“Let’s start from the beginning.”
Jiang Ci thought for a moment and decided to start from the mission that had ruined her life. She lowered her eyes and spoke softly, as if talking to herself, or perhaps to the man sitting across from her. This was the first time she had ever poured out her misfortunes to another person.
She began with discovering traces of the Ice Spirit Cult during a troop rotation in the Northern Border, and how those cultists had blustered before their deaths about their connections to the higher-ups of the Central Continent Alliance—yet she had spared none of them, slaughtering them all. Then, her return to her sect, where she received no rewards or praise, only lightning punishment, her heart gouged out, and exile. Her voice was flat as she recounted these events, devoid of any excess emotion, though she spoke very slowly. At certain key moments, she would pause once or twice, as if hesitating to continue, or perhaps because those memories lay too deep and required too much effort to exhume. She went on until she reached the point where she was entirely alone, her cultivation completely lost, and penniless, stubbornly walking from Beizhou City to Black Mountain Fort over three days, and how she had collapsed headfirst into that ruined temple. Everything after that was what Lu Yan already knew.
Lu Yan did not speak immediately after listening. He was not surprised by the treatment Jiang Ci had received—he had seen people in this world who had it far worse than her, and he himself was one of them. What surprised him was how calmly she could narrate her experiences as if she were telling a story, without crying or shouting, barely even knitting her brows. In her telling, those wounds sounded as if they did not belong to her own body.
The name Jiang Ci gradually came back to him. The Azure Cloud Sword Immortal, Jiang Ci, another rising genius who had emerged after him. It was said that she was already on the verge of forming a Nascent Soul before the age of twenty. Her Glass Sword Heart had allowed her to master and integrate the three core elements of sword cultivation—sword intent, sword momentum, and sword arts—at a very early stage, enabling her to comprehend her own sword soul. A genius, the real deal.
Lu Yan’s lips twitched. He recalled when he had first picked her up—she was covered in wounds, burning with a fever, and her cultivation was not even at the Qi Condensation realm. Well, what do you know? This was literally chapter one, the fallen genius trope. With a bizarre expression on his face, he could not help but ask, “When you were punished, you didn't say anything like 'thirty years east, thirty years west, do not look down on a poor youth' or anything like that, did you?”
He was genuinely a bit worried. This was a fucking cultivation world, where things like luck, destiny, and Qi-observation techniques actually existed. A genius falling from the sky, abandoned by her sect, her heart gouged out, and her cultivation destroyed, collapsing in a ruined temple only to be picked up by a passing male lead—he was all too familiar with this script. Surely he hadn't actually picked up a child of destiny, had he? This couldn't be a damn storybook, could it? Lu Yan sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing at the thought.
Hearing his question, Jiang Ci frowned, a hint of confusion surfacing in her grayish-white, glassy eyes. “No, why do you ask?” Wasn't making threats of future revenge when facing an enemy dozens of times stronger than oneself just asking for death? Eradicating one's enemies root and branch was a consistent principle in the cultivation world; did she look like someone that stupid? Although she indeed felt like she had no reason to live at the time, that wasn't stupidity—it was exhaustion. She just didn't want to fight anymore.
Hearing her say this, Lu Yan breathed a sigh of relief for some reason. It was good that she wasn't a child of destiny. He had no desire to be some "supporting character who reverses fate." He just wanted to live a peaceful, stable life, cooking porridge, repairing formation plates, and occasionally heading over to the Abandoned Guest Hall to crack a few jokes with those bastards. His life held no hot-blooded, thrilling revenge, nor any defying of fate to change his destiny. He just wanted to live.
“It's nothing.” He waved his hand, his tone returning to its usual slightly irreverent note. “What does the Little Sword Immortal Jiang plan to do now?” He deliberately dragged out the syllables of “Little Sword Immortal Jiang.” He didn't mean to mock her—well, actually, maybe he did a little. That trace of mischievousness from ten years ago could not be entirely wiped away, even after experiencing the disaster of his sect's destruction. The spark in his heart had not died out yet, and that spark was the reason he could still smile.
Jiang Ci did not correct his form of address. He could call her whatever he liked; she would just let him. Compared to that, his question was far more worthy of her consideration. What should she do? Where should she go? What should she do? She did not know. She felt a surge of frustration. Why couldn't she think of anything? It hadn't been like this before. In the past, she had her master to assign missions, her sect to give her direction, and her sword heart to guide her cultivation. Now, she had nothing. She couldn't even think of a “next step.” She hated this feeling of ignorance, which made her feel like an oversized infant who didn't even know how to walk or warm up a meal.
Noticing her silence, Lu Yan’s heart skipped a beat. Surely he hadn't said the wrong thing, had he? No way. He always talked like this with those bastards at the Abandoned Guest Hall. After a moment of thought, he figured that perhaps the title “Little Sword Immortal Jiang” had made her uncomfortable. Should he apologize to her?
“I'm sorry—” he had just started to say.
“I'm sorry!”
The two apologies collided. Lu Yan’s voice was drowned out by hers, leaving him completely stunned. His face was a mask of astonishment. He hadn't even apologized yet, so why was she apologizing?
Jiang Ci gripped the corner of the blanket, her knuckles turning white. She did not look at him. With her head lowered, her voice was tight, as if forced from her throat.
“I've been a burden to you by staying here. My cultivation... you know it too, I'm no different from a cripple right now. I probably can't help you with anything. That sword I brought... it's the only valuable thing I have left. I will sever my life-bound brand with it, and you can take it as payment for letting me rest here. Could I please ask you to let me stay for just two more days? Just two days is enough. I beg of you. Once... once my injuries are a bit better, I'll leave, alright?”
Her voice trembled slightly, verging on a sob. She felt as though Lu Yan's previous words carried the implication that she should leave quickly. Indeed, she was a massive trouble. Food, clothes, shelter, and the medicine used on her—which of these hadn't come from him? She also knew that her broken sword might not even be worth the price of a single bottle of pills here. But... but... she didn't know what else she had to give.
She felt her vision growing blurry. The candlelight was clearly very bright, yet the light seemed to be filtered through a layer of water, making her eyes ache. She was too selfish. Because she felt he was a good person, she had the shameless audacity to bring that broken sword—which was practically half-shattered—and stubbornly cling to his home, refusing to leave.
Jiang Ci, you are so despicable, she scolded herself in her mind. She knew perfectly well that a kind person like him shouldn't have to accept such a request, yet she shamelessly exploited his good nature. While she craved comfort, warmth, and safety, she simultaneously detested her own greed, selfishness, and hypocrisy. Contradictions tore at her heart; she didn't know when she had become the kind of person who hijacked others with moral guilt.
Dark, wet spots began to dot the quilt cover one after another. She vigorously wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, but she couldn't wipe them dry no matter what. She didn't want Lu Yan to hear her crying—she admitted it, she was crying. She hadn't cried when she was drenched in blood from slaughtering the Ice Spirit Cult, she hadn't cried when nine heavenly lightning bolts struck her on the Heavenly Punishment Platform, she hadn't cried when her heart was gouged out, and she hadn't cried during her exile. Why couldn't she hold it together now? And in front of a stranger, no less.
She did her best not to make a sound, her pearly teeth biting down hard on her lower lip, forcing color back into her pale lips. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she leaned against the headboard, her head lowered and her body trembling slightly. Yet, even so, she could not entirely stifle her quiet, broken sobs.
Maybe I should just leave today. The thought bloomed in Jiang Ci's mind, growing wildly like well-nourished weeds until it consumed her entire brain. She had just pulled back the blanket, preparing to swing her legs out of bed and leave.
A warm hand rested on the crown of her head. It was gentle and steady, as if afraid of startling something, yet also trying to hold something in place. A man's voice, carrying a trace of helplessness, sounded beside her ear.
“Who said anything about throwing you out?”
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