covered with overlapping red palm prints from her.

He Zhuoming stared blankly for a moment, then murmured to herself, "No wonder my palm hurts too—it must be your hand hitting mine..."

Lin Qingyun: "..."

Lin Qingyun laughed—laughed because he was speechless.

Even the awkwardness from earlier dissolved into nothing, and looking back it was almost funny. He must have gotten his head muddled from all the exasperation lately, or something was wrong with his body—otherwise, how could he have thought Xiao He was dangerous?

He couldn't be bothered to deal with Xiao He's idiotic remarks—though they were quite offensive, and had anyone else spoken to him like that, Lin Qingyun would have had them killed—but Xiao He's mind simply worked that way, so there was no need to hold it against her.

With that thought, Lin Qingyun was about to withdraw his hand when He Zhuoming suddenly leaned in, lowered her head, and blew a few soft breaths onto the back of his hand.

Moist, featherlight currents of warmth drifted across his skin with a gentler touch than any cotton or silk.

For a moment, the skin on the back of his hand felt heat, while the flesh and bone beneath felt a tingling numbness, as if thousands of ants were crawling from his hand to his fingertips.

Lin Qingyun froze. He didn't move until He Zhuoming looked up and smiled at him. "I'll blow on it for you. Does it hurt less now?"

Lin Qingyun replied a beat late, "Y-Yeah... it does seem to hurt less. Your hand..."

He Zhuoming made a pained face and extended her palm to him: force works both ways, after all. She'd left red marks all over the back of his hand, so her own palm hadn't fared well either—it was flushed red and slightly swollen.

Lin Qingyun stared at her palm for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her face.

He Zhuoming's face crumpled into a bitter expression. "It hurts so much! My face hurts too—why did you pinch me so hard?"

Lin Qingyun: "..."

He wasn't sure how to answer. After a moment of silence, he lowered his head and, mimicking what she had done moments ago, blew gently onto her palm.

Lin Qingyun asked quietly, "Is that a little better?"

He Zhuoming squeezed her own palm, then looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I think I'd feel better if I had breakfast."

This time, Lin Qingyun didn't change the subject. He took out some clean pastries and steamed buns from his mustard seed dimension and handed them to He Zhuoming.

The two sat down facing each other, but the food was for He Zhuoming alone. After swallowing a few pieces, she looked at Lin Qingyun questioningly.

Lin Qingyun shook his head slightly. "I'm not hungry. I don't eat."

He'd never kept food in his mustard seed dimension for himself. He didn't get hungry, and he couldn't taste food anyway, so it had no meaning to him.

Guessing that He Zhuoming would soon be thirsty after eating, Lin Qingyun casually took off his waterskin and set it beside her.

Suddenly, the blue roan horse grew restless, stomping its front hooves hard on the stones with a loud clatter. He Zhuoming turned her head to look, but Lin Qingyun pressed down on the top of her head and turned it back.

He Zhuoming: "?"

Lin Qingyun: "Keep eating. I'll go check."

He used the push against her head to stand up, forcing He Zhuoming's head down with a soft "Ugh." When his hand moved away, she rubbed the back of her neck and glared resentfully at his back.

Why did he keep pressing her head down? It was like he couldn't understand human speech!

From the treetops came the sound of leaves rustling. Lin Qingyun walked toward the blue roan while looking up. Just as he tilted his face upward, a blur of black descended from above with incredible speed and plunged a blade cleanly into his throat!

The strike was astonishingly fast—so fast it gave no time to react. Before the blood could even spray from Lin Qingyun's throat, a second stab sank into his heart.

He Zhuoming was stunned by the sudden turn, forgetting to even chew the pastry in her mouth—until the cloaked young man shoved Lin Qingyun aside, and she saw his body crumple softly to the ground.

The blue roan reared, kicking its hooves, and bolted away. Amid the clatter of hooves, He Zhuoming coughed repeatedly, choked by the pastry.

By the time she'd managed to pound her chest and swallow the lump in her throat, the young man's black boots had already stopped before her, mere inches from the hand she had braced against the ground.

Afraid he might step on her hand, He Zhuoming yanked her arm back in fright.

The air slowly filled with a cloying, coppery scent. He Zhuoming's ears rang with a meaningless buzz; the world spun around her in waves, her stomach cramping and churning until she wanted to vomit.

The icy blade lifted her chin with a teasing touch. She was forced to raise her face and meet the gaze of the ominous stranger—but she couldn't make out his features at all. All she felt was the blade against her chin, cold and slick, as though it were coated in something wet and bloody. Now that blood was smeared across her chin.

The young man in black bent down to examine the girl who looked about to cry herself to death. As he leaned forward, the blade shifted slightly, scraping a thin layer of skin from He Zhuoming's neck.

Her blood mingled with Lin Qingyun's on the blade.

The young man tilted his head, and a faint trace of emotion finally crossed his deathly still face.

He muttered to himself in puzzlement, "A mortal?"