Chapter 7: Murong Qiushui

The big man finished speaking, waved his hand, and vanished right before Li Guanyi's eyes.

He looked around but detected no trace at all, so he nodded and called out loudly: "I'll come at midnight."

Only hollow echoes remained, confirming that even if the big man was still here, he wouldn't show himself.

After circling the outside twice, Li Guanyi returned home.

Their home in Yicheng was actually a small courtyard with some age to it; Li Guanyi slowed his steps, lit the fire with pre-chopped firewood, and rinsed rice to cook.

Smoke rose, and the aroma of rice slowly spread; after cooking the rice, he stir-fried two vegetable dishes. Today was the biweekly day to eat meat—he stewed an old hen for himself and steamed an egg custard.

Without Li Guanyi calling out, the wooden door creaked open, and a pale-faced yet lively and spirited woman leaned against the doorframe and stepped out.

Li Guanyi's aunt.

For the first eight of these ten years, she had been his closest kin, caring for him.

Two years ago, her injuries and illnesses flared up, and she collapsed; at that time, ten-year-old Li Guanyi relied on remnants of his past-life math knowledge to do accounting for others and earn small coins, returning each day to cook—because of her eight years of care.

Hearts are made of flesh; those eight years of hardship earned two years of devoted care in return.

Li Guanyi still remembered the first time his poison erupted—he was in agony so intense it darkened heaven and earth.

The pain was so severe, like an epileptic patient's, requiring care to prevent biting through the tongue; children's senses are keener—he was only three or four then, his palms feeling the fine down on flower petals, smelling spring blossoms on the wind, and thus collapsing from the pain.

It felt like falling into an endless abyss, like stumbling in a dream and endlessly plummeting.

Faintly, he sensed someone holding his palm, warm liquid flowing into his mouth, like a river of scorching flame slowly suppressing the icy agony, after which Li Guanyi sank into a drowsy sleep.

When he woke, wind rustled through treetops, the North Star hung high in the deep blue sky, cold and stern; he lay with his head on his aunt's knees, looked up to meet her warm gaze, saw the tooth marks bleeding on her wrist, and tasted iron-like blood in his mouth.

At that time, his aunt had ridden a galloping horse with him; after discovering his illness, she tumbled off with him onto the grass, her heart aching for him, unwilling to use cloth, instead stuffing her own wrist into his mouth—he bit down with all his strength during the agony, leaving a deep wound, luckily missing the artery; the warmth amid the agony was her blood.

He looked up then and saw the stars hanging behind the beautiful woman; she smiled gently and asked if he felt better. Starlight and moonlight filtered through the treetops onto her face, shimmering shadows dancing; her wrist still bore the wound, yet she smiled, stroking the child's brow, singing the lullaby mothers in Donglu sang to help their children sleep.

That night, Li Guanyi slept well.

Those were memories of the past; now, twelve-year-old Li Guanyi ladled a bowl of soup for the pale-faced woman, placed it carefully, and handed her a pair of chopsticks.

The woman with gentle brows sipped the soup and smiled: "Línú's cooking is still the tastiest—far better than my own."

Li Guanyi's eyes twitched slightly.

Linu was Li Guanyi's childhood name; many children from official families added "nu" to their childhood names—not an insult; Wang Xianzhi's childhood name was Guannu, Liu Yu of the Southern Song Dynasty's childhood name was Jinu; but Linu was even more intimate.

Línú means cat—the leopard cat; calling him that was like an elder calling him "kitty" when he was little; Li Guanyi once solemnly declared he was no longer a child and didn't want such a name, but his aunt teased him by calling him "Línú'r" for three full days.

He long knew his aunt's true nature was far from her gentle appearance.

After years of living together, Li Guanyi long understood how to handle his aunt; he lowered his head, chopsticks flying, silently devouring his meal, making the woman feel bored—but Li Guanyi's cooking truly was excellent.

Though not as refined as those of expensive chefs.

But the fire from the wood stove burned hot, the wok's aroma rich; the hen that had been pecking vegetables that morning, the vegetables from the village outside the city still dew-dampened—when stir-fried, the dishes were always good, with a solid, grounding quality; after eating his fill, Li Guanyi cleared the dishes.

His aunt's health had been worsening; recently, Li Guanyi had forbidden her from doing these chores.

After finishing these trivial tasks, Li Guanyi, as usual, took down a qin from the narrow wooden wall and began playing under his aunt's guidance; the music was melodious, sometimes clear and stirring, already showing considerable skill.

Ever since his aunt noticed Li Guanyi's mature demeanor, she began teaching him to play the qin.

Music, chess, calligraphy, painting.

Even during these years of constant wandering, she never let it lapse.

She said she knew no martial arts, only these things she could still play well; if Li Guanyi learned three or five tenths of the skill, he could always support himself through his music; if all else failed, my Línú'r is handsome and skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—he can eat soft food with dignity.

Li Guanyi insisted it was to support both of them; his aunt only laughed, then reached out and ruffled his hair into a mess.

This qin had always been with his aunt; its body was straight, its tone clear and bright, but its tail was charred black, as if salvaged from a fire.

While playing, his aunt held a scroll, quietly curled in her chair, eyes half-closed, wide sleeves hanging down to reveal a slender, white wrist; she seemed entirely enveloped in her robes, appearing especially thin; suddenly hearing a wrong note, she lazily opened her eyes, lightly tapped the young man's head with her scroll, and said: "Wrong note, Línú'r."

"What's on your mind?"

Li Guanyi's thoughts had indeed stirred slightly—because the cloud pattern had reappeared, because the bronze ding was nearly full, because his poison might now be cured—but one moment of distraction was enough for his aunt to notice; he couldn't tell her about the poison or his risky actions, and as he hesitated, his aunt laughed.

She smiled, her amber eyes fixed on the boy, her scroll tapping his robe hem, then sliding down to tap his knee, saying: "You hate washing clothes most—you always walk far around muddy ground, afraid of splashing dirt." "Did someone cause trouble at the pharmacy?"

His aunt leaned back in her chair, propping her chin on one hand: "Huichun Hall has some connections in the magistrate's office and employs three Wu Fu who've reached the peak of Body Tempering."

"Few can cause trouble at Huichun Hall; those who make you lose focus—I guess you've seen those people who are our enemies?"

Li Guanyi opened his mouth, then could only sigh helplessly. This woman had been hiding him here and there, keeping him safe for ten whole years; her mind was extraordinarily meticulous. The cautious streak in his own temperament had all been picked up from his aunt during those ten years of close contact. He said,

"I knew I couldn't hide it from you."

Then he recounted everything, omitting only the bronze ding; the woman thought for a moment and whispered: "Red Dragon Manifestation… studying martial arts at night—if it's him, then yes."

"As for those Cloud Pattern Riders."

"We've been here two years; in a few more months, we'll leave again. Better to avoid trouble. From now on, Guanyi, avoid them."

"If you're unlucky enough to run into them, don't harbor resentment—endure it."

"Old saying: when you can forgive, forgive; step back, and you'll find peace and ease. Especially you, young—don't provoke or compete with others outside…"

The woman's voice was soft; her advice always reminded Li Guanyi of his mother from his past life—each time he traveled far, she'd say the same: don't quarrel with others, avoid them if you can; the boy's expression softened, dimming slightly.

Suddenly, something was pressed into his left hand—a piece of silver.

Then a faint chill; he looked up to see his aunt holding a short sword in its scabbard—the scabbard ancient and plain; Li Guanyi blinked in surprise, and his aunt had already drawn the blade; the sword was about the length of a forearm, emitting a faint, hazy glow.

His aunt smiled slightly, swung the short sword once—the wooden table silently severed at a corner; then she sliced diagonally—the old iron pot cleanly severed in a ring, falling to the ground, equally silent.

The short sword was densely patterned with forging cloud marks; on both sides were two cryptic inscriptions.

His aunt had taught him these inscriptions.

The front read Murong; the back two characters were Qiushui.

That was the sword's name.

And also his aunt's name.

This name always made Li Guanyi think of the famed Murong clan—the Murong clan in the Eighteenth Province of Jiangnan, land lost by Chen twelve years ago, and the very direction they had been slowly moving toward through years of flight and concealment.

Murong Qiushui placed the short sword into the boy's right hand and whispered:

"A man cannot do without cunning; if the problem can be solved with silver, then use silver—beg a little mercy, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"A man cannot do without ferocity; if they still won't let it go, then use the sword."

Li Guanyi said instinctively, "Auntie, didn't you always say that old saying—endure a little and find ease, step aside and the sky opens wide, better one less thing to worry about than one more?"

He saw his beautiful aunt smile faintly, tap a finger against his brow, and say:

"My silly little raccoon-dog, but the old saying also says—"

Her voice paused, her brows rose, and her face suddenly lit up with spirit:

"To hell with it all!"

………………

Midnight.

General Yue Qianfeng sat inside the Mountain Divine Hall, a chicken leg bone clamped between his teeth, waiting cross-legged.

He had kept his promise, waiting here for that child, and had already prepared an excellent art from the Military lineage of cultivation—once the child came, he would pass this art down to him.

Still, would the child come? Suddenly, his ear-tips stirred.

General Yue Qianfeng's eyes snapped open.

Someone had come.

An enemy! Outside, someone lowered their voice and gave a sharp cry: "Loose arrows!!!"

(End of chapter)