The next morning, Lin Bu slowly opened his eyes, feeling dizzy and disoriented, utterly unaware of his surroundings. It took him a long while to recall the sudden sword strike from the previous day. Though his acquaintance with Zhong Chunji was not deep, that sword had truly wounded him. He had treated others with sincerity, only to receive such a response in return. That beautiful purple-clad maiden had struck with such ruthlessness—truly, one could know a person's face but not their heart. After a moment, he suddenly noticed a bright red feather fan swaying before him, and the round, rosy-cheeked face of a young man appeared right in front of his eyes. The youth said, "Congratulations on waking up early. You're not dead yet, no need to doubt it." Lin Bu gasped for breath, unable to utter a word. The yellow-robed man with the red fan flicked his sleeve and said, "Hey—no need to speak. I don’t care to hear you talk anyway. You stay quiet, I stay peaceful. We each get what we want—isn’t that just perfect?"
Lin Bu lay there, watching him with a belly full of questions. Who was this person? What exactly had happened yesterday? Though young, he was well-traveled and knew he had encountered an eccentric, placing him in a precarious situation. He decided to remain silent. His gaze shifted, taking in his surroundings—a thatched hut, with no bedding beneath him, only a makeshift nest of leaves and stones. Nearby, a black-clad figure sat cross-legged, face obscured by a dark hood, while another black-clad woman stirred a mixture of mud, seemingly preparing to fire some enormous vessel. The yellow-robed man with the red fan sat high to the side, watching with amusement. "Haha, firing a pottery vat as tall as a person, gathering a hundred pounds of tea leaves, all just to refine a single pill—what a grand waste of effort and money. A shame to miss it."
Yu Tuan'er diligently stirred the mud. To fire such a massive pottery vat required a kiln—without one, how could this clay vessel possibly be fired? Lin Bu was baffled. The hooded figure held a bamboo tube, his attention fixed on it, a small silver knife in his right hand lightly carving into the bamboo, as if to bore holes. A thought struck Lin Bu: Is he making a flute?
"Focus your energy, concentrate fully. Feel the changes in your wrist, shoulders, and waist as your movements become more practiced. Call me when the mud is nearly dry and the clay can be shaped," Liu Yan said coldly, not even glancing at Yu Tuan'er as she stirred. Fang Pingzhai laughed. "Haha, if all you wanted was malleable mud, why not just add less water earlier? Just because she isn’t a celestial beauty, must you show no mercy at all? Pitiful, pitiful—men are truly wretched creatures." Lin Bu thought to himself, The pitiful one here is clearly this young lady. But Fang Pingzhai continued with a loud laugh, "Haha, the one lying there must be wondering why men are such wretched creatures? Because there are too many men in this world and too few celestial beauties. Ah, too many monks and too little gruel—how tragic!" Yu Tuan'er, however, said, "I know he’s teaching me martial skills. Stirring mud isn’t hard—it’s fine." She had dug a large pit in the woods, clearing away the weeds until she reached the underground clay, then poured in water and stirred the mud with a thick branch. Liu Yan had instructed her to fill the pit with spring water, yet demanded she stir it until the mud could be shaped—clearly a deliberate hardship. Yet she wasn’t angry.The masked woman seemed kind-hearted and didn't appear to be a villain. If she wasn't evil, why would she travel with two people who clearly looked suspicious? Lin Bu's mind was hazy as he pondered this when suddenly, a crisp sound pierced the air—several notes from a flute soared overhead. His spirit trembled violently, his heart racing uncontrollably until, with a "wah," he spat out a mouthful of blood and immediately collapsed unconscious.
Fang Pingzhai let out an "Aiya!" and jumped to his feet, his expression shifting slightly. "You—haha, what marvelous flute playing! What an extraordinary person! What a bizarre and profound Sound Assassination! Brother Hei, you—what an incredible skill you've kept hidden! You've truly shocked me."
Liu Yan lowered the bamboo flute slightly from his lips and gave Fang Pingzhai a cool glance. "Flattery." Fang Pingzhai pressed a hand to his chest. "That sound shook my heart. Brother Hei, since you've already lost your foot and your face is ruined, keeping such a skill to dominate the Martial Arts World is rather pointless. Why not pass it on to me? I'll conquer the world for you, pile up corpses to your heart's content, and ease your hatred—how about it?" He spoke with a smile, but before Yu Tuan'er could turn her head to protest, Liu Yan replied coldly, "Ha! If I'm in a good mood, maybe I'll teach you."
Fang Pingzhai beamed, waving his red fan. "Ahhh, so what you're saying is that from this moment on, I must exhaust all my efforts to please you, support you, respect you, protect you, adore you, and treat you like the moon in the sky, a fairy in the water, a pearl in my palm, or a duck in a hot pot—lest you sprout wings and fly away?"
Liu Yan half-closed his eyes. "As you wish." Fang Pingzhai sighed and shook his head. "Such a cold person. I truly don't know what it would take to move that icy, cruel, arrogant, and inexplicably stony heart of yours. What a dilemma, what a dilemma." Even as he lamented the difficulty, he stood up and walked over to Lin Bu, peering down at him. "A perfectly fine Jianghuai scholar, the elegant and dashing Master Huang Xian, about to die under your cold, cruel, arrogant, and inexplicable flute music—don't you feel even a shred of regret? To say you're heartless is an understatement. Truly cold, cruel, and arrogant..."
Before he could continue, Liu Yan raised the flute to his lips and blew a soft note, instantly silencing Fang Pingzhai. Yu Tuan'er snapped impatiently, "You're so annoying! Hurry up and revive this gentleman—he's about to die, and you're still hovering around like a vulture. You're the heartless one!"
Fang Pingzhai sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest and swaying his head. "To love something is to give it everything. Fang Pingzhai, ah, Fang Pingzhai, you are the most tender and patient toward your leader, so—better obey obediently." With that, he swiftly struck several of Lin Bu's acupoints with his fingers, pressed a palm to his back to circulate his blood, and fed him a pill."I'm hungry." Yu Tuan'er stirred the mud mixture, then suddenly spoke after a moment. "Fang Pingzhai, go hunt." After Fang Pingzhai had saved Lin Bu for the second time, he obediently leaned back in the thatched cottage to rest with his eyes closed, saying no more. Now he let out an "Ah," smiling like a spring breeze. "Naturally, if the boss wants to eat, this humble assistant will get it done immediately. Don't worry, aside from being tone-deaf, I'm proficient in frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying—a rare and marvelous culinary genius in this world." Yu Tuan'er said, "Frying and stir-frying? But we're having a barbecue tonight. No need for a spatula." Fang Pingzhai coughed. "Ah—barbecue is a higher culinary art beyond frying and stir-frying. While I'm 'proficient' in the latter, I'm a 'master' of barbecue. Tonight, you'll taste an unparalleled delicacy, so delicious you'll realize everything you've eaten before was garbage, subpar, or even worthless." Yu Tuan'er said, "You're so long-winded! Just go already." Fang Pingzhai sighed, tapped his forehead with his red fan, and stood up to leave, muttering to himself, "This is the first time my charming wit has been so unwelcome. What a refreshing new experience—calm and composed, I must be pleased, pleased."
Before long, Fang Pingzhai returned leisurely with two pheasants in hand, only to hear Liu Yan playing a flute. The tune was unfamiliar, carried by the night wind as his black face-covering hat fluttered wildly, obscuring his expression. All that could be heard was a haunting, ghostly melody—mournful, lamenting, each note a cry of remembrance, sorrow, and heartbreak. Yu Tuan'er continued stirring the mud, listening intently, as if sighing softly. Lin Bu, however, felt a sense of detachment rise within him. Life was but a fleeting moment—why live so arduously? Holding onto such intense emotions, clinging to things one couldn't let go of—wasn't the suffering and grief self-inflicted? Who would remember any of this a hundred years later? Everyone dies, yet the world remains the same. How trivial and insignificant were the grudges and passions of such a short life—why cling to them? "A pond of spring water greener than moss, flowers bloom on its surface amid bamboo. Fragrant grass grows anew in season, while elegant birds visit idly." He softly recited two lines of poetry, then closed his eyes to rest, saying no more.
"Oh... haha." Fang Pingzhai entered with the pheasants. "I heard—" Yu Tuan'er waved impatiently, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear it. You never stop talking. Go pluck the chickens; I'll start the fire." Fang Pingzhai covered his mouth with his hand. "Ah..." Though he wasn't the first to call him long-winded, this was the first time—and from a woman, an unattractive one at that—someone had interrupted him so bluntly. How humiliating, how unjust, how utterly unreasonable and pitiless! He shook his head. Falling for someone else's hidden treasures was always a bitter fate—bitterer than mixing coptis with bitter melon.
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