Wenren Sheng was pissed off by He Mu. He snatched a sickle from He Mu’s hand, picked up the medicine basket by himself, and headed to the back side of the mountain to gather herbs.
He Mu wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. He silently followed behind.
Wenren Sheng’s senses were sharp, so he naturally noticed He Mu. But he deliberately didn’t turn around. He walked on his own for a stretch, then squatted down, mimicking He Mu as he picked up a strangely shaped weed from the ground.
He Mu kindly reminded him, “That’s a weed.”
“I know that, of course!” Wenren Sheng bristled immediately. “I just think it looks nice. I want to pick it and bring it home for Master. Can’t I?”
“Then why not give it to me?” He Mu also squatted down, his finger casually brushing a leaf. “Don’t you like me? Or do you like Master more?”
“I—”
Wenren Sheng was stumped by him and simply lowered his head. With a swing of his hand, “crack”—he chopped off the weed.
“For now… I don’t like you!”
He stood up and mumbled.
He Mu put on a disappointed expression. “Then I’m heartbroken.”
With that, he circled behind Wenren Sheng, leaned his head on his shoulder, and said in a muffled voice, “I won’t be able to eat dinner tonight, Shengsheng.”
“…”
Wenren Sheng had wanted to keep a cold face, but He Mu’s tone was too sincere. He couldn’t bring himself to keep threatening him.
After struggling for a moment, Wenren Sheng turned his head, narrowed his eyes, and rubbed against He Mu. “Then count dozens more, and I… won’t be mad anymore…”
“Dozens of counts, huh…” He Mu’s hand slid to Wenren Sheng’s waist, his voice slow. “After dozens of counts, you won’t be mad no matter what, right?”
Wenren Sheng let out an “mm,” his face flushing. The little weed in his hand shook loose and scattered to the ground.
He Mu clearly had no intention of letting him off easy. He slowly moved his hand upward, all the way to the clasp at Wenren Sheng’s chest. His fingertip hooked open the middle button, then slipped inside the seam.
“You count, Shengsheng,” He Mu said as he pinched him—not too light, not too heavy. “Count them out, and we’ll make up.”
What was there left to count? He Mu was obviously trying to bully him!
…But had he gone too far with his words just now? What if He Mu really got hurt hearing that he didn’t like him?
If he didn’t resist, would He Mu be happy?
Wenren Sheng endured it for a bit, then finally relaxed his strength and let He Mu do as he pleased.
He tilted his neck back against He Mu and began to pant softly without a sound.
Whatever. They were going to get married anyway.
Wenren Sheng convinced himself in his heart.
Brother treated him like a wife, so doing a little something like this was only natural—nothing excessive…
Just as he thought that, a faint rustling came from nearby. Wenren Sheng heard it, and his ears twitched alertly.
“Someone…” He snapped back to attention and shoved at He Mu. “Someone’s nearby.”
No strong killing intent—it probably wasn’t any demon or immortal.
He Mu quickly noticed it too. He felt a bit disappointed and sighed. He withdrew his hand from Wenren Sheng’s clothes and thoughtfully fastened the undone button for him.
The clothes were a bit wrinkled from the handling. He Mu carefully smoothed them out before releasing his embrace.
Wenren Sheng’s legs went weak for a moment. Luckily, He Mu steadied him in time, or he would have fallen straight down.
“Such a big reaction.”
He Mu said as he held his arm.
Wenren Sheng hurriedly pressed the back of his hand to his burning cheek. The fabric still rubbed against the spot that had nearly been pinched swollen, the sensation especially vivid. He didn’t dare make any big movements.
“You’re bullying me.”
He complained in a hoarse, teary voice.
Seeing him so pitiful, He Mu quickly kissed his hair and pulled him into his arms for a hug.
“My bad, my bad,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”
Wenren Sheng hadn’t really blamed him. He just wanted to act spoiled with He Mu. The two rubbed their faces together stickily again until the footsteps grew closer once more. Only then did they reluctantly part.
“Young hero, Lord Mountain God.”
They had just separated when a withered hand parted the bushes in front of them. Two figures in plain-colored robes emerged—one tall, one short. Both wore monk robes, and their heads were shaved clean.
One of them even had several tattoos on his head—these were the sinner brands carved on those who turned themselves in to temples for redemption.
Wenren Sheng took a look and hesitated. “…Chen Shou?”
The man lowered his head and replied, “It’s me.”
The short little monk beside him was very young, probably only five or six years old. The monk robe hung hugely on his small frame.
He hid behind Chen Shou, his gaze timid as he carefully eyed Wenren Sheng and He Mu.
Chen Shou shielded the little monk with one hand and said, “This is my junior brother. After I die, he’ll be the last remaining disciple of Return to One Sword Sect.”
Wenren Sheng and He Mu exchanged a glance, both at a loss for words.
Chen Shou had indeed said yesterday that he would shave his head and become a monk, spending the rest of his life chanting sutras to redeem the sins of his deceased clan leader. But Wenren Sheng hadn’t taken it to heart.
Not chopping off Chen Shou’s head right away was already him being kindhearted. He certainly hadn’t expected such a person to have a sudden epiphany before death.
But clearly, Chen Shou still had someone he cared about.
After saying that, he pulled a scroll from inside his robe and limped toward Wenren Sheng, stopping just one step away.
“Young hero,” he swallowed and awkwardly handed the scroll to Wenren Sheng. “I found this among Junior Brother Chen Lian’s belongings while packing his things for him. No one else knows about it.”
“That matter back then—I was foolish, callous and indifferent. I knew my junior brother had done wrong, but I still helped the sect disciples cover for him, letting you suffer such great injustice.”
Wenren Sheng’s expression was complicated as he took the scroll. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but it felt heavy as a thousand catties, almost too much for him to hold.
“I’ve looked at what’s on the scroll and know a bit of the surface,” Chen Shou lowered his eyes and said. “If the enemy you’re looking for is truly above the Nine Heavens, this scroll should help you.”
Wenren Sheng frowned. “…What do you mean?”
“Young hero,” Chen Shou said, “My cultivation time was too short. I never had the chance to comprehend the so-called Dao Heart. My knowledge is shallow, so I can only do my best to tell you something useful.”
The little monk in the distance pursed his lips, hiked up his oversized monk robe, and hurried anxiously toward Chen Shou. He kept stealing glances at He Mu nearby.
When He Mu’s gaze fell on him, he nearly burst into tears. He whimpered twice and grabbed Chen Shou’s clothes.
Chen Shou ignored him and continued, “I once overheard Elder Wu Di say something to Junior Brother Chen Lian. He said that ‘that lord’ above the Nine Heavens had made a promise: as long as Sword Sect obtains a Heavenly Spiritual Root, the Heavenly Dao will open a shortcut for Return to One Sword Sect. Ascension for the sect’s disciples will no longer be difficult.”
At these words, Wenren Sheng’s expression shifted. He gripped the scroll tightly. “‘That lord’? You mean Siming?”
Chen Shou shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.
He lowered his eyes and glanced fondly at the little monk behind him. Slowly, he said, “Thank you both for sparing my life. My junior brother will spend the rest of his days in the temple chanting sutras for you all. I hope after you ascend, you achieve your wishes.”
With that, he gave the two a proper bow, then turned, took the little monk’s hand, and limped back along the path they had come, step by uneven step.
As their figures were about to disappear, the golden glow of the setting sun spilled onto the ground. Wenren Sheng watched them, a indescribable feeling rising in his heart.
Not pity, not hatred.
More like, in that moment, he had become an outsider, calmly watching the end of their lives.
A long while later, He Mu nudged his hand.
“It’s getting late,” he said with a smile. “Shengsheng, how about I roast that sweet potato for you?”
Wenren Sheng snapped back to reality and met He Mu’s gaze.
“What about this scroll…”
“Since it’s something to deal with Heavenly Court, there’s no harm in looking. If it helps us, great,” He Mu touched his ear. “If you think it’s bad luck from the enemy, I’ll burn it for you. We can solve the problem without it anyway.”
Light flickered in Wenren Sheng’s eyes.
“Really?”
“Of course it’s real,” He Mu cupped his face. “Shengsheng, as long as you’re willing, I’ll be your sword forever, protecting you for the rest of my life.”
Wenren Sheng’s face heated up. He hurriedly lowered his eyes, avoiding He Mu’s gaze.
“L-Let’s just eat the sweet potato, Brother…”
Seeing him shy, He Mu curved his eyes and deliberately asked, “Shengsheng, hearing such sweet words—doesn’t your heart go thump thump?”
“No!” Wenren Sheng squeezed his eyes shut and shoved He Mu. “Brother’s such a country bumpkin—so corny! Who even says stuff like ‘be your sword’ these days!”
“Oh, so you’re the little country bumpkin I raised.”
“I’m not!”
“Alright then, your turn. Say something not corny for me to hear.”
“…Don’t try to trick me into sweet-talking you!”
Night fell.
They lit a bonfire in front of the house with firewood, warming the air. Both their faces glowed with a cozy red flush.
He Mu picked a tree branch of suitable thickness, swiftly stripped the bark, sharpened the tip, and threaded Wenren Sheng’s sweet potato onto it.
Wenren Sheng sat on a small stool, cupping his face as he watched him.
“What did Brother do before ascending?”
He Mu placed the skewered sweet potato by the fire. Sparks hit the purple-red skin, popping and crackling.
He Mu said, “My parents died early. As a kid, I apprenticed under a master to learn martial arts, took the monthly allowance he gave me to buy idle books, and by chance got a copy of the Qi Condensation Method. So I figured out cultivation on my own.”
Wenren Sheng loved hearing stories. He scooted his stool closer to He Mu’s side and hugged his arm.
“And then, Brother?”
He Mu propped his chin, looking at him with a beaming smile. “Then, I succeeded.”
Wenren Sheng hugged him tighter and pressed, “That simple? Be more specific!”
He Mu pinched his cheek. “How much more specific? Around my early teens, I mastered the Qi Condensation Method, then left my master and joined a third-rate sword cultivator sect. I cultivated all the way to Golden Core Realm.”
He Mu had ascended at twenty-five. His cultivation path was shorter than most in the mortal world, so right after ascending, with his average strength, he was an unknown immortal.
That was also why Siming picked him to do her killing—unremarkable people were perfect for shady deeds.
He Mu simply recounted his pre-ascension experiences to Wenren Sheng. But three hundred years prior, even he didn’t remember clearly. He half-made-up, half-guessed as he spoke, yet the kid listened with rapt attention, pestering him with questions.
“Brother’s spirit root is fire spiritual root, so why do you usually use water-element spells?”
He Mu smiled and hooked his finger. Another sword wrapped in white cloth flew over from nearby.
When the hilt landed in his hand, the cloth unwrapped on its own, revealing a brilliant golden longsword etched with blazing patterns, like a golden crow bird.
“This is the sword I formed with sword intent when I broke into Heavenly Palace and erased my name from the Emotionless Stele. It’s called Golden Crow,” He Mu said. “This sword can only use fire-element spells, but it’s easy to start a mountain fire here, so I don’t use it often.”
Wenren Sheng tilted his head. “What about Color Kill?”
He Mu replied concisely, “Color Kill is the sword manifested from my Dao Heart. It’s special.”
“You’re cheating,” Wenren Sheng pouted. “Brother has two divine weapons, and I only have one.”
He Mu smiled and said, “Your Heavenly Spiritual Root can summon any divine weapon. Strictly speaking, all divine weapons under heaven are yours.”
Wenren Sheng huffed lightly. “I don’t like taking other people’s things.”
He Mu tapped his forehead. “Then consider Color Kill and Golden Crow gifts from me. Not taking.”
This made Wenren Sheng happy. He liked Heavenly Heart, but he also liked the Mountain God’s sword. Childishly, he wanted both—and He Mu guessed his mind right away, fulfilling his wish.
Wenren Sheng leaned blissfully against He Mu’s shoulder.
“In a few days, when we return to Cang Province, I’m telling Master I already have three divine weapons.”
He paused, thought of something, and added,
“Oh—wait, no, four! Because the Mountain God said he’d become my sword too!”
“…………”
He Mu only then realized that what he had said was indeed a bit corny. He scratched his cheek, awkwardly picked up the string of sweet potatoes, and rotated it over the fire to roast.
The cool moon hung high as the firelight danced vividly beneath it, dispelling the night’s chill.
Wenren Sheng leaned against him for a while, then lifted his face to gaze at He Mu and suddenly said, “Brother, once we return to Cang Province, I want to go into seclusion for a time.”
“Seclusion?” He Mu’s face showed astonishment. “Why?”
“My realm is just one step away. After emerging from seclusion this time, I will definitely achieve ascension,” Wenren Sheng said seriously. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
