And so, hand in hand, Xiao Yi Han and I… set off on our journey.
Traveling four or five hundred miles a day on my sword was no issue for me, and I assumed it was even easier for him. But reaching Jade Spring Mountain, eight hundred miles away, would still take two days. I was eager to press on, but Xiao Yi Han glanced at the sky, yawned lazily, and declared we had already delayed too much. He suggested we find a place to rest for the night and continue tomorrow.
“Since when does traveling on a sword require checking the sky?” I snapped. “After all these years, your lazy, procrastinating ways haven’t changed a bit.”
Xiao Yi Han didn’t seem offended. He simply chuckled under his breath. “But my disciple’s good temper seems to have completely disappeared.”
Back then, it wasn’t that I had a good temper. I had simply… grown used to tolerating him. Because he was my master—someone I respected and feared losing.
Now, as the evening deepened, Xiao Yi Han held my hand and wandered through the woods, glancing left and right. I had no idea what he was looking for and impatiently pointed out a random spot. “Let’s rest there. If you’re not traveling tonight, I won’t argue anymore.”
Xiao Yi Han shushed me with a finger to his lips, then raised his hand. A dagger flew from his waist, piercing through the chest of a wild chicken on a nearby hill. The bird flapped its wings feebly before falling lifeless to the ground. Turning back to me, Xiao Yi Han grinned and winked. “Little disciple, tonight’s meal is taken care of.”
I glared at him without a word.
I watched as he plucked the bird’s feathers, cleaned it, and roasted it over a fire—all with one hand. When he finished, he turned to me, his eyes glinting in the firelight like those of a child seeking praise. “Remember the last time we left the mountain? You kept complaining that I didn’t take care of you and made you find food on your own. Well, no complaints this time, right?”
I replied coldly, “I’ve abstained from food for years now. I don’t eat grains, let alone meat.”
Years had passed, and I had long since cultivated an immortal body. My master, it seemed, didn’t know that.
The spark of pride in his eyes dimmed slightly, like a fire doused with water. He turned away, chuckling quietly to himself in that careless, self-deprecating way of his. “Ah, my little disciple has grown up.”
I ignored him.
In the end, the chicken burned to a crisp under Xiao Yi Han’s watchful eye. Neither of us ate it, and the poor creature’s life was wasted.
That night, since we couldn’t separate our hands, Xiao Yi Han suggested we sleep in a pile together. I immediately pointed to a nearby tree and said, “We’ll sleep back-to-back against the tree. You on one side, me on the other. We’ll keep our hands to the side. When we wake up, we won’t see each other. That way, neither of us will be annoyed.”
Xiao Yi Han stared at me, his expression a mix of helpless amusement.
I didn’t understand why he looked that way. For two people who had been apart for so long, wasn’t this arrangement perfectly appropriate?
In the end, he relented. We found a large tree and sat on opposite sides, backs pressed against the trunk. Each of us faced the dark, quiet forest, hands still joined at our sides. Neither of us spoke.
“Little disciple,” Xiao Yi Han’s voice broke the silence, soft and familiar, as though it had been plucked from years past. “Have you been well at Xian Ling Mountain?”
I didn’t answer, pretending to be asleep. When no response came, he too fell silent, as though he had drifted off.
I closed my eyes, though rest eluded me. Today had drained me, and tomorrow’s journey would be just as taxing. I needed to reach Jade Spring Mountain quickly—to rid myself of the bond tying us together. I didn’t want to feel the warmth of his hand anymore. That warmth stirred restlessness in my heart.
That night, I dreamed uneasily.
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