A few breaths later, the gaze finally moved away from Ji Wangshu, and he let out a sigh of relief.
His thumb left a clearly visible nail mark on his index finger.
He swore, this had to be the longest few breaths he had ever endured.
“Come inside to talk.”
Liu Fuyao’s voice came from above, and she promptly stepped into the house. Mu Zhiming acknowledged with a hum, turning to follow behind.
After two steps, Mu Zhiming’s toe bumped against the medicine jar by the Flower Garden, letting out a “clang” sound.
She stopped in her tracks, slightly stunned, then turned around to look at Ji Wangshu, who hadn’t walked far yet, and spoke:
“…Take the medicine jar away.”
“I’ll apply it for you in a bit.”
Ji Wangshu snapped back to his senses, turned back to pick up the medicine jar, and was about to head toward his own Wooden House when he suddenly heard the two of them chatting inside through the small window.
“Zhiming, have you been growing any new flowers lately? There’s such a peculiar scent.”
Inside the small hut, Liu Fuyao sat casually on the mat, asking with apparent nonchalance, and even cast a glance at Ji Wangshu outside the window.
Ji Wangshu’s breath caught, and he instinctively lowered his head to sniff himself, then his expression shifted as he quickly hurried off with the medicine jar toward his own quarters.
“No, that’s coming from Ji Wangshu. I don’t know what the scent is either.” Mu Zhiming hugged her Flying Sword, sitting at the table, responding stiffly.
Liu Fuyao was taken aback—a man, carrying the fragrance of flowers? And even Mu Zhiming didn’t know what the scent was?
One should know that Mu Zhiming’s love for growing flowers was famous throughout the sect; whenever the other female disciples wanted to pick flowers, they would come to ask her opinion.
At that thought, Liu Fuyao let out a light chuckle.
Ningzhou was vast, and there was no shortage of wonders—and besides, this was a Female-Dominant World. If a man wanted to draw attention to himself with some peculiar perfume, it was understandable.
Then her expression turned serious as she shifted to the matter at hand.
“Your eyes—how are they now?”
Liu Fuyao had only just come out of seclusion when she learned that Mu Zhiming had forcibly used a Forbidden Art to destroy the Demon Sect, and she felt a mixture of frustration and disappointment.
She knew of that Forbidden Art too—while it could temporarily elevate the user’s cultivation by one major realm, it would randomly damage one of the five senses, and over the course of a year, the senses would gradually fail until they were completely lost.
This time, Mu Zhiming had been rather unlucky—of all things to hurt, it had to be her eyes.
A Sword Cultivator who had lost her sight—how could she continue to cultivate? The entire Ningzhou had never heard of a Blind Eye Sword Immortal.
“…Today, I can only see outlines.” Mu Zhiming said stiffly.
Liu Fuyao’s brow furrowed slightly. Just a few days, and it was already down to outlines?
At this rate, it might not even take a year before her only Direct Disciple became completely blind.
As if sensing what her master was thinking, Mu Zhiming continued in a halting voice:
“…Being able to see outlines is enough.”
“It’s not enough.” Liu Fuyao cut her off, speaking urgently:
“You have a Heavenly Spiritual Root; your future is limitless. If your eyes stay like this, you won’t even make it through the Sect Grand Competition six months from now.”
The Sect Grand Competition was a once-every-five-years event within the Immortal Sect, and its purpose was largely the same as other sects’.
It was simply that small and medium sects had scarce resources and needed to train elites, so they would select a champion and pour everything into them—raising a Golden Core was already a victory. As for Nascent Soul? That was something they didn’t even dare dream of.
For Mu Zhiming, this was also her best chance at the Foundation Establishment Stage to acquire resources and break through to Golden Core. Miss this opportunity, and she would have to waste many more years.
If Mu Zhiming’s eyes weren’t blind, even if she didn’t take first this time, Liu Fuyao could send her down the mountain to gain experience and acquire some resources.
At that thought, Liu Fuyao looked into Mu Zhiming’s pupils—last time they met, her eyes were still emerald green, but now they were mostly shrouded in grayish white.
But now, with this situation… Liu Fuyao let out a sigh.
Mu Zhiming hugged her Flying Sword and said nothing.
She had been stuck at the Foundation Establishment Stage for over a year now; both her cultivation and her state of mind were at their peak, and she had long understood the importance of winning the Sect Grand Competition.
Seeing her silent, Liu Fuyao sighed again and spoke helplessly:
“I found a way to heal your eyes from an Ancient Text, but it requires a rare heavenly treasure.”
“What?” Mu Zhiming was startled.
“Wood Spirit Three-Needle Flower. It blooms once every thousand years, gains nascent intelligence, and takes on human form.”
Liu Fuyao paused, then added: “But this Wood Spirit Three-Needle Flower is an extremely rare heavenly treasure. I just used a Voice Transmission Talisman to ask other Nascent Soul cultivators, and even they don’t know of it.”
Hearing this, Mu Zhiming’s brows drooped, and the light in her pupils dimmed.
“Prepare for the Sect Grand Competition in six months first. Fortunately, right after the competition is the Heaven’s Mechanism Pavilion’s once-a-decade auction, prepared specifically for Nascent Soul cultivators.”
“I’ll help you search for information on the Wood Spirit Three-Needle Flower there.”
“…Thank you, Master.” Mu Zhiming responded in a stiff voice.
With the matter settled, Liu Fuyao didn’t linger and departed on her Sword.
Mu Zhiming watched her figure—from just a few meters away, she could barely make out her master’s face.
All that remained in her vision was a blurry figure in black robes, surrounded by faint flickering multicolored spiritual light.
She let out a sigh and looked down at the Sword in her hands—this treasured blade that had accompanied her for years through countless battles—and now, bathed in cold Moonlight, she couldn’t even make out the edge of the blade.
She didn’t dare think about how she would face the competition six months from now, murmuring to herself: “…Too fast.”
Then she stood frozen, silent.
After a few breaths, she steadied her mind and sniffed the air. Three scents drifted through the small courtyard.
One was the faint bitterness of Daisies, one was the crisp chill of winter Plum Blossoms, and one was a faint, peculiar fragrance.
Mu Zhiming walked toward the source of that peculiar fragrance, her embroidered shoes tapping against the floorboards with a “tap-tap-tap” sound.
The whole courtyard was utterly quiet, making those “tap-tap-tap” footsteps especially clear.
Ji Wangshu lay on the bed, burying his face into the pillow and taking a deep breath.
His bedding had been tucked away at the side under the bed, and the Healing Ointment was placed on the bed, emitting a faint bitter scent.
His expression was tense as the footsteps outside grew closer and closer.
It was just applying medicine, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the scene was so intimate—perhaps because he felt like a man tied to the execution platform, waiting for the blade to fall.
Or perhaps because he had stripped off his top, bare-chested, imagining the moment when Mu Zhiming’s gentle fingers, coated with Healing Ointment, would trace a cold touch across his skin.
“…Hurry up and come.” He muttered.