Ji Wangshu couldn’t help but pout, so subtle it was nearly imperceptible.
Osmanthus cake again?
That wooden girl didn’t care for sweets herself, so this was most likely specially prepared for him, worried he’d wake up hungry in the evening.
That wooden girl, practicing the sword this late, and still thinking of him.
At that thought, a warm current flowed through Ji Wangshu’s heart. Then, remembering the previous osmanthus cakes, he pursed his lips.
Every time before, they’d been cloyingly sweet—the dead childhood friend had liked that, but he didn’t, so he’d barely taken a bite or two before setting them aside.
This one was probably sweet too.
Above the Cloud Sea, he let out a sigh and looked at Mu Zhiming’s slender, fair hands.
Those hands that held a sword as steady as a mountain when training now simply hung loose at her sides. Though years of sword practice had calloused the web between her thumb and index finger, it didn’t detract from their beauty in the least.
Her five fingers were well-proportioned, fair and tender, slender and long, carrying a cold, ascetic beauty—enough to be called a hand connoisseur’s delight.
He tilted his head again, looking at her middle finger.
Just now above the Cloud Sea, he’d been behind Chen Miao like this, secretly noticing that her middle finger was peculiar—
Her other four fingers had long, elegant nail art. Even as cultivators, they couldn’t escape the love of beauty. But her middle finger was trimmed very short, the nail pale, different from all the rest.
Back then, Ji Wangshu had been curious and asked aloud, only to see Chen Miao giggle and say softly:
“Brother Wangshu, in most sect grounds, there are more female cultivators than male cultivators. Even cultivators can’t escape the seven emotions and six desires, so…”
Seeing Ji Wangshu completely baffled, as if he didn’t understand, her smile gained a few more layers of meaning. She said something like, “Ah, you’ll understand later. Oh, by the way, you can take a look at Senior Sister Mu’s.”
Now above the Cloud Sea, he stood behind Mu Zhiming, with an arm’s length of empty space between them.
Ji Wangshu looked at her index finger. Though it was also fair, with no nail art, fitting that wooden girl’s nature, it wasn’t trimmed as short either—no different from the other four fingers.
“What the heck, it’s not different from Chen Miao’s after all.” He rubbed his nose, unable to figure out the reason.
“You… what are you looking at?” Though Mu Zhiming’s eyes were only half-seeing, she still noticed the gaze behind her. Her stiff voice carried a hint of displeasure, barely perceptible.
“Oh, I was looking at the osmanthus cake in your bag.” Ji Wangshu replied, reaching out naturally to take it as he spoke.
Mu Zhiming’s right hand immediately moved to her front, her whole body shifting sideways. Her crimson lips parted slightly as she said, “…Not for you.”
Ji Wangshu smiled, a little exasperated. This wooden girl was still angry with him.
He then rolled his eyes, and suddenly a brilliant idea popped into his head.
He let out a sly chuckle, stepped forward, closing the distance to Mu Zhiming. Then he extended his right hand, making a grabbing motion.
Mu Zhiming lifted the bag with her right hand, and Ji Wangshu’s right hand came up empty. “Ah,” he exclaimed, his whole body swaying left and right, pretending he was about to fall.
Mu Zhiming’s heart tightened.
This was a sheer drop of ten thousand feet, and the two of them were standing on this thin flying sword. Brother Wangshu was only at the Qi Refining Stage—if he fell…
These thoughts flashed through her mind, and her right hand instinctively formed a Finger Technique, fixing Ji Wangshu’s ankles in place.
Then she hastily turned around, her free left hand groping anxiously, searching for the man behind her.
The moment she turned, she felt someone crash into her embrace, his waist pressing right against her free left hand.
Ji Wangshu chuckled inwardly, thinking: Look at how anxious she is—this girl was definitely just pretending to be angry. See, now the two of them are pressed together.
He was about to raise his head when he found his face wrapped in a bundle of soft fabric. It took considerable effort to pull himself free.
His face showed an expression of disbelief. This girl, she didn’t show it on the surface… So that childhood friend really was a lucky one.
Ji Wangshu clicked his tongue, then extended his right hand to take the bag. This time, those fair jade-like hands didn’t dodge him.
He took an osmanthus cake from the bag and bit into it.
“Huh?” He exclaimed. Then he raised his head and looked at Mu Zhiming.
He saw that face, always as cold and clear as frost and snow, now bearing two clear teardrops. Her long lashes trembled slightly, her nose softly flared.
She looked like a snow lotus battered by wind and rain—a pitiful sight that stirred the heart.
Then her crimson lips parted slightly, and she spoke in a stiff, trembling voice:
“Don’t scare me…”
Ji Wangshu drew in a sharp breath, thinking he’d taken the joke too far this time.
In the Real World, he was at the pinnacle of Foundation Establishment. Though he never left the house, he’d flown on swords for years, so he naturally felt confident in the Dream World too. As long as his toes were still on the sword, falling was impossible.
But he hadn’t considered that Mu Zhiming knew nothing of his reincarnation. In the mind of this iceberg fairy, as pure as a snow lotus, existed only that lively, restless childhood friend—a mortal with no spiritual energy, the sole survivor after the Small Mountain Village was slaughtered.
He hastily tucked the bag into his waist, still chewing the osmanthus cake, and reached out a finger, wanting to wipe away Mu Zhiming’s tears.
But Mu Zhiming was half a head taller than him. He had to stand on his toes just to reach her forehead.
Though standing on tiptoes above the Cloud Sea wasn’t anything to worry about for him, after what had just happened, Ji Wangshu wouldn’t dare do such a thing again.
So Mu Zhiming bent down slightly, leaning her body forward, and buried her head in his shoulder. Her warm breath brushed against his ear, sending a tingling sensation through him.
He extended his finger, the pad touching her cheek.
Her face bore no makeup, cool to the touch. His fingertip was warm.
Ji Wangshu wiped away the tear stains on both her cheeks, and at this moment, his heart stirred just a little.
But just as he was about to withdraw his fingertip, a thought crossed his mind—
Was she worrying about the “me” standing before her now, or that childhood friend who had already died? If she knew that this shell housed a soul from another world, would those eyes still hold tears?
The thought flashed by, swift as a gust of wind sweeping over the Cloud Sea, yet it left Ji Wangshu melancholy. He mused inwardly:
“A thousand years from now, will my trembling hand still be able to wipe away the tears on your cheeks…”
After a moment, Mu Zhiming raised her head and turned around, not letting Ji Wangshu see her face. But her cool hands quietly overlapped with his.
Ji Wangshu snapped back to reality and let out a breath. Regardless, the anger this girl had inexplicably been carrying moments ago had finally dissipated.
He continued chewing the osmanthus cake. This time, he didn’t set it down halfway—he savored it slowly until he swallowed the last bite.
“Wooden girl, why isn’t this osmanthus cake sweet this time?” He asked, his face full of surprise.
“The ones before… you didn’t finish them.” Mu Zhiming replied, her voice still carrying a trace of sobbing, a hint of trembling. She added:
“So this time… I changed it for you.”
Ji Wangshu felt a warm current surge through his heart, and that flutter of emotion grew a little stronger.
No man could resist a girl who paid attention to every detail of your life.
Even in a female-dominant cultivation world, with the genders reversed, it was the same.
Moonlit night, the moon fully climbed over the mountains, towering above the clouds. Half an incense stick’s time later, the two finally returned to the mountain residence’s courtyard.
“From now on…” Mu Zhiming landed from sword flight, letting go of their intertwined hands. Her expression hesitated as she searched for the right words.
“Huh?” Ji Wangshu turned his head to look at her.
He saw that iceberg-like side profile, illuminated by moonlight, softly speak: “Don’t be so close with Chen Miao…”
She said it all in one breath, then fell silent, looking at the courtyard.
Ji Wangshu stood frozen in place, slightly stunned. He looked into the courtyard again, where Mu Zhiming stood quietly beneath the plum blossom tree.
Though March had passed and it was deep winter, the plum tree was still in bloom. Under the moonlight, a few plum blossom petals fluttered down, landing on the cold woman’s shoulder.
Ji Wangshu inexplicably recalled a line of poetry:
Whenever I think of the regrets in my life, the plum blossoms fall.