“Excuse me, coming through.”
Ji Wangshu pushed his way through the crowd, struggling toward the square.
But today’s foot traffic in the market town still exceeded his expectations. Mortals and female cultivators alike had all gathered here, sharing in one grand feast.
Truly, people were like the tide and he was like a boat—and so, his little leaf of a vessel was gradually carried toward the street corner by the sea of humanity.
“I swear, I’ve never seen this many people in my whole life. Even going to the Shanghai Bund in my past life wouldn’t have compared.”
Ji Wangshu stopped in a corner, drenched in sweat from head to toe. It rivaled a full day of sword practice with Mu Zhiming.
“Young master, here, take a handkerchief to wipe your face.” Just then, a woman’s voice came from beside him.
Ji Wangshu looked up and gave her a wary glance.
He was genuinely scared now. If he got entangled with some other unknown woman again, that girl Mu Zhiming would sulk for a good long while once he got back.
Then he saw the woman’s face—clean and delicate, with a few thin calluses on her hands. She stood behind a small stall displaying all kinds of Twelve Flower Gods hairpins, with small wooden signs in front listing prices in spirit stones.
Ah, just a street vendor.
Ji Wangshu relaxed, took the handkerchief, wiped the sweat off his body, and handed it back after a moment.
“Thanks, miss.”
“It’s no trouble, young master. I noticed you came to the flower market alone—surely you must be here for your sweetheart? Would you like to take a look at the Flower Goddess hairpins?”
Ugh, another sales pitch.
Ji Wangshu immediately thought of that shop clerk at the Joy Pavilion who had tricked him into that lottery last time. But compared to that clerk’s shady scams, this female vendor’s approach was far more clever.
Plus, he remembered muttering yesterday that Mu Zhiming’s current plum blossom hairpin was always coming loose—probably because of poor quality—and he’d been thinking of buying her a new one for the Flower Festival.
So Ji Wangshu walked up to the stall and started browsing.
Ji Wangshu was a rough sort of man. As for the Twelve Flower Gods, he didn’t even know which flowers they were. He could only pick based on the styles he recognized.
Pink peach blossom was too flashy—it didn’t match that wooden personality of hers, and gifting peach blossoms was a bit too romantic… Apricot blossom had a decent color, but the meaning wasn’t great. Whenever he thought of apricot blossoms, the first thing that came to mind was that poem about a red apricot branch reaching over the wall…
“Oh?!” Ji Wangshu’s eyes lit up a moment later.
He spotted a peony-like flower hairpin with rich, layered petals. The edges were bright yellow, like sunlight scattering down—radiant and dazzling—while the center was pure white and flawless, exuding an immortal aura, like a shy fairy maiden.
It resembled a peony, but not quite the same thing.
“This one’s good. I’ll take this one.”
The vendor saw which flower hairpin he had picked up, and a strange look flashed across her eyes. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say something, hesitated, then finally sighed and said, “Young master, this flower… its meaning isn’t exactly good.”
“Hey, as long as it looks good, that’s all that matters. Don’t worry about the meaning—just name your price!”
“…Fifty spirit stones.”
The price was fair enough, and since it was for that blockhead, she probably wouldn’t scold him for it.
Ji Wangshu nodded slightly, then pulled fifty spirit stones out of his storage pouch and handed them over.
Suddenly, a commotion came from the distant square.
“The main event’s here!” the crowd shouted.
The two of them looked up to see that the Flower Festival Q&A activity was beginning on the square. Several lucky female cultivators had been selected to go up on stage, reportedly for some kind of mysterious grand prize.
Ji Wangshu, however, froze.
On the stage stood three lucky guests. The first two wore black and purple robes respectively, and the last wore a water-blue off-shoulder daoist robe with a black eye veil.
Who else could it be but Mu Zhiming?
His heart jolted. He tucked the freshly bought flower hairpin into his storage pouch, hurried to the front of the square, and tried to get on stage to pull Mu Zhiming down.
“Hey hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Two lavishly dressed staff members beside him, seeing this unknown man trying to barge onto the stage, immediately reached out to block him.
“There’s a friend of mine up there—I just need to say a few words to her.” Ji Wangshu said anxiously.
The two eyed him with suspicion, clearly not believing a word. This made Ji Wangshu frantic.
Mu Zhiming was blind. Why was she going up there to join the commotion? And of all times, these two had to block him.
“He’s my… dao companion.”
Mu Zhiming had also noticed something unusual and walked over to tell the two.
“So what if he’s your dao companion? Even a dao companion can’t break the rules of the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion.” The two said with righteous faces.
Heavenly Secrets Pavilion?
Ji Wangshu’s heart jolted at those words.
Even in the real world, he’d heard of the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion’s reputation—they specialized in selling all kinds of intelligence across the continent, and the power behind them was unfathomable. Once, someone rumored to be at the peak of Nascent Soul was unhappy with how the Pavilion did business and went to their doorstep to demand answers. He only ended up with a bruised nose. Since then, no one dared to cause them trouble anymore.
Why would the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion come to join the Flower Festival’s festivities? Was that also why Chen Miao and the others were here?
Ji Wangshu pondered this, his expression shifting.
“It’s fine… Sister Chen Miao and the others just told me to go up and answer the questions. The Heavenly Secrets Pavilion said there’s a reward.”
Just then, Mu Zhiming sent a sound transmission, while the gray-white pupils beneath her black eye veil flickered slightly.
He… didn’t refute the words “dao companion” just now. Hehe…
Looks like next time I can pull him into my room, create an opportunity, and push him down—
Then Mu Zhiming thought of those novels she’d read before, with all those seventy-two different postures, and her ears grew hot, her face flushed crimson, and her pale legs instinctively pressed together.
“…Fine then. Do your best.”
Ji Wangshu also knew this matter involved the immortal sect and wasn’t something he could act on by impulse. So he sent a sound transmission back, nodded to Mu Zhiming, and stepped down from the stage.
But that single word of agreement landed in Mu Zhiming’s ears with a completely different meaning.
He… he agreed.
Mu Zhiming’s hands, hidden beneath her skirt, unconsciously twisted together, her pinky fingers hooking and releasing, lightly touching, teasing back and forth.
Her nostrils flared as she breathed in that wonderfully strange flower fragrance that clung to Ji Wangshu.
Like little fish suddenly appearing beneath the calm surface of a winter lake, leaping about wildly, Mu Zhiming’s heart pounded thump-thump.
Ji Wangshu’s strange flower fragrance also drifted up to the stage. The purple-robed woman glanced at the black-robed woman beside her, hesitated for a moment, then whispered in her ear:
“Senior sister… why does that man also smell of three-needle flower? Did we mistake the person?”
The black-robed woman bit her lower lip lightly, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind, and for a moment she had no answer either. But then she made up her mind and forced a calm demeanor:
“Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”
“Mu Zhiming is definitely the three-needle flower. Think about it—yesterday we also concealed our aura and went to the immortal sect square. We saw her sword.”
“Su Qingyue is one thing, since she has a heavenly spiritual root. But Mu Zhiming… with merely dual spiritual roots, how could she be that monstrous? Even I feel a bit of pressure from her. Tell me, how could she not be some monster in disguise?”
The purple-robed woman suddenly understood and showered her with praise:
“As expected of senior sister, your mind is meticulous—that logic is airtight. But…”
Her tone shifted, carrying doubt: “Senior sister, the questions about the Twelve Flower Gods… can you answer them?”
The black-robed woman’s smile instantly vanished, and she shot the purple-robed woman a vicious glare.
Why did her junior sister have to pick such an awkward question to ask?
Both of them came from the demon sect, both cultivating the sect master’s personal technique. Didn’t her junior sister know full well that she had no clue about this stupid Twelve Flower Gods nonsense?
And yet she had to ask anyway, just to embarrass her.
Junior sister, does senior sister’s whip crack all by itself?