Chapter 75: Those Years
When He Yan was young, she wasn’t as sharp as she is now. Looking back at her past self with her current perspective, she couldn’t help but feel she had been excessively dull.
Back then, she was mediocre in both literary and martial arts, much like Cheng Li Su is now—essentially a "useless young master." However, unlike Cheng Li Su, who had a formidable uncle to shield him, the He family’s status was insignificant in Xianchang Academy. As a result, she wasn’t as well-liked as Cheng Li Su.
Moreover, in her youth, she wore a mask all day long, making her stand out awkwardly among her peers. And because she harbored a secret, she never dared to interact much with the other boys, fearing she might give herself away. Over time, she became ostracized by the other students at Xianchang Academy.
The boys’ rejection was straightforward. At first, they simply excluded her from their games and didn’t invite her to play cuju. Later, their hostility escalated—ironically, for a reason that wasn’t even a big deal: it was because she worked too hard.
Young He Yan was stubbornly single-minded. Once she latched onto the saying "the slow need to start early," she truly took it to heart. The worse she performed in both literary and martial studies, the harder she worked, practicing more diligently than anyone else. Even though the academy’s instructors recognized that she wasn’t cut out for scholarly or martial pursuits, they were often moved by her relentless dedication to learning. Thus, they frequently praised her in class.
"Diligence is like the spring shoots—unseen in daily growth, yet steadily rising. Look at He Rufei, all of you! Learn from his example!"
These were boys of fourteen or fifteen, naturally competitive and proud. Learning from others was one thing, but learning from He Yan? Emulating someone who studied and trained tirelessly yet still ranked last? Were they out of their minds?
Yet, for some reason, several instructors seemed to favor He Yan unanimously.
Resentment festered in the boys’ hearts, and malice took root. A mix of jealousy and disdain made them increasingly hostile toward the masked boy. They began finding ways to trouble He Yan every few days.
One day, they deliberately slashed his robes during saber practice. The next, they fed sneeze-inducing herbs to his horse during riding drills. Sometimes, they poked holes in his boots, causing him to trip and scrape his feet on gravel. When He Yan scrambled up in disarray, the boys would huddle together, pointing and laughing at his misery.
Young He Yan was slow-witted and inarticulate. She couldn’t bring herself to tattle to the instructors, who remained oblivious to the students’ petty torments. Thus, she endured a long stretch of hardship.
One winter day, the cold was biting. While the boys practiced swordsmanship in the academy, someone poured a basin of water on the ground, which quickly froze into ice. They called out to He Yan from outside, "He Rufei, hurry up! The instructor is asking for you!"
He Yan rushed out in a fluster, only to slip and fall flat on his face.
The impact was brutal—stars danced before his eyes, and for a long moment, he couldn’t get up. The boys, hiding in a corner, burst into laughter. "He actually fell for it!" they crowed.
He Yan sat on the ground for a while before finally rising. Pressing his lips together, he said nothing. Xianchang Academy’s students returned home once a month, and by now, none of the clothes he had brought were clean. With the constant pranks, even an immortal wouldn’t have enough spare robes. The sun had been absent for days, making it impossible to dry anything in this weather.
He Yan spent the entire day in half-damp clothes. That night, he climbed out of bed—not to practice swordsmanship, but to slip into the academy’s lecture hall.Even a clay figurine has a bit of temper, let alone her—she was, after all, the young master of the He family, so she naturally had some pride. However, she also knew how to assess the situation. Those boys were tall and strong, far more skilled than her in a fight. There was no way she could win. Should she just let it go? Absolutely not.
How could she vent this anger?
After thinking for a long time, the fourteen-year-old He Yan finally came up with a plan.
That night, snow began to fall. Wearing clothes that hadn’t even dried yet, she braved the wind and snow to fetch a bucket of water from the well in the backyard. Carrying the bucket, she ran to the main hall.
She remembered exactly where each of those boys had sat during the day. She found their calligraphy practice sheets under their desks. This month’s assignment from the teacher was to copy the Xingli Zixun five times, and tomorrow was the deadline for submission.
He Yan poured the entire bucket of water onto them.
The water instantly soaked the ink, blurring the characters into indistinct smudges. He Yan felt a surge of satisfaction, but soon after, a flicker of nervousness rose in her heart.
She hurriedly stuffed the practice sheets back into their original places and rushed out with the empty bucket. It was her first time doing something like this, so she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Afraid to light a lamp in the dark, she didn’t see the threshold at the door and— thud —fell flat on her face.
She gasped in pain. Twice in one day—and this time was even worse. Her elbow had scraped against a wooden splinter on the threshold, leaving a gash that bled. Struggling to sit up, she held her injured arm and thought, Is this the so-called "evil returned upon the doer"?
But she’d only done it once! Was fate being too harsh on her?
At any rate, she needed to return the bucket quickly. The bucket—right, where was it? Only then did she realize that after such a hard fall, the bucket should have clattered loudly to the ground, waking everyone up. Why was it still so quiet?
Dazed, He Yan lifted her head and took two steps forward before noticing someone standing outside the door. He was leaning lazily against the wooden frame, his back to her, holding an iron bucket in his hand.
It was Xiao Jue.
In an instant, He Yan was too nervous to even speak.
Had he seen? Maybe he hadn’t? No, he must have—he was holding the bucket. But if he hadn’t, how should she explain herself? Watering flowers in the middle of the night?
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. The young man raised an eyebrow at her frozen stance and asked, “Doesn’t that hurt?”
He Yan: “Huh?”
His gaze fell on her elbow. Because she had been fetching water, she had rolled up her sleeves, revealing a streak of blood like an ugly embroidery on her fair skin, glaringly obvious under the dim lantern light.
Instinctively, she tried to hide her arm behind her back.
The young man gave her an impatient look and said coolly, “Follow me.”
He Yan didn’t even know why she obeyed him—perhaps she was too stunned—but she numbly trailed after him.
Xiao Jue first returned the iron bucket to the well, then glanced back at her still holding her arm in a daze. He scoffed, his expression meaningful. “Too timid to be doing mischief.”
He Yan clenched her fists and stayed silent, her nerves on edge. Usually, Xiao Jue only mingled with his close friends and kept his distance from the other boys in the academy. She had no idea what he was thinking. If he reported her…
An icy flask was tossed into her arms.He Yan looked down. It seemed to be a mandarin duck pot, exquisitely crafted with intricate carvings.
She heard her own voice, soft as a mosquito's hum: "What is this?"
"Don't know how to use it?" The young man turned his head, his expression lazy. "Medicine."
(End of chapter)
OpenNovel