Chapter 42: I Like Kicking You

At dinner time, the sky was high and the clouds pale.

Night gradually surged from the eastern horizon, causing the fiery red in the west to fade until it was swallowed by the vast celestial scar.

Students from the Awakening Ground rose and headed toward the Immortal Dining Hall, pausing unconsciously at the white jade bridge.

They saw Instructor Cao sitting on the stone steps, guarding an empty money pouch, muttering bitterly about the decline of moral standards.

No wonder he refused it when offered—he only likes to snatch it!

What kind of bizarre habit is this?

The students arriving from the Awakening Ground, upon hearing his curses, silently bypassed him and reached the Immortal Dining Hall, where they saw Ji You sitting across from a woman of extraordinary demeanor.

Lingzhou has only one sect, named Lingjian Mountain.

On the Winter Solstice, they dined at Hongding Restaurant, and Ban Yangshu once mentioned that Lingjian Mountain was originally called Lingjian Mountain.

The name originated in the primordial age, when the Dao bestowed seven sacred relics; the founding sage of Lingjian Mountain held the Lingjian.

But after a thousand years of transmission, a later headmaster of Lingjian Mountain, obsessed with swordcraft, changed the character “jian” in its name.

Ji You still remembered: on his first day sensing the Heavenly Book, the immortal below the mountain had asked him, “Why are you in my jian?”

Back then, he thought the character was “sword,” but later he increasingly believed it was “jian”—same pronunciation, both tied to Lingjian Mountain.

Then came New Year’s Day.

He and Lu Qingqiu and others shared a meal in Shengjing; Lou Siyi once mentioned rumors about Lingjian Mountain.

Ji You set down his chopsticks, raised his head, and looked at Yan Shuyi, who was eating delicately: “I heard Lingjian Mountain recently lost a junior jian master.”

Yan Shuyi looked up at him: “You’re a bit clever.”

“It really is you…”

“But not lost—she’s on a journey of cultivation.”

Ji You leaned on the table: “I happened to meet you today; otherwise, I might never have had the chance to tell you.”

“What’s it about?”

“I may no longer be able to cultivate with you.”

Yan Shuyi lifted her head, her beautiful brows slowly furrowing.

Ji You explained: “The sect has ordered me to leave for a while; my return date is uncertain. I went to the Awakening Ground today hoping to tell you in the Void Mountain, but I didn’t expect you’d come.”

Yan Shuyi poked her rice with her chopsticks a few times: “Good—without you, the mountain base will finally be peaceful.”

“Then why did you come up and kick me those days after Winter Solstice when you didn’t show?”

“I like kicking you.”

After speaking, Yan Shuyi felt her tone was too sweet, so a hint of menace flickered in her eyes.

She was indeed the junior jian master Lingjian Mountain “lost”—the next headmaster destined to wield the Lingjian.

Her elders had raised her since childhood to be stern, every gesture radiating quiet authority.

This sweet, soft tone of hers—must be his fault. Maybe she should kill him.

Yan Shuyi wore pale moon-white boots that dangled and swayed beneath the table; finally, she couldn’t resist—*pop*—she kicked him squarely on the knee.

Ji You looked up after being kicked, fell silent for a long while, then burst out laughing.

Like Yan Shuyi, he knew the person before him was her—but wasn’t certain it truly was her.

So he always spoke cautiously, never as naturally as in the Void Mountain, especially now that he suspected she might be the strongest living direct disciple—this feeling intensified.

In the Void Mountain, he’d dared call her “Little Demoness” outright, even fantasized about pinching her cheeks.

But in reality, he felt a barrier between them.

Yan Shuyi also acted differently from beneath the Void Mountain—her eyes often flashed coldness, her every motion bristled with sword qi, as if resisting familiarity, keeping him at arm’s length.

Yet with that single kick, the faint sense of strangeness in his heart suddenly lessened.

“How long do you plan to stay in Shengjing?”

“After meeting you here, I have other matters to attend to—I’ll leave soon.”

Though Yan Shuyi kept insisting she’d come “on a whim,” “just passing through Shengjing,” “just wandering and heading back,” she always inadvertently revealed: I came specifically to see you.

In truth, that was exactly it.

Had Ji You not been in Shengjing, Yan Shuyi might never have turned back mid-journey.

To say she came solely to see him—there was no defense left.

Ji You nodded: “Have you found lodging?”

“All Lingjian Mountain’s outside travelers stay at Hengfeng Inn—I’ve already arranged for a room.”

“Want to have tea before you go?”

“Yes.”

Yan Shuyi rose, her footsteps *tap-tap-tap* as she followed Ji You out of the Immortal Dining Hall, deciding to have tea first; the two returned in sequence to the Bishui Lake Elegant Garden.

Ji You began stoking the stove to boil tea, while Yan Shuyi wandered around, inspecting the place.

Between them, idle chatter flowed: how the house was small but charming, what the character “bandit” carved on Ji You’s wall meant—until the tea fragrance filled the air.

How to put it?

Ji You was clearly the type who rarely spent time alone with women, and Yan Shuyi’s attempt at coldness was slightly awkward.

Amidst familiarity and distance, they cautiously observed each other through tentative probes.

It was a strangely fascinating thing—the actual words exchanged, the answers given, neither truly registered.

“Tea’s ready—be careful, it’s hot.”

“Mm.”

“Want a roasted sweet potato?”

Yan Shuyi turned, hands behind her back, watching Ji You hold up a sweet potato, then looked at him.

Well, since there was no rush, she might as well eat a sweet potato before leaving.

On a winter morning, frost coated all things; dawn broke faintly on the horizon, like light ink brushed across the sky.

After a night, the charcoal fire still glowed in the cramped room, but the ashes had turned white, on the verge of dying.

Cultivators could ward off cold with spiritual energy, but ancient charcoal wasn’t just for warmth.

It could roast sweet potatoes, brew tea.

Placing a kettle atop it to simmer slowly also maintained indoor humidity.

Ji You stepped out into the morning mist, dumped the ash outside, refilled the stove with fresh charcoal, used spiritual energy to ignite it, and casually tossed two sweet potatoes beneath it.

Yan Shuyi sat beside him, watching him work busily, quiet and obedient.

Yesterday, they’d chatted idly, drank tea, probed each other—and without noticing, sat until late night.

So the junior jian master of Lingjian Mountain didn’t return to Hengfeng Inn; she slept in the western bedroom of the room.

Now, she rose early, her delicate face still flushed with sleep, hugging her hot tea, circling the stove, her bright eyes blinking gently.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Not hungry—just a roasted sweet potato.”

Yan Shuyi answered, reached for the fire hook, pulled out a roasted sweet potato, and peeled back its charred, fragrant skin.

After finishing his tasks, Ji You sat on a small stool, pulled out his chopsticks, and continued training his spiritual sense shortcut.

Though they’d met only briefly, a sense of natural cohabitation grew between them.

After a while, a chopstick flew toward Yan Shuyi; she glanced at it, and it instantly fell to the ground.

Ji You opened his eyes slightly: “What’s Lingjian Mountain’s sword art like?”

“Lingjian Mountain cultivates the life-soul sword—you don’t use so many swords like you do.”

Though what he held was a chopstick, Yan Shuyi instantly knew he was practicing the foundational sword-forms of sword-levitation.

She yawned, slumped lazily beside the table, her feet pressed close to the warm stove, watching the chopsticks dance through the air, feeling a deep peace.

Before coming, she’d imagined how their meeting might go.

In her mind, two outcomes were possible.

Either the man wasn’t as interesting as she’d imagined, so they’d chat briefly, exchange farewells, and part ways.

After all, they weren’t very close—just fellow cultivators.

Or they’d get along well, sit and discuss the Dao all day, becoming friends.

But the junior jian master never imagined she’d one day be curled beside a stove, eating a roasted sweet potato, lazily enjoying a winter morning free from cultivation and breakthroughs.

And Ji You, in truth, had imagined something similar.

He thought if they met, they’d chat, stroll through Shengjing, and become friends.

If he returned safely from the ruins, perhaps someday in the Void Mountain, they’d feel the emotion of a long-awaited reunion.

Or—fire meets dry tinder, instant cultivation union—he, being lower in realm, forcibly drained.

But he never imagined he’d one day behave so uprightly, truly understanding what “Dao heart clarity” meant.

(End of Chapter)