No wonder the injuries at Bai Zhan Peak had only increased over the past few days, while Qian Cao Peak’s front courtyard was as busy as a marketplace.
Shang Qinghua had only one thought in response to this: that Shen Qingqiu had to be doing this on purpose!
After he descended the platform, Liu Qingge continued to train (read: beat up) the Bai Zhan Peak disciples. Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua exchanged greetings, then walked down the mountain together. Just as they were about to exit through the gate, Ji Jue caught up to them, carrying two sacks, which he gave to Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua didn’t understand, so he undid the tie to take a look. Inside, he saw two balls of bloody, hairy things nestled together. “And this is…”
“Liu-shixiong caught these short-haired beasts,” Ji Jue said, expression stiff. “Apparently, they taste very good. Shixiong, please take them back to your own peaks to cook them as you please.”
Short-haired beast? What short-haired beast? Did I really ever create this creature? Is it edible? Are you sure?!
It looked like Shen Qingqiu was also highly suspicious of the creature’s edibility. “Thanks for your trouble…”
“Shixiong said: This is a gift in return for the tea leaves Qing Jing Peak recently sent,” Ji Jue recited woodenly.
Tea leaves? Shen Qingqiu had given Liu Qingge tea leaves?! What was this? Were they exchanging presents?! Internally, Shang Qinghua yelled, Holy shit! while externally, he kept a smile on his face. “You mean to say that this is all thanks to Shen-shixiong’s generosity. What sort of high-quality tea leaves were these?”
“They were harvested from the tea fields of my senior disciple Ming Fan’s family,” Shen Qingqiu said affably. “As for whether they’re high-quality, won’t Shang-shidi know if he comes for tea at Qing Jing Peak?”
Shang Qinghua thickened his face, shameless. “Then I have Liu-shixiong’s generosity to thank as well.”
So, each carrying a sack, talking about this and that, they walked toward Qing Jing Peak.
As soon as they passed the mountain gates, serene wind caressed their faces and faint birdsong chittered away. It was an atmosphere entirely distinct from that of the outer world. Together they walked over a soft layer of green bamboo leaves that covered the ground and found themselves feeling several times more refreshed.
For some reason, Shen Qingqiu’s mood was quite good. He didn’t look the least bit like he had just lost to Liu Qingge. He even offered an idle bit of praise: “Liu-shidi’s swordmanship is truly quite something.”
Shang Qinghua couldn’t resist reminding him, “Shen-shixiong you… How many times did you lose?”
Shen Qingqiu thought it over. “Hm? Mm, you’re asking about this morning? It was only seven or eight times.”
Then how are you this calm?!
Shouldn’t you be gnashing your teeth in fury, tears staining your face like raindrops on flower petals (ahem)—a cuckoo crying blood as you whip around to go back into seclusion for three months, swearing to duel again?
Don’t you know you’re being OOC? Can’t you show a bit more dedication to your role?!
Shen Qingqiu bashfully tapped the handle of his fan on his nape. “There’s nothing you can do about losing to the Bai Zhan Peak Lord. It would be more accurate to say that winning would be the unusual outcome.”
Shang Qinghua had no words. He felt there was no way to communicate with this guy.
He’s lost his memory. He definitely fell into a qi deviation and lost his memory. If this Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge were playing out a scene of a friendly senior and his respectful junior, full of harmonious fraternal love between fellow sect members—oh, heavens, maybe in a few days, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe would be striking up flirtatious banter!
The second after this frightful vision flashed through Shang Qinghua’s mind, a white shadow darted toward them, and something sticky and clingy suddenly threw itself into Shen Qingqiu’s arms. That soft little lump called out, “Shizun!”
Shen Qingqiu was nearly knocked on his back. He swayed, then grabbed on to a thick bamboo stalk and finally managed to regain his footing. He noticed Shang Qinghua detachedly observing the scene, expressionless.
You couldn’t fault Shang Qinghua for his frozen expression. At the sight of that little wee little lady-killer, with his two arms encircling Shen Qingqiu’s waist like a steel hoop, the name “Bing-ge” had nearly escaped his mouth!
Shen Qingqiu stiffly waved his fan with one hand, embarrassed. “If you’re going to call to me, then just call; don’t drag your voice out like that. Throwing yourself at people every day—and while your shishu is here!—what manner of decorum is this?”
Luo Binghe slowly removed his hands and stood straight. He obediently said, “Shang-shishu,” then, “after this disciple finished morning lessons, he waited here for Shizun to return. I forgot myself in a moment of excitement…”
“Great Master” Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s heart nearly crumbled.
Luo Binghe switched to hugging Shen Qingqiu’s arm. “Shizun, why were you out for so long?”
“There were a lot of people today.”
As Shang Qinghua took in Shen Qingqiu’s leisurely and contented smile, he couldn’t resist guessing how many times the Qing Jing Peak Lord “hadn’t understood” earlier, and how many times he’d had Liu Qingge “demonstrate” for him.
Luo Binghe automatically took the sack out of Shen Qingqiu’s hands. “Next time, can I go too?”
“That depends on your progress in swordplay,” Shen Qingqiu said casually. “There’s some sort of monster in the sack; your Liu-shishu said it’s edible. See if you can clean off the hair and figure out how to cook it.”
You’ve made Bing-ge into a kitchen girl—only the female protagonists are allowed to eat the male protagonist’s cooking! Can’t you stay in your place? Ah, forget it. Shang Qinghua didn’t have the energy.
“Oh.” Luo Binghe happily agreed. As he shook the sack, the thing inside suddenly began to struggle. “Shizun, it’s still alive!”
By the time they arrived at the drawing room of the Bamboo House, Shen Qingqiu’s flock of disciples had surrounded that mysterious creature and were taking turns poking the sack. With each poke, that short-haired beast let out a plaintive cry, and yet they were delighted each time, clicking their tongues in wonder.