Chapter 119 – That Night

Luozhao-zi wore a long face as he carried a lantern, walking along the dark riverbank. This assignment was truly thankless—he had searched every corner of Green White Mountain without finding the slightest trace of any demons or evil spirits. A few people die and they immediately blame it on ghosts and monsters. Wasn’t this just making life difficult for them?

He suddenly halted mid-step. The faint sound of water drifted from the river’s surface. Looking closely, behind a cluster of reeds in the river, the water stirred and rippled outward in concentric rings.

Luozhao-zi grew wary and bellowed, “Who’s there!”

The reeds shook violently, water splashing as if something was fleeing in panic. Luozhao-zi wasn’t about to let it escape. He spread his arms and dove into the reed thicket like a great sparrowhawk swooping down on a rabbit, his five fingers curled into claws as he grabbed at the thing.

“Ah!” A woman’s terrified shriek startled the singing frogs into silence. In an instant, everything went quiet. Luozhao-zi felt only smooth skin beneath his hands and a sweet fragrance at the tip of his nose, shocking the Daoist into releasing his grip.

But what he hadn’t anticipated was that he had been in mid-flight, intending to grab the thing and toss it onto the bank. Now that he let go and lost his momentum, he too plunged into the water, ending up face-to-face and chest-to-chest with the woman.

Moonlight glistened on the woman’s rounded shoulders, beaded with water droplets. Her lovely face was vivid and dewy, her lips lightly bitten, a mixture of fear, alarm, and shame. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Ah—” Luozhao-zi was hemmed in by the dense reeds, unable to even turn around. He retreated slightly, and when his gaze dipped lower, he caught a glimpse of soft flesh half-hidden beneath the water. Heat surged unbidden through his lower abdomen.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Luozhao-zi covered his face and swam hastily toward shore, then snapped irritably, “You—you woman, why are you bathing here in the dead of night?”

“How could I come wash during the day?” the woman muttered regretfully. “If I’d known, I would have come with the aunties.”

Luozhao-zi stood dripping wet, not knowing what to do with his hands and feet. Simply walking away didn’t seem right either. He caught sight of the wooden basin beside the bank holding her clothes and hurriedly said, “Put your clothes on quickly. I won’t look.”

He turned his back to the river with a furrowed brow, but heard the woman remain silent for a long time before she finally cried out, fighting through her embarrassment, “My—my legs are weak. I don’t have the strength.”

Luozhao-zi closed his eyes. “Then I’ll pull you up. Hold onto my hand.”

A wet, slippery, delicate hand climbed up his arm. He pulled with one effort, and her entire soft body tumbled into his embrace, a lingering fragrance drifting around them.

The reeds swayed gently. Two shadows merged like butterflies.

“Tonight’s moonlight is quite enchanting.” Zhan Changfeng lay in a rattan chair, gazing up at the night sky. The hand resting on the armrest held a wine goblet, though it was filled with water.

She rarely touched alcohol—firstly because it dulled her reaction time, and secondly because nine times out of ten it led to trouble.

Zhan Changfeng swirled the goblet, her gaze drifting toward the shadowy woods beyond the fence. She smiled. “Didn’t eat enough at dinner, and now I’m hungry in the middle of the night.”

A clump of grass rustled. After a moment, a gray-furred rabbit darted out and charged straight at her, smacking into her rattan chair with a thud and passing out cold.

“…” Zhan Changfeng sighed. “I’m tired of rabbit meat. I wonder what fox meat tastes like?”

Cicadas chirped briefly. A ball of snow-white fur parted the grass and came trotting over, but stopped hesitantly about five meters away. It lifted its little head, bright eyes staring at Zhan Changfeng, then shrank back under her gaze.

A light flick of the tail, then chest out and head held high. It was pure white all over, with a crimson flame-shaped marking on its forehead—proud and noble as a queen. With such elegance, it sauntered up to her.

Zhan Changfeng watched it with unruffled calm. It fidgeted in place, cast a pitiful glance at her, took a few steps forward, bumped its head against her shin, closed its eyes, kicked its legs, and flopped onto the ground playing dead.

“Little fox, you’ve been bringing me rabbits… big fish… and now you’ve come to deliver yourself?” Zhan Changfeng pinched the scruff of its neck between two fingers and lifted it to eye level. “What do you want?”

The little fox dangled with all four limbs hanging limp, swinging in circles, gazing at her with an expression of pure innocence.

It was so small, so soft—it made one’s heart melt with tenderness. Zhan Changfeng set it in her lap and rubbed its fuzzy little head.

The little fox’s ears twitched twice and it nuzzled deeper into her arms—only to be pinched by the scruff and lifted up again.

Zhan Changfeng propped her cheek on one hand, eyes narrowed slightly. “Acting cute won’t work either. This isn’t a place you should be.”

She set it on the ground. “Go back to the mountains. Focus on your cultivation.”

The little fox whimpered and tried to sidle up to her leg.

Zhan Changfeng simply watched it carry on. The little fox wasn’t the type for tantrums or rolling around. It just sat there on the ground, looking up at her with its little head tilted—obedient and sorrowful.

One, utterly unmoved.

The other, eyes brimming with misty tears.

The one with feelings always loses first. The little fox turned to leave, pausing every few steps to look back. It stopped at the edge of the grass and cast one deep, lingering gaze at her before finally bolting into the woods and vanishing from sight.

Zhan Changfeng lay in her rattan chair, staring into the deep night sky. “It’s already hard enough for plants and animals to become spirits. Why entangle yourself with humans?”

Her tone was distant and wistful. It was hard to tell whether she was lamenting the little fox’s fate, or something else entirely.

The night passed without incident.

Zhan Changfeng and Yu Sheng left together the next morning, but took separate paths.

One headed to the martial arena in Falling Blossom City, the other to the Community School—the sites of the Martial Exam and the academic exam, respectively.

This time, Lin Wu led the group with Yao Yu assisting, escorting the students taking the Martial Exam to the arena in Falling Blossom City.

The normally open-air arena had been enclosed by a barrier, prohibiting outsiders from approaching. Only examinees and specially invited guests could enter. Lin Wu instructed them, “Do your best out there. It’s not just examiners from the Martial Arts Academy watching—there are also envoys from major families and factions. Even if you don’t make it into the Academy, catching their eye is another way forward.”

The students’ palms grew sweaty. Their futures hung in the balance—this was their one shot.

Half an hour later, all examinees had assembled, and a procession of white-robed figures entered the grounds.

The crowd spotted the black-and-gold character for “martial” embroidered on their backs and erupted with excitement. “Those are judges from the Martial Arts Academy!”

One of the judges stepped onto the stage and read out the rules. “This examination spans three days. The first day tests bone quality. The second and third days determine combat rankings. Participants: two thousand four hundred and twenty-one cultivators from Falling Blossom City.”

“All examinees—are you present?”

Two thousand four hundred and twenty-one examinees stood at solemn attention before the judge. “Present!”

“Swear with me—by this life, I walk the path of martial arts!”

“By this life, I walk the path of martial arts!”

“Though karmic flames consume me, though heaven forsake my heart, though I languish all my days—my martial soul shall never die!”

“Though karmic flames consume me, though heaven forsake my heart, though I languish all my days—my martial soul shall never die!”

The examination began. The judge called for attendants to bring out a dark blue-black polished stone, as tall as a person. “The external cultivation of martial arts concerns lineage and techniques; the internal cultivation concerns bone quality. Bone quality has two aspects. The first is innate constitution—what Daoists call a Dao Root, and Buddhists call Wisdom Root—encompassing temperament, mental fortitude, luck, accumulated merit from past lives, and various other innate factors. Those with superior bone quality progress twice as fast in cultivation with half the effort. The second refers to the physical skeleton itself. For us martial practitioners, the body is of paramount importance.”

“Therefore, this bone quality assessment has two components: first, measuring bone grade; second, physiognomy reading. All examinees, please line up for testing.”

The matter of bone quality was truly mysterious, and the examinees reacted with either skepticism or astonishment. Some were dismissive, but others had already grasped its significance, their entire bodies tensing as they stared at the dark polished stone with grave expressions.

“Those without a bone aspect shall not be taught.” Zhan Changfeng recalled a principle from the cultivation texts she had once read.

As the judge had explained, bone quality represented one’s innate constitution and also influenced temperament, destiny, and other acquired endeavors—it was of critical importance. Cultivators placed particular emphasis on Dao Roots and immortal bones. A person without a bone aspect would never be taught the Way.

(End of Chapter)