Lu Yan had lived for twenty-six years, combining his past life and this one, and the number of times he had heard a woman cry could be counted on one hand. Not to mention being “personally responsible for making her cry”—this category was a first today. He sat in his chair, legs still propped on the table, completely frozen. It wasn't that he didn't want to move; he just didn't know how to. His mind felt like a boiling pot of porridge, bubbling and churning, with nothing solid to grasp.
He listened to Jiang Ci's broken sobs—“Am I being too selfish?” “Am I taking advantage of your kindness?”—and almost stood up, with a retort of “Are you slandering me?” nearly slipping out of his mouth. But the atmosphere was all wrong. Even if he was a bit of a straight-laced guy, his emotional intelligence wasn't in the negatives. With her crying like this, cracking a joke right now would probably make her think he was still blaming her. Wouldn't that be throwing oil on the fire? He forced himself to swallow the words, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth for several seconds.
Taking a deep breath, he took his legs off the table and sat up straight. With his spine rigid and his hands placed on his knees, he looked exactly like an elementary school student forced to sit in detention. He was listening to her cry. Not half-heartedly, but truly listening. He listened to her breathless sobs, her fragmented sentences, and all the things she had kept bottled up deep in her heart for who knows how long, now pouring out all at once.
Lu Yan was also on the verge of a breakdown. Who could have known that a single slip of the tongue—asking “What does the Little Sword Immortal Jiang plan to do now?”—would stir up such a massive hornet's nest? He resolved to fix his habit of speaking without thinking—though he had made this resolution at least eight hundred if not a thousand times before, saying it every time he suffered for it, only to forget the pain once the wound healed. There was nothing he could do about it; that was just the way he was, never learning his lesson. He would be deeply remorseful when being scolded, only to let his mouth run faster than his brain the moment he saw something interesting. Even if the sky fell, this bastard would still find a way to live; otherwise, with debuffs like having his entire sect annihilated, losing his cultivation, and being blinded all stacked together, he would have used his neck to play a passionate game of tug-of-war with a ceiling beam long ago.
But the problem was, as mentioned before, he had rarely even seen a girl cry, let alone known how to comfort one. At this moment, he remembered that “silence is golden” and sat in his chair, keeping as quiet as a quail. What else could he do? Pull a dark face and bark, “Hold it in”? Hey, don't say it, that actually sounded like a way... He admitted he was tempted by the thought for a split second. Just a split second.
Lu Yan's thoughts gradually drifted, and he spaced out for several minutes. Suddenly, his brain snapped back to reality. Holy crap, what the hell am I thinking? There's a living person crying her eyes out right over there. He stood up and slowly shuffled toward Jiang Ci. It was literally a shuffle—whether out of fear or weak knees, it took him a solid minute to cover those few steps. If Jiang Ci weren't crying with her eyes closed right now but looking at him instead, she would have been able to appreciate a rare expression on his face—trepidation.
Trepidation indeed. Right now, Lu Yan was like an elementary schooler about to be scolded by a teacher, with “nervous wreck” practically written all over him. He didn't know where to put his hands, and he didn't even dare to breathe too loudly. But no matter how nervous he was, he had to face it; he had to deal with the trouble he had caused. He had never comforted anyone in his life, had no examples, and had no templates to follow, so he could only steel himself and wing it. He reached out and gently rested his hand on the crown of her head. The moment his fingers touched her hair, he clearly felt his heart rate quicken. He did his best to keep his voice steady.
“Who said anything about throwing you out?”
Jiang Ci simply stopped holding back her sobs, choking out her words in fragments. “I... I don't... don't have any money left to give you, and I can't, can't help you with your crafting. Even my sword is, is broken. If I stay, stay any longer, I won't even be able to pay for my, my medicine, sniff...” As she spoke, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but she couldn't wipe them clean; tears spilled out from between her fingers.
Lu Yan gently stroked the top of her head. To be honest, it felt surprisingly nice. He had originally only wanted to comfort her, but he ended up getting distracted first—her hair was smooth and not greasy at all, feeling very soft to the touch. He quickly pulled his thoughts back and cleared his throat.
“You've already paid. A long, long time ago, you already paid.”
His voice wasn't loud, but every word fell steadily right above her head. He recalled the entrance of that secret realm years ago, remembered crouching in a corner selling fake medicine, and remembered her voice—cool and crisp, like melting snow on a high mountain in spring. She had sniffed it and said, “More than half of this medicine is ruined, isn't it?” She had glanced at him and said, “Your pupils are white; are you blind?” He had wanted to run at the time, his hand already gripping a Divine Speed Talisman. Then, she tossed a storage bag over, containing over a hundred spirit stones. “Stop selling fake medicine and harming people,” she said. He had walked away without looking back. That bag of spirit stones was the first sum of money that truly allowed him to survive after arriving in the Northern Border.
If it hadn't been for her back then. Or if she had discovered he was a wanted remnant of the Formation Sect, or if she had given him fewer spirit stones, or if she had done nothing and simply walked away. He might have starved to death that winter, frozen to death in some ruined temple, been cut down by pursuers on the run, or never had the chance to come to the Abandoned Guest Hall, repair formation plates, or refine Focus-Stabilizing Pills. Hiding in the Northern Border alone for ten years, fighting off countless waves of pursuers, there were many times he didn't even know how he had survived. But looking back now, the starting point of everything was that bag of spirit stones. Those spirit stones had nothing to do with the jade token; back then, he hadn't even carved that jade token yet, and he was just a crippled man on the verge of starving to death.
She had already given to him once. Back when he was at his lowest, most insignificant, and most like a pile of mud. Now, him cooking porridge for her, buying her medicine, and letting her sleep in his bed—this wasn't charity; it was repayment. He wasn't a good person doing good deeds; he was a debtor paying off his debt. He remembered, while she had forgotten. But it was enough that he remembered.
Lu Yan's expression softened, and he wanted to slide his hand down to pat her back and help soothe her breathing. But remembering the injuries on her back, his fingertips paused in mid-air before he withdrew his hand.
Hearing his words, Jiang Ci's crying gradually quieted down, though it didn't stop completely. She tried hard to recall if she had indeed helped someone like him. But she had absolutely no memory of it. Had she helped too many people? Or had she never taken it seriously? She wasn't sure, but she was even more afraid that he was lying to her—concocting a debt of gratitude just to make her feel at ease staying here.
She was wary. She had been deceived too many times. Her sect had called her the Sword Heir, given her a sword heart, and then gouged it out. Her master had promised to protect her, and then destroyed her cultivation. Everyone had a grand explanation when they were nice to her, but every explanation ended up turning into a knife. She was afraid he would be the same.
“Do... Do not lie to me. I don't... don't remember helping you.”
Honestly, Lu Yan found Jiang Ci extremely amusing right now. Having to break up a single sentence into several pieces, she sounded like a toddler who had just learned to speak. The corners of his lips curled up slightly; he couldn't help himself.
“Then what will it take for you to believe me?”
Jiang Ci shook her head. “I don't know.” And then she started crying again. Why didn't she know again? Why didn't she know anything, sniff... She had finally managed to stop, only to be pushed right back by this question. Tears rolled down, dripping from her chin onto the back of her hand, and the whimpering that had just ceased started up once more.
Lu Yan felt a headache coming on; how could this girl be so stubborn? Believing was out of the question, but so was disbelieving. He gritted his teeth. “How about I swear a Heavenly Dao oath? If I wasn't helped by you a long time ago, may I be—”
Before he could finish, a cool, soft sensation pressed against his lips. It was Jiang Ci's hand. Unbeknownst to him, she had risen to her knees on the bed and leaned forward, ignoring the wounds on her back to cover his mouth with her hand.
Her tone was filled with sheer panic. “W-What are you doing! I... I believe you, alright? D-Don't make an oath!” Tears still hung on her face, and her eyes were red, but her voice was frantic. A Heavenly Dao oath was no joke; once a cultivator made an oath, it would definitely be enforced by the heavens. She would rather be deceived herself than have him take such a risk.
Lu Yan froze. He hadn't yet recovered from the shock of suddenly having his mouth covered. Her fingers were ice-cold, trembling slightly against his lips. He didn't move.
After a few seconds, she finally pulled her hand back, shrinking under the blanket and lowering her head to avoid looking at him.
Lu Yan cleared his throat, pretending nothing had happened. “Alright then, just stay here in peace. I'll slowly deduct what you owe me for food, clothing, and shelter from the favor you did me back then. When the funds run dry, I'll kick you out of the house. How's that sound?” As he spoke, he found a clean towel and handed it to her. “Here, wipe your face.”
Jiang Ci took the towel without fuss and wiped her face. Her eyes were still red, but the tears had stopped. She took two deep breaths, gave a soft murmur of agreement, and lay back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
One by one, the candles went out. The flames flickered and died. The last one burned for a long time, its flame swaying unsteadily before finally dimming into darkness.
Lu Yan remained seated in his chair. This time, he didn't prop his feet up on the table but sat properly, resting one hand against the table and casually placing the other on its surface. Facing the direction where the candlelight had gone out, he watched the final ring of light fade from his vision.
He suddenly remembered that he seemed to have forgotten to tell Jiang Ci about his own past. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the sound of steady breathing. She was asleep. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Fallen asleep, huh,” he murmured softly to himself.
Sleepiness finally welled up. It wasn't sudden, but rather washed over him bit by bit like a tide, slowly drowning out his chaotic thoughts. He closed his eyes, his consciousness gradually drifting away.
Just as he drifted off to sleep, a ray of sunlight pierced through the night sky, spilling onto the floor beneath the window. Like shattered gold, it spread across the ground inch by inch.
Dawn had broken.
Rate on N.U.
