Qi Tianchen nodded and gave him a deep look. “Take care.”
“You take care as well, Senior.” Chen Zui cupped his hands toward Qi Tianchen once more.
He then turned around to look at A-Tong.
Right now, A-Tong was keeping his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly.
He bit his lip fiercely, trying to hold it in, but tears spilled uselessly down his face anyway.
From Mirror Water Villa to Furnace-Listening Pavilion, the time they had spent together was neither overly long nor short.
Yet in A-Tong’s heart, Chen Zui was already his closest friend.
“Brother Chen...”
A-Tong raised his sleeve to wipe his face in a mess, striving to make his voice sound as if he wasn't crying.
Chen Zui reached out, placed his hand atop A-Tong’s head, and gently ruffled his hair.
“When you grow up, I'll buy you a drink.”
A-Tong raised his head in a daze, seeing Chen Zui smiling at him through blurriness.
At that sight, A-Tong could hold it in no longer, and tears burst forth from his eyes.
He nodded forcefully, a thousand words choking in his throat, until he managed to squeeze out a single line—his voice raspy yet solemn beyond measure.
“Brother Chen, don't worry! I'll work hard to learn my craft! Next time you see me, I will definitely be the greatest weaponsmith in Furnace-Listening Pavilion. I won't disappoint you!”
“I believe in you.”
Chen Zui patted his shoulder, then turned around and walked down the mountain path.
His green robe slowly blurred into the dusk, the nameless sword at his waist swaying gently with his steps.
A-Tong stood before the mountain gate, tears streaming down non-stop. He did not pull his gaze back even after that figure disappeared into the depths of the maple forest.
Qi Tianchen walked over to A-Tong’s side and looked down at him.
“Stop crying.”
Qi Tianchen softened his tone, a rare occurrence for him.
“Crying like this, that kid can hear you even from the bottom of the mountain. Do you want him leaving with an uneasy mind?”
A-Tong wiped his face aggressively, swallowing back the rest of his tears.
He turned and ran inside the mountain gate.
He had to get back in front of the forge.
An unfinished new spear was waiting for him there.
That was what he had promised Brother Chen.
A promise made was a promise kept.
This, too, was a principle of life he had learned from Chen Zui.
...
The maple leaves on both sides of the mountain path burned brilliant red as autumn wind blew through the forest, carrying a chill of late autumn.
Chen Zui walked along the mountain trail, weighing which direction to head in next, when his footsteps suddenly came to a halt.
A figure silently stepped out from behind a maple tree at the roadside.
The person wore a gray cloth short jacket, with a thin frame and an ordinary face, looking like a servant from some wealthy house.
But Chen Zui noticed that the man had chosen an exceptionally good spot in the middle of the mountain path.
Neither too far forward nor too far back, right within his field of vision without feeling abrupt or intrusive.
Such precise judgment of distance was not something an ordinary servant would possess.
“Young Hero Chen.”
The servant bowed respectfully, his voice neither loud nor soft.
“My master invites you for a conversation. Please step this way.”
Chen Zui raised an eyebrow.
Only those at Furnace-Listening Pavilion knew the exact time he would descend the mountain. For this person to wait here in advance meant either their information networks were terrifyingly informed, or they had planted scouts outside the gate long ago.
Either way, it meant this “master” was no ordinary figure.
He scanned his surroundings. This place was barely three li from Furnace-Listening Pavilion, well within the range of Qi Tianchen's divine sense.
Furthermore, with his current cultivation at the mid stage of the Wind-Riding Realm, even if the opponent was setting a trap, he had nothing to fear.
“Lead the way.”
Receiving his assent, the servant bowed once more and turned into a small forest path.
His pace was neither fast nor slow, maintaining a steady distance of three steps ahead of Chen Zui.
Chen Zui followed behind him through a maple grove, winding around several moss-covered boulders and crossing a gurgling mountain stream.
After a good while,
the trees ahead thinned out, revealing a pavilion in an open clearing where the mountain stream curved.
The pavilion was not large, with upturned eaves on four corners. Wisteria vines climbed the stone pillars, their leaves yellowed by the autumn wind.
Inside the pavilion sat a stone table, upon which rested a small red-clay stove.
A pot of tea simmered on the stove, its curling aroma drifting over on the mountain breeze.
A woman sat inside the pavilion.
She wore plain scholar's robes, her long hair held loosely with a green jade hairpin, adorned with no other jewelry.
A scroll lay open before her, and a celadon teacup rested beside her hand. Her posture was relaxed, looking as though she were sipping tea and reading in her own study rather than sitting in a deserted pavilion deep in the mountains.
As the mountain wind fluttered through, turning the pages, she reached out to hold them down. Her fingers were long and fair, her nails neatly trimmed with no rouge applied.
And Chen Zui recognized her at a single glance.
Lin Jianxi.
Seeing that Chen Zui had arrived, Lin Jianxi slowly raised her head, shifting her gaze from the scroll to rest upon him.
She looked at him for a moment before a faint smile touched the corners of her lips. Her voice, neither high nor low, drifted into Chen Zui’s ears alongside the gurgling stream.
“Young Hero Chen, I told you we would meet again.”
Chen Zui stood outside the pavilion, meeting her eyes for a breath.
He then chuckled, stepped into the pavilion, and sat down on the stone bench across from her.
Meeting Lin Jianxi’s gaze, Chen Zui spoke unhurriedly.
“Then should I say you possess divine foresight, Sir, or that you had this planned all along?”
His words were delivered with a measured weight, even laced with a slight hint of a smile.
Yet Chen Zui knew that this female teacher before him harbored far too many secrets.
Being targeted by someone like her was bound to bring no good.
Yet the instant his words fell, the atmosphere inside the pavilion shifted abruptly.
Five presences manifested simultaneously, like five invisible locks sealing the pavilion tight from all directions.
From the roof of the pavilion came two faint rustles against the tiles.
They were the sounds of two people landing, so light they were nearly imperceptible.
But after stepping into the Wind-Riding Realm, Chen Zui’s perception had merged into one with the spiritual qi of heaven and earth.
He could discern even the texture on the back of a maple leaf as mountain winds blew past; how could he possibly miss the movement overhead?
Almost at the exact same moment, two more figures appeared to his left and right.
One held a saber, the other a sword, both weapons drawn three inches from their sheaths.
And directly across from Chen Zui, standing in front of Lin Jianxi, was the fifth person.
That man held no weapon, but his fingers were lightly plucking, as though strumming an invisible instrument.
Suddenly, extremely thin threads flashed briefly from his fingertips in the dusk.
Those threads were as fine as hair, yet sharp as blade edges.
Chen Zui recognized this weapon.
Back on the road to Luoyan City with Ye Zhibai and Xiao Chengyan, he had encountered an assassin from the Ghost Gate Chamber who wielded this exact weapon.
And the aura radiating from this man was noticeably far more dangerous than the one he had faced that day.
Likely, he was a senior or elder from that person's sect.
Right now, this Ghost Gate Chamber assassin stood guard in front of Lin Jianxi.
Outside the pavilion, the mountain stream gurgled softly.
Inside the pavilion, the teapot bubbled on the stove, killing intent taut like a string.
Chen Zui’s gaze slowly moved past the thread-wielding assassin, returning to Lin Jianxi.
“You certainly put on quite a reception just to catch up with an old friend, Sir.”
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