Page 25

A large, clearly jointed hand caught the girl by the arm, just in time to stop her from pitching forward. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered beneath her nose, and Ning Ning heard the young man's cool, clear voice, crisp as snowmelt.

"Fellow Daoist, you're unsteady on your feet. You must have worked yourself into a rage and injured the meridians in your limbs. You mustn't move carelessly."

He paused, then gave a few light coughs. A faint, sickly pink flush rose on his pale cheeks. "Otherwise, your meridians could rupture, and your limbs might suffer severe damage."

Worked herself into a rage? Meridians on the verge of rupture? He'd stunned Ning Ning into believing for a moment that she'd truly drawn the short straw.

But on second thought, something didn't add up.

Could a cultivator really fall apart just from smelling a poisonous flower and being made to stand as punishment? She'd be better off starring in a Barbie princess movie than calling herself a Sword Cultivator.

Half convinced and with her heart pounding, Ning Ning cautiously wiggled her toes. Her cold body gradually warmed, and as spiritual energy flowed into her, the unpleasant tingling finally faded away.

Damn it.

Her foot had just fallen asleep.

Ruptured meridians, worked into a rage—she'd been standing still for so long that anyone's foot would go numb. She'd nearly been conned into hobbling off by this fake diviner. Rotten Sword Cultivator!

"As expected of Elder Jiangxing."

Certain he was teasing her, Ning Ning put her talent for being a wicked supporting character to good use and shot back sarcastically. "Your powers of observation are truly unmatched."

Wen Hemian paused.

Then, astonishingly, a faint blush crept over the rims of his ears. He pressed his lips together, looking somewhat ill at ease, and replied in a low voice, "I'm no more than a useless man... I don't deserve such praise."

Ning Ning: ...

Wen Hemian, what are you doing? Wen Hemian! I was being so blatantly sarcastic, and you still didn't catch on? Couldn't you at least get mad?

The peerlessly accomplished Elder Jiangxing lowered his gaze and spoke in a cool voice, a trace of hesitation in it. "I saw you weeping as you listened to my music, little Daoist, but I don't know why. My abilities are limited, but perhaps I can be of some help."

Ning Ning slowly typed another question mark.

She didn't know whether there was something wrong with the man before her or with her herself, but whenever she was around him, she turned into a question-mark machine without a single emotion.

Had this guy won every Oscar in his past life? He'd been so delighted to play while watching her cry, and now he had the gall to play the good guy and ask why she'd been crying? Could he really not know—

Wait.

Perhaps Wen Hemian really didn't know why she'd cried.

The valley was shrouded in mist, and they'd been some distance apart. Weeds covered the rocks, making them hard for anyone else to spot. When she'd spoken earlier, she could only use lip-reading, and she'd been so weak that her mouth movements were barely clear. It was only natural that he hadn't understood.

And then there was his comment just now about her weeping as she listened to his music...

The self-loathing and melancholy in Wen Hemian's playing were hidden deep. On a casual first listen, all anyone would hear was a leisurely, flowing melody, carefree and unrestrained.

Maybe he thought she'd heard the deeper meaning and been moved to tears by the music.

Th-this wouldn't do! If that were the case, wouldn't they become bosom friends who could drain a thousand cups together, then share a warm lotus-scented bed through the spring night—

Bah!

In short, understanding the song and crying in sympathy absolutely wasn't the sort of plot a wicked supporting character should have.

The system in her head instructed her to [Complete the task as soon as possible]. Ning Ning hardened her resolve and wrenched free of Wen Hemian's hand. "I'm not upset because of the song you played! I—I hate music that's so mournful and miserable. I don't want to hear it again!"

As she spoke, she gritted her teeth, picked up the stone that had been kicked aside, and hurled it at the ancient zither, just as in the original story.

"I don't like it, so you're not allowed to play it again!"

Ning Ning wasn't used to saying cruel things to people. Her face felt as if it were on fire, and it took every ounce of courage she had to finally force out the line from the original story in one breath. "A dignified Sword Immortal, yet you're content to cower here, reduced to a useless cripple. At this rate, you'll spend your whole life with this broken zither as your only companion!"

Ah, just kill her already.

That was far too cruel.

Ning Ning quietly drew a breath. Even though those words weren't aimed at her, she was the one saying them, and she nearly felt guilty enough to cry.

The strings snapped with a resonant twang, and the golden phoebe wood shattered.

The piercing zither notes slashed through the valley's silence, sending a flock of birds into flight. The thin mist seemed to split as well, and through the ever-shifting, gathering wisps of white smoke, Wen Hemian saw the little girl's flushed cheeks.

And the corners of her eyes, just as red.

She looked on the verge of tears.

She... didn't like such mournful music.

And she didn't want him to play it anymore.

Ever since he'd lost his cultivation, the elders of his sect had all come to see him. Every one of them had hesitated before offering comfort, telling him not to take it to heart and to focus on recovering.

Only this little girl had bluntly told him not to play such a sorrowful song again.

Otherwise, he'd be left bound here, keeping company with nothing but mournful music for the rest of his life.

She was so foolish.

Even if she smashed the zither, it wouldn't help him climb out of this pit.

He... was already beyond saving.

A useless man who'd lost all his cultivation had no future to hope for.

Wen Hemian wasn't good at talking to people, and he didn't know how to comfort the girl whose eyes he'd made grow red. He hesitated, about to speak, when Ning Ning's flustered voice rang out. "I'm leaving!"

She didn't forget to add, "I hate you, and I hate your music! I cried because... because a stone hit my foot!"

She'd arrived suddenly, and she left just as quickly. The girl was light on her feet; in the blink of an eye, she'd disappeared, leaving only a gentle breeze behind.

The white-robed young man stood alone before the broken zither. His lowered lashes cast a shadow over his pupils, and the faintest trace of a bitter smile passed across his face.

A stone hit her foot.

What a silly excuse she'd come up with.

Ning Ning couldn't sleep.