Chapter 40: Civil and Martial Trials (Part 7): That Was Just to Fool You, Idiot. Part 2

Shang Shan righted her chair and sat back down. “Even if I bomb it, I won’t care. Everyone else has a master guiding them bit by bit, but I don’t—only two months of crash course. How good could it be? I won’t mind the results anyway.”

Mu Qian Tan shifted slightly, a section of ice-blue skirt hem draping from the hammock’s edge like frost and snow. She propped her forehead, half-closed her eyes, and gazed at the hazy moonlight. “Whatever.”

Shang Shan eyed that skirt hem, sat silently for a bit, brushed the ice particles off the table, and flopped down again.

Li Biyuan said in anguish, ‘Sister Tan, why do you keep provoking her? It’s been two months of sulking—time to coax her, right?’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘Isn’t this coaxing?’

Li Biyuan said, ‘You call that coaxing? That’s pouring oil on the fire.’

Mu Qian Tan rubbed her temple with a bent finger, utterly unconcerned. ‘Is it?’

Li Biyuan said, ‘Don’t be like that. I know you’re doing it on purpose.’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘True. Seeing her so pissed is pretty satisfying.’

‘What’s satisfying about that? I don’t get you…’ Li Biyuan said, ‘Sigh. But we should put ourselves in her shoes—if someone messed with you like this every day, how would you feel? Wouldn’t you want to tear her limb from limb?’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘I would.’

Li Biyuan said, ‘See? So…’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘So I still need to boost my strength, so when I want to kill, I can just do it without worries. Shang Shan is under my thumb right now because she’s not strong enough yet, right?’

Li Biyuan said, ‘But you could just be nicer to her…’

Mu Qian Tan said, ‘Still putting yourself in her shoes? Why not consider me? Brain cells aren’t for obsessing over trash every day—though your head really is a trash bin.’

Li Biyuan said, ‘Well…’

Mu Qian Tan rolled onto her side, wrist pillowed under her forehead, and said coolly, ‘The only stroke of luck in transmigrating to this world is that the Original Host had some skills and status. If she were just an ordinary person, unable to speak with strength, there’d be no way out—better to delete and restart.’

“…” Li Biyuan went utterly speechless and vanished.

Her ears had just quieted when Shang Shan, over there, rubbed the tabletop with both hands, seeming deeply conflicted, and said, “Qin He has forgiven you. She can recite that book’s contents from memory now, so she doesn’t care about it anymore.”

Why bring up the notes again? Even if she’d done it on purpose, it was just a book—really? Fortunately, it was only words like that, less infuriating. Mu Qian Tan gave a short “Oh.”

Shang Shan emphasized, “But I care a lot.”

Mu Qian Tan: “Oh?”

The hand on the table slid down and picked up an ice bead. Shang Shan rested her head against the edge of the table, watching the ice bead roll around in the palm.

“You robbed my things, damaged the book, hit me, lied to me, pushed me into the water, ignored me, and even broke my wine jug. I’m only angry about these things for now. If you apologize to me, I’ll go back with you, and we can pretend nothing ever happened.”

The hammock swayed, creaking where it connected to the tree trunk. Mu Qian Tan closed her eyes and instructed, “Remember to plant an epiphyllum flower for me.”

Shang Shan sprang up and sat straight, staring at the woman bathed in moonlight. Unwillingly, she said, “Don’t ignore me!”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Come find me when the epiphyllum flower is about to bloom.”

Shang Shan angrily said, “Shouldn’t you apologize for doing something wrong? I apologize every time I make a mistake. Why can’t you?”

The ice bead melted into water, warmed by her body heat, and dripped out from between her fingers.

Unaware of it, she rubbed the swollen red spot on her forehead with her hot palm. After a moment, she said, “These past two days, I’ve met quite a few people from all over the place. I asked them what their masters were like. Some were gentle, some strict, some kind, some carefree, and even some reclusive.”

“But they all had one thing in common: they treated their own disciples sincerely. Those masters talked heart-to-heart with them, praised or reprimanded them appropriately, treated their disciples like people to communicate with, taught them to be good even if they weren’t immortals, spoke properly to them, and didn’t have mood swings or hit and curse at every little thing…”

Mu Qian Tan listened, her only thought being: This speech was fairly coherent—not like something said in the heat of the moment. Had the night just been too cold, cooling her blood?

“Isn’t that how a master-disciple relationship is supposed to be? But I can’t see any of that in you.” Shang Shan’s voice grew quieter and quieter as her damp palm caressed the wooden grain on the tabletop.

“I don’t expect you to be as good to me as the Feng Ling Immortal is to Qin He. I just hope you’ll take me seriously, talk to me sometimes, praise me occasionally, and discuss things with me. Isn’t that okay?”

“…”

After listening, Mu Qian Tan felt her ears hurt. She opened her eyes and slowly exhaled a breath.

What a hassle. The unwanted tasks were annoying enough—did she really have to provide psychological counseling to an immature kid too?

No way.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mu Qian Tan said as she sat up in the hammock. Her body swayed slightly, and the hem of her skirt rippled like the moon in water. “If you do something wrong, you apologize, get forgiveness, and everyone lives happily ever after.”

Shang Shan said, “I’m not talking about apologizing right now. I…”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Oh, got it. But what are you? Are you worth me changing my behavior for?”

Shang Shan’s upper and lower lips knocked together as the words choked her throat, making it ache.

Her fingertip traced the snowflake-like embroidery on her sleeve as Mu Qian Tan said indifferently, “In summary, I won’t apologize because I don’t think I did anything wrong, and I don’t need your forgiveness.”

At that point, she turned her face and let out a light chuckle, as if she’d just mentioned something amusing. She continued, “At the same time, it doesn’t matter whether I can win you back or not—you’re not important to me. Got it?”

Even though the courtyard was dim, it felt like one could see the girl’s pupils contract. She parted her lips and waved her arm, about to say something more, but Mu Qian Tan cut her off.

“Don’t ask. Do you think I really wanted to take you as a disciple back then? If I had a choice, I never would have gone looking for you. There’s no such thing as fate—that was a lie to you, idiot.”

Her fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Shang Shan turned her head to look aside, her gaze unsteady, before shifting it back.

She ruffled her hair messily, stayed silent for a long moment, then kicked away the chair. She picked up the table and carried it back to her room without looking back.

Seeing her take it away, Mu Qian Tan suddenly remembered that the table she’d been lying on was the same one Shang Shan had brought from the village to the Narrow Sea—and now to Cliff Mountain.

A broken square table and a beggar’s clothes, yet she treated them like treasures. Truly incomprehensible.

The courtyard fell quiet. Mu Qian Tan lay back in the hammock. Summer nights weren’t cold, and the mosquitoes didn’t dare come near, so sleeping there was quite comfortable.

In a hazy daze, she heard Li Biyuan ask what she was going to do now that she’d fallen out with the female protagonist—would the rest of the plot still play out?

Mu Qian Tan mumbled a muddled response. No problem—just grab her back when needed. It’d only mean lying to her one more time.

The next morning, she bid farewell to Jiang Zhouyao, descended Cliff Mountain, returned to the Narrow Sea, and rested for a day. On the third day, she received the Martial Trial invigilation schedule.

She got lucky this time: invigilation on the first day, and only for one day. Quite easy.

She could guess the reason for the arrangement. Among the hall masters, she was young but unremarkable. The magic tools she usually used were different from others’, more “obscure,” so naturally, there were fewer disciples for her to supervise.

She collected the exam roster and headed to the testing grounds.

The area outside was as lively as it had been for the Civil Trial over the past two days, but now the disciples carried weapons—prime material for showing off. They compared them with each other, asking if they were powerful, who had forged them by the masters, and how to use them.

Some were still so nervous their faces were pale. They hugged their magic tools, squatted off to the side fidgeting on their butts, and silently recited incantations.

Others covered their faces and complained about their rotten luck—assigned to Yao’e Immortal of all people. Who knew how they’d survive the day.

Mu Qian Tan entered the spacious exam hall, and the clamor cut off instantly as the crowd settled down.

She walked up to the martial arena. After three bell tolls, she called names from the roster one by one, having the disciples come up to demonstrate their martial skills.

No nitpicking, no insults, no sarcasm—everything proceeded as normal. Disciples performed their martial arts on stage, the immortal gave scores and brief comments. Exactly as stated. This Yao’e Immortal seemed different from the rumors?

The people below exchanged glances and stayed silent for the time being.

In truth, Mu Qian Tan simply wanted to wrap up this Martial Trial quickly and avoid any trouble.

Since this was the first round of the Martial Trial, some disciples were newcomers who hadn’t grasped the rules yet. They made some laughable mistakes and, fearing reprimand from the stern-faced Yao’e Immortal, grew even more nervous—which led to more errors. Cold sweat dripped as they kept their heads down.

“…” Mu Qian Tan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She set aside the score sheet and tried to soften her tone. “No need to be nervous. Just do it like you normally would.”

A small stir rippled through the crowd below. Someone whispered, “Feels even more terrifying now.”

Another said, “Something’s wrong. It’s creepy. I actually heard such gentle words from ‘Yao’e’—I must not be awake yet. I’m still dreaming.”

The pronunciation of “Yao’e” was extremely strange, with every tone off. Mu Qian Tan silently repeated it a few times before recalling something from the original story: a derogatory nickname for Yao’e Immortal—”yao’e,” meaning “demon evil.”

It stemmed from the belief that her virtue was damaged and she was unworthy of being an immortal. “Yao’e” inverted became “evil demon,” but at its core, it came from disdain for her.

It wasn’t aimed at Mu Qian Tan herself, so she didn’t care much. But suddenly focusing on the title “Yao’e” made her think of another layer of meaning.

Yao’e—wasn’t that Chang’e?

The moon goddess from legend who betrayed her lover, ascended alone, and ended up in the Guanghan Palace, suffering eternal loneliness.

She confirmed with Li Biyuan that the immortal stories in this world were completely different from those in the Modern World. There were no myths like Hou Yi and Chang’e in the folklore here—instead, there was an entirely unique system.

So this title probably didn’t carry any special significance. No need to overthink it.

Li Biyuan sipped her soy milk. “Speaking of this Chang’e, isn’t living forever on earth great? What’s the point of obsessing over immortality? She betrayed her lover and ended up with nothing in the end.”

She crushed the empty soy milk carton and tossed it into the trash bin, sighing. “There’s an immortality pill, but no regret pill. She’s beyond saving.”

Mu Qian Tan disagreed. “No, her heart just wasn’t hard enough. She ate the pills and ditched her lover—why suffer that unnecessary conscience torment?”

“Ascension was her original obsession, but then she regretted it. Betraying herself is the most incurable betrayal.”