The next day, Ming Zhu was jolted awake by a knock at the door. Having spent the night on the floor, his entire body was wracked with aches. He scrambled up in a daze, mumbling, "Who is it? Come in."
The door was pushed open gently. Zhou Fuxue’s small figure stood outside the threshold, dressed neatly and looking at him with a flat expression. "Senior Brother, it is time for morning lessons."
Ming Zhu scratched his messy hair, his irritation at being woken up surfacing. "What morning lessons? I never attend morning lessons. Go by yourself; I’m exhausted."
As he spoke, he scrambled out from the pile of clutter on all fours, struggling to climb back onto the bed.
Zhou Fuxue remained unmoved. "If Senior Brother continues to live such a muddled existence, how do you expect to take over the position of Sect Leader and bring glory to Rizhao Mountain in the future?"
Ming Zhu let out a wail and clutched his head, rolling around on his messy bed. "Junior Brother, I beg of you, stop nagging. Whoever wants to be that damned Sect Leader can have it. I promise to be deeply grateful and respectfully welcome them to the throne."
Zhou Fuxue seemed determined to drag him along. "As the First Senior Disciple of Rizhao Mountain, you cannot be so shiftless. If you travel abroad in the future, what will the people of the Five Continents think of Rizhao?"
Ming Zhu hugged his quilt and rolled again, shouting, "Someone! Quickly, help me drive this mosquito out! He’s annoying me to death!"
"Mosquito Zhou" continued to buzz for a full fifteen minutes, finally buzzing Ming Zhu right off the bed.
Ming Zhu’s face was as sallow as gold leaf as he clutched his stomach and walked out of the room. He leaned half his weight on Zhou Fuxue, saying listlessly, "Fine, let’s go to morning lessons—you little bastard, I must have owed you in a past life."
Seeing that he had finally gotten up, Zhou Fuxue raised an eyebrow slightly. "Aren't you going to wash up and change your clothes?"
Ming Zhu was still wearing the Rizhao robes from his visit to the Hall of Longevity yesterday. After kneeling all day and rolling on the floor half the night, they were wrinkled into a mess. He looked utterly unkempt; at the very least, the habitually tidy Zhou Fuxue couldn't stand the sight of him.
Ming Zhu only wanted to sleep. He pleaded, "Junior Brother, are you an old nanny? Can you stop fussing so much? Can we just go to the lesson?"
Zhou Fuxue had spent half the night thinking it over and had decided to try and twist his Senior Brother’s laziness back into shape. He wanted to prevent him from becoming a useless person who lived off his face, which would bring shame to Rizhao Mountain.
Knowing that haste makes waste, Zhou Fuxue didn't push further once Ming Zhu had reluctantly agreed. He half-dragged him all the way to Wujiu Hall.
Today’s morning lesson wasn't taught by their Young Martial Uncle, so the female cultivators from the West Peak hadn't come. Only the disciples from the North Peak sat scattered in groups of three or five within Wujiu Hall, making the place look somewhat empty.
When Ming Zhu stepped over the threshold with his hair in a bird's nest and his clothes in disarray, the entire hall fell silent for a moment before erupting into a clamor.
The disciples shouted one after another, "First Senior Brother? Did you take the wrong medicine today? You actually came to morning lessons?"
Even Lu Qingkong, sitting in a corner, raised his head, his gloomy eyes casting a cold, indifferent glance at Ming Zhu.
Ming Zhu was annoyed to death. "What are you looking at? Haven't you seen such a handsome Senior Brother before? Stop talking nonsense and get back to work. Don't bother me."
As he spoke, he swayed toward the back row where Shen Dian was sitting. He rolled up a few books to use as a pillow on the long bench and promptly lay down to sleep.
Following behind, Zhou Fuxue saw his decadent state and seemed about to say something, but the elder in charge of the morning lesson had already strolled into Wujiu Hall. Zhou Fuxue immediately took a seat beside Ming Zhu.
The man who entered had a scar across his face and a fierce expression. He was said to be Rizhao Mountain’s martial instructor. Because he always carried a scimitar at his waist, everyone called him "Mr. Blade."
The disciples of Rizhao Mountain knew that among the elders who taught morning lessons, two were particularly eccentric. One was their Young Martial Uncle, Gui He, who would make people transcribe the Sect Rules if he had nothing to say; the other was this Mr. Blade, who insisted on calling roll at the drop of a hat.
This man was cold and indolent. Every time he started class, he would pull out his tattered register to call names. Yet, he never punished those who skipped. No one knew what the point of his daily roll call was.
The moment Mr. Blade entered Wujiu Hall, everyone fell silent, as quiet as little chicks.
Shen Dian whispered, "Senior Brother, Mr. Blade is here."
Only then did the nearly dead Ming Zhu half-open his eyes, clutching the table to force himself upright.
Without looking up, Mr. Blade tossed a register onto the table. His voice was lazy, every word sounding as if it were drifting on the wind. "Roll call first."
"Ming Zhu." Mr. Blade didn't even pause, as if out of habit. "Absent."
"Yi Fuju."
"Present."
"Yan Xueyu."
"..."
"Teacher," Ming Zhu raised his hand, interrupting Mr. Blade’s routine. "I'm here today."
Mr. Blade read a few more names before finally looking up lazily. He squinted at Ming Zhu for a long time and asked, "Who are you?"
Ming Zhu: "..."
"Ming Zhu."
In all his years at Rizhao Mountain, Ming Zhu had never attended anyone's morning lessons except for Gui He's. This was his first time in Mr. Blade’s class, so it was only natural the man didn't recognize him.
"Oh?" The habitually lazy Mr. Blade seemed to suddenly find some interest. He tucked the register away and slowly walked down from the dais. As he walked, he said, "I heard that a few years ago at Hundred Sword Mountain, you found a divine weapon named Kua Yu. Since you're here today, are you interested in a spar with me?"
Ming Zhu said earnestly, "No."
Mr. Blade replied, "Good, you have spirit. Come, let’s go to the martial arts field."
Everyone: "..."
Mr. Blade was usually extremely cold, treating even the Sect Leader with a ghost-like indifference. For some reason, he was insistent on dragging Ming Zhu into a spar. In an instant, the morning lesson in Wujiu Hall was relocated to the adjacent open-air martial arts field.
The field was vast, with a square platform built from bluestone jade. As soon as the two entered, the bluestone jade began to emit a soft glow, instantly forming a barrier of green light that cordoned off the spectators.
Ming Zhu looked like he could barely stand. He yawned, his eyes watering. "Teacher, please spare me this time. Look, I’m empty-handed; I didn't even bring a sword. What am I supposed to spar with?"
Mr. Blade said, "Then this Martial Uncle will give you a three-move head start. Make your move."
Ming Zhu: "..."
*Listen to what people are saying!*
Ming Zhu had always thought he was the most headstrong and self-righteous nuisance around, but he hadn't expected this cold, aloof Mr. Blade to be even more annoying and self-righteous than him. The man only heard what he wanted to hear and simply ignored anything that didn't suit him.
Ming Zhu hadn't slept enough and his whole body hurt; he was already frustrated. Being tossed around like this made him lose his patience. He reached out a slender hand, and a tiny knife, no larger than a finger, dropped from his sleeve. A red tassel was tied to its hilt.
Standing outside the field, Zhou Fuxue watched Ming Zhu’s movements. He looked up slightly and asked, "What is that in Senior Brother’s hand?"
Shen Dian sneered. "Probably some little knife he picked up randomly at Hundred Sword Mountain. It’s supposedly called 'Kua Yu,' but I’ve never seen that sword leave its sheath since he got it. It’s likely a 'Waste Spirit' inside."
Weapons found at Hundred Sword Mountain generate an Artifact Spirit after the cultivator forms their Golden Core. However, if one is unlucky and gets a Waste Spirit, the weapon is no different from an ordinary mortal blade.
With a face as still as deep water, Ming Zhu unsheathed the exquisite little knife. Like throwing a dart, he sent it flying toward Mr. Blade with a "whoosh." Mr. Blade simply drew the saber at his waist and gave it a casual flick. With a sharp metallic *clang*, the legendary divine weapon Kua Yu was knocked flying. It clattered onto the ground and soon lay still.
The crowd was stunned.
Ming Zhu acted as if nothing had happened. He ran over, picked up the small knife, and sheathed it. He then bowed gracefully to Mr. Blade. "Teacher’s saber techniques are truly extraordinary. Ming Zhu has gained much insight."
As he spoke, he looked as proud as a hero who had fought hundreds of rounds before finally falling from exhaustion. There wasn't a hint of shame or a blush on his face for having his weapon swatted away in a single blow.
Mr. Blade also sheathed his saber, his expression unchanged. He cupped his fists in return. "If you don't wish to be serious today, we shall spar another time."
Ming Zhu nodded with a smile, thinking to himself: *You bastard, if I ever come to your morning lesson again, my surname isn't Ming.*
After the lesson ended, Ming Zhu ignored the ridicule and mockery of the entire class. He walked back to Buzhiya on his own, threw himself onto his bed, and fell into a deep, world-oblivious sleep.
By the time he woke up again, the sun was already setting.
The rosy light of dusk streamed in through the open window. The setting sun was like blood, possessing an ominous yet magnificent beauty.
He sat up in bed, realizing belatedly that his dog-kennel of a room had been cleaned spotlessly at some point. Even the small side table held a carved incense burner. The incense inside seemed to have burned out, leaving only a lingering wisp of smoke curling in the air.
Ming Zhu pressed his aching head and stood up, his eyes sweeping over the reorganized room in amazement.
He didn't know who had tidied his mess. The scattered scrolls and scriptures were neatly placed on the desk, the four treasures of the study were arranged in order, the floor was dustless, and a thick rug had been placed by the bed, seemingly for his feet to land on comfortably.
Ming Zhu’s room had never been this tidy since he moved in. For a moment, he felt quite out of place.
Just then, Zhou Fuxue walked in carrying a stack of clothes. Seeing Ming Zhu’s "what year is it" expression, he said flatly, "Senior Brother certainly can sleep. You’ve managed to skip all three meals of the day."
Ming Zhu blinked, watching him place the clothes into a wardrobe that hadn't been used in ages. "This... you did this?"
After spending these few days with Ming Zhu, Zhou Fuxue knew his Senior Brother was big-hearted, good-tempered, and didn't hold grudges. Consequently, he stopped hiding his natural prickliness, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't do it. Senior Brother must have done it himself while half-asleep."
Ming Zhu blinked again. The red mark by his left eye was strikingly vivid. The setting sun spilled over half his face, making him look increasingly bewitching. Yet, in stark contrast to that face were his eyes—bright and clear like a child's, as if nothing in the world could leave a trace of weariness within them.
Seeing his dazed look, Zhou Fuxue said, "Take off those clothes. Don't you feel uncomfortable?"
Ming Zhu gave a dull "oh" and, without any hesitation, began to untie his belt right in front of Zhou Fuxue.
Zhou Fuxue: "..."
*How can someone be this shameless?*
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
--- | --- | ---
无咎堂 | Wujiu Hall | The hall for morning lessons; "Wujiu" means "no blame" or "faultless."
不知雅 | Buzhiya | Ming Zhu's residence; literally "Not Knowing Elegance/Refinement."
刀先生 | Mr. Blade / Teacher Blade | A martial instructor at Rizhao Mountain known for his scimitar.
夸玉 | Kua Yu | Ming Zhu's weapon; literally "Praise Jade."
废灵 | Waste Spirit | A useless or failed Artifact Spirit within a weapon.
武师 | Martial Instructor | A teacher specializing in physical combat and weaponry.
百剑山 | Hundred Sword Mountain | The location where disciples find their weapons.
