The old year waned, the new year dawned.
Firecrackers popped, the warm aroma of Tusū wine filled the air, and dazzling fireworks lit up Ye City. Young maidens, usually confined to their chambers, were briefly freed, clutching candied haws as they strolled, trailed by maids.
The Wei King’s Mansion was adorned with vibrant red lanterns. Maids and servants, gifted holiday money by the Heir, took a day off. They bought food and wine, gathered around stoves, toasting and sharing last year’s amusing tales.
The maids’ chatter was simple: who used a sparkler, who was secretly entangled, and swooning over the imagined Heir, dreaming of climbing social ladders.
The menservants, meanwhile, debated martial champions and state affairs, aspiring to epic feats like sealing Wolf Jūxū or carving steles at Yanran.
But alas, in Taizu’s early years, barbarian hooves invaded, plundering counties. Qi King Han Yu led 300,000 Black Armored troops north, his sword aimed at crushing the steppe khanate, raising banners to establish the Northern Protectorate.
Wolf Jūxū and Yanran were now Yanxia’s territory.
As for Ji Yanqing, his New Year was bittersweet. He couldn’t visit Su Ningyue, yet worried about her.
Her delicate frame belied her resilient spirit, which he admired. Su Yuanshan’s Qingfrost Sword Intent wasn’t given freely—Ji Yanqing bore its responsibility.
If the time was right, he’d introduce her to his father… and Auntie Xie. The former was fine; the latter was the heavyweight.
Xie Lingwan often said to bring girls he liked for her to see, but words were one thing—action another. The thought of that scene was a nightmare.
A hellish Shura painting!
A chill crept up Ji Yanqing’s spine. He needed to prepare Su Ningyue, lest Xie faint from rolling her eyes.
After returning from Weiyuan yesterday, Ji Qingyan hid in her room, seeing no one, not even sneaking out for midnight snacks—a bizarre occurrence.
After some thought, he decided to check on his “captive.”
Avoiding Xie’s random spawn points, Ji Yanqing took a quiet path to Ji Qingyan’s courtyard.
A sharp sword hum grew closer.
After a moment’s thought, he skipped the main gate, pushing open a half-closed side door into the courtyard.
With the New Year nearing, the courtyard was spotless, weeds replaced by ornamental plants, and a clogged, foul well now flowed clear.
It was arranged to the Wei King’s Mansion’s top-guest standards.
In the courtyard’s center, a red-clad figure wielded a thousand-forged iron sword, weaving dazzling sword flowers. Her blade moved like a tempest, blurring reality and illusion, as if countless swords struck at once.
Her footwork danced with her swordplay, her skirt fluttering. Her sword intent shifted from ethereal to solid, its cold gleam startling snow and wind, piercing the clouds.
Ancient Rakshasa Sect’s secret art—Autumn Goose Soaring Wind Slash!
The strike dimmed the heavens…
Her sword pierced a granite boulder, shattering it with a boom.
Amidst the dust, the peerless girl stood like a sword immortal.
If that were all, it’d be a mere spectacle of a maiden’s sword dance. But there was a slight issue.
The boulder bore the words “Ji Yanqing.”
His face darkened, yet he clapped with a smile. “Heroine Ji’s swordsmanship is peerless, a rare genius.”
Ji Qingyan sheathed her sword, her cold eyes meeting his. “What are you doing here?”
“I was strolling and drawn by your sword hum.”
“Well, I’m done. You can leave now, Your Highness,” she replied icily.
Her tone felt off to Ji Yanqing.
“Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.”
Silence fell again, both standing still.
“Where did I offend you, Heroine Ji, to make you want to chop me up?” Ji Yanqing picked up a rock fragment, weighing it, asking softly.
“The Wei King’s Heir is a villain all righteous folk should slay!” she declared.
“That’s it?” Ji Yanqing raised a brow, puzzled.
“That’s my belief, take it or leave it,” Ji Qingyan said, her face flushing, arms crossed, a touch haughty. “Why visit me instead of Su Ningyue or Lady Xie? Aren’t you afraid those beauties will get jealous?”
Her words dripped with a vinegar-like tone, more Xie’s style, Ji Yanqing thought. They were related—Ji Qingyan’s mother was from Gusu Xie’s third branch, a cousin to Xie Lingwan, though far below her main-line status.
Was jealousy a Gusu Xie trait?
“Compared to them, I’m more worried about you getting jealous,” Ji Yanqing teased, his peach-blossom eyes playful.
“Why would—pah! I’m not jealous!” Ji Qingyan stomped, flustered, as if her deepest secret was exposed.
“Then why’s your face red?” he pressed.
“Shut up!” she snapped, cutting him off. But realizing he hadn’t done anything heinous, killing him outright seemed extreme.
Pursing her lips, she shot him a glance and fled to her room, bolting the door.
With nothing else to do, Ji Yanqing waited outside. One, to stoke her guilt, as he wasn’t at fault; two, to subtly build favor. The art of push-and-pull required finesse.
As always: strike the acupoints for the low, strike the heart for the high.
In her room, behind draped curtains, Ji Qingyan buried her face in a soft pillow, her teeth grinding.
“So annoying!”
“Couldn’t sleep last night, all because of that jerk Ji Yanqing!”
She tossed the pillow, rolling on her bed to vent pent-up emotions when she couldn’t practice.
But soon, she sprang up, peering through a narrow door crack.
The elegant youth stood there, sleeves folded, expression respectful, devoid of mockery.
Seeing him, her mood lifted, her lips curling slightly.
‘I’m pretty charming after all!’ she thought smugly.
But then, a doubt surfaced: why did this scoundrel flirt with other women when she was right there?
Lady Xie made sense—storytellers swore the Heir had a thing for married women, surely true.
As for Su Ningyue… maybe he liked docile, soft girls.
No way!
Being outdone by him was a matter of skill—she was young, with time to improve. But if even he didn’t fancy her, that was a grave principle issue!
To wash away the shame, she’d start by making him fall for her.
Right now, Ji Qingyan’s only hard part was her mouth.