Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Jian Huan gave the spirit iron she obtained from the treasure hall to Shen Jizhi to forge a sword.

Even if she didn’t want the sword later, she could sell it, and the price would be higher than selling the spirit iron alone.

Although she had complained to Fang Quan, Shen Jizhi, under the pressure from his master, said he wouldn’t charge her. But Jian Huan didn’t actually plan to take advantage of Shen Jizhi for free.

If she really used this sword that Shen Jizhi didn’t charge for, then when the three-year deadline arrived and Shen Jizhi still hadn’t repaid the hundred thousand debt, she wouldn’t be able to demand repayment with a clear conscience.

Leaning against the door of his room, Jian Huan swayed a bamboo stick in her hand and asked, “How much will you charge?”

Shen Jizhi stood at the table, taking out the materials needed for forging the sword one by one from his Mustard Seed Pouch. Hearing her question, he paused slightly, “Didn’t you say it’s free?”

“Just kidding,” Jian Huan yawned, her eyes bright like stars as she waited for him to name a price.

“The most expensive part of forging a sword is the spirit iron, and you’ve already provided that. I’ll charge you five hundred spirit stones for the rest,” Shen Jizhi estimated.

“Deal,” Jian Huan made an ‘ok’ gesture, then thought seriously, “So the debt between us is now ninety-nine thousand five hundred spirit stones?”

“Correct,” Shen Jizhi replied, “I’ll finish the sword as soon as possible.”

Jian Huan didn’t take it too seriously. After exchanging a few more words, she went back to her room to rest.

She didn’t expect his “as soon as possible” to be this fast.

The next morning, in the small kitchen at the back of the courtyard, Jian Huan, drawn by the aroma of food, hadn’t even reached the door when a sword suddenly flew out of the kitchen.

Startled, Jian Huan’s drowsiness vanished in an instant. She narrowed her eyes, swiftly dodged the sword, and was about to curse.

It was early morning, and she hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Was sword practice already starting? And with a sneak attack? Couldn’t she eat first?

Before she could speak, Shen Jizhi’s face appeared at the kitchen window.

He pointed leisurely at the sword flying toward the wall, “Your new sword. Don’t you want it?”

Jian Huan: “...!”

Damn!

Without hesitation, Jian Huan quickly leaped into the air to chase after her new sword.

Shen Jizhi stood in place, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Jian Huan was fast and soon returned with the new sword.

Shen Jizhi wiped the smile off his face and went back to the kitchen to plate the breakfast.

The meal was simple: white porridge made from spirit rice, paired with a few stir-fried spirit vegetables.

Even so, the snow-white porridge with just the right consistency and the vibrant stir-fry looked incredibly appetizing.

Not to mention the tantalizing aroma that had lured Jian Huan out of her sleep.

Jian Huan had been slightly annoyed, ready to confront him, but seeing the breakfast, all her anger dissipated.

She leaned on the windowsill, sniffing the air, completely won over, “It smells amazing. I didn’t know you could cook.”

Shen Jizhi moved methodically in the kitchen, the spatula and utensils in his hands almost resembling works of art, “When you’re in debt, you learn to do everything.”

“True, children from poor families grow up fast,” Jian Huan leaned against the kitchen window, waiting for the meal while carefully examining her new sword.

The blade gleamed sharply in the morning light, like dew on a leaf.

The sword was perfectly crafted, and the hilt fit her hand just right.

Shen Jizhi’s craftsmanship was indeed impeccable. The talisman brush he had sold her before was also excellent.

“Hey, did you stay up all night?” Jian Huan put the sword away, “I thought it would take you a few days to finish it.”

“Yes,” Shen Jizhi changed the subject, handing her two plates of stir-fry, “Take these out.”

“Sure,” Jian Huan’s eyes lit up as she took the dishes and walked briskly to the front yard.

At the stone table, Fang Quan was already seated, waiting for his meal.

He held chopsticks in one hand, tapping them against an empty bowl, and a novel in the other, looking quite content.

Hearing footsteps, Fang Quan turned to see Jian Huan and Shen Jizhi approaching one after the other.

Fang Quan stroked his beard, sighing with satisfaction, “Having disciples is truly wonderful.”

Shen Jizhi had prepared six dishes and a large pot of porridge.

If the stone table weren’t so small, he could have made even more.

Outside the bamboo forest, there was a field where Fang Quan grew spirit vegetables.

Whether those vegetables were real or not, fake ones did no harm, and real ones were highly beneficial.

So why not make more? It wasn’t his money anyway.

Fang Quan frowned, thinking his senior disciple was being too generous, “It’s just breakfast. Can we really finish all this?”

No one answered him.

Jian Huan grabbed an empty bowl, filled it with porridge, and gulped down a large mouthful. Her chopsticks danced swiftly across the six dishes, stuffing her cheeks full.

After Jian Huan served herself, Shen Jizhi quickly filled his own bowl and began eating just as fast, swallowing the food almost as soon as it entered his mouth, like a puppet programmed only to eat.

Fang Quan, still engrossed in his novel, generously waited for his two disciples to serve themselves before scooping a small half-bowl of porridge.

He picked up his chopsticks, shifting his gaze from the novel to the table, only to see the once-full dishes visibly diminishing.

Two pairs of chopsticks seemed to be in a competition, flying across the table, leaving afterimages.

Fang Quan: “...”

Jian Huan, busy as she was, glanced at Fang Quan and urged, “Master, hurry and eat! Don’t be shy!”

Fang Quan: “...”

Had he raised two starving ghosts as disciples?

Was it too late to regret and abandon them now??

After breakfast, it was still early. The sun was shyly showing only half its face on the horizon.

The stone path through the bamboo forest was slightly damp from the morning mist.

Jian Huan and Shen Jizhi stood on either side, their spirit swords gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Shen Jizhi said simply, “Begin.”

Jian Huan narrowed her eyes, tightened her grip on the scabbard, and bent her knees slightly. Suddenly, she sprang forward like a nimble cat, slashing her sword toward Shen Jizhi.

Shen Jizhi held his sword with one hand, the other behind his back, standing perfectly still.

He closed his eyes slightly, seized the moment, and swung his sword. Jian Huan’s right arm went numb, her sword slipping from her hand and clattering onto the stone path.

Jian Huan gasped, clutching her right hand, and picked up the sword. She asked sheepishly, “How was that?”

Shen Jizhi had said he needed to see how she used the sword before deciding how to teach her.

Shen Jizhi hesitated, then sighed, “Let’s start from the beginning.”

From then on, for a month, Jian Huan followed Shen Jizhi through grueling physical training.

Horse stance, running up the mountain with rocks on her back, push-ups...

Yes, push-ups!

In the peach blossom forest, Jian Huan’s hands trembled as she held herself up, sweat dripping down her face and disappearing into the fallen petals.

Her whole body swayed precariously, her breathing labored.

She had held a horse stance for an hour, rested for fifteen minutes, run up the mountain for another hour, rested again, and now she was doing push-ups.

Shen Jizhi didn’t allow her to use spiritual energy. Even an ironman triathlon wasn’t this exhausting.

Jian Huan gave up, her arms giving out, and she flopped face-first into the peach blossoms, deciding to just lie there.

Nearby, Shen Jizhi had already effortlessly completed a thousand push-ups. He stood up, clapped his hands, and crouched beside her, “What’s wrong?”

Jian Huan closed her eyes, barely breathing, “Why do we have to do this for sword training...”

Shen Jizhi: “Your arm strength is weak. You can’t hold the sword properly.”

Jian Huan: “Fine, I’m tired. I’ll rest.”

Shen Jizhi: “Alright.”

He stood up, took out his drawing tools from the Mustard Seed Pouch, and began working on the tasks Jian Huan had assigned him.

Shen Jizhi was skilled in many things—crafting, cooking, and more—but he hadn’t learned much about drawing. His diagrams for crafting were simple, usually only understandable to himself.

Drawing talismans required precise control of lines, so Jian Huan taught him to sketch, assigning him ten drawings a day.

Time passed quietly in this secluded paradise, and before they knew it, three months had gone by.

Jian Huan’s horse stance became steadier, her mountain runs faster, and her push-ups smoother. Shen Jizhi could no longer easily knock the sword from her hand.

Shen Jizhi’s sketches had also improved significantly.

Thinking that only three days had passed in the outside world, Jian Huan felt a sense of satisfaction, as if she had gained something valuable.

That morning, after breakfast, Fang Quan took his two disciples to the peach blossom forest, “Alright, starting today, I’ll teach you the art of the talisman sword.”

“Ordinary talismans are too cumbersome. When facing a strong opponent in battle, there’s simply no time to use them. This set of talisman swords is something I’ve pondered over for many years, simplifying eighty-one talismans to form sword techniques. It borrows the power of heaven and earth to annihilate demonic bodies.”

Fang Quan stood beneath the peach tree, extending his hand as a peach blossom fell into his palm.

He gazed at the flower, though it was unclear who he was seeing through it. His smile carried a hint of playful nonchalance, tinged with a subtle sense of melancholy.

“I call it the Flower-Plucking Sword.”

Fang Quan withdrew his hand, and the peach blossom in his palm began to fall. He leaped into the air: “Disciples, watch closely. This is the first move.”

Jian Huan and Shen Jizhi looked up, their eyes fixed intently.

The wind whipped Fang Quan’s robes into a frenzy as he swung his sword. In an instant, the heavens and earth trembled, the mountains and rivers echoed, and his strike soared into the clouds.

A moment later, Fang Quan returned to his original position, lightly stroking his beard as he glanced back: “Well?”

Jian Huan replied sincerely, “It’s impressive, Master, but you swung the sword too quickly. I couldn’t see it clearly. Could you do it again in slow motion?”

Fang Quan: “…”

After dinner, the sky had yet to darken completely.

The gate was open, and Jian Huan practiced her sword in the open space in front of the door.

The girl wore a light blue robe, her long hair tied into a high ponytail. Her movements were agile, and there was a sharpness in her eyes that hadn’t been there a few months ago, like a sword about to be unsheathed.

In the courtyard, Shen Jizhi propped up an easel on the stone steps, holding a brush as he painted.

The crimson sunset hung on the horizon, and the light gradually dimmed.

The surroundings were quiet, with no other households nearby. The only sound was Jian Huan’s sword practice.

Shen Jizhi didn’t look up. His expression was calm, and his brush strokes were steady. Without much thought, the girl’s features and posture sprang to life on the paper, vivid and lifelike.

The sky finally darkened, and the night poured in, the shadows of the trees swaying around them.

Jian Huan sheathed her sword and hopped into the courtyard, looking around curiously: “Where’s Master?”

Shen Jizhi snapped out of his focus and began quietly packing up his painting: “He disappeared after dinner. I’m not sure where he went.”

Jian Huan nodded, sitting down at the stone table. Noticing Shen Jizhi’s actions, she reached out casually: “Let me see.”

Shen Jizhi paused.

When he didn’t respond, Jian Huan frowned, wiggling her fingers: “Come on, let me see it.”

Nowadays, Shen Jizhi’s paintings were quite good. She no longer criticized every piece and sent them back for him to redo.

But occasional checks were still fair game.

Shen Jizhi quickly crumpled the painting into a ball: “Forget it. It’s not very good.”

Jian Huan raised an eyebrow: “If it’s not good, I should see it even more. Hand it over. Don’t make me ask a third time.”

Shen Jizhi’s eyes flickered, and Jian Huan immediately recognized the telltale sign that he was about to stash the painting in his Mustard Seed Pouch.

Without hesitation, Jian Huan swung her sword, interrupting his next move, and reached out to grab the painting.

Shen Jizhi dodged swiftly, avoiding the strike, and in the same motion, he stored both the painting and the easel in his Mustard Seed Pouch. He let out a slight sigh of relief.

Jian Huan tightened her grip on her sword, glaring at him threateningly: “Alright, Shen Jizhi. Usually, when you tell me to do horse stance, I do it. When you tell me to run up the mountain, I run. Push-ups? I do them. When you tell me to swing my sword, I swing it without a word. But when I ask you to show me your painting, you refuse to listen?”

Shen Jizhi: “.”

Shen Jizhi remained utterly silent.

Right now, there was no way he could let her see the painting. It would be digging his own grave.

Jian Huan gritted her teeth: “Hand over your Mustard Seed Pouch.”

Shen Jizhi: “No.”

Jian Huan: “Hand it over.”

Shen Jizhi: “No.”

Jian Huan closed her eyes, then raised her sword again.

Shen Jizhi stood still, neither dodging nor resisting.

The sharp sword wind swept over him, but he didn’t even blink.

Jian Huan clenched her teeth, forcing her sword to veer to the side at the last moment, only cutting off a strand of his hair.

Damn you, Shen Jizhi. Taking advantage of being her debtor, he dared not dodge her sword, huh?n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Jian Huan lowered her gaze, a glint of cunning flashing in her eyes. She pretended to walk a few steps to the side, then suddenly turned and kicked at the back of his knee.

Shen Jizhi stepped back to avoid it, but Jian Huan pressed forward, her sword pointing directly at him, pinning him against the wall.

The sharp blade rested against Shen Jizhi’s neck.

Shen Jizhi looked down at the sword, then at Jian Huan, who was now inches away. He kept his eyes down, neither resisting nor speaking.

Jian Huan smirked, her free hand reaching toward the Mustard Seed Pouch in his chest.

Shen Jizhi’s eyelids twitched violently, and he quickly grabbed her wrist, his voice low and hoarse: “Jian Huan.”

Jian Huan was momentarily stunned. His fingertips were scorching, the heat making her instinctively pull her wrist back and shake it off.

Shen Jizhi took the opportunity to let go, fearing she might do something reckless. He said, “I’ll give it to you.”

Jian Huan snorted lightly: “Then hurry up. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just hand it over earlier?”

As she waited for Shen Jizhi to retrieve the painting, she rubbed her wrist, trying to dispel the lingering warmth.

Outside the door, Fang Quan looked up at the sky, then down at the ground.

Had he just overheard something significant? The conversation between his two disciples sounded so… human.

Shen Jizhi glanced up and caught a glimpse of a corner of a robe outside the door. Suddenly, he called out: “Master.”

Jian Huan quickly turned: “Master? You’re back. Where did you go just now?”

Fang Quan walked in, holding a letter, a proud smile on his face: “I received a letter. Some old friends of mine will be visiting next month. You’ll get to meet them then.”

Shen Jizhi took out an older painting from his Mustard Seed Pouch, crumpled it into a ball, and walked over to hand it to Jian Huan.

Jian Huan glanced at it briefly. It really wasn’t very good.

She shook her head with a sigh, tossed it back to Shen Jizhi, and didn’t bother saying more. She followed Fang Quan: “Master, who are these friends of yours?”

Fang Quan smiled mysteriously: “When you meet them next month, you’ll find out.”