Twenty-Seven wasn't his original name. He was called that because it had been his identification number in the Slave Arena.
When Mingyi first saw him, he was huddled behind a crowd of people, his small frame drenched by the rain, his eyes filled with nothing but indifference.
All the children from the Slave Arena wanted to catch her attention, hoping to escape that nightmare of a place. But not him. Not only did he refuse to approach, he even growled "Get lost!" when she came near.
At that time, Mingyi still lived a carefree and privileged life, basking in the flattery of others every day. Being cursed at was a novel experience for her.
"Good," she said, lifting her chin haughtily. "You've successfully caught my attention."
Twenty-Seven looked at her with an indescribable expression of disdain, his fists clenched. Truth be told, if there had been even the slightest chance he could defeat Mingyi, he would have jumped up and fought her then and there.
Unfortunately, Mingyi was exceptionally talented and had been meticulously trained for years. Not just him—even Da Si of Sunspire City couldn't lay a finger on her.
So, humiliated and unwilling, Twenty-Seven was dragged back to the inner courtyard by Mingyi and made into a small attendant.
The first thing Twenty-Seven did was shatter Mingyi's favorite blue-and-white porcelain cup into pieces. He thought he would be kicked out, but instead, Mingyi looked at the fragments scattered across the floor and mused, "You were only worth fifty Shell Coins before. Now, you're worth five thousand three hundred and fifty."
Twenty-Seven: "..."
What kind of accounting was that?
He kept breaking things, smashing his way from five thousand three hundred and fifty all the way up to one hundred thousand two hundred and fifty Shell Coins, yet Mingyi still showed no intention of sending him away.
So Twenty-Seven realized—this woman liked people who opposed her. Maybe if he obeyed her, acted docile, she would grow bored of him quickly?
Holding onto this naive hope, he began to follow Mingyi's every word.
Mingyi was delighted, thinking him teachable, and started instructing him in Combat Skills. Twenty-Seven, however, believed she was deliberately making things difficult for him, trying to provoke his defiance so she could enjoy the challenge.
He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
So he trained relentlessly, gritting his teeth through every lesson Mingyi threw at him, never complaining or showing weakness.
Unexpectedly, Mingyi continued teaching him for eight years, transforming him from a scrawny, weak slave into a tall, formidable guard.
Mingyi thought Twenty-Seven probably hated her—after all, she had forced him through so much hardship. Every year on his birthday, she would celebrate with him, but he never even looked her in the eye, either avoiding her or fighting her without a trace of a smile.
Others said Twenty-Seven was cold-blooded and unfeeling, keeping to himself and even ignoring her orders—a stone that could never be warmed. They advised her to release him sooner rather than later, lest she raise a tiger that would one day turn on her.
She took their words to heart and planned to set him free, letting him live his own life.
But before she could make the arrangements, disaster struck.
The venue for the Six Cities Tournament was solemn and imposing. Even in broad daylight, ordinary people passing by would shiver. Let alone in the dead of night, with the howling wind like the shrieks of some monstrous creature, snow and rain pelting down, freezing lips blue.
When she was carried out, covered in blood, not a single guard in the courtyard dared to step forward, afraid of being implicated.
It was human nature. Mingyi held no resentment in her heart.Yet, there was one person who silently followed her through the quiet crowd.
He dodged arrows, crossed burning fields, ignored the shouts behind him, and stubbornly trailed after her beast-drawn carriage as if it were the only light in the world.
Later, Mingyi asked him, "Did you know where I was going back then?"
Twenty-Seven replied, "No need to know."
Wherever she went, that was where he could go.
Hundreds of small porcelain bottles were opened. Twenty-Seven swallowed one pill from each, making sure some remained in every bottle, then began circulating his qi to regulate his breathing.
Mingyi snapped out of her daze and noticed sweat beading on his forehead. Her expression tightened. "Where does it hurt?"
Twenty-Seven didn’t answer, his face growing paler.
Panicked, she circled him twice. "I could’ve taken them slowly myself. Why push yourself like this? I’m already poisoned—I can’t drag you down with me."
"Are you sure all of these are meant to be taken orally? What if you swallowed something meant for external use?"
"Stop regulating your qi! If there really is some deadly poison, won’t circulating your energy just send you straight to the underworld?"
Her incessant buzzing around him was like a mosquito’s whine.
Twenty-Seven’s temple twitched.
Mingyi noticed immediately and crouched down, interrupting his meditation. She pressed a worried hand to his throbbing temple. "Is the poison acting up? Has it reached your brain?"
One had to wonder whose brain was really poisoned here.
Twenty-Seven opened his eyes and irritably swatted her hand away. "This subordinate is perfectly fine. But if you keep chattering like this, I might just suffer a qi deviation."
Mingyi exhaled in relief, then glared at him. "If you’re fine, why are you sweating and pale?"
"Because I’m stuffed," he said flatly. "A hundred of those things is like two bowls of rice. You’d be bloated too."
Mingyi: "..."
He’d ruined the mood entirely!
Pouting, she turned to the medicine bottles. "If they’re all safe, I’ll take one of each back to test."
"Be quick about it," Twenty-Seven reminded her. "Ji Bozhai didn’t question things the first time not because he’s gullible, but because he was badly injured and missed the details. A second attempt might not go unnoticed."
Fine. Mingyi nodded. "Go back and digest your meal. I’ll clean up here."
Twenty-Seven acknowledged her and took two steps before pausing. "Ji Bozhai isn’t a good man. Just have your fun and leave it at that."
"Who needs you to tell me that?" She scoffed. "Anyone with eyes can see that. Did you think I’d take him seriously?"
Though Ji Bozhai’s sweet words were indeed intoxicating, their effect lasted only as long as he spoke them.
Bending to gather the bottles, Mingyi listened to the sound of Twenty-Seven’s retreating footsteps.
When silence finally settled around her, she stared at the bottle in her hand, lost in thought for a moment before letting out a long sigh.
The melancholy sigh turned into an evening breeze, brushing past the robes of those with love in their hearts.
Meanwhile, Ji Bozhai sat in Headmaster Qin’s beast-drawn carriage, bowing his head as the elder lectured him. His expression was respectful, but inwardly, he was thoroughly impatient.
So many words. How could this man talk even more than Mingyi? On the first day the Academicians' Court opened, students were supposed to beg instructors to take them in. Instead, he had been fought over by several headmasters, forced to watch them duel before finally being claimed by the victor, Qin Shangwu.
And now he’d been stuck listening to the man’s endless chatter for half the day.He could understand Headmaster Qin's excitement, but he truly had no time—he was in a hurry to go back and coax his beloved child. Who wanted to listen to him talk about the origins and development of Martial Hall?
"...Did you understand?" Qin Shangwu looked at him eagerly.
"Thank you, Headmaster. This disciple understands."
Understand my foot. He had been speaking in his hometown dialect with a strange accent. Apart from those last six words, he hadn't understood a single syllable.
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