Heart's Burden: Exposing the Emperor's Lies Is an Easy Way to Get Killed

Since He Zhuoming had no new clothes, Lin Qingyun lent her another set—still red, and not much different from the last. He Zhuoming suspected he might own several identical outfits.

Lin Qingyun said he had plenty of clothes and that she could just throw away anything she'd worn. If she wanted to keep and reuse old clothes, she'd have to figure out how to wash them herself, because he knew no cleaning spells and had never washed a garment in his life.

He Zhuoming accepted his offer without hesitation—she'd never washed clothes either.

There was no washing machine, no detergent pods. She couldn't imagine how she'd ever get them clean.

The firewood shed's door and windows were shut tight. Lin Qingyun turned his back to the shed's window and relit the pile of branches in the center of the yard.

A blue-white dragon descended from the sky, its massive body shrinking into a handsome, tall blue-gray horse as it neared the ground. It ambled over to Lin Qingyun and spat a clump of pitch-black remnant souls onto the dirt, then spoke in human tongue: "The Corrupted Deity's remaining followers—they're all here."

A Corrupted Deity always had a host of followers, just as a True Deity always had devotees.

Lin Qingyun wasn't the type to bend down and pick things up. He nudged the clump of souls into the bonfire with his foot. The remnant souls immediately shrieked in agony, but their screams could only circle within three steps of him and the horse, never escaping beyond.

After the souls burned, he tossed something else on the ground: the wooden token that had hung at his waist during the day. A few hours ago he'd been fond of it; now he cast it aside like trash.

The token rolled a few times, its carvings smeared with dirt, until the horse's hoof came down on top of it.

Lin Qingyun rolled up his sleeve to wipe his hands, asking flatly, "Where did this token come from?"

The horse said quietly, "Three months ago, you fulfilled a young man's wish. You were in a good mood then, so you took this waist token from him in exchange."

Lin Qingyun tilted his head, frowning in puzzlement. "Did that happen?"

The horse confirmed, "It did."

He stared blankly for a moment, still unable to recall. But forgetting was normal—he had a terrible memory. Sometimes he'd meet thousands upon thousands of people at once, listening to their wishes; other times he'd suddenly run off to some place like this, where not a single candied hawthorn stick could be bought for ten li around, just to play dead.

Everything depended on his mood.

He said indifferently, "Burn it."

The horse bent its front leg and gave a light kick, sending the token tumbling into the bonfire. That seemingly ordinary fire was actually hot enough to scorch even ghosts. The token turned to ash the moment it touched the flames, scattering on the air without a trace.

Lin Qingyun added, "Next time you fight, don't make so much noise. It's annoying."

The horse didn't ask why. It simply accepted the rude demand out of habit and obedience: "Alright."

A while later, He Zhuoming finished her bath, wrung out her hair, and came running out of the shed. "Qingyun, Qingyun, Qingyun—help me fix my hair!"

Lin Qingyun only turned to look at her once she called. Her hair barely passed her shoulders, gathered in her palm, water streaming down her wrist in a messy cascade.

He reached out, his fingers threading through her damp locks.

Her soaked hair coiled around his skin like little snakes, but as the droplets were separated out one by one, the strands his fingertips touched turned fluffy and light.

He lowered his eyes, a faint smile on his face, his gaze sweeping from her hair to her features: she'd just bathed, her face still moist, a hint of weariness in her brow and eyes.

Spotting the horse lying nearby, she gasped in surprise. "It wandered back on its own again?"

Lin Qingyun said, "I told you, it knows the way by itself... Your hair's done."

The summer night was too hot. He Zhuoming left her hair loose, combing through it with her fingers, but soon felt her neck damp with sweat beneath the curtain of hair.

She asked Lin Qingyun, "Do you have any hair ties? For tying hair—lend me a couple."

Just as he'd produced a steamed bun before, Lin Qingyun flipped his wrist—no rummaging through his pack—and two crimson hair ties appeared in his palm.

The ties were soft, embroidered with golden-thread crabapple blossoms. But He Zhuoming couldn't recognize gold thread; she assumed it was just some shiny regular thread. So she borrowed them without a shred of guilt, even remarking to Lin Qingyun, "Do you just really like red?"

Lin Qingyun smiled and said, "Red's festive."

There was no mirror here, and He Zhuoming wasn't good at tying hair anyway. She fumbled to part her hair in two and secured it into a pair of sloppy low ponytails.

In truth, both ponytails were lopsided—one higher, one lower, one too far forward, one too far back. Several short strands hadn't been swept up and stuck out at odd angles, casting a fuzzy shadow across her forehead.

She couldn't see it, so it didn't bother her. She sat by the fire, hugging her knees, and let out a long, heavy sigh.

Lin Qingyun copied her, sighing just as deeply.

He Zhuoming: "Qingyun, is something troubling you?"

Lin Qingyun: "No."

He Zhuoming: "Then why did you sigh?"

Lin Qingyun glanced at her, then copied her posture too, curling up with his arms around his knees. "So does Xiao He have worries?"

He Zhuoming slumped her chin onto her knees, dejected. "I have way too many worries. I want to go home. I haven't even done my homework, and finals are coming up. I don't want to miss the exams. I don't even know if I can get back... What if I can never return?"

Lin Qingyun thought for a moment, then said, "Then you'd just have to stay."

He Zhuoming went blank for a second, and the tears came first.

Seeing this, Lin Qingyun had no choice but to pull out his sleeve again to wipe her tears, complaining in his usual soft, coaxing tone, "Xiao He, why do you keep crying?"

He Zhuoming sniffled, deeply aggrieved. "It's not like I want to cry—it's... it's all your fault for making me cry! Who told you to say I should stay—it's all your fault!"

Lin Qingyun was baffled by the scolding. "Don't you like hearing the truth? Fine, I'll only tell you lies from now on. Don't cry anymore, go get a good night's sleep. By the time you wake up tomorrow, you'll definitely be back home..."

He Zhuoming shoved his hand away in annoyance. "Don't talk to me anymore!"

In truth, He Zhuoming shouldn't have been angry with Lin Qingyun. He'd saved her, and he'd promised to teach her cultivation starting tomorrow. He was the first good person she'd met since crossing over.

But when she was angry, she couldn't think that far ahead. She turned her back to him and resolved not to speak to him until she'd cooled off.

Lin Qingyun circled around to crouch in front of her, still trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his sleeve—but he missed, his arm slapped away again.

She swatted his right hand; he offered his left. She swatted his left; he promptly offered his right. He didn't move quickly, always letting her land the hits.

After a round of this pushing-and-pulling dance, He Zhuoming got fed up and simply grabbed both his hands.

Lin Qingyun cheered her on with a grin. "Wow, so strong? You've caught both my hands."

He Zhuoming glared at him. She glared for a while, her eyes growing hot, until she couldn't help but laugh.

She let go of his hands, roughly wiped her face clean with her own palms, and muttered, "What was that all about..."

Lin Qingyun: "You smiled."

He Zhuoming turned her face away with a soft huff but didn't contradict him.

Lin Qingyun went on to console her. "What I said earlier wasn't entirely a lie. You appeared in Wen County out of nowhere. Who knows, maybe if we take a look around, we'll find a way to send you home."

The reassurance worked. That night, He Zhuoming dreamed she'd returned from Wen County to the modern world.

But because she'd lingered in the novel world for a few days, by the time she got back, finals had already started. The first exam was chemistry, and she couldn't understand half the questions, sweating in panic.

She hadn't finished the first page when the teacher called for papers to be collected. She finally burst into tears. Crying and crying, she woke herself up, staring at the pitch-black farmhouse ceiling strung with cobwebs. It took her a while to realize she still hadn't gone home.

The window by her bed was being knocked on loudly from outside. He Zhuoming got up and pushed the window open, squinting against the harsh morning sun.

Lin Qingyun stood fully dressed outside, one hand propped on the windowsill, beaming as he called for her to come out.

They were leaving the village today, heading out of the mountains to Wen County to search for clues.

He Zhuoming folded the red wedding dress into a cloth bundle and tied it around herself, her gold and pearls clinking inside.

She retied her hair, braiding two crooked pigtails. Without a mirror, she knew the braids couldn't have turned out well.

Because it was always her mother who braided her hair.

The thought made her want to cry again, but remembering she hadn't even had a sip of water since waking, she held it in.

Breakfast was boiled eggs, which Lin Qingyun had produced from who knew where. He Zhuoming was too busy mourning her hair to taste the food anyway, and didn't have the energy to wonder where he'd gotten the eggs.

Lin Qingyun, meanwhile, had prepared several lines in his head—some fairly plain, some sure to provoke Xiao He into cursing him, some that could scare her into tears...

But even after the meal, He Zhuoming didn't speak to him, her expression listless.

Lin Qingyun suspected she'd gotten heatstroke again, so he reached out to feel her forehead.

He Zhuoming looked at him in confusion. Lin Qingyun muttered to himself, "No fever either."

He Zhuoming: "I haven't even been in the sun. How would I get heatstroke?"

Lin Qingyun: "Ah, right! I've got something!"

The heatstroke topic jogged his memory. His eyes brightened, and he gave a whistle. The blue-gray horse ambled out from nowhere and came to stand before them.

The horse still wore its usual gear, but on its head sat a new bamboo-woven hat.

Lin Qingyun set the hat on He Zhuoming's head, beaming. "This way you won't get heatstroke."

The brim's shadow covered her whole face, and the fresh scent of bamboo enveloped her too.

Lin Qingyun watched her, but she didn't crack a smile at the hat. She only adjusted the angle with both hands for a more comfortable fit, her expression still heavy and lazy.

Still, she was polite enough to say, "Thanks. The hat's really pretty."

Lin Qingyun suddenly felt a little deflated too. The smile at the corners of his mouth faded as he replied, "I made it for Qing Yang. Borrow it for now, so you don't get heatstroke again."

He Zhuoming: "Oh... well, thank you anyway."

The blue-gray horse stood beside them, dutifully playing its role as an ordinary horse. It showed no sign of anything unusual, nor did it pry into its master's thoughts toward the mortal girl.

Even if the bamboo hat didn't fit its head at all and could only possibly fit He Zhuoming, the blue-gray horse wouldn't raise any objection to what Lin Qingyun said.

Because its master was a capricious person with a temperament as awful as an emperor's—and exposing the emperor's lies was an easy way to get yourself killed.

Lin Qingyun tugged at the reins, saying to He Zhuoming, "The mountain road is hard to walk. You ride the horse, and I'll lead it for you."

He Zhuoming: "You're not riding?"

Lin Qingyun shook his head. "Qing Yang can only carry one person at a time. If I got on, you'd have to come down and hold the reins."

Forget whether He Zhuoming could even hold the horse steady—just walking those treacherous, rarely-trodden mountain paths without falling even once was already asking too much of her.

He Zhuoming obediently climbed onto the horse's back and settled in. Lin Qingyun took the reins and led her out. Leaving the village meant crossing the rice paddies again. Farmhouses stood silent in the distance, the sun baking the leaves until they gleamed, hot and blinding.

Lin Qingyun snapped off a green rice stalk and tucked it into the horse's bridle.

He Zhuoming asked, "What grass is that?"

Lin Qingyun: "It's a rice stalk. It'll grow rice grains—that's rice."

He Zhuoming pinched a few raw green grains to inspect them. No matter how she looked at them, they didn't resemble rice. Before Lin Qingyun had said it, she'd assumed it was some kind of wild grass like reeds.

The village gradually fell behind them, and the road became visibly rougher with every step. Even seated on the horse, He Zhuoming couldn't help grabbing tight fistfuls of its mane.

Lin Qingyun, walking on foot, moved as lightly as if he were on flat ground.

Riding wasn't comfortable, especially on such steep mountain paths. Even without needing to control the horse, He Zhuoming felt her tailbone going numb from the jolting.

She couldn't take it anymore. Lying flat against the horse's neck, staring at the back of Lin Qingyun's head, she asked, "When are we going to get out of these mountains?"

Lin Qingyun answered, "At this pace, another five days."

He Zhuoming's voice shot up. "Five days?!"

Lin Qingyun: "Yes, five days."

He Zhuoming clapped a hand over her tailbone, her face crumpling. "No no no, five days—my butt's going to split into four pieces... no, eight pieces."

Lin Qingyun glanced back and saw, in the shadow of the bamboo hat, a pale, sweaty, utterly miserable face.

He Zhuoming asked pitifully, "Isn't there a faster way? Like... can we just fly out?"

Because the original story had grown foggier in her mind, He Zhuoming could no longer remember whether the male lead could fly. But in most cultivation novels, surely everyone could fly?

Even wuxia dramas had qinggong.

Lin Qingyun lifted his face, smiling sweetly, but what came out was: "Fly? I can't. But Xiao He, if you cultivate hard and one day become an immortal, you can take me for a spin."

He Zhuoming pouted, reluctant. "I don't want to."

Lin Qingyun: "Don't be so stingy. Haven't I been good to you?"

He Zhuoming explained, "It's not that I don't want to take you. It's that I'm saying I'll never become an immortal. Once I get home, I'm done with cultivation."

Lin Qingyun frowned. "Why?"

He Zhuoming: "Why... no reason! Why would I keep cultivating once I'm home? My dream isn't to be an immortal, you know. I'm going to be a primary school principal someday."

"Cultivation is just a temporary thing, just enough to protect myself. If I had a choice, I wouldn't want to fight at all."

Lin Qingyun: "Primary school principal?"

He Zhuoming thought for a moment, then explained, "In your terms, it's like the boss of a school... What did you call bosses in ancient times? Shopkeeper? Founder? Investor? None of those sound right..."

Her voice trailed off, dissolving into a mumble of self-talk. But even so, Lin Qingyun heard every word she said.

Heard it, but couldn't understand it.

By evening, they stopped to rest by a shallow creek.

The blue-gray horse lowered its head to drink. Lin Qingyun started a fire, while He Zhuoming paced along the creek bank, working the soreness out of her backside from sitting all day.

The evening sun was no longer harsh, so she took off the bamboo hat and set it on the horse's head instead, then went to crouch beside Lin Qingyun. He was holding a short dagger, whittling a wooden stick as thick as a wrist.

He Zhuoming crouched down next to him. "What's that? For roasting meat?"

Lin Qingyun smiled. "Didn't you want to cultivate? I'm making you a wooden sword to start with, to teach you the basics."

Hearing it was for her, He Zhuoming immediately settled down. She stopped wandering around picking up stones and pulling at grass, and sat beside Lin Qingyun to watch him work.