Pines murmured in rolling waves, and cool breezes stirred. In the little courtyard at the foot of the mountain, a few barred chickens pecked leisurely beneath the trees, while neatly split firewood stood stacked in a corner by the wall.
On the courtyard's stone table, the ink left in the inkstone had long since dried. Leaves rustled, and green pears crowded the branches.
The sunlight was gentle. Though the summer heat had yet to fade, the little courtyard was wonderfully cool.
Qu Yong lay on a couch beneath a thin blanket, his cheeks hollow and dark stubble growing along his chin. The Cangwu Sword lay quietly beside him.
He An sat beside the couch, looking dejected. Watching Yun Ying bustle about like the mistress of the house, carrying out a large basin of freshly washed clothes to hang, he rose to lend a hand. A fierce glare from her forced him to stop.
He An could not understand why Miao Feifei, the woman now called Yun Ying who felt so much like his childhood playmate, treated him so coldly and harbored such deep wariness toward him.
After hanging the clothes, she rolled her eyes at He An and said frostily, "There's nothing else to do here... If you want to see your senior brother, come back tomorrow. I won't see you out..."
He An sighed and silently left the courtyard.
Since his injury, Qu Yong had often remained unconscious. Xiao Buyi and several other elders of the Vertical Sword Sect, along with many fellow disciples, had come to visit him. Several disciples and servants had originally been assigned to tend to his daily needs, but Yun Ying had found them clumsy and sent them all away, moving into Qu Yong's little courtyard herself.
The Vertical Sword Sect consisted of cultivators,