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As the end of the year approached, Qingyang City grew livelier with a vibrancy absent in ordinary days.
New red lanterns hung before every household, and even in the most secluded alleys, the faint aroma of wine and meat lingered in the air.
The carriage sent by the Xiao family waited outside the small courtyard.
Xiao Liuli changed into a plain yet elegant moon-white dress.
The black iron mask still covered her face, hiding all her expressions.
“I’m leaving.”
She stood in the courtyard, speaking to Ye Chen, who was staring at the falling leaves in a daze under the eaves.
This was the first time in half a year that she was about to leave this small courtyard.
Ye Chen responded with an “Mm”, shifting his gaze from the swirling leaf to her, and asked calmly, “Do you need help?”
His words were always like this—simple, direct, yet carrying a power that made people feel at ease.
Xiao Liuli shook her head.
Her voice was colder than the winter wind, yet carried an unprecedented determination.
“No need. I’ll be back soon.”
With that, she turned and walked toward the courtyard gate without any hesitation.
In the past, every festival was her most tormenting time.
That place called “home” had long become a grand stage in her eyes.
On the stage, the elders’ hypocritical concern, the pity or schadenfreude in the eyes of her peers, the deliberate alienation from former “friends”…
Every glance, every word, was like an invisible needle, densely piercing her heart.
She always armored herself with a cold shell, pretending to be unruffled, but only she knew that each return to that place left her heart torn and bleeding.
But this time, it was different.
When her hand gripped the cold door ring, she turned back and looked deeply at the slender figure still sitting under the eaves, seemingly indifferent to all worldly matters.
The half-year spent with him was more real than the past ten years of her life.
That bowl of medicine that dispelled cold poison, that bowl of bitter porridge without sugar, that plain sentence—”It’s not that fragile”…
Piece by piece, they had already carved a huge gap in her frozen heart, letting in a stream of vitality called “Xinsheng.”
She suddenly understood.
The so-called state of mind was not about forcibly resisting the blades of the world, but about making one’s heart tougher and broader than any blade.
What did the outside world have to do with me?
I am myself, and that is enough.
When this thought emerged clearly in her mind, she felt the invisible, heavy shackle that had weighed on her for years shatter with a “kacha” sound.
She opened the carriage door and sat inside.
The carriage started slowly, and she didn’t look back again.
She would return soon.
—
New Year’s Eve.
Night fell.
The small courtyard was livelier than usual.
A warm red lantern hung under the eaves, driving away the chill in the courtyard.
From the kitchen came the occasional sound of pots and bowls clashing and the tempting aroma of food.
Ye Chen, accompanied by Ling Qingshuang, returned here from the small courtyard in the west of the city.
“Young master, this is…”
When Xiaoxiao saw the girl in plain clothes, holding a bamboo cane and with her eyes closed, standing behind Ye Chen, her gaze was full of curiosity.
“She is Qingshuang, a… lonely girl.”
Ye Chen’s voice was gentle.
“She suffered a misfortune not long ago and ended up here. Tonight is New Year’s Eve. Leaving her alone would be too lonely.”
He didn’t speak of the bloodstained past, just used the simplest words to sketch the outline of someone in need of warmth.
This was also what he and Ling Qingshuang had agreed on.
In front of outsiders, there was no need to mention the master-disciple relationship.
Ling Qingshuang stood quietly to the side, saying nothing.
She didn’t understand why sir didn’t want to acknowledge her as his disciple.
She had worked so hard; she was confident she’d mastered the [Guiyuan Three Forms》to a certain extent.
Yet… why was she still unworthy of being called a true disciple?
This confusion remained in her heart like a tiny thorn.
Hearing this, Xiaoxiao’s sympathy immediately surged.
Looking at Ling Qingshuang’s beautiful yet bloodless face and those empty eyes, she instantly imagined a series of tragic experiences.
“Qingshuang, come in and sit!”
Xiaoxiao greeted her warmly, carefully taking Ling Qingshuang’s arm.
“It’s cold outside and warm inside. I made lots of delicious food tonight, so you must eat more!”
The moment their palms touched, Ling Qingshuang’s body tensed slightly.
Xiaoxiao’s hand was warm and soft, carrying the unique fragrance of a young girl.
This warmth flowed up her arm, reaching her heart.
At dinner, Xiaoxiao’s enthusiasm left her at a loss.
She kept picking dishes for Ling Qingshuang, piling her bowl high like a small mountain, while chattering about city anecdotes, doing her best to make the quiet girl smile.
Hot tea.
Ye Chen spoke little, only occasionally serving Ling Qingshuang a bite of her preferred vegetables or refilling her teacup when it was empty.
The atmosphere at the table was so warm it felt unreal.
Ling Qingshuang ate in silence, tasting nothing.
Her thoughts had drifted far, far away.
She was an orphan, taken in as a child by a small sect called the Qingfeng Sword Sect.
The sect was small, even a bit rundown, but Shifu and the senior brothers and sisters treated her like family.
She remembered every New Year’s Eve, the sect master Shifu would personally cook a huge pot of fragrant Yaoshou meat.
The senior brothers would sneak out their hidden fruit wine, and when Shifu caught them, they’d get scolded but still grinned as they poured wine into Shifu’s bowl.
The senior sisters would gather to discuss which young masters in the town below were the most handsome…
How wonderful those times were.
How happy she had been.
But all of it was destroyed on that bloody night.
The enemy came.
Flames filled the sky.
Screams and the clash of weapons became the last notes in her memory.
Shifu risked everything to send her out, and in endless darkness and despair, she barely escaped with her life.
After that, it was endless wandering, hunger, cold, and hatred.
Until… she met sir.
She remembered that calm, almost unreal voice in the Yaoshou mountains.
She remembered the [Guiyuan Three Forms] in the western courtyard, dull yet helping her rediscover swordsmanship.
She remembered the burning hot meat bun sir stuffed into her hand on a “walk to clear her mind.”
She remembered the winter night, the coat with sir’s warmth draped over her shoulders, and the sword he had personally warmed for her.
Scene after scene, frame after frame, flashed through her mind like lightning.
Everything sir had done, those things she once “could not understand,” now seemed to have answers.
So…
Sir took her to listen to the clamor of people, to show her the vitality of the world.
Sir bought her useless trinkets, to let her know that life wasn’t just about sword practice.
Sir wrapped her in warmth and heated her sword, not as a test or for efficiency.
It was pure care.
He was using his way, bit by bit, to pull her out of a narrow, hate-filled darkness.
He was telling her: In this world, beyond revenge, there are many things worth feeling.
You shouldn’t let hatred blind your remaining heart.
When this thought shone clear in her heart, Ling Qingshuang felt a booming in her mind.
The bottleneck in her swordsmanship that had troubled her for so long shattered instantly!
Her “innate sword heart,” hardened and obsessed by hatred, seemed to be enveloped and melted by an invisible warm current.
All impurities were washed away, leaving it purer and more transparent than ever!
Her sword heart had reached a new level!
Serenity.
She still sat there motionless, but her whole aura had undergone an earth-shattering change.
The cold, forbidding air that kept people away quietly dissipated, replaced by a clarity and tranquility like bamboo after the rain.
She suddenly felt that perhaps… she wasn’t alone anymore.
Across from her, Ye Chen put down his teacup, his clear gaze falling on her as if he’d already foreseen everything.
The corners of his mouth curved in an extremely faint, almost invisible arc.