The next morning, Lin Bu slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, he felt dizzy and disoriented, completely unaware of where he was. After being dazed for quite a while, he remembered yesterday’s sudden sword strike. Although his acquaintance with Zhong Chunji wasn’t deep, this sword truly made him somewhat heartbroken. He had treated her with sincerity, yet received such repayment. That beautiful purple-robed young lady had struck so ruthlessly. People say you can know someone’s face but not their heart—truly, the human heart is unpredictable.

After another moment, he suddenly saw a bright red feather fan floating back and forth in front of him. A round, rosy-cheeked young man’s face was right before his eyes. He heard him say, “Congratulations on waking up early. You’re not dead yet—no need to doubt it.”

Lin Bu opened his mouth but could only gasp, unable to speak even half a sentence. The yellow-robed, red-fanned person flicked his sleeve. “Yeah—you don’t need to speak, and I don’t like hearing you speak either. You stay quiet, I stay peaceful. We each get what we need—isn’t that wonderful?”

Lin Bu lay there looking at him with a belly full of doubts. Who exactly was this person? What had happened yesterday? Though young in years, he was well-traveled and experienced. Knowing he had encountered an extraordinary person and was in a dangerous situation, he stopped trying to speak.

As his gaze moved around, he saw he was inside a thatched hut. What he lay on wasn’t bedding, but a grass nest made of leaves and stones. Beside him sat a black-robed person cross-legged, face covered by a black hat so their features couldn’t be seen. Another black-robed woman was stirring mud, seemingly wanting to fire some huge vessel. That yellow-robed, red-fanned person sat high to one side, watching with great interest. “Haha, firing a pottery jar as tall as a person, picking hundreds of pounds of tea leaves, all to refine one pill—what a magnificent waste of human labor and money. It would be a pity not to watch.”

Yu Tuan’er stirred the mud paste vigorously. To fire such a large pottery jar would require a brick kiln. Without a brick kiln, how could this pottery jar be fired? Lin Bu wondered in his heart.

The black-hatted, face-covered person held a bamboo tube in his hand, but his attention was on the bamboo tube. His right hand held a small silver knife, lightly carving on the bamboo tube, seemingly wanting to dig out several holes. Lin Bu’s heart stirred: Was he making a flute?

“Embrace the origin and guard the one, concentrate wholeheartedly. Feel the changes in your wrists, shoulders, and waist strength after your movements become practiced. When the mud water is almost dry and the clay can be molded into shape, then call me.” Liu Yan didn’t look at Yu Tuan’er stirring the mud, but spoke coldly.

Fang Pingzhai laughed. “Haha, if you only wanted moldable clay, wouldn’t it have been simpler to use less water when you added it? Just because someone isn’t a heavenly fairy of absolute beauty, you won’t show any tender care for the fairer sex? Lamentable, lamentable—men are truly pitiful creatures.”

Lin Bu thought the pitiful one was clearly this young lady, but heard Fang Pingzhai continue laughing. “Haha, this person lying here must be very curious why men are truly pitiful creatures? Because there are too many men in the world, but too few heavenly fairies of absolute beauty. Aiya, too many monks and too little porridge—very pitiful indeed.”

But Yu Tuan’er said, “I know he’s teaching me to practice martial arts. Stirring mud isn’t difficult—it doesn’t matter.”

She had dug a large pit in the forest, pulled away the weeds above, digging until she exposed the clay beneath the ground, then poured in clear water and stirred the mud with a tree branch as thick as an arm. Liu Yan wanted her to fill the large pit with spring water, yet also wanted her to stir until the mud could be molded into shape—clearly making things difficult for her, but she wasn’t angry.

This masked woman was pure and kind at heart, looking like she wasn’t a bad person. If she wasn’t evil, why would she travel with two people who clearly didn’t look like good people? Lin Bu’s mind was muddled as he pondered this, when suddenly he heard a clear sound. Several flute notes soared through the air. Instantly his spirit shook, his heart raced wildly beyond his control, and with a “wa” sound he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, immediately losing consciousness.

Fang Pingzhai exclaimed “Aiya” and jumped up, his expression slightly changing. “You—haha, what wonderful flute music! What a wonderful person! What strange and mysterious sound-killing! Brother Black, you—keeping such an excellent technique has truly surprised me greatly.”

Liu Yan slightly moved the bamboo flute away from his lips and glanced indifferently at Fang Pingzhai. “You flatter me.”

Fang Pingzhai pressed his hand to his chest. “That sound shook my heart. Brother Black, since you’re already lame and disfigured, keeping this technique to dominate the martial world has no meaning. Why not pass it to me? I’ll dominate the world for you, kill until corpses fill the fields, to dissipate the hatred in your heart—how about it?”

He spoke with a smile. Yu Tuan’er suddenly turned her head, her words of protest not yet spoken, when she heard Liu Yan say coldly, “Ha! If I’m in a good mood, I might just teach you.”

Fang Pingzhai was all smiles, his red fan waving. “Aiya, that means from this moment on, I must rack my brains to please you, support you, respect you, protect you, adore you, treat you like the moon in the sky, a fairy in the water, a pearl in my palm, a duck in a hot pot—lest you accidentally grow wings and fly away?”

Liu Yan closed his eyes slightly. “Whatever you want.”

Fang Pingzhai shook his head and sighed. “What a cold person. I really don’t know what it would take to shake that cold, cruel, arrogant yet inexplicably strange stone heart of yours. Truly a difficult problem, difficult problem.”

While saying “difficult problem,” he stood up and walked to Lin Bu’s side to check on him. “A perfectly good Jianghuai scholar, the elegant and carefree Master Huangxian, is about to die under your cold, cruel, arrogant yet inexplicably strange flute music. Don’t you feel even a bit of regret? To say you have a heart of iron and stone, truly cold, cruel, arrogant…”

Just as he was about to continue, Liu Yan raised the flute to his lips and blew lightly. A soft whistle immediately made Fang Pingzhai shut his mouth.

Yu Tuan’er said impatiently, “You’re really too wordy. Quickly save this gentleman. He’s about to die, yet you’re still poking around beside him. You’re the one with a heart of iron and stone.”

Fang Pingzhai sighed, pressed his hand to his chest, and shook his head. “When you fall in love with something, you must give everything for it. Fang Pingzhai, oh Fang Pingzhai, you’re most gentle and patient with the boss, so—better obediently listen.”

With these words, he pointed and pressed several acupoints on Lin Bu, placed a palm against his back to circulate his blood, and fed him a pill.

“I’m hungry,” Yu Tuan’er said suddenly after stirring the mud for a while. “Fang Pingzhai, go hunting.”

After Fang Pingzhai saved Lin Bu for the second time, he obediently leaned against the thatched hut with closed eyes, no longer speaking much. Now he exclaimed “Ah” and smiled like a spring breeze. “Naturally, if the boss wants to eat, this subordinate will immediately handle it. Rest assured, except for not understanding music, I’m proficient in frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying—I’m a rare genius with the spatula in this world.”

Yu Tuan’er said, “Frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying? But tonight we’re going to barbecue—we won’t need a spatula.”

Fang Pingzhai coughed. “Yeah—barbecuing is culinary art that surpasses frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying. For frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying, I’m ‘proficient,’ but for barbecuing, I’m ‘expert.’ Tonight you’ll taste absolutely rare delicacies—so delicious you’ll realize everything you’ve eaten before was garbage, inferior goods, even waste products.”

Yu Tuan’er said, “You’re too wordy! Go quickly.”

Fang Pingzhai sighed, slapped his forehead with his red fan, stood up and left, muttering to himself, “My elegant charm being so unwelcome is truly a first. What a gratifying new experience—I must stay calm, I must be gratified, gratified.”

Before long, Fang Pingzhai returned carrying two wild chickens, but heard Liu Yan playing his flute horizontally. The tune he played was unknown. The night wind blew, making his face-covering black hat flutter. His expression couldn’t be seen, but his playing was filled with desolation—like ghosts and spirits, like weeping and lamenting, sound after sound of reminiscence, sound after sound of sorrow, sound after sound of heartbreak.

Yu Tuan’er continued stirring the mud, listening with tilted ear, seemingly sighing.

But Lin Bu’s heart grew detached, feeling that human life was but one lifetime—why live so painfully? Having such intense feelings, clinging to things one couldn’t let go, wasn’t the one suffering oneself? Who would remember these things after a hundred years? People all die, yet heaven and earth remain the same. The grudges and emotional sorrows of a short human life—how narrow and insignificant they were. Why cling to them?

“A pool of spring water greener than moss, flowers blooming above water between bamboo. Fragrant grass grows again when the season comes, elegant birds arrive leisurely without purpose.”

He softly recited two lines of poetry, closed his eyes to rest, and said no more.

“Oh… haha.” Fang Pingzhai entered carrying the wild chickens. “I heard—”

Yu Tuan’er impatiently waved her hand, interrupting his words. “I don’t want to hear it. When you start talking, there’s no end. Go kill the chickens—I’ll start the fire.”

Fang Pingzhai covered his mouth with his hand. “Ah…” Though he wasn’t the first person to call him wordy, this was the first person—and a woman at that, and a very ugly woman—to interrupt his words. What a loss of face, character, justice, conscience, and helplessness! He shook his head. Falling in love with someone else’s prized possession was always a bitter fate—a fate more bitter than bitter melon mixed with coptis.