The clear stream water was ice-cold. The youth stood in the middle of the water, his thin body trembling repeatedly, but not from the freezing chill.
His reddened eyes flickered with moisture. He was clearly gripped by intense panic.
He bent at the waist, head lowered, fingers immersed in the icy flow as he repeatedly scrubbed the clothes he had dirtied himself. His fingertips had turned red from the rubbing.
It wouldn’t come off. No matter how much he washed, it wouldn’t come off.
Why did it only get dirtier the more he washed?
The scorching heat wasn’t flushed away by the water at all. Instead, it grew fiercer, spreading from his hands to stain the clothes.
The youth stared blankly with wide eyes, panic pooling in them until tears overflowed.
It had been years since he turned fifteen—he hadn’t shed a single tear since then.
A teardrop fell into the stream. The sound wasn’t loud, but it jolted him awake.
He saw his own flushed face.
The crimson flush spread from his ears to his cheeks, then from his cheeks to his eyes.
Lust had dyed the youth’s features red, and the youth’s features had dyed the clear stream red.
It wasn’t the clothes that were dirty. It was him.
Another teardrop fell.
The youth’s reflection in the water opened its mouth in panic, but no sound came out. The babbling stream took up the questioning instead.
How could you… harbor such filthy thoughts toward Little Senior Sister?
The youth froze again, standing there blankly in the water.
So all along, he had harbored those kinds of thoughts toward his senior sister.
Memories from those dreams surged up, more crimson flushing over him, as if it wanted to burst out from his heart or some other place.
If Senior Sister found out what he had done to her in those dreams…
Senior Sister would definitely hate him.
Panic and fluster seized his mind. He plunged his head into the stream, trying to let the cold water wash away the scorching heat, wash away all those surging things.
He didn’t know how long he stayed submerged. When he emerged, the youth was drenched.
He had no idea if he had washed clean. Clutching the clothes, he didn’t know what to do next.
Water dripped from his hair tips and the hems of his clothes. Only then did he remember that morning class time had long passed.
He had never skipped class before. Now even more distraught and at a loss, he wandered aimlessly on the mountain path, clutching the clothes and unsure where to go.
Suddenly, a familiar call rang out.
“Little Junior Brother—”
The water droplets from his clothes hem shattered on the ground. He turned his head to look.
In the distance, Senior Sister stood there. She had come looking for him.
Cultivators had sharp eyesight. He could clearly see Senior Sister’s brows, her eyes, her lips…
Exactly the same as in his dreams.
He had thought he washed himself clean, but seeing her made him realize he still hadn’t.
Little Senior Sister opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to call out to him.
He was afraid of dirtying the clothes again, afraid of her discovering the soiled garments in his arms.
The youth only glanced back once before running off, drenched.
Though he had run away, Senior Sister would surely come looking for him.
What if she found the dirty clothes in his arms?
The youth grabbed the sword he usually practiced with—just an ordinary sword.
He didn’t have his lifebound sword yet, nor was he the Sword Venerable who could summon a spirit sword with a gesture.
He had once called Senior Sister a fool. Now he realized he was the real fool.
After all, who used a longsword to dig a hole?
He didn’t care about getting himself filthy. He just needed to hide the clothes before Senior Sister arrived.
The youth dug a pit in the mountains—not big, just right for burying the “dirty clothes.”
He buried the clothes and stomped around on the dirt to pack it down firmly.
The clothes were buried, but he himself wasn’t. His dreams weren’t either.
He would still have those dreams.
He often saw Little Senior Sister in his dreams, yet now he didn’t dare look at her anymore.
Little Junior Brother stopped paying attention to Little Senior Sister.
–
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When his master discovered him and brought him up to Hidden Sword Mountain to join the sword cultivation sect, the little beggar was eleven.
It was only when Master touched him and calculated his bone age that he learned he was eleven. Master even gave him a name: Yun Jian.
“Disciple!” Master grabbed the little beggar he had picked up by the collar and shouted into the hall, “Where is everyone? Little girl, where are you slacking off this time!”
A crisp, resounding reply drifted over from afar: “Coming, Master!”
The girl rushed out in a hurry. She had flown in on her sword, but it wobbled unsteadily. Facing Master’s glare, she quickly stored her spirit sword.
“What happened, Master? I was practicing my swordsmanship.” The girl blinked her eyes innocently.
“Practicing swordsmanship? Looks more like napping to me.” Master pinched his fingers together and unleashed a strand of sword qi, knocking a blade of grass from the girl’s hair.
She let out a couple of awkward laughs before hurriedly looking at the child beside Master. “Who’s this?”
“This master picked up a disciple. From now on, you’re the senior sister. He has a rough background—a beggar from the secular world. Remember to take good care of him.” Master instructed.
“Oh.” The girl acknowledged, curiously sizing up Master’s new disciple.
Master’s new disciple was sizing her up too.
The girl wore black disciple robes edged with gold embroidery bearing the sect emblem. Even after slacking off and sleeping, she still had her sleeves properly tied, her face clean and fair, her figure graceful and poised.
Even in black clothes, she made everything around her seem brighter and cleaner.
He didn’t dare meet her gaze. His eyes darted away as he lowered his head and shuffled his small steps.
Lowering his head, he saw that he had dirtied the ground underfoot.
Suddenly, the girl’s clean shoe tip entered his view. Then she deliberately bent down, bringing her face right up to his averted one to inspect him.
“Your eyes are so pretty, all bright and sparkly.” She curved her lips into a smile.
Yours too.
Yun Jian’s lips moved, but he didn’t say it aloud.
“You heard what Master said. I’m your senior sister.” She extended her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you to bathe and change into clean clothes.”
Senior Sister looked at him expectantly. He quietly wiped his hand before placing it in hers.
Senior Sister dragged him to the hot springs and scrubbed him thoroughly. Once he was clean, Senior Sister suddenly froze.
She mumbled awkwardly, scratching her head.
“So you’re Little Junior Brother…”
He didn’t understand, thinking Senior Sister disliked him.
Feeling uneasy, he curled up slightly, at a loss with his limbs, water still dripping from his freshly washed hair.
Senior Sister noticed his posture.
Senior Sister said, “Great, I like Little Junior Brother. I always wanted one, and now here you are.”
She dried his hair, showing her affection.
Little Junior Brother’s posture relaxed a bit.
Only then did Senior Sister form a hand seal to dry the water from his body. Then she taught Little Junior Brother how to dress.
Senior Sister’s embrace was too warm, nearly melting him.
Little Junior Brother began to accept Senior Sister’s care and guidance.
He came from a poor background, timid in his manners, not close to others. Joining late, he had fallen behind in lessons and didn’t mingle with the other disciples.
The persimmons on the branches had ripened. He stood alone under the tree, staring up blankly.
He didn’t know if he wanted to eat one. He couldn’t fly on a sword yet and didn’t know to ask someone to pick it for him.
Senior Sister tossed a small pebble, knocking a fruit down.
Little Junior Brother stared blankly as the fruit bonked his head, making him stagger. The fruit rolled aside.
Senior Sister laughed heartily. “Reach out!”
Little Junior Brother extended his hand. She knocked down another fruit, and this one landed right in his palm.
“Little Junior Brother, have a persimmon.” Senior Sister walked over and picked up the fallen one from the ground, wiped it clean, and ate it herself.
There were large bluestones in the mountains, often used by sword cultivator disciples to test their swords. Senior Sister and Little Junior Brother sat side by side on one, munching persimmons.
The bluestone was tall. Senior Sister’s legs swung back and forth as she chattered nonstop: “Any questions about your recent cultivation?… What about daily life? Oh, right, you don’t have a sword tassel yet. Here, this one’s for you.”
He received Senior Sister’s inquiries and her first sword tassel. So Little Junior Brother’s toes started wiggling too, swinging along.
Under Senior Sister’s care, Little Junior Brother gradually opened up. Not only did his swordsmanship improve, but he also developed an interest in forging.
But whether practicing swordsmanship, forging, or even something as minor as memorizing sword manuals, he always eagerly brought it to Senior Sister for her praise.
“Little Junior Brother, you’re amazing.”
Gradually, he realized his own exceptional talent, different from ordinary people. The restraint and reserve of his childhood faded day by day with his sword path.
Before fifteen, he had developed a flamboyant youthful spirit and even proactively sought praise from Senior Sister.
The youth didn’t know what clinginess was. He just felt that Senior Sister’s praise should all belong to him.
It had been that way since childhood, and it should stay that way forever.
But Senior Sister didn’t seem to think so.
She appeared a bit annoyed by him, always waving him off to cultivate, not bothering to say much.
Little Junior Brother didn’t understand.
At fifteen, one day, he caught a floral scent on Senior Sister.
Not only that—Senior Sister was in high spirits, heading toward the Martial Field.
Perhaps that fragrance disturbed his mind. That day, he didn’t obediently go cultivate.
He quietly followed Senior Sister. His skills had grown; no one noticed.
The sword tassel Senior Sister had given him back then—he had kept it well, tied to his sword hilt.
Along the way, the sword tassel swayed like a puppy’s tail until it suddenly stilled, hiding motionless in the shadows.
It turned out Senior Sister had arranged to spar with a fellow senior brother disciple for swordsmanship pointers.
Senior Sister said many things to that person—
“So that’s how it is. Thanks to you, I finally get it…”
“You’re amazing. I didn’t expect Senior Brother to not only excel in swordsmanship but also be so humble and measured…”
“Thanks for your hard work today, Senior Brother. I’ll have to trouble you to spar with me again tomorrow…”
His gaze swept over the unfamiliar senior brother disciple before settling on Senior Sister, hearing the praise and compliments from her mouth.
He stared at Senior Sister’s moving lips and smiling corners.
Senior Sister.
The praise meant for me—why give it to him?
An inexplicable resentment and dissatisfaction sprouted in his heart, impossible to articulate.
He sought out that senior brother under the pretext of exchanging pointers and beat him mercilessly, ensuring he wouldn’t disturb Senior Sister tomorrow.
But the resentment and dissatisfaction in his heart didn’t fade.
Senior Sister, look—I’m clearly the better one.
How could you give my praise to someone else?
The next day, Senior Sister indeed waited in vain.
She grumbled a few times. He listened from hiding, feeling the resentment in his heart ease a little.
This way, Senior Sister’s praise would be his alone again.
But he hadn’t expected Senior Sister not to care. After a while, she went to the Martial Field again and arranged with another senior brother disciple.
Resentment brewed, and anger too.
He gradually changed his temperament, speaking bluntly and rudely, especially in front of Senior Sister.
His barbed words stemmed from selfish motives—a boy’s petty revenge and a deliberate bid for Senior Sister’s attention.
With Master’s arrangements, senior sister and junior brother inevitably sparred sometimes.
He didn’t hold back, his sword strikes fierce as he closed in on Senior Sister, forcing her to retreat a step.
“Senior Sister, that’s not how you use this move at all.”
“No way, Senior Sister—you can’t even handle such a basic technique?”
His “impertinence” toward Senior Sister made her gaze linger on him.