Chapter 89: Your Words Are Sharp
Gu Qing Yi let out a cold laugh, her gaze sharp as a blade as she looked at Chen Yan. “Didn’t you claim your hometown was free of spirit beasts?”
Chen Yan hesitated, casting a glance toward the carriage where Lu Si Si sat, then, after a moment of thought, said, “Tomorrow, I’ll head up the mountain to the temple and take a look.”
Gu Qing Yi nodded. “Alright, I’ll go with you. If some spirit beast has stirred trouble in these parts, it might just serve as a way for me to temper my killing intent.”
Chen Yan shook his head. “There’s no malice in his fate. Even if there is demonic energy present, it hasn’t harmed him. Don’t be so quick to talk of slaying—what if it’s a benevolent spirit?”
Gu Qing Yi’s lips curved into a smirk, her expression unreadable. “You think there are so many Nie Xiao Qian and Bai Su Zhen in this world?”
With that, the two returned to the car and made their way home.
Once home, their “family of three” busied themselves tidying up—sweeping, arranging, and putting their newly bought groceries in order. Chen Yan took to the kitchen, preparing an array of dishes, frying smoked fish, and crafting festive delicacies for the coming New Year.
Lu Si Si and Gu Qing Yi had little skill in the kitchen, so they merely assisted where they could. The three of them toiled away until nightfall.
Later, Chen Yan fetched hot water and brought out three wooden basins. The three sat in a row, feet submerged, the warmth seeping into their bones.
The girls’ feet were small, pale, and delicate—though Chen Yan only dared a brief glance before averting his eyes.
Lu Si Si’s reaction was one of shyness, making him instinctively look away out of respect.
As for Gu Qing Yi—
The moment his eyes flickered toward her, he felt an unmistakable surge of killing intent. Her fierce gaze pierced him, making his spine stiffen. He quickly turned away, feigning nonchalance.
Gu Qing Yi’s face, however, flushed faintly. She let out a cold snort.
[That Zhao Shan He, when caught in my Bewitching Spell, had once said…]
[This brat—he likes tall, long-legged women. And he has a foot fetish!]
[Hmph! A proper man, fixating on a woman’s feet?]
[Pervert!]
—
Jin Ling City.
Southeast of the city, near the ancient walls, lay an old residential district. Once a maze of winding alleys, the place had since undergone official restoration, transformed into a cultural district and a bustling tourist attraction. Traditional-style buildings had been erected, lending the city a lively pulse. Every day, crowds from all over the land mingled with the old residents of Jin Ling, making this place a hub of leisure and entertainment.
A mere two or three kilometers from this bustling scene, nestled along the banks of the Inner Qinhuai River, stood a quiet courtyard residence. At first glance, it appeared to be another vintage-inspired structure, but any discerning eye would recognize its true nature.
The roof tiles and wooden beams—each one was authentic, salvaged from genuine old residences, carefully restored and relocated. Even the wooden carvings on the window lattices bore a history of at least a century or two.
It wasn’t a grand estate, merely a two-section courtyard. Yet, considering the land’s value alone, the property was already worth an eight-figure sum. If one were to factor in the antiques embedded within the architecture, its true worth would be at least ten times that amount.
On its vermillion gates, fresh couplets and New Year’s paintings were pasted. The guardian beasts at the entrance had been meticulously cleaned, their lion eyes repainted with new gold lacquer.
Above the doorway, a wooden plaque bore two bold characters:
Cloud Lodge.
To the ordinary folk, this sign might suggest a tea house or a scholarly retreat.
But to those versed in the arcane, this seemingly understated yet opulent abode was the domain of Jin Ling’s most formidable mystic master—Elder Zi. It was also the headquarters of Cloud Sect.
—
At half past seven in the evening, Chu Ke Qing sat in her study, a brush in hand, ink flowing over the parchment spread across her desk.
She wore a loose, gray-white robe, tied carelessly at the waist with a sash. Her once neatly coiled hair had come undone, cascading over one shoulder in soft waves. Under the warm glow of the lamplight, her presence carried a languid, seductive grace.
Her slender fingers guided an exquisite wolf-hair brush, each stroke forming a meticulous script. Line after line, her small cursive flowed across the page.
Chu Ke Qing wrote with deep focus. Only when her wrist grew sore did she pause, letting out a quiet breath. Lifting the manuscript, she scanned its contents twice before nodding in satisfaction.
The title upon the first page read:
Cloud Sect’s Cultivation Method.
And at the bottom of the page, a single note was inscribed:
Graciously rectified by an eminent master. This record is humbly transcribed by Chu Ke Qing, disciple of Cloud Sect.
For the past few days, she had been diligently copying the revised techniques imparted to her by Chen Yan.
Such sacred teachings could never be entrusted to a printing press—if leaked during production, it would be an unforgivable crime. Even digital transcription felt insincere, a disrespect to the 91-year-old sage who had corrected these flawed techniques.
Thus, after much deliberation, she chose to handwrite each copy herself.
Having been raised within the sect since childhood, she had cultivated an elegant, refined calligraphy. Each stroke now carried utmost reverence. After days of painstaking effort, she had only completed three volumes.
One was for her personal study.
The second—reserved for the future disciple who would inherit her teachings.
The last would be preserved within the sect’s archives, enshrined as a treasured tome of Cloud Sect.
Since her return from the He family’s estate, Chu Ke Qing had shut herself off from visitors. Apart from that one trip to Chen Yan’s home to deliver medicinal herbs, Elder Zi had remained in seclusion.
During these days, she had immersed herself in refining her practice, diligently absorbing Chen Yan’s corrections. To her astonishment, the flaws that had hindered her cultivation for years had begun to unravel. Obstacles she had once found insurmountable now seemed to loosen with each passing day.
Even her cultivation base had begun to advance again.
The realization filled her with both elation and a deepened reverence for Chen Yan.
She had spent twenty years in cultivation. For the last few years, she had been trapped at an impasse, diligently training without the slightest improvement.
Yet now—
Just a few short days under Chen Yan’s guidance, and she had already glimpsed the threshold to a breakthrough.
It was a sign.
A sign that she had encountered a true master of the mystic arts.
In the pursuit of the Dao, daily cultivation was merely a means to prevent one’s foundation from decaying. As for true advancement? That path seemed distant, veiled beyond sight.
Yet now, after only a few days, her cultivation had actually progressed. How could Chu Ke Qing not feel exhilarated?
She set her brush down and took a sip of tea from the porcelain cup on her desk, only to frown slightly—
The tea had grown cold.
With a casual flick of her wrist, she poured the cold tea into the brush washer, then rose from her seat, stepping toward the soft couch. Just as she prepared to enter meditation and circulate her Qi, the quiet tremor of her tea table interrupted her thoughts—
Her phone was flashing.
Glancing at the caller’s name, Chu Ke Qing raised a delicate brow and answered.
“Junior Sister!?”
The voice on the other end was deep and steady, yet tinged with an aging weight.
Her response remained calm, undisturbed. “Third Senior Brother, what is it that has you calling so late?”
A moment of silence followed. Then, his voice carried a trace of reprimand. “I heard about Luo Qing… Wasn’t your punishment a bit too severe?”
Chu Ke Qing’s expression did not change. “Are you here to chastise me on his behalf? Seeking justice for Luo Qing?”
The voice on the other end grew heavier. “I know Luo Qing has always been reckless, prone to trouble. You’ve had him under your wing all these years, and I have no doubt he’s caused you countless headaches. If he made a mistake, a little discipline is understandable, but such a harsh punishment… Was it truly necessary? He is, after all, the last bloodline of our late Master.”
A faint smile curled at Chu Ke Qing’s lips, cold as a winter moon. “If Third Senior Brother finds my decision unsatisfactory, how about I send Luo Qing to Harbor City instead? Let him serve under you. With your daily guidance and unwavering discipline, perhaps he will finally mend his ways and cease his foolishness?”
A pause—
Then, an awkward chuckle. “That’s not what I meant. You misunderstand me, Junior Sister. I merely wanted to say—”
Chu Ke Qing took a slow breath, her mesmerizing face darkened with a chilling air. “That good-for-nothing… If he truly believes my punishment unjust, why doesn’t he dare face me? Instead, he runs crying to you?”
Her voice sharpened like an unsheathed blade. “Perhaps breaking both his legs was still too merciful.”
She let the words hang in the air before pressing forward, her tone frigid. “Do you even realize what kind of disaster Luo Qing nearly brought upon us this time? He almost offended a master far beyond my ability to oppose! Worse yet, his foolishness nearly cost Cloud Sect an opportunity that could have blessed our lineage for generations!”
“If I hadn’t seen the danger in time and scrambled to make amends… given that esteemed senior’s ruthlessness, Luo Qing would be facing a fate far worse than crippled legs.”
Her Third Senior Brother fell silent. When he finally spoke again, his voice was weighted with new gravity. “Luo Qing gave me a brief account… But just who is this figure that even you fear offending so greatly?”
Chu Ke Qing let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I’ll be blunt—
You can’t afford to offend him either. So, Third Senior Brother, I suggest you abandon whatever schemes are turning in your mind.”
An uncomfortable laugh followed. “I never intended to take Luo Qing’s side. But this so-called ‘opportunity’ you mentioned…”
Chu Ke Qing sighed, feigning indifference. “It’s nothing. I merely humbled myself before that senior, offering proper respects. In return, he granted me a few words of guidance on my cultivation.”
“…For just that? Junior Sister, you truly paid such a high price for something so trivial?”
“To encounter fortune, one must first make the proper preparations,” she replied coolly. “As for the rest—if fate blesses me, I am grateful. If it does not, then it was never meant to be.”
Of course, she had no intention of revealing that Senior Chen Yan had personally corrected her Cloud Sect cultivation method—a boon beyond compare.
Her voice remained serene, yet a mocking coldness stirred in her heart.
When their Master had named her as Sect Leader, many had harbored resentment.
Even now, Third Senior Brother still postured as if his authority exceeded hers, using his seniority to pressure her at every turn. After their final falling-out, he had stormed away to Harbor City, never once returning to Jin Ling Prefecture. Though he maintained a facade of keeping in touch, their relationship had long since become nothing more than hollow pleasantries exchanged over the phone.
Yet, even now, he still attempted to exert his so-called ‘senior authority’ over her.
“Junior Sister, you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you? You’ve always been shrewd. If there weren’t a substantial gain, you wouldn’t have bowed so low and compromised so much.”
Hearing this, Chu Ke Qing’s expression turned icy. “I have said all that I intend to say. Believe it or not, that is your choice.”
“But let me offer you some advice, Third Senior Brother—
You have done well for yourself in Harbor City, surrounding yourself with wealth and power. That is your path. Cloud Sect, however, is mine to govern. I suggest you refrain from overstepping.”
His breath audibly quickened, his voice carrying an edge of anger. “Chu Ke Qing! Am I not still of Cloud Sect? Was I not also a disciple of our Master? Just what are you implying!?”
Her tone remained cold as steel. “The meaning is clear. I trust Third Senior Brother to understand.”
A long silence stretched over the call.
When he finally spoke again, it was with barely restrained irritation, his voice forcibly smoothed over. “Fine, fine! There’s no need for us to always argue. Master is gone, our sect grows thinner with each passing year… After all these years as fellow disciples, must we truly make things so unpleasant?”
A heavy sigh drifted through the receiver.
His tone softened. “The New Year is approaching. Soon after, it will be Master’s death anniversary. I will return to Jin Ling Prefecture then, and we should visit his grave together.”
Hearing this, Chu Ke Qing felt nothing stir within her heart. Her response was a mere indifferent “Mn.”
Visit Master’s grave?
Since when had Third Senior Brother been so filial?
He had spent years basking in the limelight of Harbor City, never once returning to pay respects. Now, suddenly, he spoke of honoring their Master?
Did he think she would lower her guard over mere words?
Seeing her lack of response, Third Senior Brother likely assumed she had softened, and so he continued. “One more thing, Junior Sister… The matter I mentioned last time—have you given it proper thought?”
Chu Ke Qing furrowed her brows, her voice like an autumn blade—cold and unyielding. “A partnership with that Mr. Zhong from Harbor City?”
“That’s right,” the voice on the other end replied. “Old Zhong and I have been evenly matched in Harbor City for years—sometimes rivals, sometimes allies. But as time wears on, the fire in one’s heart inevitably dims. This time, he was the one who approached me. I weighed the pros and cons, and truth be told, this is an excellent opportunity for expansion…
“The people of Harbor City hold deep reverence for Mystic Arts, yet the resources there have been steadily dwindling. I have connections, a name well known, and certain—unconventional—paths at my disposal.
“As for you, Junior Sister, you carry the prestige of Cloud Sect, and your reputation in Jin Ling Prefecture is formidable. With your network, if we join forces…”
Chu Ke Qing cut him off before he could finish. “I’m not interested.”
“…You—?”
She spoke, calm yet firm. “That so-called Mr. Zhong you mentioned—I made my own inquiries. He claims to practice the Southern School of Yin-Yang Arts, but he is nothing like us.
“When the Southern School of Yin-Yang Arts first reached Harbor City, the lineage was already beginning to stray. Over time, their practices mingled with the sinister arts of the Southern Seas, twisting into something neither righteous nor pure.
“These people have long since disgraced their ancestors. Rather than walking the upright path, they sought the ways of the Southern Seas’ Demonic Sorcery, using venomous techniques to amass wealth. I have no interest in making money with you if it means treading such a path.”
She paused, a rare flicker of sentiment crossing her face. Though she had already made her stance clear, she still held some regard for their past brotherhood.
“Senior Brother, I urge you to open your eyes. The arts of the Southern Seas may bring wealth for a time, but they consume one’s fate and corrode one’s soul. Have you forgotten the words our Master has drilled into us since childhood? ‘The cycle of fate turns—karma always comes full circle.’”
A heavy silence followed. The breath on the other end of the line turned ragged, then, with a low grunt, the call was severed.
Chu Ke Qing sighed.
—Paths diverge, and those who walk different ways should not journey together.
Months ago, her Third Senior Brother had sought her out, hoping to recruit her into a partnership with some so-called master of Mystic Arts from Harbor City—this “Mr. Zhong.”
Indeed, Harbor City was steeped in mysticism, and those with true skill could earn fortunes beyond counting. But as the tides of fate shifted, so too did fortune. With economic decline, dwindling wealth, and the migration of the affluent overseas, the once-thriving Mystic Arts scene in Harbor City had withered.
In the end, practitioners of Mystic Arts were like parasitic guests—thriving only when the powerful required their services.
When the wealthy sought fortune, longevity, or protection from calamity, Mystic Arts masters prospered. But fortune is bound by the flow of the world, and Harbor City was but a small pond—how much prosperity could truly be drawn from its waters?
Even now, the city’s elites fought tooth and nail over the last vestiges of fortune. In such times, Mystic Arts could do little more than shift small portions of destiny from one hand to another. One could no longer summon wealth from nothing, and as these truths became apparent, the once-believing elites began to turn away.
This was the state of Harbor City now.
And her Third Senior Brother—clearly, he wished to retreat inland, seeking new ground to sow his fortunes.
This “Mr. Zhong” and her Senior Brother had made their names in Harbor City, and now, they intended to return to the Mainland, adorned in the prestige of foreign renown, to find new patrons among the elite.
Had this been all, Chu Ke Qing might not have rejected him so decisively, for the sake of their shared past.
But when she investigated Mr. Zhong, she discovered an abyss of corruption.
Raising ghost familiars, refining corpse oil—such sinister, forbidden methods! He called himself a practitioner of the Southern School of Yin-Yang Arts, yet he had long since turned to the dark arts of the Southern Seas’ Demonic Sorcery!
How could she allow such a person to use her connections to return inland and harm the innocent?
After hanging up, Chu Ke Qing stared into the void for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.
To think that a disciple of Cloud Sect would abandon righteousness to consort with wandering devils!
Self-degradation!
She thought of Chen Yan, the one who had refined and perfected their sect’s methods.
Naturally, there was no chance she would share those techniques with someone like her Third Senior Brother now.
As the thought struck her, she unconsciously picked up her phone and scrolled to Chen Yan’s chat window. She had heard that he had returned to his hometown for the New Year and had not been in Jin Ling Prefecture recently. Otherwise, she would have found time to visit—
Ahem, no—pay proper respects.
Still, was there any harm in keeping in touch?
A call, a message—small gestures to maintain goodwill, to strengthen ties, to show reverence and seek guidance…
Yet, as her mind drifted to her last encounter with him at the He Family—
That shameless old rogue had deliberately followed behind her when ascending the mountain!
And that night, in the back mountain, when he had smacked a talisman onto her chest—
Chu Ke Qing’s face turned crimson. She threw down her phone as though it had burned her fingertips.
No! That man—he was utterly improper!
She was willing to curry favor, yes, but only in a manner befitting decorum—not like that!
Yet, despite herself…
Her gaze flickered, thoughts churning like an untamed river.
That day, on the road to the He Family, Chen Yan had casually corrected Chu Ke Qing’s sect’s cultivation method. Later, when she recited the incantations for her sect’s Talismanic Arts and Qi Fortune Technique, he remained silent. But Chu Ke Qing—keen and observant as she was—caught the fleeting change in his expression.
Clearly, he had noticed something amiss!
Yet, instead of pointing it out, he chose silence. This was proof—Chen Yan possessed profound knowledge, enough to see the flaws in her sect’s talisman techniques!
The Cloud Sect’s cultivation method formed the foundation of their legacy. If he were to refine it, future generations would benefit immensely, though the effects would take years to bear fruit. But talismans… talismans were different. If he corrected her sect’s Talismanic Arts, the results would be immediate—turning the mundane into the miraculous! Her strength could surge overnight!
And yet… Chen Yan refused to teach.
Chu Ke Qing understood. Such profound arts were never imparted lightly. Techniques capable of instant power leaps—who would bestow them so freely?
She bore no resentment toward him. Instead, her heart burned with fervor. The more she cultivated the refined Cloud Sect Method, the more her strength grew. And the more she fantasized… if Chen Yan would only guide her talisman arts… how high could her power rise?
Chen Yan, after all, could slay spirit monsters bare-handed!
“How… how can I move him?”
Resting her elbows on the desk, Chu Ke Qing cupped her chin, lost in thought.
Surely… surely… it wouldn’t come to that…
Surely, she wouldn’t have to offer herself… to cultivate alongside him… as his Dual Cultivation Furnace?
The thought alone sent heat rushing to her face.
—
That night, Chen Yan locked both his courtyard gate and room door. It wasn’t even eight yet… too early for young people to turn in, even during the holidays.
But out here in the countryside, there was little to do at night. He couldn’t very well teach Gu Xiao Niang how to play poker, could he?
Turning his head, he noticed that Gu Qing Yi and Lu Si Si had slipped into a room together.
Huh?
Since when did these two become so close?
Curious, Chen Yan pushed the door open. A wave of warm air from the heater greeted him.
Inside, the two girls were lounging comfortably in Old Madam’s former bedroom—one cross-legged on the bed, the other reclining in a chair the Old Madam had once favored.
Thanks to the room’s warmth, they wore only thin autumn wear, which outlined their figures like blooming sea-cotton flowers.
Lu Si Si, slender and well-proportioned, was one thing. But Gu Xiao Niang… one glance at her, and any man’s heartbeat would quicken.
They had washed their feet earlier, so both sat barefoot. Lu Si Si idly curled her delicate toes on the recliner’s edge as she stared at her phone.
Both girls had their phones turned sideways.
Chen Yan glanced at Lu Si Si’s screen—
Ah, so they were battling in King’s Gorge.
After a moment’s thought, he chuckled, “Mind if I join?”
He pulled out his own phone.
From the bed, Gu Qing Yi shot him a look, her fingers flying across the screen. “Don’t log in. I’m using your account!”
“…Huh?” Chen Yan blinked.
Then it dawned on him—Gu Xiao Niang didn’t have an ID card, so she couldn’t clear the real-name verification. He had lent her his gaming account before.
Unfortunately, the very day she played, she had suffered crushing defeats, dragging his rank down in the process.
He turned his gaze to Lu Si Si’s phone and twitched.
She was worse!
On-screen, Lu Si Si had just wasted her ultimate move, now fleeing desperately with no escape.
Well, it made sense. Having spent eighteen years living in fear, where would she have found time for gaming? She was probably still learning the basics.
After watching for a while, Chen Yan couldn’t bear it anymore. With a shake of his head, he left the room.
With their level of play… if they gamed all night, by tomorrow, Gu Xiao Niang might have tanked his ranking even further!
Returning to his small room, he lay on the bed, scrolling through his phone.
Suddenly, Chen Yan sat up.
Footsteps sounded hurriedly from outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the courtyard gate, followed by an urgent voice:
“Brother Yan! Brother Yan!”
He recognized the voice—Chu Yi.
Slipping into his slippers, Chen Yan crossed the courtyard and opened the gate. Chu Yi stood outside, breathless, his clothes askew.
“Chu Yi? What happened?”
“My master… my master…” Chu Yi gasped, voice stumbling. “He’s gone!”
Chen Yan froze.
Gone?
Wasn’t his master merely ill, resting after an IV drip? How could he suddenly… be gone?
“How? Did no one take him to the hospital? What illness was it? What symptoms?”
He fired off a series of questions.
Chu Yi was stunned for a moment before realizing what Chen Yan meant. He hurriedly shook his hands. “No, no! Not like that, Brother Yan!
“My master isn’t… dead.
“He’s missing!”
Chen Yan smacked his forehead.
Ah, the beauty of the Dragon Nation’s language.
His Old Madam didn’t pass away—she “left.”
Chu Yi’s master didn’t “die”—he just “vanished.”
“You mean… he disappeared? Like, missing?”
“Yes! Yes! Missing!” Chu Yi nodded rapidly.
“How does someone just vanish? Did he leave the house at night and get lost outside?”
“No…”
The biting wind howled through the snow-laden mountain, its icy breath seeping into the cracks of the ancient temple. Wang Chu Yi was drenched in sweat, his face twisted in anxiety. He had never been quick-witted, and in moments of panic, his words tangled even further. Stamping his feet and gesturing wildly, he took a long while to make himself understood.
His master—the Old Monk of the abandoned temple—had been frail since the onset of winter. His breath had grown labored, and his body had weakened to the point where even getting out of bed was a struggle. Such things were not uncommon. Every winter, the old monk’s illness flared up, and Chu Yi, in his simple and steadfast way, had done as he always did—he summoned the barefoot doctor from the village, had an intravenous drip administered, and waited for the sickness to pass.
Normally, after a few days of rest, the old monk would regain some strength. But this time, days passed, and his condition remained unchanged.
Chu Yi, a loyal and honest disciple, devoted himself to his master’s care without hesitation. He served tea, carried water, split firewood, and even descended the mountain to collect alms, ensuring they had enough rice and grain to last through the festival season. Yet his master, confined to his bed, barely moved at all, save for the most necessary bodily functions.
Earlier that night, before turning in, Chu Yi had checked in on his master. Seeing the old monk asleep, he finally allowed himself to rest.
But deep in the night, nature called. Rubbing his drowsy eyes, he shuffled out to the latrine. On his way back, a thought struck him—had he tended to the brazier in his master’s room? The snowfall was heavy, and the cold, merciless. If the embers had gone out, his master might freeze.
With that in mind, he pushed open the door—
Only to find the bed empty.
A living person—one too frail to even rise on his own—had vanished into thin air in the dead of night, from a locked room, in the heart of an ancient temple atop a snowbound peak!
“Did you search the temple grounds?”
“I did! He’s nowhere to be found!”
Chen Yan studied Chu Yi’s panic-stricken face, sweat glistening on his brow. The boy had no phone, no means of calling for help—the only device in the temple had belonged to the old monk. And now, without his master’s fingerprint, Chu Yi couldn’t even unlock it. With no other choice, he had run down the mountain to seek help in the village.
In that moment of desperation, only two names had surfaced in his mind—
The Old Village Chief, and Chen Yan.
Both had shown him kindness, but in his heart, Chen Yan was like an older brother. Without thinking, his feet had carried him straight to Chen’s home.
Chen Yan pondered briefly before speaking. “Chu Yi, don’t panic. I’ll go with you. Wait here while I change.”
He turned to head inside, only to find Gu Qing Yi already standing at the doorway, her arms crossed.
“I…” Chen Yan began, but before he could explain, Gu Qing Yi waved a hand dismissively. “I heard everything. I’m coming with you.”
She stepped closer and murmured, “Don’t forget—he carries the scent of demons.”
Chen Yan hesitated before shaking his head. “I’ll go alone. You stay here.”
He cast a glance into the house and lowered his voice. “Precisely because there’s demonic energy involved, I need you to remain behind. If something truly sinister lurks in the mountains, then Chu Yi has led it straight to my doorstep. Someone must stay and watch over Lu Si Si—she’s an ordinary person. We can’t leave her unprotected.”
Gu Qing Yi tilted her head in thought, then nodded in agreement. Yet, her gaze sharpened as she fixed him with a warning look.
“If you have to fight—use talismans.”
“Understood.”
“If you can’t win—run back here.”
“Understood.”
“And if you still lose—when you get back, I’ll beat you myself.”
“Underst—huh?” Chen Yan blinked.
Gu Qing Yi’s expression was dead serious. “The talismans I gave you can kill anything below the Heavenly Mortal Realm. If you lose with those in hand, who else am I supposed to punish?”
Chen Yan rolled his eyes. “Tch, your voice is sharp as a blade…”
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation