Chapter 38: Civil and Martial Trials (Part 5): Dyed with Her Scent

Mu Qian Tan was not surprised by this outcome.

That Brain-Damaged Dragon had always been fiery-tempered and acted on impulse without considering the consequences. She never thought about what came after.

On top of that, she had been harboring this idea for more than a day or two. Last night had been particularly intense. No matter how foolish or easy to bully she was, the accumulated resentment would eventually erupt. That was why she packed up and ran off without hesitation.

Recalling the anger on the girl’s face last night, Mu Qian Tan figured this time she wouldn’t be so easy to fool back like before.

Fortunately, Mu Qian Tan had no intention of going after her.

In the original plot, at this point, Shang Shan learned from Qin He that the Civil and Martial Trials were about to begin. Since she knew nothing, she grew anxious and sought out her master, only to find the woman utterly indifferent, offering no guidance whatsoever.

This left her utterly dejected. Upon hearing about it, Qin He grew furious on her behalf and invited her to Cliff Mountain for tutoring. Unable to stay cooped up in the Narrow Sea any longer, Shang Shan went. Under the one-on-one guidance of the study genius, she ultimately achieved decent results in the trials.

So over these two months, she would have left anyway—the reasons just differed slightly from the original.

In any case, this counted as completing a minor plot task. Even if Li Biyuan talked her ear off, Mu Qian Tan had a solid excuse not to meddle in the Female Protagonist’s affairs. She would deal with it after these two months.

The pressing matter now was to grab some breakfast—her stomach was rumbling.

She summoned White Pupil and flew away from the Narrow Sea. Below stretched a vast expanse of deep blue ocean, endless to the horizon. The water surface shimmered with patches of phosphorescence, beautiful as a painting scroll. Only one blot of brown marred the scene.

Mu Qian Tan flew lower to get a better look at that brown spot.

To leave the Narrow Sea without taking to the air, one had to travel by water. Without a demon’s help, she could only paddle with her own two hands—that was what Shang Shan was doing.

She had dismantled a large wooden plank that once served as her house floor and bound several thick logs beneath it with vines to make a boat. She sat at the stern, paddling furiously with a long, flat, rough oar. In front of her sat a cloth bundle, two parrots, and a square table—all her worldly possessions.

Even though the Narrow Sea was not as vast as a typical ocean, rowing out in that little boat was no easy feat. Li Biyuan couldn’t bear to watch. “Can’t you send her off? You’re heading out to eat anyway—just take her with you.”

“No way, she’s so pissed, I wouldn’t dare touch the protagonist’s bad luck,” Mu Qian Tan replied. She unslung Solitary Goose, aimed at the tiny speck, and slowly drew back the bowstring until it hummed taut. An ice arrow radiating chill formed between her fingers.

Li Biyuan said, “…What are you planning to do?”

Before the words finished leaving her mouth, the ice arrow shot forth like a cannon from the heavens, striking the center of the little boat. Blue ice exploded outward, freezing the entire vessel into a spinning block in an instant.

Shang Shan jumped in fright and tumbled backward into the sea, seawater flooding her mouth and ears. The Narrow Sea’s waters were frigid; she shivered violently. Fearing she’d drown if she stayed under too long, she surfaced in a hurry, clung to the boat’s edge, and shook her head wildly.

After spitting out the last mouthful of salty seawater, she stared at the solid ice encasing her boat and instantly knew who was responsible. She jerked her head up and sure enough, spotted the crane soaring high in the sky.

She couldn’t make out the woman’s expression on the crane’s back, but shooting that arrow to make her fall into the water in such a sorry state was surely done with mocking amusement.

Just imagining it made Shang Shan’s teeth itch with rage. She bristled, one hand gripping the boat’s edge while the other shook a fist, wishing she could drag the woman down and give her a beating. She cursed wildly, but not a single word carried upward.

The crane elegantly flicked its tail and flew away.

After toying with her like that, Mu Qian Tan felt refreshed and cheerful. She even ate a bit more for breakfast. On her leisurely way back, she kept an eye out for how far Shang Shan had rowed, but the wide waters made that tiny speck impossible to spot, so she gave up.

Back at Azure Palace, the campfire from under the big rock last night had been kicked apart, its ashes scattered by the wind until not a trace remained. Mu Qian Tan stowed White Pupil and scanned the courtyard.

Since taking her as a disciple, Shang Shan had barely lived in Azure Palace at all. To be precise, she had hardly ever entered the hall proper, always staying outside. So there wasn’t much stuff to begin with. Now that it was all gone, the courtyard looked no different than before.

But at least her ears were clear now.

On this trip, Shang Shan would likely do as in the original story and head to Qin He—no need to worry. It was just some tutoring, and with Jiang Zhouyao there keeping watch, nothing would go wrong.

With two months of vacation ahead, Mu Qian Tan felt invigorated. She returned to her room, slept half the day, recharged her energy, and then began studying.

“Studying” meant listening, really, since the photos were with Li Biyuan and couldn’t be transmitted. Li had to read them aloud, and Mu Qian Tan jotted down only the tricky parts for later review.

But reading aloud nonstop wasn’t easy. After downing two bottles of water, Li Biyuan scanned the text with a device and played it back in electronic voice—pretty effective.

Listening to lessons, eating meals, enjoying the breeze, taking in the views—the mountain life was too peaceful, but with studying to do, the happy times flew by.

Days and months turned, and two months slipped away. The Civil and Martial Trials finally arrived.

Mu Qian Tan finished the last book, rubbed her temples, and let out a long breath.

She quickly reviewed it all. She couldn’t memorize every detail, but at least impressions lingered.

Now, when interacting with others, she wouldn’t risk exposing her transmigrator identity over minor ignorance, nor freeze up or get overpowered by unknown demons.

She opened her eyes to the same empty courtyard. She stepped down from the big rock, walked to the edge of the small pool, leaned over, and saw the wound on her collarbone reflected in the mirror-like water. Purple-red and mottled, new flesh was growing at the site—better than two months ago.

Evidently, even a single lick had set healing in motion, though the speed left much to be desired.

Still, knowing it was mending brought great relief. Otherwise, relying on that Brain-Damaged Dragon to lick it better would be worse than enduring the pain.

Mu Qian Tan straightened her collar and returned to the big rock to sit in the sun, savoring her remaining free time.

Soon, a Messenger Spirit Bird tamed by Panxiang Yin arrived, delivering a Civil Trial schedule.

Mu Qian Tan took it, thanked the bird, and unfolded the paper.

Starting tomorrow, the Civil Trial spanned six subjects over two days, with rotating exam halls for proctoring. She was assigned the final subject in Exam Hall A1—just one shift.

Two days later, she left the Narrow Sea and arrived at the Thirty-Two Louwailou Pavilions, site of the exams.

Enveloped by dense forest, this cluster of red buildings served as the daily cultivation and lecture grounds for nearly all sect disciples. From the mountain foot, the towering structures pierced the sky, built into the slopes with golden eaves curling upward, thick red walls imposing and solemn.

Though exam time hadn’t arrived, disciples were already streaming in.

Since the Civil and Martial Trials were open to the public—nearly all clans and sects—and the Tianyu Sect’s questions were top-notch, everyone wanted to send their disciples to test their progress. The grounds teemed with people, heads bobbing everywhere, surpassing even the recent assembly conference.

But unlike the festive excitement then, after two days of exams, the disciples now looked anxious and grim.

Having been cooped up in the mountains for two months, Mu Qian Tan felt a little unaccustomed to the crowds at first. Once she adjusted to the clamor, she headed to the Grading Pavilion for the test papers, then went straight to Exam Hall A1.

The “A1” naming sounded odd and mismatched. Originally, it had been the standard A, B, C, D, but that sparked ranking disputes—like later letters meant inferior disciples. To avoid misunderstandings, they changed it to A1, A2, A3, and so on—sounded better.

On the way to the exam hall with the papers, she passed many disciples in varied attire from sects across the lands. Some muttered incantations nervously, others crammed from books in last-ditch efforts—all rushed and pale-faced.

Inside the hall, the air hung heavy with an ominous tension. Mu Qian Tan couldn’t help but laugh wryly at feeling exam nerves after so long away from school.

She found the spot by the door plaque and entered. The room was packed neatly with disciples—mostly familiar faces from the slaughter class before.

When she entered, they held their breath and sat up straight. Mu Qian Tan set down the papers, rested her palm on the desk, and casually scanned the room.

Qin He sat primly at the front, elegant and resolute. Fu Li lounged behind her, fiddling idly with an ink brush. Shang Shan was relegated to the farthest corner, head buried on the desk, rummaging blindly. She clearly knew Mu Qian Tan had arrived but refused to look up.

Evidently, two months later, her anger hadn’t faded a bit.

Though her face seemed a touch rounder—clearly well-fed at Jiang Zhouyao’s place.

Four jet-black ravens alighted on the windowsill in a row, necks swiveling to surveil the hall. One Hall Master and four ravens—five pairs of eyes—was the Tianyu Sect’s standard proctor setup.

Mu Qian Tan distributed the papers. Distant bells tolled three times, ethereal and drawn out—the signal to begin.

The disciples’ brushes scratched across paper. Mu Qian Tan strolled between the wooden desks, checking for cheats. Passing Qin He, she paused, eyes dropping to the girl’s hand on the desk.

The severed little finger had been properly reattached, moving smoothly, covered by a single-finger glove tied at the wrist with thin leather—practical and elegant.

Good thing they saved it in time; losing a finger for no reason would have been such a pity.

Noticing the gaze, Qin He’s fingers twitched and she tucked them to her chest, out of sight.

If she wouldn’t show, Mu Qian Tan didn’t press. She returned to the proctor’s desk, spread her own paper, picked up a brush, and scanned the hall again.

Disciples in Exam Hall A1 were, as mentioned, elite from various clans—trustworthy in character. They might not excel at big things, but cheating, which tarnished reputations, was beneath them.

Confirming they were all diligently answering, Mu Qian Tan split her attention to the questions. She filled in what she knew, had Li Biyuan look up the fuzzy ones, and soon completed the sheet.

Not bad—her two months of listening had paid off. She would grab the other subjects’ papers later to fill out too.

As ink dried on the page, half the exam time had passed. Mu Qian Tan propped her chin, gaze drifting to the back.

Shang Shan pursed her lips, brow furrowed in distress, face clouded over. Her posture was rigidly straight—stiff, even—hands trembling.

She gripped the brush with great force, penning each stroke with exaggerated caution, agonizingly slow. An outsider might think she was drawing talismans, where one mistake ruined everything.

Mu Qian Tan pondered: the first five Civil Trial subjects were done; this was the last. Was there need for such tension? But the expression seemed genuine. Was it because Mu Qian Tan was proctoring?

Seeing her so pathetic, trouble was inevitable. Sure enough, after one incense stick, the pen snapped under pressure.

Shang Shan stared blankly at the broken halves. After a moment, she realized she needed to report to the proctor and request a new one.

She started to raise her hand instinctively, then remembered who was proctoring and pulled it back, forcing herself to write with the stub. But the crooked scrawl was illegible even to her, let alone the graders.

Her face darkened further. She sneaked a peek upward—and met the woman’s teasing gaze. Like a fuse lit, she ducked her head, the banked anger from two months surging back.

But the exam must go on. Trembling, she raised her hand, hoping the woman would notice without her speaking.

Mu Qian Tan saw it clearly and knew what she wanted but stayed silent, made no move to provide a pen—just waited.

Unable to endure, Shang Shan glanced around and called out, “My pen broke!”

Others instinctively turned at the sound, but the four ravens spotted them and screeched. They froze rigid, not daring to move.

Mu Qian Tan raised a pen to eyebrow height and tapped it with her finger—a deliberate tease—but still showed no intent to give it.

Fuming, Shang Shan dropped her hand, tempted to crumple the paper and storm out. Glancing at Qin He’s back, she recalled the diligent tutoring over two months for this exam—how could she quit and waste that kindness?

Cheeks flushed red, Shang Shan endured, gritted her teeth, and said politely, “Master, my pen broke. Please give me another.”

Hearing what she wanted, Mu Qian Tan finally rose leisurely, brush in hand as she floated to the very back of the exam hall and handed it over. She didn’t forget to remind her, “Watch your grip.”

As the woman drew near, that faint epiphyllum fragrance brushed past her nose, refreshing her entire body as if bathed in cool water.

After two months without it, the familiar scent made Shang Shan’s scalp tingle. She quickly snatched the brush and buried her head once more, ignoring the intruder.

The person before her desk floated away lightly again, but the fragrance lingered. Suspicious, Shang Shan followed the scent downward with her gaze and discovered it emanated from the very brush in her hand.

This thing had been in that woman’s possession for a while and was now imbued with her scent. The realization hit, and that thin, thread-like aroma drilled straight into her brain before exploding with a boom. Her entire face flushed red.

Shang Shan lightly pounded her desk and grumbled indignantly, “Annoying, annoying, annoying…”

If this kept up, she wouldn’t be able to focus on the questions. Determined to dispel the scent, she grabbed the offending brush, shoved it into her mouth, and chewed it down. She then gulped a mouthful of ink. Only when she could no longer smell it did she resume writing.

When the exam ended, Mu Qian Tan collected the papers and delivered them to the Grading Pavilion. “Exam Hall A1.”

The minor official responsible for sealing took the test papers with a smile. “Thank you for your hard work, Immortal.”

“You’re welcome.”

She asked him for five more test papers, holding each one as she exited the Grading Pavilion. Gazing down at the dense crowd of disciples who had finished their exams and gone off to play, Mu Qian Tan considered whether to check on that Brain-Damaged Dragon’s whereabouts.

In the end, she decided to go. No matter how reluctant she felt, the later plot still had to unfold—it was only a matter of time.

Swimming against the flow of people, she returned to Exam Hall A1. It stood empty; everyone had left.

Mu Qian Tan pondered for a moment before turning down a nearby staircase. Suddenly, a familiar female voice drifted from behind a wall not far away.

She followed the sound. There, behind the wall, Fu Li stood with arms crossed, two maids trailing her. A smile played on her face as if she were saying something. Opposite her, cornered against the wall, were none other than Qin He and Shang Shan.

Mu Qian Tan felt a touch of exasperation.

What was this? Did school bullying exist even in a cultivation sect?