A cup of tea ago, Ji Wangshu lay in the wooden house, eyes closed, wanting to sleep but unable to, the hidden injuries on his body still aching faintly from time to time.
He let out a sigh, thinking that hiding like this wasn’t a solution anyway, especially since he still needed to apply medicine today. He promptly got up from the bed, gently pushed open the wooden door, and stepped into the small courtyard.
Mu Zhiming’s courtyard sat halfway up the mountainside, not large in size, with a big plum tree in the center. It was the dead of winter now, and the plum tree was covered in blossoms, even a few plum petals resting on the stone bench beneath it.
The plum blossom fragrance drifted to both sides of the courtyard, where two wooden houses stood facing each other.
The wooden house beside Ji Wangshu was quite plain, clearly built not long ago. Several paper lanterns hung from the eaves, swaying gently in the night breeze.
On the other side stood a flower garden, filled with small blossoms of every color. Under the moonlight, the leaves still stretched outward, clearly well cared for on a daily basis.
Mu Zhiming was crouching beside the flower garden, her sword placed beside her, left hand resting on her knee, right fingers idly plucking at the petals of a daisy.
Ji Wangshu took a deep breath and walked along the blue stone path until he stood beside her.
The courtyard under the moonlight was cold and quiet, with only the rustle of wind through the plum tree and the soft sound of his shoes against the blue stones.
Ji Wangshu crouched down as well, looking at Mu Zhiming beside him.
In the night, Mu Zhiming’s face was delicate and slender, her features painted like ink, clad in a white gauze robe that drifted like an immortal. The figure beneath that gauze was even more eye-catching—the fabric over her chest stretched taut and full, while the green rope at her waist cinched inward a few inches.
Behind the immortal maiden, where the fabric didn’t quite cover, a patch of fair skin peeked out. Her shoulder blades were like butterfly wings, curving inward from the back and sides, tracing an elegant arc.
Ji Wangshu’s breath tightened at the sight. After a few breaths, he quickly turned his head toward the flower garden and hurriedly struck up a conversation:
“These white daisies really do look beautiful under the night sky.”
Mu Zhiming turned her head, her gray-white pupils facing in his direction.
Ji Wangshu met those pupils, which still held a hint of jade green that hadn’t fully faded. He thought to himself, if she hadn’t gone blind, those jade-green eyes would surely be mesmerizing.
A long moment passed, and Mu Zhiming didn’t reply. Ji Wangshu scratched his head, not knowing what he’d said wrong, so he added: “Um… not cultivating tonight?”
Mu Zhiming turned her head back, placed the plucked petals back into the flower garden, wrapped both arms around her pale knees that the skirt didn’t cover, and a rough, unfamiliar voice emerged:
“…Waiting for you.”
“For me?”
“To apply medicine.” Her voice was soft but clear as it reached Ji Wangshu’s ears. “But you kept sleeping.”
Ji Wangshu was stunned for a moment. Only then did he notice that beside the flower garden, on the side hidden by the sword, sat a medicine ointment jar, with neatly folded gauze stacked on top of it.
He suddenly felt a pang of guilt.
These past few days he really had been a bit listless—days and nights reversed, barely saying two words to Wood, and even making her wait for him when it came to applying medicine.
He pondered in his mind how that lively true childhood friend would have responded.
“…Haha.” He scratched his head, letting out an awkward laugh. “After the village was wiped out, I was locked up in the demon sect and never got a good night’s sleep. I haven’t adjusted yet.”
Then he added, “It won’t happen again, Wood.”
Mu Zhiming hugged her knees tighter, her head drooping even lower.
Silence spread between the two of them, broken only by the rustling of wind through the plum tree.
Ji Wangshu was just wondering whether he should call her into the room now to apply the medicine, but then he thought—
Inviting a girl into his room on his own initiative… even the real childhood friend probably wouldn’t do something like that.
At that moment, Mu Zhiming suddenly spoke:
“…I’m sorry.” Her voice came out haltingly. “It was my fault for not protecting everyone in the village…”
“It won’t happen again.”
Ji Wangshu quickly waved his hands, thinking to himself that he really hadn’t meant it that way.
Mu Zhiming suddenly turned her head again, looking at him with a hint of confusion:
“But how do you know… that this flower is called a white daisy?”
“You never cared about things like this before.”
A loud buzz went off in Ji Wangshu’s head. He was done for.
He rapidly recalled the image of that true childhood friend in his memories: lively, restless, always running around all day, never sparing a glance for flowers or plants.
How could a guy like that recognize this flower as a white daisy?
He’d been careless just now and actually made a mistake like this.
Ji Wangshu’s palms began to sweat, and his thumbnail instinctively dug into the pad of his index finger, sending a sharp sting through him.
Stay calm. He took a few deep breaths, his mind racing at full speed.
On the day he was rescued from the demon sect, even the golden core elder hadn’t noticed anything. So Mu Zhiming, at her foundation establishment level, would be even less likely to see through him.
In that sect, only Mu Zhiming’s master—the sect leader at nascent soul level—would have any chance of seeing that he was a flower spirit in disguise.
Besides, after these past few days of getting along, Mu Zhiming had never said anything like that.
It seemed she was just curious. All he needed to do was make up a plausible excuse and smooth it over.
Suddenly, Ji Wangshu’s eyes lit up. A brilliant excuse surfaced in his mind.
He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling up slightly, and pretended to speak casually:
“After you left, I went into the deep mountains every day. Passing by the flower grove where we used to play, I’d pick a few blossoms and put them in the house. The villagers told me what they were called.”
“That way, it felt like you’d never really left.”
After saying this, Ji Wangshu secretly glanced at Mu Zhiming.
Seeing that she hugged her knees even tighter, her elbows trembling slightly, her head buried lower and lower, not lifting for a long while.
The silence in the small courtyard grew even heavier, and he could even hear the faint sound of her nose sniffing.
After a long while, she finally let out a soft “Mm,” but still didn’t lift her head.
Ji Wangshu finally breathed a sigh of relief. Even though it was the dead of winter, he felt no chill at all—his back was soaked through with cold sweat.
After another long moment, Mu Zhiming lifted her head. Traces of tears lingered between her brows, half her face still buried in her knees, her crimson lips parting slightly:
“Let’s go to your room… I’ll apply the medicine for you.”
The two of them stood up and walked toward the other side where the paper lanterns hung.
Suddenly, a flying sword shot toward the courtyard from the distance.
The sword landed, and from it descended a black-robed woman with an ethereal bearing. She was tall and graceful, her hair tied up high, spiritual energy swirling around her.
She lightly withdrew her flying sword, her gaze sweeping toward the courtyard and landing on Mu Zhiming. Noticing the half-head-shorter Ji Wangshu beside her, she furrowed her brows slightly and called out:
“Zhiming.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an authority that brooked no dissent.
Mu Zhiming cupped her hands in a respectful bow, lowering her head slightly: “Fuyao Master.”
Ji Wangshu’s steps froze, his heart skipping a beat.
Liu Fuyao? That Mu Zhiming’s sect leader master?
Wasn’t she supposed to be in seclusion? Why did she suddenly come out?
He stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move or lift his head to look at the newcomer, his eyes cast downward, the clothes on his back continuing to soak with cold sweat.
The sound of footsteps grew closer and closer, until a pair of cloud-pattern embroidered shoes stopped right in front of him.
Ji Wangshu felt a gaze fall upon him. He slightly raised his eyes and noticed that Liu Fuyao’s look was rather cold.
His heart immediately tightened. Holding his breath, his thumbnail instinctively dug into the pad of his index finger as he forced himself to stay calm.
Could it be that she’d discovered his identity as a wood spirit three-needle flower?
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