Chapter 37

The thought had just arisen when Mu Qian Tan picked up the book, ready to lash out, but she hadn’t made a sound yet. Shang Shan thought she wanted to look first, so she didn’t wait and continued lowering her head to sew the clothes.

The force to grab wasn’t applied; it pressed back down instead.

Mu Qian Tan casually flipped through a few pages of the book, peering over the top edge. The girl sat sideways to the campfire, her body outlined in a layer of golden light as she mended the tears in the clothes stitch by meticulous stitch. This expression looked just like…

A little wife.

Startled by the idea, she quickly reined it in. But once her imagination took off, it couldn’t be stopped, and Mu Qian Tan uncontrollably conjured an image of a male master sitting cross-legged opposite the female protagonist, smiling as he waited for her to mend his clothes. The scene instantly shattered her focus.

She stared at the person, unable to picture how this heaven-scaling, earth-crawling little dragon would look once it finally settled down—let alone what she would be like lost in tender romance.

It was too shocking.

After thinking everything she should and shouldn’t, Mu Qian Tan finally quieted her mind. She picked up the book again, trying to come up with a reason to keep the notes, but as her gaze swept over the pages, she inwardly chided herself for being foolish.

She had outside help—why fixate on this one book?

‘Li Biyuan, snap some photos for me over there.’ She sat up straight, spread the book across her lap, flipped to the first page to make sure every character was clear, and added, ‘Use your phone.’

Never imagining she’d be used like this, Li Biyuan sighed as she opened the camera and aimed it at the big screen. ‘Got it. Listening to Sister Tan—I’ll make a copy for you.’

Pressing the shutter produced a crisp snap, sharp as breaking bamboo. Mu Qian Tan’s eyelashes fluttered shut, then open again as she turned the page. The entire set of books was photographed and saved in less than the time it took an incense stick to burn.

During this, she noticed the notes in the book were rigorous and upright but not entirely serious, laced with plenty of quirky little touches.

For instance, in the book on demonic beasts, one page featured a round, plump meatball demon—adorably chubby—with a line of small text beside the illustration: “Tangyuan spirit!” No idea what trap that was.

Another page showed a terrifying eight-clawed behemoth spewing venomous juices from its maw, annotated: “Skewered and grilled is most fragrant—but remove the poison sac first.”

To aid memory, Qin He had nicknamed many demonic beasts and added tiny comments to most. Compared to the demons’ lengthy, unimaginative descriptions, these sparse phrases leaped off the page, painting the portrait of a naive, cheerful little girl.

Recalling that little girl, Mu Qian Tan could only picture her seething with rage and curses—unable to link her to the note-taker. She sighed.

The book’s silence on past grudges left her clueless, unsure if the hatred was even aimed right. Next time the remnant soul had energy, she’d ask.

She closed the pages and tilted the book, noticing extra pasted strips in the middle that kept it from closing flat. She slipped a finger in, flipped them open, and a bold “Demonic” stared back from the title.

Her mind flashed to the Scripture Pavilion woman that day—lips blackened amid swirling mist, puffing emerald pipe smoke, mentioning the original host’s old nightmares tied to demons.

Mu Qian Tan frowned, scrutinizing the page. Compared to notes on other demons, ghosts, immortals, and monsters, Qin He’s on demonic creatures were exponentially more detailed, while the original text was curt:

Demonic creatures have no physical form, absorb living beings’ vital energy, possess immense power, and kill mercilessly.

They mimic human shapes; when encountered, don a face covering. Remember, remember.

Pasted below were numerous supplements—Qin He’s collected examples of demonic creature sightings or attacks, even suspected ones. The content bulked the thin pages several times over.

The handwriting was the sharpest in the book, hatred practically piercing the paper.

The more emotions she sensed, the more facts she gleaned, the deeper the fog grew.

Mu Qian Tan realized these were tangled, hazard-filled messes. For her safety, better not touch—or try to unravel—them.

Let bygones stay bygone. The original host was still kicking, infamous or not; aside from Qin He, nothing truly threatened her life.

She propped herself up slightly, about to hand the book back. Just then, Shang Shan finished, bit off the thread, stood with the clothes, and inspected them side to side.

Held to the fire, no light shone through—the holes were sealed. Shang Shan hugged it gleefully for a bit before hanging it on a tree to dry.

As she returned, that body—fair and tender no matter the mud rolls or sunbaking—gleamed under the bright moonlight, pure as frescoed walls, her jade figure graceful and alluring.

Mu Qian Tan’s tongue clicked against her teeth; the hand offering the book slowly withdrew.

Not the first time seeing it, but it always left her uneasy for a spell.

The original host’s frame—and her modern world one—leaned scrawny. Clothed, it hid; bare, ribs pressed palm-close, scant meat, skin unhealthily pallid.

Her fool of a sister called her the world’s fairest, but Mu Qian Tan saw no beauty in it.

Looks didn’t matter anyway; she had bigger priorities and scant care for such.

But joy and sorrow are contrasts born. She hadn’t minded—until this flawlessly sculpted, vibrant child paraded daily before her, unbreakable despite tumbles, impossible to ignore or not envy.

She could dismiss outward beauty, but a beautiful, healthy body? Pure envy.

No mincing words with this straight shooter. Mu Qian Tan said bluntly, “You run naked jumping around every day? Trying to… flaunt it?”

Shang Shan plopped by the fire, puzzled. “Flaunt? Flaunt what?”

Mu Qian Tan snorted. “Still asking—you don’t know?”

Shang Shan gripped her knee, peered down, more baffled. “Huh?”

“Playing dumb.” Mu Qian Tan shot her a scornful look and sneered. “You mask your beauty, yet pretend not to know your assets? Still clueless?”

Shang Shan scratched her head, studied the woman, then earnestly said, “I am pretty—everyone says. But you’re good-looking too. Very. Especially.”

The words slid past unheard; Mu Qian Tan turned pages.

Shang Shan pressed, “Your arms and legs are all there—no defects, same as me. Why think my running and jumping flaunts?”

Mu Qian Tan straightened. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Shang Shan pondered hard, then: “Got it—you see me as pretty, so think showing this face advertises what others lack?”

Mu Qian Tan didn’t see herself as so cutting; she stayed mum.

Shang Shan mulled, mentally polished her words for formality, then spoke. “Beauty and ugliness are heaven-born, unchangeable, unrelated to heart or nature—no need to obsess. Dealing with folk means baring your essence. I’ve seen beauties thrive, uglies too; looks decide nothing.”

Always the lookers preaching indifference to looks—actions told true care. Mu Qian Tan scoffed inwardly, resentment building.

She craved what she couldn’t claim; others snatched it easy, then dismissed it to the have-nots as trivial.

Same went beyond looks.

Hypocritical to the core.

Firelight danced behind; Shang Shan sat aglow, lips pursed, then blurted, “If you still think I’m flaunting, flaunt back! Strip—we’ll compare. You’ll win; that’s my take.”

Mu Qian Tan snapped irritably, “Did my brain get door-slammed?”

Shang Shan blinked. “Huh? When?”

“…” Mu Qian Tan turned away, silent.

Assuming the topic dead, Shang Shan reached out. “That book—done? I wanna see.”

Lingering ire—and daytime’s Panxiang Yin lecture over her—soured Mu Qian Tan further. Coldly: “Can’t look at this.”

Shang Shan: “Why?”

Mu Qian Tan bullshitted, “Haven’t read the original once, craving others’ notes—like eating scraps. No nutrition. No own ideas, how learn?”

Sounded logical, felt off. Shang Shan wavered. “Oh… but Qin He said no basics means years on original—that’s why this. Exam’s two months; no time slow-read.”

Mu Qian Tan tsked. “Not obeying?”

Shang Shan: “Then exam advice?”

Mu Qian Tan: “Read original now. Grasp solo. Ditch crutches.”

Shang Shan pouted, belly-rubbed her palm, lunged. “Gimme!”

Mu Qian Tan foot-kicked her clear, forehead-propped, book-fanned lazily. “Scram. No wasting study time.”

Shang Shan spun circles, sidled back twisty. “Feels deliberate.”

Mu Qian Tan: “Deliberate how?”

Shang Shan: “Snatched my book, blocking me.”

Mu Qian Tan: “Impossible.”

Shang Shan itched for tantrum, restrained, fetched the parrot cage, creepily. “They got words for you.”

One parrot: “Mu Qian Tan!”

Other: “Big bad guy!”

“Mu Qian Tan!”

“Big liar!”

“Mu Qian Tan!”

“Big con!”

They dueted seamlessly—one head-duck, one neck-crouch—polished endless. Finale chorused: “Mu Qian Tan! You’re the worst!”

Shang Shan: “Weird—they say that? But Master, you won’t nitpick little demons, right?”

Her smug grin screamed self-satisfaction. Mu Qian Tan paused wordless, strained-listened, puzzled. “Parrots mimic crisp; these mumble—I can’t make it out.”

“No way?” Shang Shan cage-peered. “Clear as day?”

Parrots reran crystal-clear. Shang Shan: “Now?”

Mu Qian Tan: “Nope. What’d they say?”

“Big…” Shang Shan near-slipped, gobbled it, clammed.

Mu Qian Tan gravely: “Mumbled parrots? Big issue—harms cultivation, maybe life. Don’t drag; let me treat.”

Death-mention panicked Shang Shan into spilling. “Mu Qian Tan’s big liar, big bad guy, big con…”

“Mm. More?”

“And you’re the worst.”

Instantly, head-smack rang. Shang Shan reeled, vision starred, skull buzzed, world wobbled before steadying.

“I ignore little demons, sure—but you piped up.” Legs crossed, Mu Qian Tan faint-smiled. “Juniors respect Masters—no name-calling. Use formal ‘you,’ not casual. Slap pays two lessons. Got it?”

Shang Shan dropped cage, head-clutched, duped-again dawned amid pain-fueled rage. “You stole first!”

Mu Qian Tan: “Stole what?”

Clutching loot yet gaslighting? Shang Shan ditched cage, palm-smacked handheart. “Qin He’s loaner to me! Thought quick peek when handed—now hogging!”

Mu Qian Tan: “Warning you. For your good.”

Shang Shan: “Not good at all! Qin He’s good—tips exam stuff, loans needle-thread-cloth, these books. True care. You? Just mock-fun!”

She hadn’t expected that one slap to make her smarter, rendering her no longer easy to fool. Mu Qian Tan switched to a new line of reasoning and earnestly persuaded her, “You’re wronging me like this. I just wanted you to go through all the books on your own first. After finishing them, you’d have some impressions in your mind, a bit of your own interpretation. Then, when you read the explanations, you’d have a sudden realization and remember them more firmly. How could you… Sigh…”

As she spoke, she even let out a sigh, putting on a very serious air. Shang Shan did indeed waver a bit and even felt a little embarrassed. “Really?”

“Mm.”

Shang Shan said, “But I only have Qin He’s books here.”

Mu Qian Tan pointed at the stack she had brought. “I borrowed them all for you.”

Sure enough, there was a stack of books on the ground by the stone, with titles and covers identical to the ones Qin He had given her. Given her master’s current status and abilities, she had no need to read such books at all, so they must have been prepared for her.

Shang Shan perked up again. She hugged the books to her chest like they were a treasure. “You didn’t go to Cliff Mountain with me this afternoon because you went to borrow books for me?”

Mu Qian Tan nodded. “Yeah.”

Shang Shan grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you, Master!”

She had completely forgotten about the earlier slap. Her eyes were only on the books in her arms. She plopped down happily, placed the books behind her away from the flames for fear they might get singed, then carefully selected one and opened it with great care. She read it by the firelight.

Stray hairs brushed her cheeks. Mu Qian Tan chuckled softly without a word and leaned back against the large rock, her fingertips idly tapping the spine of a book now and then.

A few patches of gray clouds drifted over the moon, and the firewood was running low. The firelight gradually dimmed. Shang Shan finally set the book down, her face blank as if all her energy had been sucked out by the book and wouldn’t come back.

She gave up. This was practically a heavenly script—she couldn’t understand it at all!

She hugged her knees, twisted her ankle, faced the woman, and tugged at her skirt hem, shaking it. “I’m no good at this. Just give it to me straight.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “You’re so dumb.”

Shang Shan’s mood sank. “Yeah, I’m dumb.”

Hearing her admit it herself gave Mu Qian Tan an inexplicable sense of triumph over her. So what if this mere female protagonist became overwhelmingly powerful in the future? Right now, wasn’t she still obediently begging down below, under her control?

With that, the frustration in her heart eased. Mu Qian Tan feigned helplessness. “Fine, no helping it. Here.”

She tossed the book out casually. Who would have thought that toss would cause a problem?

Lying on the rock, she hadn’t noticed where Shang Shan was at the moment and hadn’t controlled her strength properly. The book flew straight into the fire. Though the flames had weakened, paper was highly flammable. As soon as it touched the fire, it burst into flames.

Shang Shan was dumbfounded. She kicked over the fire pile and, amid the shower of sparks and ashes, grabbed the remaining book. She blew and patted at it frantically.

It took some effort to put out the flames. Upon close inspection, both sides of the book were partially burned, charred and curled, the writing illegible. The inside was mostly intact, but overall, it was quite ruined.

“You…” She clutched the book, trembling with rage. “If you didn’t want to give it to me, just don’t! Why throw it into the fire!”

Mu Qian Tan sat up at the commotion and saw the scene. She thought to herself: This really wasn’t on purpose.

“I…”

“You don’t respect people at all! Apologize to this book! Apologize to Qin He!”

Mu Qian Tan frowned. “Have you gone mad?”

Shang Shan’s cheeks flushed red. “You can trick me, curse me—I endured it all. But this is Qin He’s stuff. Why treat it so carelessly!”

Mu Qian Tan said, “It’s just a notebook. Is it necessary?”

Shang Shan shouted, “This is Qin He’s painstaking work! She kindly lent it to me, but now you’ve ruined it!”

Her anger burned so fiercely that her eyes blazed. Her heart, liver, spleen, and lungs all melted together in fury, stripping away her reason. Her trembling lips parted and closed, squeezing out four words: “Wolf-hearted dog-lunged.”

Mu Qian Tan’s eyes instantly turned icy. She rose and slapped her again. The crisp sound shattered the night stillness. The two parrots in their cage flapped in fright, eyes wide, not daring to breathe.

Her palm stung with heat, but she wasn’t satisfied. She kicked the girl down too, her voice laced with ice. “Learned a few idioms and now you’re throwing them around wildly?”

Shang Shan couldn’t stand steady and fell backward. Her pale face quickly swelled with a five-finger print, and a large red patch bloomed on her body. She clutched her face, struggling to catch her breath. She pushed herself up from the ground and clenched her fists.

“I’ve said it many times: don’t hit me casually. You never listen to me.” She wiped the cold sweat beading on her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re like this—one moment good, one moment bad; one moment fierce, one moment gentle… No, you were never gentle!”

Yes, she was exactly the type who was moody and unpredictable. The description was spot on—not for nothing had they lived together for a time. Mu Qian Tan nodded. “If you can’t stand it, then get lost.”

Shang Shan rubbed her lips with the heel of her palm and said nothing. She turned, yanked her clothes down from the tree, and put them on. She lowered her head to tie her belt. Then she came back, put the books into a cloth bundle—it looked like she was packing her things to leave.

Mu Qian Tan snorted lightly and didn’t try to stop her. She turned and went back into the hall. The door slammed shut with a massive bang that seemed to shake the entire mountain.

The jade coffin emitted a faint glow in the darkness. Mu Qian Tan felt her way to it and lay down to rest.

As she closed her eyes, she heard banging outside, like dismantling wooden boards, then tossing them down from the tree. She had no idea what she was doing.

She rolled over, turning her back to the door, and relaxed her body, tuning it out.

Perhaps due to the day’s fatigue, she fell asleep quickly. When she woke at dawn, she found this sleep unprecedentedly sound—no dreams all night, refreshed and clear-headed.

As she sat up, pondering why that was, Li Biyuan spoke up. “Obviously, last night your resentment was so heavy that even ghosts didn’t dare approach. The nightmares naturally dispersed.”

“…”

Mu Qian Tan ignored her. She stretched her body, loosening her muscles and bones, climbed out of the coffin, and headed outside.

Clear winds and bright daylight, crisp air. The area in front of the door was empty. The Brain-Damaged Dragon was gone.

She looked toward a certain tree. The large board that had been nailed to the trunk was gone, along with the four-cornered table, the iron cage with the parrots—everything was missing.

Some Dragon had run away from home.