Chapter 84: Northward Journey

“Nineteenth Sister, good morning.”

As An Yi descended from the Green Bamboo Tower, she saw Bai Wuming, who had changed into white robes, gently waving a delicate folding fan, his face adorned with a radiant smile.

Upon noticing the fan in Bai Wuming’s hand, An Yi curled her lip in disdain. Shaking a fan in the middle of winter—such insufferable airs, just like Young Master Gong.

With a crisp flick, Bai Wuming elegantly folded his fan and approached An Yi, a plaintive look in his eyes. “Nineteenth Sister, why are you only coming down now? I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”

An Yi wanted to ignore this loquacious fellow, but since Jiang Weiping was someone dear to Ji Fanyi’s heart, for her master’s sake, she decided to show some courtesy to Jiang Weiping’s disciple. “What are you waiting for me for?”

“Senior Ji asked you to show me around,” Bai Wuming replied, propping his chin on the fan, his peach-blossom eyes twinkling.

An Yi frowned slightly. “Aunt Chen.”

“At your service,” Aunt Chen replied, leaping down from the upper floor and landing steadily, her posture humble and respectful.

A flicker of surprise flashed in Bai Wuming’s eyes. This place was truly full of hidden talents—even a maidservant had such impressive skills.

“Please show Young Master Bai around,” An Yi said, preparing to leave.

“Nineteenth Sister, Senior Ji specifically asked you to show me around,” Bai Wuming stretched out an arm to block her path. “Let’s not trouble Aunt Chen.”

“I’m busy,” An Yi replied coolly.

“What are you busy with, Nineteenth Sister? I can help,” Bai Wuming volunteered eagerly, his smile unwavering.

“No need.”

“But I really wish to assist you.”

“It’s unnecessary.”

“Nineteenth Sister, if you continue to reject me so heartlessly, I’ll be quite upset.” Bai Wuming clutched his chest in a melodramatic gesture, gazing at her with pitiful eyes.

An Yi acted as though she hadn’t seen him and strode on.

“Nineteenth Sister.”
“Nineteenth Sister.”
“Nineteenth Sister.”
“Nineteenth Sister.”

The crowing in her ear was relentless, each repetition in a different tone—high, low, trembling, childish.

An Yi admitted defeat to this chatterbox and stopped, her expression turning serious. “Young Master Bai—”

“Nineteenth Sister, don’t be so formal. Don’t call me Young Master Bai—call me Brother Bai,” Bai Wuming’s eyes sparkled with mirth, “Or Brother Wuming, if you prefer.”

Brother Bai!
Brother Wuming!

An Yi shuddered, disgust welling up within her. Would peace only come if she used dumb powder to silence him?

“Nineteenth Sister, what are you thinking?” Bai Wuming leaned in close.

An Yi caught a faint scent of mint and realized how near they were. She hastily stepped back and looked up at him. “I’ll show you around, then.”

“Excellent.” Bai Wuming opened his fan, concealing half his face, his eyes alight with mischief—like a fox savoring a cunning triumph.

An Yi led Bai Wuming through the courtyard. Though not exactly warm, her manner was much improved from before, answering every question he posed.

By midday, she had guided Bai Wuming to the dining hall, made an excuse, and slipped away to the stone chamber, quickly selecting several herbs, grinding them into powder, and hiding a pinch beneath her fingernail.

When An Yi returned to the dining hall, the dishes were already served.

After lunch, a maid brought in a pot of digestive tea. An Yi stood to pour the first cup for Jiang Weiping. “Please, Master Jiang, have some tea.”

Jiang Weiping nodded with a smile.

“Master, your tea.” The second cup, An Yi handed to Ji Fanyi.

“Good girl.” Ji Fanyi smiled, eyes crinkling.

An Yi turned slightly, picked up the third cup, and with three deft flicks of her finger, sent the powder into the tea. “Young Master Bai, please enjoy some tea.”

“Senior Ji, look at Nineteenth Sister—we’re so familiar now, and she’s still calling me Young Master Bai?” Bai Wuming, refusing the tea, put on a wounded face and complained to Ji Fanyi.

For some reason, An Yi was reminded of a line from “The Princess Iron Fan” and felt a wave of nausea. She wanted to retch.

“Wuming, that’s enough,” Jiang Weiping said sternly.

Ji Fanyi cast him a sidelong glance. “We’re people of the martial world—no need for such formality. Where’s the rudeness in Wuming’s words?”

“Exactly, exactly. Nineteenth Sister, I am a few years your senior—wouldn’t you call me Brother Bai?” Bai Wuming asked, feigning solemnity.

Remembering the powder in the tea, An Yi forced herself to smile. “Brother Bai, please have some tea.”

“Thank you, Nineteenth Sister.” Bai Wuming accepted the cup, sniffed it. Besides the scent of tea, there was something else. His eyes flashed with clever amusement as he sipped it all down.

That afternoon, An Yi finally enjoyed some peace and quiet.

When Bai Wuming lost his voice, Ji Fanyi didn’t offer him an antidote. She patted his shoulder, laughing. “It’s exhausting to chatter endlessly. Little Nineteen did you a favor—now you can rest your voice.”

Bai Wuming smiled and nodded, magnanimous as if nothing were amiss.

Jiang Weiping glared at him. “This is nonsense.”

“Nonsense from my Little Nineteen, not your disciple—why scold him?” Ji Fanyi shot a look at Jiang Weiping. “Let me tell you, I can’t bear to scold my apprentice, and neither should you.”

Jiang Weiping snorted and pointed at Bai Wuming. “He’s from a family of physicians.”

“What? Bai, did you drink the dumb powder on purpose?” Ji Fanyi asked in surprise.

Bai Wuming grinned and nodded.

Ji Fanyi eyed Jiang Weiping. “Your disciple surpasses you.”

“Little Nineteen did right—less noise, more tranquility,” Jiang Weiping said, turning away.

“Why are you in such a hurry? Wait for me,” Ji Fanyi called, chasing after him.

Outside, Jiang Weiping looked at Ji Fanyi and smiled softly. “Like master, like apprentice.”

“Little Nineteen has a kinder heart than I. Back in the day, I used deadly poison,” Ji Fanyi laughed behind her hand.

Jiang Weiping recalled their first meeting. “Wuming loves to talk—dumb powder is better than poison. I’m not as noisy as he is; dumb powder would have no effect on me.”

“I’m the noisy one. You should have given me dumb powder—want to ask Little Nineteen for some?” Ji Fanyi teased.

“No need. I like hearing you talk,” Jiang Weiping replied, gazing down at her tenderly.

“Getting old, you’ve learned to sweet talk,” Ji Fanyi’s cheeks flushed, her tone coy.

“It’s not sweet talk—it’s the truth.”

“I love hearing the truth. Say more,” Ji Fanyi’s smile deepened.

An Yi, inexperienced in dosing, had misjudged the amount. Only by the following afternoon did the effects of the dumb powder wear off—twelve hours of enforced silence left Bai Wuming utterly stifled. As soon as his voice returned, he sought out An Yi, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Nineteenth Sister, for your mercy.”

“You know poisons and antidotes both. I dosed your tea—you couldn’t have missed it. Why did you drink it, and why not neutralize it yourself?” Only after the fact did An Yi recall Bai Wuming’s proficiency with poisons.

Bai Wuming looked at her steadily, lips tilting in a wry smile. “If I hadn’t drunk it, or had antidoted it immediately, wouldn’t I have wasted your good intentions?”

Realizing she’d been played, An Yi’s face reddened with anger. She shot him a fierce glare and swept away.

Watching her retreating figure, Bai Wuming stroked his chin, his gaze growing darker.

Jiang Weiping and Bai Wuming stayed two more days before taking their leave. Ji Fanyi was reluctant to part, but An Yi felt relieved—a stark contrast in master and apprentice’s moods.

With Bai Wuming’s chatter gone, An Yi could finally continue making pills and decoctions. Busy as ever, she worked through to the blossoming spring of March, and completed all twenty-seven poisons detailed in “Divine Alchemy.”

“Master, I’m leaving,” An Yi said, her bundle packed, standing before Ji Fanyi.

Ji Fanyi, noting how much An Yi had grown since her arrival, smiled gently, and opened a brocade box to retrieve a piece of mutton-fat jade. “Each of my disciples has one of these—yours is carved with the number nineteen. Don’t lose it.”

An Yi hung it around her neck. “Master, when I’ve finished what I must do, I’ll come back to see you.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting,” Ji Fanyi replied, her willow brows creased faintly. Of her nineteen disciples, An Yi had spent the least time at her side, and she was the only one to leave without family to collect her. An Yi hadn’t said what she intended, and Ji Fanyi didn’t ask—everyone has secrets; if she didn’t wish to speak, she surely didn’t want to be questioned.

“If you have time, Master, take on another disciple for me,” An Yi said with a smile.

“You haven’t yet mastered what you should—how can I have time for another? Hurry back, and when you return, no more slacking! You’ll learn everything from me, one by one,” Ji Fanyi said sternly.

“When I return, I’ll study well,” An Yi replied, lowering her gaze. She could only hope this time she would emerge whole, and not perish together with her enemy.

“Traveling alone, you must take extra care,” Ji Fanyi’s eyes showed a trace of worry. Though An Yi was clever, her time was short, and except for poisons, her martial skills were still immature. “Had I known, I’d have asked Weiping to escort you to find Young Master Gong.”

An Yi smiled gently, raising her eyes. “Master, you once roamed the martial world at this age. While I haven’t mastered all your skills, I have sleeve-darts, the Ghost Gate’s Thirteen Needles, and these poisons and toxins. Defending myself won’t be hard—please don’t worry.”

“You’re not usually so eloquent,” Ji Fanyi scolded with a sidelong glance. “Be cautious in all things. If you meet a superior fighter, avoid them if you can. If not, invoke my name—don’t act recklessly. Your life comes first.”

“I understand, Master.”

The weather was fine, her steed swift. Three days later, at dusk, An Yi arrived at Lingling County. Seeing the familiar streets, her gaze dimmed—things remained, but people had changed.

“Fatty Cheng, there’s a new restaurant over there—let’s go eat.”

“I’m meeting someone at Baiwei Restaurant. Go to the new place yourself.”

An Yi stopped, watching the pair approach. Li Jiayao was now dressed as a married woman, while Cheng Zhilin was even plumper than before.

“No, you’re coming with me.”

“You’re so annoying—go by yourself.”

“You wretched fatty, I don’t mind you, but you dare call me annoying?”

“Don’t call me a wretched fatty.”

“I’ll call you what I like—wretched fatty, wretched fatty.”

“Hey, hey, stop pulling my ear, you woman—”

The two bickered off into the distance. An Yi led her horse to a small inn, ordered two dishes and a soup.

Her attire was utterly different from before—no one, not even acquaintances, would connect her to the peasant girl of years past. Besides, she wore a veiled hat, and both Cheng Zhilin and Li Jiayao had only met her a few times.

After her meal, An Yi left the city before the gates closed. Her horse followed the mountain path. An hour later, she reached Jingtang Village. Hearing the dogs bark, her nose tingled and her eyes reddened. She had returned, but without her mother and brothers.

The An house was empty and dark. An Yi used her lightness skill, removed a silver hairpin, and used it as a key to open the brass lock. Inside, aside from heavy furniture, everything portable was gone.

When she visited the Luo family, they were preparing for bed. Seeing them safe and sound, An Yi’s heart was at ease—An Qinghe had not harmed them.

She left quietly, without disturbing them. She did not visit the ancestral graveyard, unaware that beside her grandparents’ tomb, a small mound had been built with a headstone inscribed: “The grave of beloved daughter An Yi”—the one who erected it was none other than An Qinghe, whom she despised.

An Yi stayed in Lingling for a night, then resumed her journey north. After several days, she arrived at the foot of Mount Heng. Dusk was falling, the outlines of distant mountains and nearby trees blurring. An Yi urged her horse on, hoping to reach the nearest post station before dark.

But the weather had other plans. She’d gone less than ten miles when a bolt of lightning split the sky, thunder crashed, and rain threatened.

An Yi patted her horse’s neck. “Faster, or we’ll get soaked.”

The white horse, intelligent as ever, reared and kicked forward. An Yi pressed close to its back as it sped like a shooting star along the mountain road.

But no matter how swift, she could not outrun the rain.

The downpour lashed the path, water splashing everywhere. An Yi lifted the now-soaked veil, scanning around. In the dense greenery, she glimpsed red bricks and blue tiles—dwellings, perhaps? Delighted, she quickened her pace, only to find it was a dilapidated mountain temple.

Overgrown with weeds, the temple was long out of repair. An Yi tethered her horse to a pillar, unstrapped her pack and water flask, and pushed open the crooked wooden door. The mountain god’s statue had toppled onto the altar, and cobwebs festooned the hall.

The rain grew heavier, drumming on the roof. An Yi felt grateful—at least she needn’t brave the storm.

Inside, there were several piles of spent firewood and some large stones—clearly, many travelers had once sought shelter here. An Yi found a few sticks, chose a relatively clean corner, and used dry branches to brush the dust from the stones.

She lit a fire, took off her outer robe, and hung it to dry. She kept her underclothes on, for though the place was deserted, there was always the chance someone else might seek shelter from the rain.

She opened her bundle, took out the steamed buns she’d bought at noon, and was halfway through one when her horse neighed sharply outside. Sensing someone’s approach, she quickly put on her robe.

“A friend caught in the rain in the mountains—may I beg your hospitality?” a man’s voice called from outside.

An Yi hesitated, palmed three silver needles at her waist, then replied, “We’re all travelers, make yourself at home. Please come in.”

“Thank you, Miss,” a woman’s voice answered.

An Yi’s heart tightened.

The door opened, and in walked a man and two women. The man, about twenty-one or twenty-two, wore black robes and had bold brows and eyes, with a rugged air. The two girls, about fifteen or sixteen, one in white, the other in purple, had round faces and peach-blossom cheeks—they were clearly twins.

They’d seen the fire from afar and knew someone was inside, but upon entering and finding only young An Yi, their surprise was evident. The man’s expression remained unchanged, but the girls looked astonished.

An Yi pretended not to notice, gazing at the fire.

The trio lit their own fire in another corner. The man ate his dry rations, while the girls whispered together about the sword tournament to be held at Lake Tai in September.

“Young Master Wuming hails from a distinguished lineage. This year’s tournament—he’s sure to win the Flowing Light Sword,” the girl in white said.

Young Master Wuming!

An Yi’s brows twitched. Could they mean that scoundrel Bai Wuming?

“I don’t think so. The Seventh Young Master is learned in all the arts—the Flowing Light Sword is his by right,” said the girl in purple.

“Sister, rumor has it that the Seventh Young Master disappeared a month ago.”

“Rumors mean nothing. I believe he’ll appear at the tournament in September and defeat all the martial world’s heroes.”

“He’ll never beat Young Master Wuming.”

“It’s Young Master Wuming who’ll lose to him.”

The sisters stuck to their views, quarreling endlessly over two men who had nothing to do with them.

“Hey, hey, hey—do you two only praise outsiders? Is my swordsmanship so poor?” the man protested.

“Brother, a horse knows the length of its face, and a person should know their own limits,” the girls replied in unison.

“Traitors,” the brother muttered, gnawing another dry cake.

Though An Yi had studied martial arts under Ji Fanyi, she had no intention of roaming the martial world and cared little for such matters. It never crossed her mind that the Seventh Young Master the purple-clad girl admired was none other than Gong Yanqu.

At dawn, An Yi rose. The fire was long cold, no warmth left. With strangers in the temple and thunder raging all night, she’d barely slept until after midnight. Seeing the trio still asleep, she slipped out. The rain had stopped; the air was fresh, the foliage glistening.

She strapped her bundle to her horse, untied the reins, and mounted. After the previous night’s deluge, the mountain road was even more slippery—she dared not ride fast.

So, at a slow pace, she traveled until sunset, reaching the city just before the gates closed. She found an inn, handed over her horse, and ate supper in her room. The attendant brought hot water, and she removed her earrings and bracelet, which held powdered medicines.

After bathing and changing, she dried her hair, put her jewelry back on, practiced her skills cross-legged for a while, then went to bed.

In the middle of the night, a faint noise on the roof woke her. She sat up, popped a pill into her mouth.

The window was opened from without, and a black figure leapt inside.

An Yi’s heart sank.

The bed curtains were lifted, and she felt a cold blade at her neck. The intruder whispered, “If you want to live, don’t make a sound.”

An Yi saw shadows flicker outside the window; footsteps receded, and silence returned. She discreetly pressed her bracelet, releasing a sleeping powder. Unprepared, the intruder collapsed.

An Yi rose, found the tinderbox on the table, and lit the lamp to inspect her assailant. It was a boy of sixteen or seventeen, dressed in black nightclothes, and his face looked oddly familiar.

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