Over these past two days, while wandering around Hangzhou City with Xiao Huan, Cangcang only felt that the weather was getting colder. However, she hadn’t expected it to become this cold—now she sat huddled on the inn’s bed, wrapped in a blanket, soaking wet, sneezing repeatedly while enduring the sensation of the wool blanket rubbing against her hair.
Xiao Huan stood before the bed, unceremoniously using the wool blanket to tousle her hair back and forth. He wasn’t in much better condition himself, his cyan robes completely soaked through, with water droplets still clinging to his face that he hadn’t had time to wipe away.
Cangcang sat quietly holding her chin, allowing Xiao Huan to mess with her hair.
While boating on the lake with Xiao Huan, she spotted someone drowning. Without a second thought, she had jumped in to save them. However, she hadn’t anticipated how cold the lake water would be—the moment she jumped in, her leg cramped. In the end, not only did she fail to save the person, but she nearly drowned herself. It was Xiao Huan who had jumped in to rescue both her and the drowning person.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to,” Cangcang finally mumbled softly.
Xiao Huan paused in drying her hair and looked down at her through a gap in the blanket, his expression mild: “Why are you apologizing? I’m not blaming you.”
“Then why do you look so displeased?” Cangcang continued mumbling quietly. Xiao Huan’s hands had already resumed their movement.
As her head swayed with his hands again, she suddenly remembered something: “I had no idea you could swim! I thought for sure you wouldn’t know how! When I fell into the water, I thought this was it, I was probably done for, but then I grabbed your arm. How did you get me to shore? I just felt weightless below, and then suddenly I was on land. I even thought you knew martial arts at that moment…”
“You seem to have quite a lot of assumptions,” Xiao Huan said with a sigh, his tone still mild, showing no trace of anger.
Having spent two days together, Cangcang knew he never revealed emotions in his tone. The only times he had spoken like this were when he had redeemed her from the Salt Gang’s headquarters and now. She secretly stuck out her tongue: “You are angry after all… and you said you weren’t blaming me…”
“I’m not saying it was wrong to save someone,” Xiao Huan sighed again, finally explaining, “but even when rushing to save someone, there’s no need to be so reckless. If you had taken a moment to warm up your limbs before jumping in, your leg wouldn’t have cramped in the water, and I wouldn’t have had to jump in to save both of you.”
After finishing, he stopped his movements and draped the blanket over Cangcang’s head: “The replacement clothes haven’t been delivered yet. Take off your wet clothes first, or you’ll catch cold.”
Cangcang obediently accepted the instruction, responding with an “Oh” as she went to undo her sash, secretly glancing at Xiao Huan.
His face, still dotted with water droplets, showed no particular expression. Some of his wet black hair had come loose from his topknot, falling to half-cover his eyes. Whether it was the light by the bed or the water droplets, Cangcang somehow felt his skin appeared translucent. Her heart suddenly raced, and she swallowed: “You’re so busy taking care of me, aren’t you going to take off your wet clothes too? Isn’t your health poor? What if you get sick?”
“So shall we undress together?” Xiao Huan’s face finally showed a slight smile as he asked in return.
Cangcang froze, not yet understanding the meaning of these words when the bed curtain fell before her eyes. Xiao Huan’s voice came from behind the curtain: “Place your wet clothes on the stool beside the bed. I’ll put the replacement clothes there as well, and you can get them yourself.”
After speaking, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Cangcang let out an earth-shattering sneeze, and only then realized: for unmarried men and women, this was called maintaining propriety.
“Hmph, what’s this about undressing together? Who wants to see you undress!” Cangcang grumbled indignantly but immediately flashed to the image of him standing before her bed, eyelashes lowered and hair wet. She couldn’t help but bite her lip as her eyes narrowed.
That guy wore wet clothes for so long, wouldn’t he catch a cold and get a fever? Lying in bed unable to move with flushed cheeks—then let’s see what he’d have to be arrogant about! At that time, she would not only see his pathetic state but also throw back his covers and get a good look at him in just his undergarments. Won’t let her look? What’s so special about it?
The more she thought about it, the more pleased she became. Cangcang burst out laughing, falling back onto the bed wrapped in her blanket.
The evening hadn’t yet fallen when indeed someone did catch a cold and lay feverish in bed unable to rise—however, that person wasn’t Xiao Huan.
Perhaps it was the cumulative effect of the past few days—fighting, being imprisoned, escaping, not eating or sleeping well—this string of ordeals finally caught up with Cangcang, who had always considered herself stronger than an ox. While gleefully anticipating Xiao Huan falling ill, she had contentedly fallen asleep, only to start feeling waves of chills through her body. When she tucked her cold body under the covers, she would then be hit with waves of heat.
Just as she was extending her arm outside the covers for the umpteenth time, she heard a voice: “Cangcang?”
Cangcang, not caring who had come, immediately grabbed the arm that was reaching to check her temperature, pressing her face against that palm while mumbling: “So cool, feels nice.”
She did have a fever. Xiao Huan couldn’t help but feel both amused and helpless as he allowed Cangcang to pull his hand to her face and nuzzle against it.
He had worried that after being exposed to the elements these past days, her body would be weak and unable to withstand the chill from falling into the water, leading to a fever. That’s why he had immediately found a blanket to wrap her in and brought her back to the inn after they got to shore, but it still hadn’t been enough to prevent this.
“Cangcang, don’t sleep, wake up for a moment.” Seeing the clean clothes he had brought still neatly arranged on the stool by the bed, and noticing Cangcang’s arms stretching out from under the covers—this young lady surely wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Xiao Huan helplessly softened his voice: “Cangcang, wake up and put on some clothes.”
“No way! It’s too hot!” Cangcang shouted without opening her eyes, but her arms, like snakes wrapping around a pole, climbed up to embrace Xiao Huan’s entire arm.
Xiao Huan was nearly pulled onto the bed by her. He tugged the quilt that had slipped from her shoulders to wrap her tightly, consoling her helplessly: “Alright, no clothes, but keep the quilt covered.”
Cangcang responded with a murmur, rubbing her face against his arm: “Grandmother, my head is spinning.”
Xiao Huan paused for a moment, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to brush her messy hair behind her ear: “Be good, let go of my hand so I can get medicine for you, then your head won’t spin.”
Cangcang pouted, hugging his arm even tighter like a child throwing a tantrum: “No!”
Xiao Huan knew she was being unreasonable due to feeling unwell. Half-coaxing, half-tricking, he managed to extract his arm from her embrace. First, he convinced her to drink the ginger water he had brought, then wrote a prescription and gave it to the inn’s servant to fetch the medicine, carefully explaining the required quality of each medicinal ingredient.
He went to fetch a basin of cold water himself, using water-soaked cloths to wrap her forehead, wrists, and calves. When the servant returned with the medicine, he brewed it over the brazier.
The wet cloths on Cangcang needed to be changed regularly, and after the medicine was ready, he coaxed her into drinking it, then encouraged her to drink more water.
Perhaps due to the fever, Cangcang slept very restlessly, and Xiao Huan had to constantly tuck her hands and feet back under the covers when they slipped out.
This continued until late into the night, when Cangcang’s fever finally broke and she fell into a deep sleep. She had become like an octopus, firmly attached to the naturally cool-bodied Xiao Huan.
A small village surrounded by streams, the fragrance of wheat reaching into the village, Grandmother’s kind smile under the locust tree. Grandmother was always so good-tempered, never getting angry even when she clung to her all day. When she was sick, Grandmother would hold her in her arms. Grandmother also made sweet osmanthus candy, layering osmanthus flowers and sugar in a jar—dip a finger in, put it in your mouth, so sweet…
Waking from her dream, Cangcang smacked her lips—no, there wasn’t any sweet taste in her mouth, just a slightly bitter medicinal taste. She tried opening her eyes; red light filled her vision as unfamiliar furnishings gradually came into focus—she was in an inn in Hangzhou, not in her childhood village, not by Grandmother’s side.
Turning her gaze, she finally saw the face of the person whose body she was clutching so tightly.
Xiao Huan lay beside her sleeping, his back half-curved, head resting on the hardwood of the bed frame, completely accommodating her poor sleeping posture. His arm encircled her shoulders, keeping the brocade quilt’s edges tucked in to prevent cold air from entering.
From Cangcang’s perspective, she could see the faint shadows his long eyelashes cast on his face. She tilted her head slightly, watching how the light fell on his face, seeming to dance and scatter white light.
Sensing she was awake, Xiao Huan opened his eyes to find Cangcang’s bright large eyes fixed on his face.
He smiled slightly, reaching out to feel her forehead: “The fever’s gone.”
Cangcang continued staring at his face, showing no intention of releasing her arms from around his body. After a moment of silence, she suddenly spoke: “I dreamed of my grandmother.”
Xiao Huan smiled, gentle light in his deep black pupils: “Did you sleep well?”
Cangcang nodded, answering his question, then continued: “Until I was four, I lived with my grandmother in our hometown. I never met my mother. Grandmother said she went on a long journey, but I knew the truth—I had no mother. From birth until I was five, I never saw my father either. I had nothing, just grandmother. The village children called me an unwanted bastard, so I fought them until no one dared to insult me anymore.”
“So you were formidable even as a child,” Xiao Huan interjected lightly, smiling.
“Of course!” Cangcang immediately brightened up, grinning at him, “Anyone who dared mock me had better watch out for a beating!”
After laughing, she looked at Xiao Huan: “Want to know why I hate the idea of marrying you so much?”
Xiao Huan smiled: “You can tell me.”
Cangcang’s expression was unusually serious: “From a very young age, I swore that if I were to marry, it would be to someone I really liked and who liked me back. Then we would live together, happy every day. I wanted to stay with him forever, and my children would have both a father’s and mother’s love.
“When I thought about marrying you, I thought, you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, so why should I marry you? Besides, after marrying you, you’d still choose many consorts—I refuse to compete with many women for one husband! Just thinking about it made me hate it, so I simply ran away.”
She looked at Xiao Huan, suddenly smiling: “But now you seem quite nice… After my grandmother passed away and my father brought me to the capital, I always slept alone. It’s comfortable sleeping while holding you—you’re just like my grandmother.”
Xiao Huan hadn’t expected her to come out with such a statement, finding it both amusing and exasperating: “After saying all that, you just wanted to say I’m very like your grandmother?”
Cangcang widened her eyes: “I loved my grandmother very much.”
Xiao Huan smiled: “I know you loved your grandmother… After talking for so long, aren’t you hungry?”
At his mention, Cangcang finally noticed the emptiness in her stomach and quickly nodded: “I’m hungry, I want food.”
Xiao Huan smiled, patting her head: “Then will you let go of me so I can get up and order some food for you?”
Cangcang made an “ah” sound, finally releasing her hold and sitting up: “Sorry, I forgot.”
Xiao Huan pushed himself up using the edge of the bed, slightly stretching his stiff shoulders, then reached out to catch the brocade quilt that was about to slip from Cangcang’s shoulders: “You’ve just recovered from a fever, don’t catch cold again.” Then he smiled: “You’re a young lady, it’s not proper to let me take advantage so often.”
Only then did Cangcang realize she was wearing almost nothing—probably because she had been too dizzy after taking off her wet clothes yesterday and had simply wrapped herself in the quilt before falling asleep. She secretly stuck out her tongue. Thinking back to their sleeping position, although she had been holding Xiao Huan, he had carefully wrapped the brocade quilt around her. Not only was there no draft, there had barely been any real skin contact between them.
Last night he must have barely rested by the bed wearing just that light robe, Cangcang thought while quickly dressing herself, when she noticed another issue: “Aren’t you supposed to be in poor health? How is it that after falling into the water, you didn’t get a fever, but I did?”
Xiao Huan, who had walked to the window and opened it, turned back to smile at her: “I don’t get fevers.”
Cangcang put on her shoes and jumped out of bed, eyeing him suspiciously up and down: “Don’t get fevers? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you look unwell at all these past few days. Are you lying about having poor health?”
Xiao Huan turned from the window, his face half-buried in the sunlight streaming through, smiling at her while ignoring that question: “Do you still want two baskets of chicken soup dumplings for breakfast? Though it’s almost noon now, and since you’ve caught a cold, some foods aren’t suitable. Would you like me to help choose something more appropriate?”
Cangcang looked at him even more suspiciously: “Did the doctor who treated me last night tell you that?”
Xiao Huan smiled slightly: “No, those are my words. The medicine you took last night was also prescribed by me.”
Cangcang let out an “Ah!”: “You dared to prescribe medicine for me randomly! Do you think you can master medical arts just by reading medical books? Were you trying to use me as a test subject?”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t use you to test medicines,” Xiao Huan smiled somewhat helplessly. “I didn’t just read medical books. Six years ago, I already started practicing medicine, traveling with my medical teacher.”
“You’ve been outside the Imperial Palace?” Cangcang exclaimed in even greater surprise, “You’ve practiced medicine? Doesn’t that mean you’ve wandered the jianghu? Didn’t people in the palace notice? What if others discovered you were missing? Do you often go out? How many times have you been out? How did you manage to get out…”
Before she could finish her stream of questions, her forehead received a second flick. Xiao Huan withdrew his hand, “They couldn’t discover it, many times, sneaking out… Don’t say the words ‘Imperial Palace’ so loudly when we’re outside.” After speaking, he smiled rather helplessly: “Wait in the room for a while, I’ll go order some food.”
Cangcang rubbed her forehead, muttering: “When you get stern, you’re quite like my grandmother too, she also liked to knock my head… You’re all making me stupid…”
Xiao Huan coughed once, giving her a look that was both exasperated and amused before opening the door and leaving.
Cangcang continued muttering in the room: “I think I said something wrong a few days ago… but it doesn’t matter, he probably won’t remember anyway… let’s just pretend I never said it.” She lowered her head and giggled quietly: “I never said I wouldn’t like him, did I?”
In the inn’s guest room, Ban Fangyuan, the commander of the Imperial Guard’s Gu Battalion, dressed all in black, quickly finished reporting the situation and quietly awaited a response.
“So that’s it, they’ve found the Phoenix Pavilion,” Xiao Huan furrowed his brow slightly, then after pondering for a moment, smoothed his expression and smiled, looking at Ban Fangyuan’s left arm: “Are you injured?”
Ban Fangyuan nodded: “Yes, carelessly got stabbed in the shoulder, but it doesn’t affect movement.”
“The people sent by Phoenix Pavilion aren’t easy to deal with.” Xiao Huan still smiled: “Fangyuan, you don’t need to come anymore. The Gu Battalion members can all return.”
Ban Fangyuan noticeably stiffened: “Young Master.”
“This isn’t your affair, I can’t let you be implicated,” Xiao Huan smiled. “You don’t need to concern yourself with matters here anymore.”
Ban Fangyuan was silent for a moment, raising his head to look at Xiao Huan for the first time since entering, then quickly lowering it again as he cupped his fists: “This humble servant understands.” He paused, “Please take care of yourself, Young Master.”
After speaking, he bowed with his sword and quickly withdrew.
Watching his figure retreat, Xiao Huan’s brows furrowed again slightly, his gaze falling on the wall beside him—Cangcang was in the adjacent room behind that wall.
It seemed they could no longer continue this leisurely pace.
His mild gaze swept across the room’s furnishings, then through the open window into the pitch-black night outside. In the darkness, it was as if a hand had reached out, placing its piece on the board.
They all knew this game had only just begun.
The Weishan Manor by West Lake—the first manor of the martial arts world.
The residence of Wen Yuxian, the world’s greatest swordsman, was legendary in the martial arts world.
Every newly emerged swordsman considered it an honor to last three moves under Wen Yuxian’s Shengxie Sword.
Wen Yuxian was an undefeated legend in this world of martial arts, and the Shengxie Sword was considered sacred by all in the jianghu.
Cangcang sat in the waterside pavilion of Weishan Manor, having already waited idly for half an hour.
Half an hour ago, Xiao Huan and Wen Yuxian had walked toward the courtyard on the other side of the lotus pond.
Half an hour had passed, and they hadn’t returned.
Cangcang was now sprawled on the table, playing with her fingernails out of boredom.
When she had gone through picking at the fingers of her right hand for the third time, light footsteps approached. Cangcang quickly raised her head to see Xiao Huan.
He still wore the same faint smile as when he had gone in half an hour ago, except now there was a long sword in his hand.
It was an ancient-looking sword, its scabbard covered in verdigris, with snarling taotie patterns coiling around the hilt.
Cangcang jumped up, eyeing the sword suspiciously: “What’s that?”
“The Shengxie Sword,” Xiao Huan smiled, his tone maintaining its usual gentleness. “I borrowed it from Manor Lord Wen to use for a while.”
“He just lent it to you when you asked?” Cangcang looked Xiao Huan up and down thoughtfully. Whether it was due to the clear daylight streaming into the waterside pavilion or not, Cangcang felt his complexion seemed paler than before he went in. She twisted her mouth and said: “I didn’t realize you had such influence.”
She stood up, patting her skirt, and turned to leave on her own: “Let’s go quickly, this Manor Lord Wen is stingy, not even inviting us for a meal. I’m starving!”
Behind her, Xiao Huan’s steps faltered slightly before following.
The two figures, one in front and one behind, slowly disappeared into the lush flowers and trees beside the lotus pond.
In the Chen Sword Hall on the other side of the lotus pond, Wen Yuxian sat at the stone table in the center of the main hall.
Before him was a wooden stand, made of redwood with black lacquer, gleaming with a deep luster.
This was the stand for the Shengxie Sword. When this peerless famous sword wasn’t in Wen Yuxian’s hands, it rested quietly on this stand, emanating the unique killing intent of an ancient weapon in the dim and spacious Chen Sword Hall.
Now, the stand was empty.
Even until dusk had colored the jade-green lake and layered buildings, Wen Yuxian hadn’t moved, his slightly clouded gaze piercing through the lotus pond before him toward some nameless distance.
He had lost.
When that young man’s sleeve dagger had cut through Shengxie Sword’s light screen, he seemed to hear the sound of his era hastily slipping away.
In that instant, as he and that young man passed each other, the Shengxie Sword hummed turbidly in his hand, the passage of time suddenly becoming prominent, and the legend of the jianghu changed hands.
The white-haired swordsman looked down at his callused hands, and suddenly a smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He rose and walked out of the great hall, which now felt empty without the Shengxie Sword’s chilling sword energy, without looking back.
By the time they walked back to Hangzhou city from Weishan Manor at the foot of Phoenix Mountain, it was already late.
Walking in the dim streetlight, Cangcang suddenly stopped and called out: “Xiao Huan.”
Xiao Huan stopped and turned slightly.
Cangcang raised her arm in full swing, hurling the money pouch hard, aiming for Xiao Huan’s head.
Missing its target, the force-filled pouch landed steadily in a hand. Xiao Huan gripped the money pouch, slowly lowering his hand.
Cangcang spread her hands: “You do know martial arts. Last night I heard movement outside, and when I came out, I saw a figure but wasn’t sure if it was you.”
Xiao Huan didn’t speak, his head lowered, his expression unclear.
Cangcang continued, putting her hands on her hips: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I’m sorry,” Xiao Huan suddenly spoke, his voice as calm and steady as ever. He raised his head and smiled slightly, “It was wrong of me not to tell you sooner.” The streetlight illuminated his face, showing shadows beneath his eyes, faint and almost blue, cast on his cheeks that appeared somewhat pale in the lamplight.
Cangcang looked at him, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty for an unknown reason, her tone unconsciously softening: “Well… although you didn’t tell me, I suppose I never asked either…”
As she spoke, she suddenly seemed to remember something: “Oh right, you do know martial arts, and you didn’t tell me… I thought beautiful things were all delicate.”
Xiao Huan fell silent again.
Cangcang blinked her eyes, looking at him, her tone very serious: “Actually, for someone as good-looking as you to travel alone in the jianghu, you do need to know some martial arts.”
Xiao Huan remained silent.
Cangcang rubbed her chin, very solemn: “You running around in the jianghu, going to all sorts of messy places, it’s very dangerous if others see you. Some so many women like keeping male pets, and there are even men who like young boys! It would be terrible if they caught sight of you! Oh right, have you already encountered…”
“Cangcang,” Xiao Huan interrupted her words, smiling very gently, “Are you very hungry?”
His smile was warm and gentle, and Cangcang nodded dumbly, her energy suddenly dropping as she realized she was indeed starving.
Xiao Huan casually tucked the caught money pouch into his sleeve, his tone still gentle: “You won’t need it anyway, so I’ll keep your money pouch safe for you.”
After speaking, he smiled again: “Let’s quickly find a place to eat.”
Cangcang obediently nodded, following his footsteps for a few paces before suddenly remembering something, jumping up in the middle of the street: “Why are you taking my money pouch? Who says I won’t need it? Give it back quickly!”
Her earlier curiosity and even earlier anger had long since been forgotten.
Even Hangzhou at night was lively.
In the windows of roadside wine houses and singing halls, beautiful young women leaned out, hiding their faces behind gauze fans, listening to scholars playing qin and reciting poetry beneath crystal lamps.
Beside the faces of these scholars and beauties hung strings of red lanterns, cascading from the high rooftops to the ground.
Under the willow trees that glowed red from the lanterns’ light, vendors’ stalls displayed their wares – the latest silk flowers and fragrances, paper kites of various colors, fan paintings inscribed with slender gold script, and candied fruits glistening with syrup.
People passed by these stalls, occasionally a single person or a couple would stop at a particular stand, haggling over prices and carefully selecting items.
Walking out from this street led to the lake embankment, lined with alternating willows and peach trees.
It was slightly quieter and darker here than the street, where lovers walked slowly, heads bent close together in whispered conversations.
Their shadowy figures were reflected in the lamplight-dappled water.
In the distance, on the lake surface as deep and serene as jade, scattered pleasure boats and painted barges drifted by.
The faint sound of silk strings and women’s singing voices would drift over from the boats, then fade away.
Cangcang and Xiao Huan walked along the embankment.
Cangcang wore a scholar’s cap and long robes, repeatedly fanning herself with a folding fan inscribed with Li Houzhu’s lyrics. She had just bought this fan from a fan stall, and not only had she just bought it, but she had also forced Xiao Huan to write the line “Surely life’s long regret flows ever eastward with the waters” on it right there.
She had first pounced on the fan stall when she saw it, then picked through them, always complaining that the characters written on the fans were too ugly. So she grabbed a blank fan, snatched a brush from an old fortune teller’s stall nearby, and thrust it into Xiao Huan’s hands, demanding he write something.
Holding the brush, Xiao Huan didn’t refuse, smiling as he asked what she wanted written.
Without thinking, Cangcang immediately said: “Surely life’s long regret flows ever eastward with the waters.”
Xiao Huan let out a soft laugh, smiling: “Better to write ‘Youth knows not the taste of sorrow’ instead.”
Cangcang’s fierce glare swept across his face as she stepped on his toe: “Just write what I tell you!”
With his toe stepped on, Xiao Huan could only obediently write.
After finishing, he returned the brush to the fortune teller with thanks, only to see Cangcang comparing his newly written fan from different angles, muttering: “Too upright.”
The characters on the fan were indeed too upright – though written in the currently fashionable slender gold style with elegant strokes, they somehow conveyed an unyielding righteousness in their structure, less like supple bamboo and more like pine and cypress, emerging from severe cold, defying frost and snow. To write even the slender gold style as if carving a mountain – what kind of person could write such characters?
Cangcang stared blankly for a moment, then broke into a bright smile: “It’s written beautifully, I love it.”
The calligraphy was indeed excellent, even the fan stall owner nodded repeatedly in admiration.
So Cangcang, dressed in male scholar’s robes, went about fanning herself with this gold-trimmed xiangfei bamboo fan inscribed with “Surely life’s long regret flows ever eastward with the waters.” She visited two flower houses, called for five courtesans in succession, drank along the street until she was constantly hiccupping, and was finally dragged to the embankment by Xiao Huan to sober up.
Cangcang walked unsteadily, her fan swaying with her movements. Trying to maintain an air of sophistication, she stubbornly refused Xiao Huan’s support. He could only let her walk in the middle of the path while he stayed at the edge to guard her, preventing her from accidentally falling into the lake to clear her head.
As they wobbled along the lakeside this way, suddenly a “hey-ho” came from the lake surface. A small boat had somehow quietly stopped near the shore not far from them.
On the small boat stood a young man in white robes, the hem of his long robe carelessly tucked into his waist, his sword-like eyebrows slightly raised as he lazily raised his hand in greeting: “Brother Xiao, long time no see.”
Xiao Huan seemed quite familiar with him, withdrawing his arm from Cangcang’s side and slightly cupping his hands in greeting, smiling: “Brother Xu, have you been well?”
The white-robed young man burst out laughing, jovially waving his large ceramic cup: “Shanxi bamboo leaf green wine, want to come aboard?”
Xiao Huan glanced at Cangcang, who was now drunkenly stumbling to hug a large willow tree by the lake, and smiled somewhat helplessly: “I have a companion here, might we rest briefly on Brother Xu’s boat?”
He didn’t say “young brother” or “friend,” but straightaway used “companion.” The white-robed young man, having roamed the jianghu for many years, had keen eyes. He immediately saw that Cangcang was a woman in male dress, paused briefly before laughing: “Great Doctor Xiao, the girls at our Willow Hall still think of you, yet you’ve brought back such a young lady. What’s this, has your love star finally moved?”
Xiao Huan didn’t deny it, smiling slightly: “This is my betrothed from childhood.”
The white-robed young man seemed to choke for a moment, his smile turning somewhat strange: “Brother Xiao, don’t tell me you’re the type who obediently sits at home following parental orders and matchmakers’ words, waiting to marry a woman whose toes you don’t even want to touch?”
Before Xiao Huan could answer, the bleary-eyed Cangcang cut in, shouting: “I’m so clever, gentle, beautiful, and lovable – whoever wants to touch my toes, this young lady might not even let them!”
As she shouted, her body started tilting toward the lake behind the willow tree. Xiao Huan quickly stepped forward to support her shoulders, only to get a face full of wine breath from her hiccup. He could only smile wryly and nod to the white-robed young man: “We impose on Brother Xu.”
Seeing how thoroughly drunk Cangcang was, the white-robed young man stopped talking and stepped aside: “Come aboard.”
Xiao Huan picked up Cangcang, who had wrapped her arms around his neck like she had hugged the willow tree earlier, and walked across the wooden plank the boatman had laid out.
On the small boat, besides the white-robed young man, there was only an old man rowing. In the cabin, which could fit two or three people kneeling, stood a small square table with a red clay stove. Pale golden wine filled a large ceramic pot, steaming above the stove.
After they boarded and settled in the cabin, the old boatman pushed off from the embankment, and the small boat glided toward the lake surface where night mist was gathering.
Cangcang had become docile now, falling asleep on the cabin’s cushions as soon as they boarded, not making a sound.
The white-robed young man produced a wooden ladle from somewhere and another large ceramic cup, then poured out the thoroughly warmed bamboo leaf green wine, smiling: “This pot of wine was specially warmed for Brother Xiao, try it and see how it is?”
Xiao Huan smiled, took the cup, and sipped a few times, then nodded: “Shanxi Zhu family’s premium bamboo leaf green. I heard the Zhu family only brews a hundred jars of premium bamboo leaf green each year, giving them only to true wine connoisseurs. Such a jar of wine is truly worth its weight in gold.”
The white-robed young man clapped and laughed: “Indeed, you have the most discerning palate, immediately able to tell the wine’s origins.”
Xiao Huan also smiled: “I had a teacher who loved wine extremely. He once specially traveled to Shanxi, stayed at the Zhu family home for three months, and cured the family head’s heart disease. So that year’s hundred jars of bamboo leaf green were all given to him to take home.”
The white-robed young man laughed: “That’s called skillful acquisition, quite interesting. I’d like to meet this teacher of yours.” After laughing, he threw back his head and drained his cup in one go, then struck the table and began to chant: “What joy in life, what sorrow in death, nobles chase dust, beauty turns to bone, all sink to yellow earth through ages past!” His voice rose high, the final notes soaring to the clouds.
After chanting, he refilled his cup and raised it in a distant toast to Xiao Huan, a glimmer flashing in his clear, wind-like eyes.
The white-robed young man was Xu Lai, Left Hall Master of the Holy Light Hall of the Lingbi Sect. Though the Lingbi Sect was a heterodox organization that righteous sects kept at arm’s length, he had extensive connections and a decent reputation among the younger generation of martial heroes. Three years ago, he had a chance to meet this young man before him who called himself Xiao Yunzong.
At that time, he had gone alone to the Weather Manor that dominated Shu to seek justice for impoverished tenants. He had originally planned to use seventy percent reasoning and thirty percent intimidation, but unexpectedly, the Weather Manor, having acted recklessly for too long, disregarded jianghu ethics and set an ambush. Caught off guard, he was struck by several sword wounds and nearly died on the spot.
Breaking through the encirclement while covered in blood, he became blind with rage and turned back to kill the Weather Manor’s leader.
Enemies fell one by one at his side as his strength gradually depleted. Through the bloodied vision, he saw a young doctor beside the Manor Lord, standing silently in cyan robes with a medicine chest on his shoulder, seeming too pure to be stained by even a drop of blood.
Thinking him to be a doctor who knew no martial arts, his frenzied sword naturally avoided him as it passed by. Unexpectedly, the young doctor he had left behind suddenly gripped his pulse point with one hand. With a shake of his shoulder, the sword instantly changed hands, and that person’s voice was clear in his ear: “You’ve killed too many.”
Greatly startled, he used all his remaining strength to push away this new enemy at his side, roaring: “If you won’t let me kill, should I wait for these despicable, treacherous scoundrels to kill me instead?”
After what seemed only a moment’s hesitation, there was a flash before his eyes, and surprisingly his sword flew back to his hand.
The young doctor set down the medicine chest from his shoulder and smiled at him: “You’ve killed enough to this point. I’ll help you get out.”
The Weather Manor’s assassins still came in endless waves. He had already killed too many people here – if they couldn’t cut him down within the manor, Weather Manor’s painstakingly built authority would cease to exist. He had forced them to use their full strength.
Should he sacrifice his life for this moment of righteousness, dying for these petty villains? Just as regret began to well up, he suddenly felt another back press against his own. The young doctor unhesitatingly entrusted his back to him, while also protecting his rear, decisively assessing the situation: “It will be easier to leave through the back of the manor.”
Watching the doctor he had invited now leap into the battle circle, the Weather Manor Lord showed no hesitation, waving one hand to send more blades and swords rushing at them.
Though the situation became more desperate, his spirit was roused, and earlier despair was completely swept away. With a long cry, he brandished his sword and renewed his fight.
He no longer clearly remembered how they had finally fought their way out through the layers of encirclement that day. He only remembered collapsing from exhaustion just outside the manor, and when he next awoke, he was on a passenger boat traveling down the Yangtze, with the beautiful scenery of Wu Gorge outside.
The young doctor still wore his cyan robes, sitting at the bow with a book in hand, beside him a small stove brewing medicine. Noticing he was awake, the doctor put down his book and turned to give him a gentle smile.
Xu Lai had never considered himself weak in his life – even at the brink of death, he might bleed but would never shed tears. Yet at that moment, looking at this young man whose name he didn’t even know, his eyes suddenly grew red.
With a doctor right beside him, his injuries naturally healed quickly. In the following days as they drifted downriver, they often leaned against the boat railings together, drinking wine and discussing history, unconsciously passing countless mountains and rivers.
Since parting three years ago, he had met him twice more. Whether by a chance encounter or seeking help, each time they had interacted openly, parting when their enjoyment was complete.
Jianghu wanderers were naturally unrestrained, and in his years of traveling the jianghu, Xu Lai had made other friends like this – trusting their lives to each other from their first meeting. Coming together and parting were common occurrences. But today, raising his cup in a toast to Xiao Huan across from him, he couldn’t help feeling melancholic.
Seeing Xu Lai’s toast, Xiao Huan smiled and raised his cup, draining it in one go before slowly reciting: “Hot blood not spent, grudges not settled, warlords’ beacon fires, common folk like ants, sunset waves entomb the heroes.”
This was the verse Xiao Huan had responded with when they first met, traveling south by boat, when after drinking deeply and discussing historical figures, Xu Lai had spontaneously chanted that “What joy in life” verse. Neither had forgotten the scene of that day.
Xu Lai was briefly lost in thought. “Sunset waves entomb the heroes” – back then he had wondered why someone would speak such words at their age when they should all be riding fine horses and racing swords across the realm. Yet this young man who had smiled and thrown aside his medicine chest to join him in the forest of blades and sea of blood when surrounded by powerful enemies spoke of sunset and ancient heroes in such a detached tone.
They had been friends who fought back-to-back against enemies, yet he had never truly understood him.
The Xiao Huan before him still smiled faintly like three years ago, as if even that trace of undisguisable indifference at the corner of his lips hadn’t changed.
Draining his cup of fine wine once more, Xu Lai flicked his wrist and threw his cup into the lake.
The porcelain cup created a splash of waves before sinking into the dark waters, disappearing without a trace.
Xiao Huan watched him drain the wine and throw the cup, smiled slightly, then looked down at his cup, slowly placing it back on the table: “Brother Xu came specifically to drink with me, didn’t you?”
Xu Lai did not attempt to hide it: “Three days ago I went to the Zhu family in Shanxi, smashed their wine cellar, and stole this jar of wine, only arriving in Hangzhou at the hour of shen today.”
“Three days ago…” Xiao Huan said this much, then smiled: “So this jar of bamboo leaf green must be unique now?”
Xu Lai laughed heartily: “Naturally! After taking the wine, I completely smashed all the remaining wine urns in the cellar. For the next year, the Zhu family won’t have any premium bamboo leaf green.”
Xiao Huan smiled: “Then I must truly thank Brother Xu for this unique jar of wine.”
As they spoke, the elderly boatman had already steered back to shore. They had boarded near Solitary Hill, and now they stopped at Reflecting Waves Bridge.
Cangcang, sleeping in the cabin, seemed to sense the boat had stopped. She rolled over to wrap her arms around Xiao Huan’s waist, nuzzling into his embrace while murmuring in her sleep: “Why are you always so cold? This won’t do.”
Xu Lai started slightly, remembering to ask: “You mentioned you had a hidden illness since childhood?”
Xiao Huan held down Cangcang’s restless arms and smiled: “It was precisely because of my childhood illness that my teacher insisted I learn medicine.” He looked at Xu Lai and smiled again, “It’s no longer an issue now.”
Xu Lai nodded, finding himself suddenly at a loss for words. After a while, he finally raised his head to look at Xiao Huan across from him. Those words still had to be said: “Brother Xiao, from here we part…”
Unprecedented, Xiao Huan interrupted before he could finish: “If the time comes when you and I must cross swords, I will fight with all my strength.”
Xu Lai had said half his sentence and was left with his mouth half-open, when he suddenly laughed, clapping his hands: “Good! I too shall fight with all my strength!”
Xiao Huan smiled, picked up Cangcang, and walked onto the embankment, nodding in acknowledgment to Xu Lai.
Xu Lai cupped his hands in return and retreated into the cabin. As the oars parted the clear lake water, the young man’s shadow on the shore grew increasingly distant in the dim streetlights, but Xu Lai never looked back.
Three days ago, Xu Lai had received a secret order from the Lawless Sect’s headquarters to all regional hall masters and leaders – the Lingbi Sect would use their entire sect’s strength to hunt down someone named Xiao Yunzong.
When his eyes had passed over the Lingbi Sect’s most secret red-lettered message, he had hoped he had read wrong, but those three characters were written exceptionally clearly, the flowing ink like fresh blood.
The pale golden wine still bubbled on the stove, but no one remained to taste it.
On the embankment where the night’s chill had grown heavy, Xiao Huan watched the small boat gradually disappear into the distance before turning to walk back toward the inn.
Cangcang hadn’t sobered up yet, but feeling cold, she snuggled closer into Xiao Huan’s embrace, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while babbling: “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.”
Xiao Huan looked down at her restless little mouth, the corner of his lips lifting slightly as a trace of amusement showed in his eyes, continuing to walk slowly along the stone-paved street.
It had been only about ten days since he received news that the Phoenix Pavilion would hunt down Cangcang and dismiss his Imperial Guards, yet in these ten days, the Lingbi Sect had already begun to move.
He knew very well whose orders were behind the assassination order for Cangcang from a few days ago, and he knew better than most that behind that person stood another – someone he had always known about, someone who wanted him dead, someone who had even more cruel and terrible plans in mind.
Now that person was gradually stepping from behind the scenes to center stage. Had he forced them out, or had they truly decided that this time they would not let him go?
The path extended step by step beneath his feet. Xiao Huan walked neither quickly nor slowly.
That day when he told Ban Fangyuan to leave, saying this wasn’t their affair… this had never been anyone’s affair, except for the Xiao family’s.