Chapter 19: Narrow Sea Azure (Part 2): Pretty, Aloof, But Feels Like It Could Easily Break Part 1

Mu Qian Tan coldly swept her gaze over her, while her other hand’s fingertip slowly trailed across the back of her hand. “What did you do?”

The girl, who had been full of excitement moments ago, froze in place. She didn’t actually think she had done anything wrong, but that gaze still made her hairs stand on end. Her hands dangled limply as she averted her eyes. “What.”

Mu Qian Tan slowly descended from the carriage, her skirt flowing down like a waterfall, her voice flat. “What did you do while I was asleep?”

She walked over step by step, stopping in front of the girl with overwhelming pressure, and lowered her head to lock her gaze on her. “Tell the truth.”

As she spat out those three words, flying birds chirped in the forest as they flew away, as if frightened by the atmosphere. Enveloped in the shadow of the newcomer, Shang Shan stammered, “I… don’t know.”

She cautiously took a small step back, turned to slip away, but her nape’s collar was yanked hard. The force was so great that her clothes nearly got ripped off entirely, and she tumbled backward from the momentum.

She could feel the hand gripping her collar trembling nonstop, the fabric on the verge of tearing under her fingers. Tilting her head up, she saw that face with veins bulging from cold fury.

She was done for.

Atop the immortal mountain, outside Small Mountain Hall. The Little Immortal on guard saw the newcomers and bowed respectfully.

It should have ended there, with him continuing his patrol or duties, but when he clearly saw how these two arrived, he couldn’t help stealing a couple more glances.

Though Yao’e Immortal was publicly known for her bad temper and perpetual iciness, she had almost never shown obvious anger. But now, her face was so ashen it was nearly shrouded in black qi, more ominous than the perpetually damp, thundering Narrow Sea. In her hand, she death-gripped the back collar of another person, dragging her forward—it was utterly terrifying, like she had just killed someone.

The girl being dragged along scraped lifelessly across the ground. Her hair was a messy tangle, her clothes tattered and torn, her arms dangling limply—no telling if she was alive or dead.

At first, he thought Yao’e Immortal was hauling a ragged sack, but it turned out to be a person. Curiosity piqued, the Little Immortal sneakily sized up the girl on the ground, confirmed she was alive but just couldn’t move, and then withdrew his gaze.

He couldn’t help pondering inwardly: Though these two had seemed a bit odd last time they came, it hadn’t been this… eerie. What had happened?

Mu Qian Tan, of course, had no idea what he was guessing. She directly dragged the person to Panxiang Yin’s farmhouse cottage. The moment she entered, the heart-soothing tea fragrance hit her, instantly dousing half her rage, but she still didn’t let go. She lifted her foot over the threshold.

Shang Shan had her back turned and couldn’t dodge in time—her butt slammed hard against the threshold, eliciting a yelp of pain.

Panxiang Yin was reviewing scrolls at her desk, still clad in that wide-sleeved, bright white robe embroidered with crane patterns. Her vivid red lips were tempered by the elegant screen behind her, exuding absolute poise and calm restraint.

She had been instructing the Little Immortal on some matters when she heard the cry. She looked up, saw the scene at the door—like a murder dragging a corpse—and her brush paused. “Yao’e?”

The woman said nothing. Shang Shan arduously twisted her head around, revealing her panda-like swollen black eyes, and forced a dry laugh. “Greetings, Sect Master.”

Panxiang Yin set aside her scroll and asked, “What happened?”

Shang Shan stuck out a finger, then held up three. “I got beaten…” She thought for a moment and added another. “Plus the one just now, that’s four times.”

Before Panxiang Yin could ask, Mu Qian Tan answered directly. “This one doesn’t obey discipline. I gave her a light punishment.”

Shang Shan tilted her head to look at her. “I explained already—I wanted to repay you for protecting me, so I licked you. Turns out you weren’t into it, making me overstep, but I already healed your wound. You clearly got the benefit, so why blame me?”

Ink dripped onto the paper with a splat. Panxiang Yin caught the key word. “Licked…”

It was like she had been suddenly lit aflame—Mu Qian Tan’s hands trembled, her face darkened, and she genuinely looked like she wanted to kill. Seeing this, Shang Shan shouted toward the depths of the room. “Sect Master, save me!”

Panxiang Yin set down her brush and gave a couple instructions to the side. The Little Immortal leaned in to listen, responded with an affirmative at the end, and picked up a stack of scrolls to leave—only to be called back.

Panxiang Yin flipped through the pile of papers and carefully drew one out. The entire text was written in vigorous, neat strokes, clean and orderly, save for a smudged ink blot in the upper right corner—from the interruption just now.

“You can go.” She seemed intolerant of that imperfection and left the paper behind. “I’ll rewrite this one and send it over later myself.”

The Little Immortal bowed once more and turned to leave.

Incense wafted leisurely in the room, like clear tea. Panxiang Yin spread out the paper afresh, nodded her chin at the cushion across the desk. “Come over. How did your little disciple anger you? To make you go so far.”

Mu Qian Tan dragged the person to the desk, flicked her skirt out gracefully as she sat, but kept her death grip with the other hand. “No need to listen to her nonsense. I’m here to report the patrol results.”

“Between master and disciple, the age gap is usually significant, and there are often all sorts of differences in experience and knowledge—misunderstandings or rifts are normal.” Panxiang Yin couldn’t actually imagine what conflict involved the word “lick,” but she still said, “Conflicts should be resolved early, lest they fester over time and become incurable.”

“…” To avoid more questions, Mu Qian Tan let go. “It’s nothing, really. She just likes making a fuss.”

With the pull on her nape gone, her breathing eased. Shang Shan clutched her neck, sat cross-legged on the floor, and gasped for air. “Thank you, Sect Master!”

“No trouble.” Spreading the paper, dipping her brush in ink, Panxiang Yin looked at her. “Last time was rushed—I didn’t get to ask. What’s your name?”

This woman’s words always carried a compelling power that made one want to respond unconditionally. Shang Shan immediately said, “I’m Shang Shan—Shang from clothes, Shan from Fire Merchant.”

Panxiang Yin said, “That’s an uncommon surname and given name. Does it have special meaning?”

Shang Shan tugged the red cord at her waist, sliding it up to reveal the two red bead tubes at the end. “When they found me, these two jade rings were all I had on me. Entropy was engraved inside, so they made it my name. Later, because I always wore this Dawn Robe, they added the surname Shang. Thus, Shang Shan.”

Panxiang Yin seemed about to ask something, then changed her words. “Not bad. It suits you.”

Shang Shan perked up. “But I have a self-given name too: Evil Face Cat Official! Meaning I’m great at catching rats!”

She removed the mask from her head and held it up with both hands. The copper coin dangling in the evil face’s eye sockets swayed with her movements, the bold red characters “eyes light up at the sight of money” emblazoned on the forehead, impossible to ignore.

Panxiang Yin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Your mask is made from a gourd.”

Shang Shan held the mask higher, delighted. “You figured it out! Right! Half a gourd—I picked it out for ages, carved it for ages! How’d you know?”

Panxiang Yin said, “Let me guess more—you like watching iron flower fireworks too?”

Shang Shan nearly jumped up. “Yes! Exactly! You know me so well.”

A faint smile floated on Panxiang Yin’s face. “When I was little, I loved following the iron flower masters to learn the craft. They all wore gourd masks back then. Is that why you wear one?”

In her impression, iron flower performers were all bare-chested men. Mu Qian Tan was picturing that scene when Shang Shan shook her head. “Nope.”

She said solemnly, “Someone once told me my looks were too pretty, easy to attract ill intentions, so when going out, best to wear a mask to cover up.”

She said it so earnestly, and it was true enough. Though her hair was messy, her attire disheveled, looking rather unkempt, that little face still drew the eye inescapably. Even with the black eyes, it only made one wonder if it was some special adornment. Overall, she was a disheveled, radiant little beauty.

But hearing it from her own mouth still left the listeners speechless, even embarrassed for her. Mu Qian Tan’s fingers curled slightly, rolling her eyes subtly.

Panxiang Yin smiled and recopied onto the paper. “That person was right. You have fine looks—before you have absolute strength to protect yourself, you should hide that treasure.”

Mu Qian Tan rolled her eyes again at the repeated line, nearly retching.

Shang Shan tied the mask back on and nodded in agreement. Panxiang Yin continued, “But this mask is so fierce and demonic, and you call yourself Evil Face. Aren’t you afraid others will think you’re a bad person?”

Shang Shan said, “Does calling yourself a certain kind of person make you that? If I say I’m the world’s top expert, am I? Others surely aren’t that dumb.”

Panxiang Yin said, “Exactly.”

Shang Shan glanced to her side, turning cautious again. “Unlike some people—help them and still get beaten. Immortal face, but evil ghost heart.”

Mu Qian Tan shot her a glare, and Shang Shan immediately clutched her neck, scrambling out on all fours. “Looks like I’m not needed anymore—I’ll wait outside! See you, Sect Master!”

Panxiang Yin watched her flee like the wind, chuckling. “She really resembles me from back then.”

The book hadn’t mentioned what she was like before, and Mu Qian Tan couldn’t connect this capable woman to that hyper kid, so she said, “She’s nowhere near you.”

Panxiang Yin said, “She hasn’t grown up yet, and you never saw me as a child.”

Mu Qian Tan lowered her eyes and said no more.

Dipping her brush anew, Panxiang Yin asked, “How did the patrol go?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “No trace of the Calamity Dragon.”

In truth, she hadn’t looked at all—no need, since the dragon in question had just left this very cottage.

Panxiang Yin nodded. “There will be many more such patrols in the future. Thanks for your hard work.”

This was the perfect excuse to leave the sect gates and pursue the main storyline—Mu Qian Tan welcomed it. “It’s what I should do. Where to next time?”