When she spoke with the black-clothed sword cultivator, faint wisps of wind breath lingered indistinctly around them.
High in the sky, the young man’s smile had long faded. He lowered his eyes, gazing intently at the pair whispering below.
He hid in the shadows to observe, simply wanting to uncover some clues.
But now, with the black-clothed sword cultivator leaning in to murmur privately with the girl, it was truly…
Somewhat of an eyesore.
Li Yin paid no mind to the wind’s lingering reluctance. She only realized it belatedly.
Since the young man before her was Hidden Sword Mountain’s chief disciple, it came as no surprise that he had a Sword Venerable as his master.
She quickly composed herself. “That’s wonderful. I wonder if there’s any chance for me to behold the Sword Venerable’s grace.”
The youth revealed a thoughtful expression. “I can introduce you…”
The Player screamed inwardly.
“No, no introduction is necessary.” Li Yin rejected him decisively, drawing a clear boundary. “I don’t want to disturb the senior’s cultivation. Just catching a distant glimpse would suffice. I’ve heard Hidden Sword Mountain’s Martial Field is nearby, where one might occasionally encounter the senior. I’d like to try my luck there.”
With that, Li Yin gazed at him, waiting for him to share the Sword Venerable’s schedule for the day—or perhaps take the lead and guide her there.
Unexpectedly, the sword cultivator’s eyes remained clear as he gazed back at her, seemingly awaiting her next words.
For a moment, they stared at each other in mutual silence. Li Yin suddenly recalled that, at their first meeting, this kind-hearted passerby had been lost.
“Are you lost?” she asked, hardly believing it.
Ying Zhuochen responded softly. “Mm.”
He appeared somewhat puzzled, unclear why her topic had shifted so abruptly.
To get lost in his own sect…
Li Yin’s gaze flickered momentarily.
“Then, should I lead you there?” she offered hesitantly.
The youth replied, “Good.”
He then stepped forward to follow her.
Tall in stature with long legs, his stride would naturally outpace a girl’s. Yet he quietly slowed his steps, treading lightly and gently, obediently keeping pace at her side.
The hair trailing down his back swayed subtly left and right with each step. One hand rested habitually on the sword hilt at his waist, serene as a mountain mist or clear breeze.
His other hand cradled a fruit, palm upward, holding it with perfect propriety.
He could have stored the fruit away. He could have flown her there on his sword. But such thoughts never crossed his mind.
Whatever she said, he heeded. Whatever she did, he mirrored, walking side by side.
Li Yin’s emotions grew subtly complex. Leading a Hidden Sword Mountain disciple around on Hidden Sword Mountain’s own turf—nobody would believe such a tale if she told it.
She glanced once more at his kind and gentle features.
At her glance, the youth did not avert his eyes. Instead, his clear black pupils met hers openly, as if silently asking, “Is there a problem?”
She glanced again, and he held the same posture, still conveying, “Is there a problem?”
The slight tilt of his head as he looked at her made him seem as though he were cocking his head inquisitively, without a word.
His looks did not rival the bewitching allure of demon or demonic cultivators, yet his lips were red, teeth white—handsome and upright.
As a sword cultivator who tempered his body, his physique lacked the robust heaviness of a body cultivator. Clad in black robes, he exuded a restrained leanness, standing tall like bamboo or pine.
A flicker of mischief stirred in her heart.
Who knew how many times such mischief had stirred? But of course, for a player strategizing in a conquest game, feeling her heart move amid the gameplay was entirely normal.
Li Yin mused that if she truly harvested supplementation from this naive, easily lost fellow, even if she initiated and then abandoned him, he might never locate Myriad Beasts Sect’s mountain gate.
He could wander astray midway, never appearing at her door to wail in protest.
Ho ho, a sword cultivator disciple…
That could be quite amusing!
Seeing him fall silent, Li Yin took the initiative. “I’ve yet to meet Sword Venerable Yun Jian. I wonder what sort of personality the Sword Venerable has. Sword cultivation is known to be grueling—your master must constantly urge you in your sword arts, no?”
She secretly appraised the current character of her former self.
Whatever she asked, Ying Zhuochen answered.
“My master possesses unparalleled attainment in the sword dao. As for his personality…” The youth faltered suddenly, unsure how to continue.
Though he betrayed no outward sign, his features remaining purely kind without a trace of resentment toward his master, the Player nonetheless clenched her fist.
Li Yin suspected he found it hard to voice.
Likely oppressed and ridiculed under his Dragon Proud Heaven master’s thumb.
The Player felt deep sympathy.
Ying Zhuochen paused for a beat before answering honestly. “I don’t know.”
“It’s fine.” Li Yin concealed a trace of pity in her eyes. “You can share whatever you do know.”
She pivoted to a fresh topic. Ying Zhuochen pondered briefly.
“I know the Hidden Sword Nine Styles, Firmament Sword Technique Fragment and Its Legacy, Sword Control Record…” He abruptly rattled off a long list of titles, on the verge of expounding upon one.
The pity in the Player’s eyes flipped instantly to horror.
“I’m not asking about your sword technique manuals!”
The names spilling from his lips felt uncannily familiar.
Once, a certain Dragon Proud Heaven junior brother had done the same—reciting sword manuals like menu items. She hadn’t expected the disciple he raised to emerge from the same mold.
“Apart from those, do you know anything else?” Li Yin swiftly redirected.
The sword cultivator youth sank into contemplation.
Beyond sword dao, sword records, sword manuals… what else did he know?
He fell silent. Li Yin followed suit.
The Player recalled the terror of Dragon Proud Heaven domination.
When the master had first brought her up the mountain, the conquest target had been merely a timid little beggar in mannerisms.
Years into the timeline after joining the immortal sect, under his senior sister’s care, he had gradually opened up.
“Little Senior Sister, quick, look! Come look at me!”
The boy’s clear voice rang crystal-sharp across the years.
Eyes alight, the boy clutched a sword manual in one hand. He sought out the Player, who was idly grinding sword practice in the woods, and vaulted over the moss-covered stones in his path.
Reaching her, he skidded to a halt, cheeks flushed from the sprint, breath coming in slight pants.
Hidden Sword Mountain disciples rose early for sword practice each day. The woods’ faint morning glow caressed his cheeks, rendering his sparkling eyes all the brighter.
“Senior Sister, I can recite it all from start to finish!” He planted himself firmly, tucking the hand holding the sword manual behind his back, eyes gleaming as he gazed at his senior sister.
He stood no taller than her at the time. Starved in his early years, a few years of proper feeding had added some flesh, but he had yet to sprout upward.
Test me! Quick, test me!
His posture, his expression, his eyes—all pleaded as much.
The Player duly obliged Little Junior Brother’s plea.
Before his senior sister, he fluently recited the arcane sword manual.
Still catching his breath from the run, by the end his face burned red from the effort.
With the final word uttered, he stared wide-eyed, a touch forlorn. “Senior Sister, I’ve got it all memorized.”
Unlike his arrival—buoyant and thrilled—his tone now carried the trepidation of one under examination.
Yet before him stood his senior sister, not his master.
And he had volunteered the display himself.
Eagerly, he awaited her response.
The Player praised him.
“You’re amazing.”
His lips curved skyward in an instant.
Those three simple words sealed the fate of every sword manual to come.
As awareness dawned of his prodigious talent, the youth grew ever more spirited. No sword manual on Hidden Sword Mountain escaped Little Junior Brother’s grasp.
Nor did his senior sister.
Before turning fifteen, he had mastered the art of clinging.
He pestered his senior sister not just to showcase his sword drills and artifact forging but even learned to demand her praise outright.
“Shouldn’t you praise me, Senior Sister?” His eyes glittered, the beseeching look enough to melt hearts.
The Player deflected. “You’re amazing, you’re amazing. Happy now?”
Little Junior Brother proved too clingy; she had no time left to haunt the Martial Field scouting sword cultivator disciples.
Back when Little Junior Brother was still growing into himself, the Player hunted ideal conquest targets. The Martial Field offered prime views of sword cultivator physiques.
As a player, naturally she aimed for the elite: peerless in looks, talent, everything.
Faced with his senior sister’s dismissal, the youth huffed in mock offense. “It is what it is.”
His diligence bordered on obsession, his breakthroughs lightning-quick. The Player muttered under her breath, “Master named you wrong. You should be surnamed Dragon…”
Bewildered, Little Junior Brother received only a shooing wave as she sent him to train and headed off to the Martial Field herself.
The Player had scouted some promising prospects indeed.
But later…
Before she could delve deeper or lock in a target, they all fizzled out.
Appointments for joint sword practice one day would vanish by the next.
The Player snagged no handsome sword cultivators—only a heap of ghostings.
Worse, in her fixation on pretty sword cultivators, she had overlooked Little Junior Brother for a spell.
By the time she noticed, he had shot up in height and cultivation alike, acquiring a nasty new habit into the bargain—
Mockery.
Master’s orders brought inevitable sparring sessions between senior sister and junior brother.
The youth held nothing back, striking viciously. His long sword flicked, then pressed down. He advanced, crowding into his senior sister’s space and forcing her back a step.
Merely fifteen, he already towered over her. Boyish features lingered, but ceaseless sword work and martial drills had honed his brows sharp, his edge just emerging.
“Senior Sister, that’s not how you execute this move at all.” Looming, he narrowed his gaze further.
Raven lashes cast deep shadows, veiling eyes once bright, plunging black pupils into somber depths.
Their blades locked; the Player tugged, to no avail. She caught the youth’s lip quirk.
“No way, Senior Sister. Can’t you handle even this basic technique?” He pressed unrelentingly against her sword.
Blades crossed mere inches away, drawing perilously near until the frosty edge threatened his own lashes.
In the Player’s sight, Little Junior Brother’s lashes quivered like butterfly wings aflutter—yearning to take flight, yet held fast, vulnerable to the keen blade’s slice.
Oblivious to the danger, he pressed on. “If—if you ask me humbly for guidance, I could reluctantly… point it out for you.”
A pink flush bloomed at his pale eye corner, evoking early spring’s peach blossom tint.
Nerves betrayed him; the smirk flickered and died. Black eyes bored into her face, unblinking.
No sooner had he spoken than the Player abandoned the bind. One hand shot out to pinch Little Junior Brother’s cheek. “Dream on.”
Fingertips claimed the youth’s soft cheek flesh—gently, yet kneading it like peach petals unfurling, staining pink.
Blushing fiercely, he bristled undeterred. “If you’re weak, train more. Facts are facts. Need a sparring partner? I can cut into my sword practice time…”
Mid-sentence, he trailed off, gaze distant as if spotting something amiss.
The Player ignored his lapse, seizing the moment to sheathe her sword. “No thanks. Don’t bother. And it’s Senior Sister.”
Little Junior Brother clamped his mouth shut, simmering with defiance.
Too young for her conquest roster, the Player refused to humor the fledgling Dragon Proud Heaven and walked away.
Yet as she turned, his voice rang out behind her.
“Senior Sister—” Desperate, the cry escaped only because she was leaving; he cut himself off, saying no more.
The Player did not look back.
Little did she know, Little Junior Brother’s words toward her would soon twist—brash boasts laced with barbs.
Li Yin banished the psychological scar, along with memories of Little Junior Brother’s once-sparkling eyes.
Abruptly, she remembered: Little Junior Brother did not mock constantly.
In recollection, the youth’s heart swung wildly, moods mercurial.
At times sharp-tongued provocations; at others, gentle murmurs. For stretches, outright silence.
A question bubbled up: “Why was Little Junior Brother like that?”
Before she could dwell, the sword cultivator youth at her side spoke up.
Ying Zhuochen ventured uncertainly, “Master?”
Sword matters aside, his knowledge circled back to his master alone.
The Player’s curiosity piqued.
Li Yin nodded at once. “Yes! Tell me about Sword Venerable Yun Jian.”
Gentle and obtuse, the youth detected none of her sudden eagerness.
He began, “My master bears twin swords, inseparable companions…”
Sword-led once more—befitting Hidden Sword Mountain’s chief, his world brimmed with blades.
“The pair: Shadow Full and Dustless.”
Li Yin’s heart jolted as she listened.
Dustless—if memory served, had that not been her own lifebound sword back then?
Ying Zhuochen pressed on. “Shadow Full is my master’s lifebound sword. Dustless is not.”
At last, he unearthed a tidbit beyond swordsmanship.
“It’s something my master… uses to commemorate his senior sister who passed away young.”
The youth frowned slightly, struggling to repeat what he’d heard from others. “My master was deeply in love with that little senior sister who passed away young…”
Li Yin gritted her teeth. “What a pity for all the lovers in the world.”
In the save file, the player had indeed given him a token of affection.
As Little Junior Brother gradually grew up, he became quite handsome—not to mention that, even though his mouth was a bit stubborn and his personality a touch prickly, his favorability built up over the years to a terrifyingly high level. At 99 favorability, he only needed a single trigger.
Those closest to the water get the moon first—seize the chance if you can.
Perhaps it was her encouraging tone, or maybe he’d figured out what she wanted to hear.
Ying Zhuochen continued speaking to her.
But he remembered little about matters unrelated to the sword dao, so he could only mention the things that stood out to him.
“I am very much like my master.”
The moment he said this, Li Yin shot him a puzzled look.
In what way were they alike?
The youth was quiet and reserved, nothing like the flamboyant Dragon Proud Heaven that Little Junior Brother had been.
Ying Zhuochen’s voice remained steady and clear. “My background is similar to my master’s. Just like him, I was a beggar from the mortal world.”
At those words, Li Yin gazed at him with a complicated expression, only to find the youth looking puzzled in turn.
He seemed not to understand why she wore such a look.
His black eyes were pure and clear, as if he’d just been stating something that had nothing to do with himself.
The youth’s behavior went beyond mere obliviousness.
The player grew even more puzzled.
Right then, she noticed something else.
The sword at the Black-Clothed Sword Cultivator’s waist was emitting a faint hum.
Li Yin’s gaze drifted downward to the hilt. “Your sword… It made the same noise the last time we met.”
Why did the sword keep ringing like that?
Ying Zhuochen lowered his eyes and gently pressed a hand to the hilt. His lifebound sword fell silent.
He looked up at her again, his gaze clear and serene, his words coming a touch softer. “It likes you very much.”
The Black-Clothed Sword Cultivator was utterly direct—even boldly frank—and the young woman froze on the spot.
Ying Zhuochen didn’t notice at all how suggestive his words sounded.
He simply drew his sword. Its blade gleamed like a bright mirror, reflecting the things around them.
“The sword is named Self-Leisure Sword. Self-Leisure Sword is without heart, empty of all things, yet it illuminates the myriad forms.” He recited the verse, then added, “You can touch it if you’d like.”
The sword cultivator held out his own lifebound sword.
The flat of the blade reflected Li Yin’s face. Her eyes shifted, and on the mirror-like surface, she spotted another figure.
A youth dressed in elegant sky-blue robes flew toward them. Li Yin turned her head and saw Ji Lingyao nodding to her with a smile.
This Ji Little Dao Lord, who appeared so very friendly, then turned his gaze to the Black-Clothed Sword Cultivator and greeted him unhurriedly. “Fellow Daoist Ying, long time no see. What are you up to?”
But the look in his eyes told a different story.
Ji Lingyao cast a deep glance at his heartless and unfeeling friend.
His heartless and unfeeling friend didn’t quite get it—
Ying Zhuochen’s eyes remained perfectly clear.
He was simply showing his lifebound sword to Miss Li, that was all.