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The music grew heavier, stirring the grass as the wind blew.

Wen Hemian lowered his long lashes. A faint curve tugged at his tightly pressed, pale lips.

The girl had indeed sensed something. She heard the increasingly mournful core of his music, and not only did her expression grow even sadder, but tears kept streaming down her face. It had been who knew how long.

At last, someone was willing to come see him, a cripple forgotten by the world. At last, someone understood his music.

A kindred spirit was hard to find; a song was hard to end.

The youth, long steeped in solitude, spared no notes in thanking the nameless little girl, lifting his hand to continue playing.

He saw that the girl had been crying the whole time. She must have remembered some sorrowful past, moved by the scene before her.

Everyone kept secrets in their hearts that could never see the light. He didn't want to disturb her, so he sat quietly where he was, patiently waiting for her to finish crying.

So Ning Ning's toes stayed swollen.

The curses in her heart strung together into a rap, and she kept cursing along with the music, huffing and puffing.

Chapter 9

Wen Hemian, known as Jiangxing, was one of the Xuanxu Sword Sect's six elders, a Sword Cultivator prodigy whose sword had once shaken heaven and earth.

Unfortunately, he had suffered severe injuries during the Immortal-Devil War. After that, he withdrew to Qingxu Valley, taking no interest in worldly affairs and spending his days with the mountain wilderness and the music of his qin.

There were even rumors that he was cold-hearted and distant, like a flower atop a lofty peak—truly the textbook definition of a handsome, strong, tragic character.

By now, the mountain mist had been scattered by the music. Through the gauzy, ever-shifting white haze, the figure of a man quietly emerged in the distance.

His long hair was unbound, fluttering lightly in the breeze like a black waterfall cascading over his fair, slender neck and spotless white robes.

He sat beneath another ancient tree opposite Ning Ning. Its dark brown roots coiled and twisted beneath lush green foliage, casting a deep shadow over the young man.

Sunlight spilled through the leaves, glistening in his lustrous black eyes, like glazed glass, and illuminating his refined brows and high nose. His slightly pursed lips were utterly bloodless, like a thin, pale scrap of paper.

Sunlight spilled everywhere, its sheen seeming to flow over his cold, fair skin. White mist wound through his black hair, and the breeze lifted the corner of his white robe. He seemed a deity descended into the mortal world.

Anyone else who saw this scene would surely marvel from the bottom of their heart at his immortal bearing. Ning Ning, however, let out a cold laugh from deep within.

What was more infuriating than being left to die?

It was when that person left you to fend for yourself, yet occasionally glanced over at you with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes—as if he might burst out laughing at any moment.

Elder Jiangxing had undergone professional training. He wouldn't laugh easily—

Unless he really couldn't hold it in.

Was it that funny? Huh? So what if she'd lifted a rock and dropped it on her own foot?

Idiot! Jerk! Cheapskate! Fine, don't help her. In the time it took to burn a stick of incense, she'd still be standing tall!

Those were the most vicious insults Ning Ning could think of.

Wen Hemian hadn't been so black-hearted in the original story.

Pei Ji had been born thoroughly black-hearted, and Senior Brother was an untouchable black lotus. Only he and Little White Dragon Lin Xun had kept their pure Daoist hearts from beginning to end, making them thoroughly righteous characters.

—Lin Xun was the landlord's foolish son, while Wen Hemian had a truly enduring Daoist heart and an upright, righteous spirit.

His youth had been smooth sailing, and he hadn't experienced much of humanity's wickedness. Later, after he'd made a name for himself, he had grown cool and aloof, unwilling to deal with others, but his heart had remained clear as a mirror.

He disdained bullying juniors and refused to curry favor with those in high positions. He had always walked alone. Even when the original host provoked and insulted him time and again, he had chosen to respond with indifference, disdaining revenge.

How had he turned into this?

Later, the pain had numbed her. She simply stood there expressionless, letting the cold wind slap her face. Who knew how long passed before the numbness throughout her body finally began to fade.

Ning Ning gritted her teeth and tried moving her right leg.

The blood that had congealed suddenly jolted, spasming through her body. A tingling current of electricity spread from the sole of her foot all the way to her knee. Her strength hadn't fully returned, and her footing gave way; she fell straight to the ground.

The qin music stopped abruptly. Wen Hemian furrowed his brow without a word—

It seemed that grief had overwhelmed her and anger had made her faint. What could she have gone through to leave such a kind, understanding girl this heartbroken?

Though he didn't like outsiders, he had finally found a kindred spirit today. Without giving it much thought, he approached Ning Ning and bent down to reach out to her. "Fellow Daoist?"

His voice was as clear and cold as snow on a distant mountain, without the slightest trace of emotion.

Ning Ning lifted her head from the grass, which smelled of Green Green Grassland, and the first thing she saw was a hand inches from her face.

Its fingers were long and slender, as white as jade. It bore the thin calluses common to Sword Cultivators, but it was still quite beautiful.

Though Wen Hemian's Consciousness Sea had been destroyed, his abundant reserves of power remained. The Soul-Bewitching Flower's fragrance had no effect on him, so he naturally didn't realize that the tiny white flowers scattered around them were a potent poison.

Now he was pretending to be a good person.

Ning Ning cursed inwardly, but answered with great backbone, "I can manage."

She was out of strength, and her voice was no louder than a mosquito's. Though she spoke with an unquestionable, somewhat irritated tone, her feeble voice softened every word into a gentle murmur.

Add to that the flush of anger on her cheeks and the glistening tear tracks she hadn't had time to wipe away—

Wen Hemian understood. This young disciple was naturally shy and introverted, embarrassed to have much contact with a strange man like him, so she had blushed and gently refused.

He had gone too long without interacting with anyone. He'd been too forward.

Some of the Soul-Bewitching Flower's poison was probably still in her body. To preserve her image as a wicked supporting character, Ning Ning struggled mightily before finally getting up from the ground.

But before she could steady herself, the instant her legs straightened, that all-too-familiar electric sensation surged through the soles of her feet again. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her whole body toppled sideways once more.

This time, at least, she didn't hit the ground.