Lu Li supported Feng Lingshuang as they reached a stone pavilion, which stood isolated in a corner of the garden.
Its upturned eaves cast silhouettes that sank into the deepening night.
Inside, only one old windproof lamp hung, its faint light casting a dim, warm yellow glow upon the bluestone floor.
This clearly separated the interior of the pavilion from the distant clamor of silk and bamboo instruments and the flickering shadows of the banquet, as if they were two worlds that did not interfere with one another.
Lu Li assisted Feng Lingshuang, letting her sit down carefully on the cold stone bench.
He lifted the hem of his Daoist robe and knelt before her without any pretense, his gaze level with her injured ankle.
“Daoist Jian Mingzi, please excuse my rudeness. I must examine the injury closely to treat it properly,”
Lu Li said, his voice calm and carrying the steady composure typical of a healer.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing through the layer of her soft boot and sock, touching Feng Lingshuang’s sprained left ankle with extreme gentleness.
His movements were cautious and carried an unquestionable professionalism.
A faint, warm Spirit Energy, like spring water, swirled around his fingertips.
It acted like a precise probe, meticulously investigating the alignment of her bones and the stretching of her ligaments, sensing the blocked nodes where her blood and Qi had stagnated.
When his fingertips touched her, Feng Lingshuang’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly, as if plucked by an invisible string.
But she did not retreat, nor did she speak.
Instead, she fixed her gaze, which was obscured by a thin white veil, firmly and unblinkingly upon Lu Li’s lowered brows and eyes.
At such close range, his long, thick eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyelids.
His straight nose, his lips slightly pursed in focus, and the gentle Spirit Energy flowing from his fingertips that dispelled her pain — all of it was like a key, forcibly prying open the long-sealed door deep within her memories.
That sense of familiarity and the inexplicable palpitation lodged in her chest were like a lake stirred by a stone.
The ripples expanded in layers, surging so violently they nearly shattered her reason and broke through the constraints of her heart.
Lu Li soon noticed this nearly tangible, burning gaze.
He felt a hint of discomfort, as if the gaze had physical weight pressing against his cheek.
He moved his shoulders slightly in an unnatural way and finally could not help but look up, meeting the veiled hat that concealed her face.
With pure confusion, he asked softly, “Daoist Jian Mingzi… why have you been looking at me like this?”
“Ah!”
Feng Lingshuang’s heart skipped a beat, as if she had been caught red-handed doing something wrong.
Beneath the veil, her cheeks instantly burned as if on fire, and even her earlobes were tinged with a crimson hue.
An impulse nearly escaped her, almost making her blurt it out.
‘Because you look so much like someone!
A Master who repeatedly appears in my fragmented dreams, whose figure is blurred but feels incredibly real, who was as kind to me as a creator, and for whom I feel a deep, profound attachment!’
But these words, which had rushed to her lips, were ruthlessly strangled by her remaining reason.
She could not say it!
Such words were far too absurd and shocking!
Speaking of such ethereal dreams and a Master to a stranger upon their first meeting?
She would likely be seen as a delusional lunatic or a flighty person with ulterior motives.
She absolutely could not take that risk.
She could not… scare him away or make him feel disgusted.
In that split second, her thoughts turned rapidly, like a boat in a storm trying to find a safe way to speak.
When she spoke again, her voice carried a slight tremble that leaked out despite her best efforts to suppress it.
She forcibly twisted the word “Master,” which was on the tip of her tongue, into another title.
“It’s… it’s nothing. I just feel… I feel… that you, True Person Lu, resemble an old friend of mine.”
She paused, as if confirming this excuse, and her voice stabilized a bit.
“An… old friend I haven’t seen for a long time.”
“An old friend?”
Lu Li raised his eyebrows slightly, but his hands did not stop.
His Spirit Energy continued to flow like a trickling stream, patiently clearing the blood and Qi that had stagnated in her ankle due to the sprain, bringing waves of soothing coolness.
“Yes…”
Feng Lingshuang replied softly, using the moment to settle her mind.
Following the lie she had just woven, she continued, her tone carrying a deliberate air of drifting into memory.
“You… look very much like an elder brother of mine.”
She intentionally slowed her pace, seemingly weighing every word.
“He… treated me extremely well.”
Those last four words were spoken very softly, yet they contained an unmistakable sincerity.
Hearing this, a look of realization appeared on Lu Li’s face.
So she was missing her family.
Seeing that her aura had grown somewhat low and soft at the mention of her “brother,” he wanted to lighten the slightly stagnant atmosphere.
With a hint of comfort, he naturally followed up, asking, “I see. Based on what you just said, I assume your relationship with your brother was very deep? Such sibling affection is truly enviable.”
He had originally asked out of politeness and to ease the mood, intending to divert the topic from her awkward staring.
However, these words were like accidentally hitting a long-buried secret switch, opening a floodgate of emotion.
Feng Lingshuang’s eyes beneath the veil lit up slightly, the light piercing through the white silk with a desperate desire to confide.
It was as if a person who had walked alone in the endless darkness for too long had finally glimpsed a sliver of light and found a port where she could temporarily dock and rest.
She took a soft breath.
The air carried the faint coolness of the night wind, yet it could not disperse the surging warmth in her heart.
Her voice was filled with a tranquility and tenderness as if she were lost in a beautiful memory.
Even through the barrier, her smile seemed radiant, like a night-blooming cereus quietly blossoming in a place where no one watched.
“Ah… yes, he was good, very good,”
she repeated, as if to emphasize the reality of that “goodness.”
“It is rare for… you to be willing to listen, True Person Lu, and to be interested in the trifles between us siblings…”
She adjusted her seating position slightly, letting her injured foot rest more comfortably in Lu Li’s hands.
Her other hand subconsciously smoothed her already tidy hem, as if finding a safer posture to begin this carefully disguised confession.
“If you do not find it tedious… then… let me tell you about him.”
Her voice gradually calmed down, like a stream flowing gently under the moonlight, and she began her tale.
She carefully peeled away the warm fragments belonging to her “Master” from her dreams — those that carried warmth and light — and substituted them, meticulously weaving them into the framework of a story about a “brother.”
She blurred the name of Duanqing Peak and hid her Daoist Methods, extracting only the meticulous care, the silent but solid protection, and the dependence that she could not let go of across two lifetimes.
“When I was young…”
Her voice carried a hint of the haze unique to distant memories.
“My hometown suffered a severe famine. There were no harvests, and a plague was rampant… My parents didn’t make it. I followed a few of the surviving refugees, wandering aimlessly in escape, not knowing where the road ahead led. At that time, the sky was always gray, the wind was always cold, and my stomach felt as if it held a stone that could never be warmed… Cold and hungry, I curled up in the corner of a ruined temple, watching the people around me decrease one by one, thinking that I would probably die soon as well. My consciousness was even beginning to blur…”
Her voice was very quiet, as if afraid of disturbing that cruel memory.
“It was at that time that my brother found me. He was like one beam of light that suddenly shone through that gray, hopeless sky.”