Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Stealing Bird Eggs

Daylight brightened the tree hollow, sunlight filtering through vines in pale ribbons.

Outside, birds chirped nonstop, loud and relentless, as if the entire Parasol Tree had decided to sing at once.

Ling Bu Fei endured it. Endured it. Endured it—

Then snapped.

“Is someone dying out there?” he shouted. “Why are you wailing this early? You’re so damn loud!”

The birds answered by chirping even harder.

His temple twitched.

He turned—and saw Bai Meng Jin calmly pull a wine flask from her sleeve. The scent of wine hit his nose instantly.

“Where did you get wine?” he demanded, genuinely baffled.

Bai Meng Jin blinked at him. “I brought it out of the Star-Plucking Tower.”

“…!”

She looked so quiet and obedient. And yet she’d smuggled wine out of the chaos like it was nothing.

Bai Meng Jin produced a small cup, poured herself a drink, and took a slow sip, unbothered by the situation or the chanting birds.

Ling Bu Fei watched her for a moment, then couldn’t hold back. “What’s the fun of drinking alone? Share some with me.”

Their eyes met.

Bai Meng Jin smiled innocently. “There’s only a little left.”

It was the first time in Young Sect Master Ling’s life he’d begged someone for a drink—and he got rejected.

He stared at her, offended, until she sighed as if pitying him. “Too bad there’s no food. Wine without something to go with it… it’s missing the point.”

Ling Bu Fei’s eyes lit up immediately. “I’ll find something to eat. You give me some wine.”

“You brought food?”

“Why would I bring that?” he scoffed. “Bai Li usually handles it.”

He climbed onto the window ledge and poked his head out.

This hollow was like a small room built into the tree. It had a door, and a window opening toward thick branches. Birds hopped nearby, chirping loudly enough to drill into his skull.

Ling Bu Fei scanned the canopy, then spotted a nest overhead.

His grin turned sharp. “Got it.”

“Be careful,” Bai Meng Jin warned. “Don’t go out. There’s a barrier.”

“I know.”

He stretched toward the nest—missed once, twice—and then realized something.

The barrier repelled living bodies.

It didn’t stop dead objects.

Ling Bu Fei looked around, grabbed two suitable branches from the corner, and used them like chopsticks, careful and patient, until he hooked the nest and lowered it.

His eyes gleamed. “There are eggs!”

[You feathered beasts have been chirping so loud my head hurts. The parents owe—so the kids pay.]

The bird that had been singing its heart out realized its nest was being stolen. It fluffed up in fury, crest raised, and swooped down with a screech.

Ling Bu Fei dodged fast and slipped behind the barrier. The bird slammed against the invisible wall, unable to enter, and erupted into furious bird-language.

Ling Bu Fei exhaled, smug satisfaction spreading through him. He waved the eggs deliberately at the bird. “Come on. Come on! If you’ve got the guts, come in and take them!”

He ducked in and out at the barrier’s edge, obnoxious on purpose.

The bird didn’t have awakened intelligence. Provoked, it pecked the barrier again and again. Of course it couldn’t break it, and its screeching grew uglier by the breath.

Ling Bu Fei laughed loudly—

And then, with a wet splat, a lump of bird droppings fell straight down and smeared across his hand.

“Pfft!”

Bai Meng Jin burst out laughing.

So this was the mysterious, noble Sect Master Ling at eighteen.

Punchable. Completely punchable.

Ling Bu Fei’s face went black. He shook his hand hard, wiped it on the tree wall, rubbed until his skin felt raw—yet the stink clung to him like a curse.

“Here.” Bai Meng Jin’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I’ll get you water.”

Since he’d entertained her, she decided to be generous.

She used the Dust-Cleansing Art, gathered a ribbon of water with a spell, and rinsed his hand again and again. Only after several washes did the stench fade enough for Ling Bu Fei to stop looking like he wanted to murder the entire avian population.

“Stupid bird,” he growled. “If I could get out, I’d roast it.”

“You already stole its whole nest,” Bai Meng Jin pointed out. “If anything, it’s the one getting the worst of it.”

Ling Bu Fei paused, then grudgingly decided she had a point. He stopped sulking and studied the nest in his hands. “How do we eat these? Roast them?”

“If you roast them like that, won’t they explode?”

“Don’t worry.” His grin returned. “I promise they won’t.”

He dragged out some dry straw and began collecting leaves and small fruits from just beyond the barrier. With practiced hands, he squeezed juice from the fruit and used it to moisten the leaves, then arranged everything like a makeshift hearth.

From start to finish, he only asked her for one thing. “Light it.”

Bai Meng Jin flicked a spell. Fire bloomed.

She watched, curious.

In her last life, she’d lived over a thousand years and touched almost nothing outside cultivation. She hadn’t expected a pampered Young Sect Master to know how to do this so smoothly.

When the eggs were done, Ling Bu Fei skewered them on a thin stick and handed one to her. “Try.”

Bai Meng Jin took a cautious bite.

She’d expected bland, chalky egg.

Instead, the taste was surprisingly sweet with a tart edge, warmed by the smoky leaves.

“How is it?” Ling Bu Fei asked, watching her face like a child waiting for praise.

Bai Meng Jin swallowed, then calmly pulled out the cup again and poured him wine.

Ling Bu Fei’s whole face brightened. He smelled it first, took a small sip, then savored the aftertaste like it was a rare treasure.

“The boss of the Star-Plucking Tower gifted me a jar of fine wine,” he said mournfully. “I only took two sips. Who knew…”

In a single day, everything had flipped upside down. Forget wine—he couldn’t even get water unless someone took pity on him.

Bai Meng Jin poured him another cup. “Aren’t you drinking right now? And you have roasted eggs.”

“You’re right.” Ling Bu Fei drank again. “And it doesn’t taste bad.”

Bai Meng Jin picked a roasted fruit from the pile and ate it, then asked, “How did you know these were edible? Have you tried them before?”

Ling Bu Fei sat up straighter, pride flashing. “On Limitless Mountain, there’s nothing I don’t know—what’s edible, what’s poisonous. Since I couldn’t cultivate anyway, when I was little, I dragged Bai Li around and ran over every peak.”

Bai Meng Jin wasn’t sure whether to admire him or pity him.

In the Cultivation World, someone who couldn’t cultivate was treated as less than useless. Most would’ve shattered under that weight.

Yet he’d found ways to amuse himself. If he was a little proud, so what?

No wonder the Limitless Sect indulged him.

“Don’t you resent it?” she asked quietly, propping her chin on her hand. “Being born unable to cultivate. Not even having the chance to choose.”

“Resent what?” Ling Bu Fei chewed the last egg off the skewer. “Resent that my mother did her duty—went to the battlefield even when she was about to give birth? Or resent that she was too generous, willing to sacrifice herself to keep me alive?”

He tossed the stick aside and brushed his hands. “Some people are lucky just to be alive. They don’t have the right to complain about the world.”

Being alive was the greatest luck.

Bai Meng Jin turned the words over in her mind as she lifted her cup and drank slowly.

Ling Bu Fei put out the fire and swept away the leaves, cleaning up like it was second nature.

After a while, he leaned back and said, as if arriving at a conclusion, “I’ve realized you’re pretty interesting.”

Bai Meng Jin looked up and met his measuring gaze.

“Last night,” Ling Bu Fei continued, amused, “you hid behind Ji Xing Ge and let her speak for you. You even pinched your voice like you’d cry if someone raised their voice at you.”

His smile turned sharper. “You were pretending to be pitiful on purpose, weren’t you?”

“No,” Bai Meng Jin said blandly, looking away. “You were fierce. I really was scared.”

“Heh.” Ling Bu Fei didn’t bother arguing. “It works, though. I did it all the time in the sect.”

Bai Meng Jin blinked. “[Huh?]”

“If an elder said something I didn’t like, I’d act pitiful. First I’d cry about my mom. Then I’d cry about my maternal grandfather.” He spread his hands. “They’d behave.”