Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Witch Who Defies the Play

An hour slipped by amid the questioning, and already five of the personal disciples, driven by curiosity, had come to the Hall of Discipline. Long Xingtian felt the pressure mounting. “This matter is somewhat unusual,” he announced. “Until it is clarified, you are not allowed to leave the Hall of Discipline. But as there’s no clear crime, you won’t be confined to the dungeons. I’ll prepare a room for you in the front courtyard.”

Not wishing Lin Xiaobao to have further contact with the other personal disciples, Long Xingtian concluded the proceedings, saying, “Since all of us brothers are free today, why don’t we enjoy a drink together?”

Clearly, after settling Lin Xiaobao, he would not allow anyone else a chance to approach him alone. This secret would belong to him alone; as long as Lin Xiaobao remained in the Hall of Discipline, he was confident he would find a way.

“Drinking is men’s business. I’ll accompany Xiaobao to the front courtyard,” Cen Shuyan declared, leaving the perplexed group of senior brothers behind as she hurried out.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Senior Sister.” After witnessing today’s spectacle, Lin Xiaobao realized he had underestimated this world’s greed for cultivation techniques, and he became keenly aware of his unfavorable predicament.

“Thanking me shouldn’t just be words, you know!” Cen Shuyan laughed and asked, “How do you plan to thank me?”

Damn! This girl wasn’t as innocent as she’d seemed. Lin Xiaobao suddenly realized he’d overlooked Cen Shuyan from the start. Folding his arms across his chest and turning slightly aside, he feigned a pitiful expression. “As long as you don’t ask me to pledge myself to you, I’m willing to do anything, Senior Sister!”

Perhaps no one had ever spoken to Cen Shuyan in such a way before, but Lin Xiaobao’s impassioned performance sent her into peals of laughter. “And if I were to say that I’ve taken a liking to you?”

“Well then, at the very least, Senior Sister, you’d have to take me on a few walks and give me flowers before we get to that part...” Among all the personal disciples, Lin Xiaobao only knew Cen Shuyan. Naturally, he wanted to get closer to her—at the very least, to buy time until his shameless father learned of the matter.

“Very well, let’s try it another way. Tell me the footwork you used today. I can exchange contribution points for it—just name your price!” Cen Shuyan’s tone grew serious.

“Footwork? What footwork? You know as well as I do—I’ve always been a fast runner!” He had used the Formation of Movement to enhance his speed, a secret Lin Xiaobao wouldn’t reveal no matter what. He was coming to appreciate more and more the strength of his two elders. If anyone discovered the souls of two powerhouses resided within him, he would be doomed to a life of captivity.

“Fine, don’t tell me then, you stingy brat!” Cen Shuyan pouted, pretending to be angry, and said nothing more as she led him to the front courtyard. Once Lin Xiaobao was settled, she left alone.

“So you won’t say? I have my own ways to make you talk!” After leaving Lin Xiaobao’s room, a sly smile flickered across Cen Shuyan’s face.

Although the guest rooms in the Hall of Discipline’s front courtyard were only meant for visitors, they were far superior to the hut Lin Xiaobao usually called home. The carved wooden bed was topped with a soft quilt, and the eight-sided table was made from the finest nanmu wood, adorned with intricate dragons. On the table, a box of sandalwood incense sent gentle wisps curling through the air, soothing the mind and spirit.

But now was not the time to enjoy such comforts. Sitting heavily on the bed, Lin Xiaobao calmed himself and began recalling every detail of the day’s battle.

Actual combat is the best way to hone one’s strength, and reflecting on the gains and losses from battle is an essential part of the process.

Under the influence of his powerful spiritual sense, the entire fight replayed in Lin Xiaobao’s mind like a film. Only now did he truly realize how much the psychic wave technique he cultivated had helped him. Without it, he never could have anticipated his opponent’s attacks, let alone defeated Han Yongfeng, shattered the Sword Formation, or severed his arm.

After long soaks in medicinal brews, Lin Xiaobao discovered his strength far surpassed that of his peers. As he searched his memories for lessons from the fight, he gained confidence that if he faced the same opponent again, victory would come much more easily.

“Perhaps I was still too restrained in my first real fight,” he consoled himself after his analysis, standing up.

By now, the room was dark. Lin Xiaobao took a firestone from his storage pouch, lit a candle, and poured himself a cup of tea. Just as he was about to drink, the window suddenly rattled.

Turning around, he saw Cen Shuyan already in his room—her hair disheveled, eyes misty, clothes in disarray, one shoulder bare.

Why hadn’t his spiritual sense detected her? While Lin Xiaobao hesitated, Cen Shuyan smiled and asked, “Do you like what you see? If you don’t tell me about your footwork, what do you think will happen if I start screaming for help right now?”

Damn! Lin Xiaobao cursed inwardly. He’d never imagined that this seemingly harmless girl would pull such a stunt. His mind racing, he hurriedly picked up a brush and paper from the eight-sided table and wrote: “I was injured in today’s battle, so I can’t speak or hear you.”

Seeing his anxious expression, Cen Shuyan laughed. “Don’t try to fool me!” She snatched the brush, copied his words onto the paper, and set it down.

But as she released the brush, Cen Shuyan suddenly felt weak and collapsed to the floor. “What… what’s happening?”

“Oh, dear…” Lin Xiaobao slapped his forehead as if recalling something. “I’m really careless—I just handled some Dream-returning Grass leaves and forgot to wash my hands. Are you feeling all right?”

Despite his words, there was not a shred of guilt in Lin Xiaobao’s eyes; instead, they shone with excitement. He walked over and tugged open the front of Cen Shuyan’s robe, glancing sidelong at her.

Gazing upon her snow-white, ample chest, for some reason, Lin Xiaobao thought of the girl he’d rescued from the moat. He wondered how Cen Shuyan would compare to that girl.

“What are you doing? If you keep this up, I’ll scream for help!” Cen Shuyan hadn’t expected Lin Xiaobao to be so bold. Even the personal disciples had never treated her with such disrespect.

Withdrawing his hand, Lin Xiaobao waved the slip of paper in his hand. “Go ahead—scream as loud as you like. This is your handwriting, isn’t it? If others come because of your cries, who do you think they’ll believe—you or me?”

“You…” Cen Shuyan hadn’t foreseen this move and, at a loss for words, burst into tears.

“Crying? If you keep crying, I’ll tear all your clothes off!” Lin Xiaobao had no desire for her sobbing to actually draw attention.

Cen Shuyan stopped crying immediately. “Let me go. I won’t ask you about your secret ever again!”