Chapter 39: Civil and Martial Trials (Part 6): I’m Just Worried You Wouldn’t Leave! Part 2

Fu Li would not have it. She matched the force, even amplified it. To win, she tensed her whole body. Just as her face turned red from strain, she saw the cold-faced woman smirk.

Before understanding why, the woman released her grip. The whip snapped back fiercely, sending Fu Li tumbling backward to crash hard on the ground.

“Puhahaha!” Shang Shan doubled over laughing. Qin He’s expression eased slightly as she sheathed her sword.

“Young clan head!”

Fu Li lay dazed on the ground, eyes vacant. Her two maids panicked, clumsily helping her up. Fu Li pursed her lips, shoved them off, and roared, “Don’t touch me!”

She panted for breath. Though her anger still burned fiercely, she also spotted the ravens that had already landed on the eaves. She knew that continuing to fight at this moment would only disadvantage her, so she forcibly suppressed her fury, said, “Just you wait,” and flicked her sleeve as she departed. The maid hurriedly followed.

Mu Qian Tan hooked her thumb across her palm. The whip had left a dense cluster of tiny wounds that stung and throbbed dully. She thought to herself: They really went all out.

Once she left, Shang Shan’s laughter gradually stopped. Then she realized she shouldn’t be laughing and needed to maintain her cold demeanor, so she quickly turned her head away, resuming her furious expression.

Qin He also hung her head low, her palm rubbing the hilt of her sword.

Mu Qian Tan sized up these two girls who refused to look at her, gathered the test papers neatly in her hand, and turned to leave.

She had only taken a few steps when Qin He suddenly called out to her: “Immortal!”

Mu Qian Tan stopped and waited for her to continue.

Only after the ravens all flapped away did Qin He manage to squeeze out a sentence: “My master… invites you to dinner.”

Why would she suddenly invite her to dinner?

Apart from the current situation, their only recent interaction with this master-disciple pair had been that notebook that got burned. Could Jiang Zhouyao want to vent for her disciple? Was this a trap banquet?

“I hope you’ll come.” Having finally said it, it had truly taken effort.

Mu Qian Tan curbed her wild thoughts and looked back. She saw Qin He’s mouth saying “I hope,” while her expression screamed blatant rejection—she was only asking out of deference to her master. Shang Shan also wore a face full of reluctance, clearly not wanting her to come.

Mu Qian Tan had originally found it awkward and hadn’t planned to agree, but seeing them like this changed her mind. “Alright, I’ll go.”

She loved annoying people who disliked her the most. Annoying two at once was a sure win.

Jiang Zhouyao, the Feng Ling Immortal, lived on Cliff Mountain. It was less a single mountain and more a vast expanse of rolling hills, like one emerald-green bowl after another upended on the earth, lush and charming. A thin mist like gauze draped over the hills.

The soil here was exceptionally suited for growing crops, so many ordinary mortals who made their living at Tianyu Sect chose to settle here. Wooden houses lined up along the base of the hills, and over time, more and more gathered, eventually earning the name Dust Dream Village.

The villagers were simple and hardworking, wasting not a single patch of land. They carved out terraced fields in layers upon layers in front of their doors and on the hillsides, planting all sorts of crops. The fields were neatly divided, a verdant carpet across the earth, brimming with life. The water surfaces reflected the vast sky, with colorful clouds drifting by, clear as the sea—a rare rural scene amid the immortal cultivation sect.

It was nearly dinnertime now, and calls to come home for dinner echoed through the countryside and fields. Rolling smoke rose from chimneys, and the aroma of rice wafted ten li, stirring thoughts of returning home.

The air was humid, the paths a bit muddy. Dragonflies were so plentiful one could catch one with a casual swipe. Groups of children chased them, some covering them with brooms, others with clothes. Each child clutched five or six in their hands, chattering excitedly as they headed home for dinner.

A few children tussled past them, splashing through puddles. Spotting them, they waved: “Sister Qin! Sister Shang! You’re back?”

Qin He replied: “Mm, walk slower, don’t fall.”

Shang Shan let out a “wah” and called: “You’ve caught so many dragonflies today. If I’d joined, I probably couldn’t have kept up!”

The boy walked backward, holding up his dragonflies high, laughing: “It’s about to rain soon, there’ve been extra these past couple days—so fun! But who told you to take the exam? You missed out.”

Shang Shan made a regretful gesture. The boy noticed someone else behind them, craned his neck to look, and saw a cold-faced woman. His cheeks flushed red first, then he shrank back, falling silent.

Everyone soon noticed who had arrived. They all covered their dragonflies and, amid some shoving, slunk away.

Mu Qian Tan hadn’t realized her notoriety could scare off even the mortals, but on second thought, it made sense. Though farmers, they lived under Tianyu Sect and had surely heard her infamous name, so naturally they were afraid.

An old woman escorting her grandchild home swatted the boy’s head, then shakily offered the small porcelain jar in her arms: “Freshly pickled radish—smells great. Take it and eat.”

Qin He reverently accepted it, cradling it: “Thank you, Granny Li.”

“No need to stand on ceremony.”

After seeing Granny Li home, Qin He returned with the radish jar to lead the way.

The three passed through Dust Dream Village and arrived at Cliff Mountain. Midway up, the ground was paved with pebbles that pressed uncomfortably underfoot. Mosquito-repelling cages lined the path, with moths fluttering about, blurring the view.

Further up, around a bend, a two-story bamboo house came into view in the distance, fronted by a vast courtyard sloping gently downward. Little chickens, rabbits, pigs, and sheep were penned separately, with a flower field beside them bursting in purples and crimsons.

A row of grape arbors stretched ahead, vines climbing thickly. As the three passed underneath, they looked up to see heavy clusters of large purple-skinned grapes dangling from the vines. At the base of the supports sat numerous plump, round jars of pickled vegetables, lined up shoulder to shoulder.

The air mingled various scents, brewing into a distinctive earthy fragrance.

Jiang Zhouyao had her sleeves tied back with a strap and was washing vegetables at the end of the grape arbor.

A light floral kerchief wrapped her head, revealing her soft, angle-free face. She resembled not an immortal, but a beauty sprite brewed for a millennium in the watery towns of Jiangnan, softness infused into her very bones.

Seeing her master busy, Qin He set down the radish jar and hurried forward to help. Jiang Zhouyao stepped aside, took a towel from the rack, wiped her hands clean, and smiled lightly at the visitor: “You’ve arrived.”

Mu Qian Tan said: “Mm, thanks for the invitation.”

Shang Shan also squatted to help wash vegetables, scrubbing the eggplants fiercely as if they were someone’s head. Jiang Zhouyao said: “Please look around. It won’t be long—the meal’s almost ready.”

Mu Qian Tan replied: “Alright, sorry for the trouble.”

She strolled without hesitation, passing back through the grapevines to the flower field she had noticed earlier and stopped to admire it.

Li Biyuan said: ‘I’m going… You’re the guest, but those three are all cooking while you wander off to wait for food? No offer to help?’

Mu Qian Tan noticed the flower field was divided even more meticulously inside, into neat sections, with wooden plaques up front. She hiked up her skirt, squatted down to examine them, and said: “Don’t feel like it.”

Li Biyuan said: ‘Isn’t this a bit… thick-skinned?’

Mu Qian Tan replied: “Haven’t you heard? Thick-skinned people get by. The more you mooch, the happier you live.”

The plaques listed names and flower details, followed by villagers’ names noting who watered or tilled at what time—it seemed the villagers tended them collectively.

During those two months, aside from listening to Qin He’s notes, Mu Qian Tan had made a trip to Cloudtop Immortal Manor midway and borrowed some miscellaneous books. One was Tianyu Sect’s Five Ruthless Figures Record, about the five great hall masters. It mentioned this flower field in its description of Jiang Zhouyao.

Many people wanted to grow plants or keep pets but lacked time or space, so they entrusted a plot on Cliff Mountain to the Feng Ling Immortal, paying regularly for her care.

The immortal was kind and approachable, accepting all comers. But busy with sect affairs, she had limited time, so the task fell to Dust Dream Village’s villagers.

They inserted plaques in the flower beds or around the animals’ necks, noting ownership, then helped feed or water regularly, logging it on the plaques—a division of labor.

A month later, the owners would check and pay the villagers per the logs—a win-win.

It was said this idea originated from the sect leader—perhaps the earliest form of cloud farming?

This place always reminded Mu Qian Tan of that female immortal’s Flower Valley in the mist. She couldn’t help lingering a few extra glances, then walked to a spot where two children argued.

Listening in, they seemed to be quarreling over a flower’s death—overwatered or accidentally stepped on? It concerned payment, so they bickered fiercely.

Then a third voice rang out: “Stop arguing. Look up—who sits in charge here?”

The two children immediately quieted. The third said: “The immortal has told us many times: no fighting, no quarreling, no fussing. Just find her for anything. Let’s go now and have her judge whose fault it is.”

The two said: “Fine, let’s go. It definitely wasn’t me.”

They habitually sought Jiang Zhouyao for judgments. The Five Ruthless Figures Record mentioned this too: the Feng Ling Immortal was the kindest and gentlest, dubbed the peacemaker who couldn’t stand quarrels, prizing harmony. For tough calls, she was the one to find.

Indeed, her face showed a water-like gentle nature.

Speaking of which, the summaries of the other four hall masters: the most vengeful against evil immortal, the most enigmatic immortal, the most inscrutable immortal, and Mu Qian Tan, the most unforgivable immortal.

When she saw that page, she tore off the paper, folded “most unforgivable” into a paper airplane, and let it fly away on the wind.

The three departed one after another. Mu Qian Tan walked to the spot of their quarrel.

Amid mostly blooming white chrysanthemums, one wilted pathetically, head drooping, petals scattered. A big footprint marred the soil at its roots.

Clearly, someone had accidentally stepped on it.

The chrysanthemums stretched their branches toward the sky, oblivious to one kin dying slowly in the corner, blooming on carefree.

Mu Qian Tan gazed down for a moment, then squatted. She cupped her palm, condensing a handful of crystalline water droplets brimming with spiritual power, and poured it onto the damaged chrysanthemum.

The rich, pure spiritual power revived it instantly. It stretched its leaves, lifted its head, and its layered, plump petals unfurled slowly, releasing a fragrance that outshone all the others, blooming more brilliantly.

Seeing this, Li Biyuan couldn’t help saying: ‘You’re nicer to a flower than to your disciple.’

Though transferring spiritual power between living beings was inefficient, the full handful Mu Qian Tan had formed as water droplets would have been enough to heal Shang Shan’s high fever from months ago—but she hadn’t done so.

Mu Qian Tan gently stroked the chrysanthemum petals: “What insight do you have now?”

Li Biyuan said: ‘You’re so contradictory—strong yet weak, pessimistic yet optimistic, kind yet vicious.’

Mu Qian Tan smoothed the muddy footprint with her fingertip. The chrysanthemum shook its stem, looking as if unharmed. Satisfied, Mu Qian Tan caught one word: “You say I’m weak?”

Li Biyuan said: ‘Ah, aren’t you? That body’s just frail.’

Mu Qian Tan flicked the dirt from her fingers: “If I’m weak, dare you come out and fight me? Even at my frailest, I’m stronger than you, you shut-in corporate drone who’s hasn’t budged in eight hundred years.”

‘…’

Li Biyuan whined: ‘Such cutting words. Good thing there’s a dimensional barrier between us, or I’d steer clear of you.’

Mu Qian Tan said: “Don’t think that means I’m helpless against you. Words can kill invisibly too, and I haven’t truly cursed you out yet.”

She straightened up and noticed darkness had fallen—she’d lingered in the flower field longer than expected; dinner should be ready. She headed back.

Far off, she saw a figure clinging to the grape arbor, peering down the mountain as if searching for something.

Mu Qian Tan walked beneath her and looked up: “Looking for something? Afraid I’d leave?”

Shang Shan immediately slid down the arbor like a streak, turned tail, and ran, not forgetting to shout: “You leaving would be perfect! I’m just worried you won’t leave!”