Chapter 2360: The Aloof Sword Cultivator and His Natal Sword Spirit 04

Late at night, bamboo shadows swayed on the window paper.

After washing up, Xie Qingmo habitually untied the Morning Sword from his waist, walked to the ebony sword rack he had used for years by the bedside, and prepared to place the sword on it as usual.

Just as he lifted his hand, a figure in dark clothing appeared silently beside the bed.

Jin Chen crossed his arms, glanced at the cold, hard sword rack, then at the plain-colored bedsheet-covered bed that was obviously much softer, and finally his gaze settled on Xie Qingmo's hand holding the sword.

His face showed little expression, but his clear eyes stared straight at him, his dissatisfaction threatening to become tangible.

"Xie Qingmo." Jin Chen spoke, with a hint of accusation, "You love your sword that much."

Xie Qingmo's motion paused, and he looked at him.

"What's wrong with me?"

Jin Chen said nothing, just stood there by the bed, his piercing gaze fixed on him, silent dissatisfaction spreading.

"... It's not that I love the sword to the point of death."

"Having to sleep with the sword on the bed… is rather strange."

Jin Chen still didn't shift his gaze, finally uttering a few words, "I also want to sleep."

"Who hangs a good person up to sleep!"

Xie Qingmo pinched his brow, resignedly compromising: "... Alright, fine. Then go sleep inside the sword,"

He pointed to the spot right beside the bed, "Right here."

As soon as he finished speaking, Jin Chen's figure vanished instantly.

Xie Qingmo exhaled in relief, gently placed the Morning Sword at the designated spot on the floor beside the bed, then lay down.

The blankets carried the fresh scent of bamboo leaves; he had just closed his eyes, preparing to sink into cultivation or a light sleep.

The bedside mattress suddenly sank.

Xie Qingmo snapped his eyes open to see Jin Chen already materialized, lying on his side beside him, tightly embracing the Morning Sword's main body like a huge cushion, occupying a not‑small space.

The youth closed his eyes, breathing evenly, as if it were only natural that he should sleep here.

Xie Qingmo: "……"

He remained silent for a few breaths, trying to hold onto his last line: "Jin Chen, go sleep inside the sword."

Jin Chen didn't even open his eyes, muttering: "No, it's dark inside the sword."

A faint twitch appeared at Xie Qingmo's forehead as he said: "... Tomorrow I'll prepare a room for you; tonight, return to the sword."

That was his greatest concession.

"No." Jin Chen refused bluntly.

He suddenly turned over, facing Xie Qingmo, his eyes in the dim light filled with accusation: "Don't you want the sword spirit anymore? Do you find me a bother?"

Xie Qingmo's heart jumped.

"That's unbearable—a sword spirit's manifestation is a once‑in‑several‑centuries occurrence, and he'd driven Jin Chen away like this; wouldn't that be a huge joke among sword cultivators?"

In the end, Xie Qingmo said nothing, merely stiffly lay back down, closed his eyes, and tacitly accepted it.

But inside, he was in turmoil.

"Does a sword spirit even need to sleep? This posture of embracing the sword while sleeping beside him… is really strange."

He tried to stay close to the edge of the bed, striving to ignore the extra warmth and presence beside him.

The night grew deeper, moonlight pouring through the lattice window in a clear glow.

Having confirmed that Xie Qingmo's breathing had become long and steady, that he was already fast asleep, Jin Chen furtively opened half an eye, shifted toward him until his arm could lightly brush Xie Qingmo's sleeve, pulled him into an embrace, then, satisfied, closed his eyes again, the corners of his mouth turning up in a triumphant arc.

The next morning, Xie Qingmo woke to birdsong outside the window, his consciousness still a bit hazy.

As soon as he moved, he sensed the warmth too close beside him, and before he could react, Jin Chen's drowsy yet unusually clear accusation came from his ear.

"Xie Qingmo," Jin Chen said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, his hair a bit messy from sleep, the collar of his dark clothing askew.

He pointed at himself, wearing an expression that said, "What have you done?"

"You don't sleep honestly; you keep crowding onto me."

Xie Qingmo: "……"

He was now fully awake, watching Jin Chen's self‑righteous, even blame‑shifting demeanor, then looking at his own properly tucked‑in spot on the inner side of the bed, and for a moment found himself speechless.

Xie Qingmo was choked enough by Jin Chen's blame‑shifting accusation to feel irritated, yet seeing the other's self‑righteous stance with a few strands of hair sticking up, he ultimately held his tongue.

He silently got up, tidied his clothes, and habitually headed toward the bamboo grove outside the courtyard.

This had been his unshakable morning routine for years.

Just as he reached the courtyard gate, he saw Jin Chen already standing there—dressed in sharp dark attire, hair tied high in a ponytail, looking fresh and neat, with no trace of last night's resentment at being shoved off the bed.

Jin Chen stood with his arms crossed, his back lazily leaning against the door frame, one leg slightly bent, effectively blocking the door completely.

Xie Qingmo stopped in his tracks, puzzled, looking at the sword spirit blocking the way.

"What's up?"

Jin Chen lifted his eyes to him: "Have you had breakfast?"

Xie Qingmo answered instinctively: "No."

He occasionally cooked some simple spiritual food or plain congee, more to satisfy a habit or state of mind.

Hearing that, Jin Chen raised an eyebrow slightly, feigning innocence as he added, "Are you fasting from grains?"

Xie Qingmo stalled at the question: "... No either."

Indeed, he hadn't completely severed himself from mortal affairs; it was just very rare.

Jin Chen said nothing.

He lowered his crossed arms, stood straight, and his clear gaze fell directly onto Xie Qingmo's face.

"You can practice the sword, but eat first."

Xie Qingmo felt somewhat bewildered by the stare, silently observing Jin Chen for a few seconds, then suddenly discerning something from the other's unusually focused gaze.

This guy, maybe he's just hungry himself…

Xie Qingmo pinched his brow, then acquiesced: '... Alright, I'll go prepare breakfast.'

He paused, looking at Jin Chen, 'Do you need to eat?'

Jin Chen nodded immediately, answering firmly, 'Of course.'

Xie Qingmo: '...'

Sure enough.

Then, in the crude little kitchen, Xie Qingmo, who always kept company only with his sword, rolled up his snow‑white sleeves, stood before the stove, focused on lighting the fire, preparing to cook a simple pot of spirit‑rice porridge.

Jin Chen didn't look like he was helping; he looked more like he was supervising the work.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze following every move of Xie Qingmo.

Watching how he lit the stove fire, how he rinsed the spirit rice, how he poured in the spring water…

That focused intensity made it seem as if Xie Qingmo wasn't cooking porridge but practicing some earth‑shattering, peerless sword technique.

Occasionally, Xie Qingmo's spine would stiffen slightly under that overly scorching gaze, and Jin Chen, oblivious, continued to watch with relish.

【Are you sure there's an opportunity in the kitchen?】

Jin Chen stared, observing for a long time, but discovered nothing at all.

Ling Gun Gun crawled out, tried to burrow into the spirit‑rice barrel, but Jin Chen grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, so he could only flail uselessly in the air.

【Yes!】 Ling Gun Gun shouted, 【In the original plot, Liu Qingcheng insisted on entering this kitchen, and after coming out he obtained a secret sword technique—there must be an opportunity, an opportunity!】

This place is not only the backyard of No‑come Peak, but also the dwelling of generations of sword cultivators who chose bitter cultivation; there may indeed be many treasures.

Jin Chen lifted his eyes, released his spiritual sense to search, and suddenly noticed an independent space behind the rice barrel; before he could check it, he heard Xie Qingmo call out.

He answered and walked over.

When the aroma of the porridge filled the little kitchen, the two sat down at the stone table in the courtyard.

Xie Qingmo ladled a bowl for himself and one for Jin Chen, picked up the spoon, but his eyes couldn't help drifting to Jin Chen opposite, who was lowering his head to blow on the hot porridge.

This really doesn't look like what a sword spirit should be; it's more like… a celestial figure stepped out of a storybook.

Xie Qingmo set down the spoon and still asked, 'What… is the origin of a sword spirit's appearance?'

He really is too outstanding.

Jin Chen, who had been lowering his head to drink the porridge, paused his motion, lifted his head, and met Xie Qingmo's clear, cold eyes.

Jin Chen's heart stirred, he set down his bowl, leaned forward slightly, and blurted, 'According to the master's preference.'

"Cough! Cough cough cough…"

Xie Qingmo, caught off guard, nearly choked on a mouthful of porridge, turned his head aside and coughed softly a few times, and a crimson flush quickly spread over his ears.

"All right." Xie Qingmo decisively stopped asking, hastily took a few sips of porridge, rose, and said, "Let's go practice sword."