Chapter 33: The Story

“Sword tassel,” Yi Xuefeng said.

Ning Yu released his grip on Yi Xuefeng’s waist, his face darkening as he made to turn and leave.

On instinct, Yi Xuefeng reached out to grab him—but he had forgotten his hands were still injured. The moment his fingers closed on the hem of Ning Yu’s robe, a bone-piercing pain shot from his fingertips straight into his heart, and his whole body shuddered from the agony.

Ning Yu turned back impatiently, about to shake off his sleeve. But before he could even move, Yi Xuefeng’s body swayed—and then he pitched forward and collapsed to the ground. He clutched his hand, his face deathly pale, cold sweat streaming down him.

Ning Yu: “…”

I didn’t touch him. He’s framing me!

With no way to defend himself, Ning Yu wanted nothing more than to walk away. But catching a glimpse of Yi Xuefeng’s truly dreadful complexion, he swallowed his pride and sternly helped him up off the ground.

Seeing Yi Xuefeng in such a sorry state, Song Jingsheng hurried over. “Little Immortal Lord!”

Ning Yu was about to hoist Yi Xuefeng up by the waist with one arm when Qiu Manxi, standing nearby, finally lost all patience with such a crude, clumsy approach. Helplessly, he stepped forward and rescued Yi Xuefeng from Ning Yu’s grasp, shooting his Eldest Disciple a mildly reproachful look.

“I didn’t touch him. He fell on his own,” Ning Yu said irritably.

Qiu Manxi ignored the protest. Sliding an arm under Yi Xuefeng’s knees, he gently gathered him up in his arms and said softly to Song Jingsheng, “I’ll carry the Little Immortal Lord back. Sect Master Song, would you lead the way?”

Song Jingsheng, deeply worried after seeing how gravely Jiang Jiwang had been rushed off for treatment, nodded quickly at his words and sent someone to fetch a physician, guiding Qiu Manxi back to the Cold Huai River.

Between the blood loss and the reckless use of spiritual power in Cloudland City, Yi Xuefeng had lost consciousness the moment he hit the ground.

In his dazed haze, it seemed someone lifted him gently into their arms, and a crisp, cool scent of wine washed over him. Yi Xuefeng fought desperately to open his eyes, but his body wouldn’t obey. All he could do was feel the exquisite gentleness of that embrace.

Who else in this world would ever treat me like this? Yi Xuefeng thought blankly.

Ning Yu?

Impossible. When we were young, Ning Yu spoiled me rotten, but ever since I fell into Devilhood, he hasn’t shown me a single trace of tenderness. Even if I passed out on top of him, Ning Yu would only ever grab me by the waist and haul me around like luggage. He would never be this gentle.

Yi Xuefeng felt his body swaying softly as it was carried. After who knew how long, those warm hands laid him down on a bed. The scent of wine mixing with the strange floral fragrance of the room jolted him abruptly awake for an instant.

He suddenly remembered—that familiar scent…

It was Qiu Manxi.

As a child, Yi Xuefeng had always gone to and from Morning Lessons with Ning Yu. But after Morning Lessons, Ning Yu would usually head to the Training Grounds to beat people up… no, to spar. Yi Xuefeng didn’t dare walk back alone, so every day he trailed along to the Training Grounds with him.

From then on, every disciple of Returning Swan Mountain noticed that the great menace who used to pin people to the ground and brutalize them daily had somehow eaten something wrong and turned incomparably gentle. No matter how fierce a spar got, he would only ever knock his opponent staggering back to the edge of the ring—never again beating anyone black and blue like before.

Everyone exchanged glances, wondering whether Devil Ning was more likely to have been body-snatched, or to have simply found his conscience.

Ning Yu knocked a Senior Martial Brother flat with the back of his blade, sending him skidding all the way to the barrier platform at the edge of the ring. Only when he saw the man had barely managed to stay on his feet did Ning Yu casually toss his sword onto the weapons rack and vault off the platform without a word, striding quickly toward the small crowd of disciples gathered a short distance away.

Yi Xuefeng was sitting obediently on a little wooden stool, his short legs swinging back and forth. A few Senior Brothers nearby were telling him nasty things about Devil Ning, trying to steer the Little Junior Brother away from him before he could be led astray.

They were right in the middle of “Your Eldest Senior Brother, when he’s in a mood, even dares to hit Shishu Qiu—you’d better keep far away from him, or he might hit you too”—when Yi Xuefeng, who had been listening so earnestly, suddenly lit up, hopped off his stool, and scampered off on his little legs.

“Senior Brother!”

Everyone fell silent at once, watching with complicated expressions as the Little Junior Brother sprinted a few steps and dove straight into Devil Ning’s arms.

Ning Yu absently ruffled Yi Xuefeng’s soft hair, casting them a half-smiling glance. “What were you all saying just now? Tell me too.”

How could any of them dare repeat it? They scattered with sheepish grins like startled birds.

Ning Yu walked back to the Side Peak with Yi Xuefeng in tow. The boy clung obediently to his robe hem, swinging it back and forth as he tilted his head up and said earnestly, “They told Xuefeng lots of stories. Really fun ones.”

“Oh? What kind of stories?” Ning Yu asked.

“There’s one about someone called Devil Ning,” Yi Xuefeng said. “They say he does nothing but evil, and in the end the good people of the Righteous Path defeated him!”

Ning Yu: “…”

Ning Yu knew perfectly well what those disciples called him behind his back, but he had never bothered with it. Hearing those slanderous words repeated to Yi Xuefeng, however, left him thoroughly displeased.

Unaware that Ning Yu was already quietly plotting how to thrash everyone who had slandered him, Yi Xuefeng bounced along happily. “Listening to stories is so much fun! Senior Brother, tell me a story tonight before bed.”

“No,” Ning Yu said.

Yi Xuefeng clutched his finger and wheedled, “Tell me, tell me! Come on, Senior Brother. Xuefeng wants to hear you tell one.”

Ning Yu kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead—but the hand Yi Xuefeng was holding quietly squeezed back.

Yi Xuefeng begged and clung the entire way, dying to hear a story, until Devil Ning finally relented.

He dropped to one knee to be level with him. “After you hear my story, will you still listen to theirs?”

Yi Xuefeng chewed on a finger, thinking it over. “I…”

“Dirty hands going straight into your mouth?” Ning Yu frowned. “That stomachache last time was definitely from you gnawing on your own paws. Do you never learn? How many times have I told you? Why do you never listen!”

Only then did Yi Xuefeng lower his hand. “So if I listen to yours, I can’t listen to the other Senior Brothers’?”

Ning Yu nodded, cold and merciless. “Only one. Choose quickly.”

Yi Xuefeng agonized for a long while before finally making his decision. “Xuefeng likes Senior Brother best. I’ll listen to yours.”

Having obtained the answer he wanted, Ning Yu barely suppressed the corners of his mouth from curling upward. For once in his life, he scooped Yi Xuefeng up into his arms and continued toward the Side Peak.

“It’s a deal, then. No matter what stories they tell you, you don’t listen to a single one.”

Yi Xuefeng bobbed his little head to show he understood.

The next day, the disciples of Returning Swan Mountain returned to their lives of fiery torment, because Devil Ning had apparently eaten something wrong again—he had reverted completely, laying into them without mercy and beating his sparring partners to tears within moments.

Ning Yu couldn’t stand seeing men cry. “Stop crying! Pick up your sword and fight again!”

The weeping Junior Martial Brother had no choice but to sniffle, pick up his sword, and resume getting pummeled… that is, resume sparring.

Meanwhile, the Senior Brothers charged with the noble duty of slandering him and saving the Little Junior Brother had run into a problem: overnight, their Little Junior Brother had turned into a fool.

Yi Xuefeng still sat just as obediently on his little stool waiting for Ning Yu to finish class, and the Senior Brothers gathered around as always, regaling him with tales of Devil Ning’s beatings.

“…And then this guy, he hooks his sword once, and Bang!—Poppy goes crashing down and snaps that whole wooden pillar in half, crash boom crack, scary as hell. Your Fourteenth Senior Brother was little back then, and he screamed his head off!”

Telling stories to a six-year-old, the Senior Brothers were terrified he wouldn’t understand, so they kept everything dead simple, using hands and feet to act out anything complicated and peppering it with all sorts of crash-bang onomatopoeia. Anyone who wasn’t a fool could follow along.

The Senior Brothers badmouthed Ning Yu with tremendous effort—but today, of all days, the Little Junior Brother stared back with faintly unfocused eyes, the very picture of incomprehension.

One Senior Brother waved a hand in front of his face. “Little Xuefeng, are you listening to me?”

Yi Xuefeng blinked. “Xuefeng doesn’t understand.”

The Senior Brothers: “…”

They tried again, simplifying everything even further, gesticulating wildly.

“Xuefeng can’t heeeear you,” the boy said in his milky little voice.

The Senior Brothers: “…”

Unbelievable! Bold-faced lying! Devil Ning must have corrupted our Little Junior Brother!

The Senior Brothers were nearly coughing blood from frustration, but Yi Xuefeng, who had promised Ning Yu not to listen to any other Senior Brother’s stories, seemed blissfully oblivious, blinking up at them with pure, bright eyes that made it impossible to vent their anger. In the end, they could only disperse in gloomy defeat.

Yi Xuefeng skipped home tugging on Ning Yu’s robe hem and reported smugly, “Xuefeng didn’t listen to anyone’s story today. Soooo good.”

Ning Yu barely suppressed his curling lips and gave a deliberately cold “Mm,” already mentally planning to find a few storybooks in the Library Pavilion to read aloud after making Yi Xuefeng’s breakfast.

And so Little Xuefeng, through the masterful strategy of “I don’t understand” and “I can’t hear you,” successfully secured a bedtime story from Senior Brother Ning Yu every single night.

Ning Yu was already nineteen, and his cultivation ranked among the very best on Returning Swan Mountain. The mountain’s Elders routinely dispatched him down the mountain to deal with rampaging Devil Cultivators, so he was away six or seven days out of every month.

Whenever he left, Yi Xuefeng seemed to lose his backbone—he didn’t even want to attend Morning Lessons.

“Morning Lessons must not be neglected,” Ning Yu said coldly. “Go properly, or I won’t bring you back a pinwheel.”

Yi Xuefeng gazed up at him pitifully, hoping his misery and cuteness might soften his Senior Brother’s heart.

But on the matter of Morning Lessons, Ning Yu was as unmovable as bedrock. No matter how pitifully Yi Xuefeng begged, he wouldn’t budge an inch. In the end, Yi Xuefeng surrendered, tugging mournfully at his sleeve. “Then you have to come back soon, okay. Xuefeng doesn’t even need the pinwheel.”

“Good,” Ning Yu said.

Though Yi Xuefeng had agreed, on the very first day after Ning Yu’s departure, he burrowed into his blankets and refused to get up for Morning Lessons.

Qiu Manxi came in carrying a bowl of congee, saw the small lump bulging beneath the covers, and laughed. “Xuefeng, are you really not getting up?”

The little lump under the covers squirmed, and after a moment Yi Xuefeng’s small head poked out. “Xuefeng is scared. I don’t dare go.”

“But you promised your Senior Brother,” Qiu Manxi said. “Is Xuefeng going to break his word?”

Yi Xuefeng didn’t want to be a promise-breaker. At that, he scrambled up and dressed himself all on his own. “N-no, I won’t break my word! A real man keeps his promises!”

Qiu Manxi watched the little man finish getting himself ready, then cradle the bowl and sip his congee in small mouthfuls, and his heart nearly melted. He reached out and patted Yi Xuefeng’s head. What a good child. Taking this disciple in was truly the right choice, he thought.

Yi Xuefeng had an excellent memory. Despite his fear, he made his way toward the Main Peak from memory alone—and what should have been a quarter-hour walk took him a full half-hour.

The moment the Senior Brothers saw him arrive for Morning Lessons alone, they knew Devil Ning had gone down the mountain, and they crowded around chattering at him.

“Did you come from the Side Peak all by yourself, Little Junior Brother?”

“Was it scary? Should I come pick you up tomorrow?”

“I’ll walk you back later, all right?”

“…!”

Yi Xuefeng, raised by Qiu Manxi never to trouble others, answered in his milky little voice, “Thank you, Senior Brothers, but Xuefeng can go back by himself. I’m a real man. I’m not scared.”

The Senior Brothers were momentarily stunned, then collectively took an arrow to the heart, clutching their chests and performing their daily ritual of drawing in sharp breaths.

After Morning Lessons, Yi Xuefeng packed his books one by one into his little cloth bag and began pondering the route home.

But the moment he stepped out of the schoolhouse, he spotted Qiu Manxi waiting for him under a tree.

Yi Xuefeng froze for a heartbeat, then raced over. “Shizun!”

Smiling, Qiu Manxi caught him in one arm, crouched down, and ruffled his hair. “Did Xuefeng listen well in class today?”

Yi Xuefeng nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

Qiu Manxi laughed, lifted him into his arms, and said, “Shizun is taking you home.”

Some of the disciples in the schoolhouse had never seen Qiu Manxi before, and now they all watched him in bewilderment. Qiu Manxi, nowhere near as ferocious as Ning Yu, simply nodded and smiled gently back at the staring children.

Lifting Yi Xuefeng, he set off—but Yi Xuefeng went “Ai, ai!” and grabbed his hair, tugging it. “Shizun, wrong way! It’s over there.”

“Oh,” Qiu Manxi said, and set off in the direction Yi Xuefeng pointed.

Thankfully, Yi Xuefeng had a good memory. Only after getting lost seven times did Qiu Manxi finally carry him home to the Side Peak.

For every day Ning Yu was away, Qiu Manxi walked Yi Xuefeng to and from Morning Lessons—though every single time, he wandered lost for a good while before finding his way to the Side Peak.

Unlike the cold and merciless Ning Yu, Qiu Manxi had a gentle temperament. Worried that Yi Xuefeng’s small body would grow too tired from running back and forth every day, he always carried the boy home in his arms.

At first Yi Xuefeng was terribly shy and insisted solemnly that Xuefeng could walk by himself, but Qiu Manxi only smiled at him without setting him down.

Before long, Yi Xuefeng stopped objecting.

That crisp scent of wine in his arms wrapped around Yi Xuefeng’s senses constantly, filling him with a deep sense of security.

Yi Xuefeng knew Qiu Manxi’s scent far too well. Even after several hundred years had passed, the dazed Yi Xuefeng still recognized it.

He opened his eyes blankly and gazed up at the blurred figure above him, his cracked lips moving faintly.

“Shi… zun…”