Chapter 54: He Must Secretly Have a Crush on Me
“So? Did my little impromptu speech just now rile up a bunch of people? They must hate me to death! Probably wish they could snap my spine behind my back, don’t they?” Lu Wei glanced at the exuberant Wen Jinge, then at the three crestfallen disciples, and continued suppressing Qiao Yu’s advancement in rank.
That was hardly provoking anyone!
If he remembered correctly, when Shan Hongxing left just now, there was a light in his eyes that practically screamed he was about to break into the second rank.
This impromptu speech had probably inspired countless Xuan Yun Sect disciples to breakthrough in their cultivation.
“You really think that was provocation?” He felt a headache coming on.
If he’d had a physical body right now, he might have had his own sudden enlightenment. Deafening! A true revelation! Insightful beyond words!
What puzzled him most was that Wen Jinge remembered nothing at all, so where did such profound understanding come from?
“Wasn’t it?” Wen Jinge asked, puzzled. “A sword at a swordsman’s side—if it’s shattered, how devastating is that? A sword is like a second life to a sword cultivator. I destroyed one in front of so many people.”
“But it wasn’t broken, was it?”
“That was Duanchang. Duanchang is already broken—its break is joined by Xuan energy so most people never notice.”
“That sword is on Fenglei Peak. How do you know so much about it?”
Wen Jinge was taken aback as well. She looked at her disciples; lately, they’d all been cramming knowledge about Xuan Yun Sect together, and the most borrowed books from the library these days were about Wanzhang Peak.
“Do you know?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen any record of Duanchang,” Wang Xi shook her head. “But I know that Uncle-master Shan’s sword is called Yuchang, a flexible sword. Senior Sister Lu Feiyu’s sword is Duanchang, a gift from him.”
“No, no, no.” Wen Jinge shook her head, then recalled that familiar feeling from holding the sword, muttering, “I feel like I broke that sword before. Could it be that I broke it, and Shan Hongxing just picked it up again? Yes, that’s possible. He must have a secret crush on me.”
Lu Wei: …
The disciples: …
They entered the illusion realm. The disciples busied themselves collecting demon cores, while Wen Jinge busied herself sleeping, and Lu Wei kept watch close by.
It took five or six days of hard work before the illusion realm was cleared, and Wen Jinge had amassed over a thousand demon cores.
“Dig a pit.”
“What are you up to now?” Lu Wei, knowing her never lifts a finger without benefit, grew instantly wary. “Try anything else and I’m not coming out again. Let your disciples carry you.”
“Oh, come on. What’s the use of splitting yours and mine? What’s mine is yours.” Wen Jinge idly twirled her hair, and with a single command, the other three disciples scrambled to get started.
Lu Wei clicked his tongue, handed the body back to Qiao Yu, who asked, “Master, why are we digging a pit?”
“Just look,” she replied, pointing at Yuan Qingling, who was hard at work.
Yuan Qingling wore only his trousers, his upper body exposed—a shriveled, scrawny old man sweating buckets as he swung the hoe.
Crack.
His hand cramped.
Crack.
His arm broke.
Crack.
He twisted his waist.
Crack.
His leg snapped.
Crack.
He smashed his own foot.
“So brittle!” someone exclaimed.
Qiao Yu opened his mouth, utterly speechless.
But Wen Jinge clearly didn’t intend to let him off, shaking his head playfully. “Isn’t that inspiring? Truly a model for us all—crippled in body, yet steadfast in spirit, and still possessed of a love for honest labor. What a humble, unadorned man!”
The withered figure, textured like tree bark, lay on the ground and turned his head. “Master, please stop mocking me.”
“Doesn’t he look like a wronged ghost, buried for ten days and just summoned out of a coffin by a demonic cultivator?”
“Mas—Master…” Qiao Yu shivered and actually edged further away.
Yuan Qingling, at the bottom of the pit, clutching his hoe, struggled to climb out like a canned sardine, but the more he tried, the deeper he slid.
Layer after layer of earth slid down, but with no word from Master, Wang Xi dared not move, nor did Yang Wennan dare to help.
So, everyone watched with great interest as he struggled.
At last, Yuan Qingling sensed something was off.
His master was peeling an orange, three people seated on little stools at her side.
“Master, have some sunflower seeds!” His senior brother Qiao held out a handful of shelled seeds.
“Master, want a cucumber? I brought lots—good for your skin,” his senior brother Yang offered eagerly.
“Master, try a lychee. My father just had them delivered from Qianyan—they’re delicious,” his junior sister Wang chimed in.
“Master, I’ve brought your meal,” came Senior Brother Liang, who promptly set up a table and four bowls, and the four of them ate contentedly.
“Why aren’t you climbing out anymore?” Master, having finished the disciples’ offerings of fruit and wiped her mouth, fixed him with an amused gaze as if watching a monkey.
“Master, I—I’m hungry…”
If an ordinary person suffered such injuries, they’d be flat on the ground. The cultivation rank he’d piled up with pills might lack the flavor of hard-earned effort, but at least it offered some protection now.
“You’re not hungry; you still have strength.” Wen Jinge rejected his bid to come ashore and pointed behind him. “Look how well you dig with your hands. Why were you standing up to dig before?”
Yuan Qingling: …
He understood now—Master was picking on him on purpose.
“Barbecue? Where’s the grill?”
“All right, all right, my fire talisman is almost done—please wait, Master.” Yang Wennan crouched on the ground, meticulously drawing a talisman, then stuck it to a stone. “Master, is barbecue on volcanic rock really tasty?”
“I don’t know—you’ll have to try it yourself.”
“The meat’s all right, right?” Yang Wennan only put the sliced meat on the stone after checking several times. He grumbled, “Master, those skewers you bought down the mountain last time must’ve been dodgy—I had a stomachache all night.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t something else you ate?” she asked with concern.
“I only ate your skewers, Master. Didn’t you get sick?”
“Your master long ago learned to live without food—eating is just for the pleasure of taste. If the food’s poisoned, it won’t touch my vitals; I’m not like ordinary folk.” As Liang Si explained, he brushed marinade onto the meat. “Where to next, Master?”
“I want to see if your junior’s dead yet.”
“No… I’m not…” Yuan Qingling, mouth watering at the aroma, actually dozed off. “I’m not… dead, Mas… ter, I’m… really… hungry…”
“Looks like he’s passed out from hunger,” Liang Si glanced into the pit and asked, “Shall we pack up?”
“Pack up!” Wen Jinge made a shushing gesture. Qiao Yu and the others, though puzzled, still cooperated quietly.
When Yuan Qingling opened his eyes, it was night. Only his head was above ground, and a foul stench assailed him.
He knew this smell well—he’d been smelling it the entire time he’d been digging for demon cores.
“Mas—Master…”
This place was so familiar—the pit, which he’d dug himself.
“Is Master just leaving me here to rot?”
He was in despair.
“Yes. That’s exactly how ruthless she is.” Lu Wei stepped out of the shadows, only applying the talisman to Yuan Qingling’s forehead after confirming the utter despair in his eyes. “She sent me to see you off—to watch you die.”