Chapter 16: Old Friends Waiting Here to Meet

Such a beautiful woman surely deserved to be watched a little longer, and then one might judge whether she was all charm and no bite. But Fang Er had no chance for a second look; all he could feel was the cold, the sharp, biting cold.

The Big-Bearded Man turned his horse around a curve, and it was as if someone had clutched his throat. His eyes widened in panic, and his hands began to shake.

A gigantic block of ice stood before him. The ice itself was not frightening. It was Fang Er, who had just spoken with him, sitting motionless on the horse, sealed in a thick shell of ice. The Big-Bearded Man tried to flee, yet not a shred of strength remained in him.

Then a woman appeared—extraordinarily beautiful. In ordinary times, one could not help but glance at her again and again, if only from sheer astonishment. She tapped the vast block of ice with a light, almost playful touch. The ice broke apart across the ground, and, of course, the man and the horse inside it were shattered too. It was, in a strange sense, an elegant form of death: not a drop of blood, not the faintest odor. It enriched the earth and preserved the surroundings.

But at that moment, the Big-Bearded Man stared wide-eyed, opened his mouth as if to speak, and no sound came out. He felt a sudden heat below him—his trousers were suddenly soaked.

Now he had no eyes for her beauty. The woman before him seemed a demon. He wanted to spur the horse and run; he wanted to fall to his knees and beg. He could not muster even a grain of strength for either.

“Go. Tell that person that an old friend is waiting here.”

Then the beautiful woman showed the faintest hint of a smile. It bloomed like a rare snow-lotus on a glistening peak. The Big-Bearded Man was stunned, almost unable to hear what she said, yet somehow a sliver of strength returned to him. With that brief reserve he tumbled from the saddle and dropped to the ground, pleading at the top of his voice.

“I am waiting here. Tell him to come quickly.”

That voice was as cold as a wind from the Ninth Abyss, and her earlier smile vanished, as if it had been an illusion. Who, among such a woman, would ever smile?

The Big-Bearded Man suddenly seemed to wake. Gazing at the broken ice and torn flesh, he nodded wildly like a madman, then turned and ran. He did not dare to ask who she was. Even the horse was forgotten; he fled in stumbling haste.

The beautiful woman paid him no mind. She reached out and softly stroked the remaining horse. “Excellent timing,” she murmured to herself. “That shameless little fellow will surely help me.” The horse shuddered with unease, as if trying to shake off her hand, and in a blink a colossal horse of ice took shape.

Whether it was because she had set down all her burdens, because she felt truly free of all concerns, or because she meant to savor the passing time while she still could, under Haiqing’s warm and gentle words Kael fully recovered the debonair ease of a nobleman.

The two were rich in glances and teasing, and there they sat together over a single book, drifting so naturally into closeness that they were almost leaning together without noticing. Just as their attachment was beginning to burn more fiercely, a voice broke through.

Big Beard was no fool. Without his horse, after running several kilometers, his senses slowly returned to him, and only then did he remember what that woman had said. “Old friend?” he thought, and after a moment he had a suspicion. By appearance alone, she had to be a cultivator—and an exceptionally powerful one.

Among the cultivators in the caravan, the most formidable were the Second Miss and the Second Uncle-in-Law they had accepted. As for the others, it was possible, though not impossible, that some were also formidable, but the Big-Bearded Man did not know them. Though they traveled in the same caravan, the distance between them was like a canyon. It was a gap in the heart. This vast divide of outlook and status only widened with each passing moment.

“What? She said to send for an old friend?” Haiqing strained to recall. In all her memory, there should have been no such woman: so beautiful, so cold, so high in cultivation, so merciless in her hand—likely with some old grudge against her.

At this thought she frowned. Such words could only mean Kael. The feeling was unpleasant, especially because it was a woman, and such a beautiful one: it was the sensation of tending a stout boar for years, only to have someone else lure it away with a leaf of green.

“If it is truly a matter of an old friend, then send for her,” Haiqing said coldly.

Kael gave a gentle smile. “Not quite right, not quite. I think this woman surely hides some unspoken matter. I have the strange feeling I recognize her somehow—perhaps she knows about my past. I’ll go see for myself first.”

A “matter that cannot be spoken,” Haiqing suddenly felt a prickling unease, as if the roots of her teeth itched.

Still, she could only grit her teeth and swallow her anger. “Then go. Go quickly and come back quickly. Be careful.”

Kael smiled in apology once more and slipped away in a flash.

“The Second Miss, what are we to do now?” The stout steward suddenly poked his head out.

When speaking to her trusted servant, Haiqing did not bother with fake smiles. Her face had gone ashen; her voice turned cold. “Keep moving.” She cast a disgusted glance at the Big-Bearded Man. “The Hai household guards are not for cowards.”

The Big-Bearded Man stood there stupefied. He had expected some reward after surviving disaster, and found, instead, that one misfortune had invited another. As he watched the caravan retreat farther and farther, he suddenly felt deeply wronged. Not until the line vanished entirely from sight did he begin to curse aloud.

Damn. Life must go on. The Big-Bearded Man decided to wash his face and clear away his ill luck. He went down from the dike and down to the bank of the Chu River. The broad, majestic Chu flowed out before him with no visible edge. For a moment, a surge of bravado rose in him and he thought to recite something grand. He moved his lips several times and had no idea what to say.

So he swore: in the next life he would study properly. After a while he came to another resolve he would never dare in ordinary days—that in his next life, he would become a cultivator. He let out several carefree roars, and his mood lifted a great deal.

But his spirits soured again almost at once. He realized today was not the simple matter of one bad luck. A small boat was drifting straight toward him. What in heaven was this? He had only a moment to think that perhaps they mistook him for a passenger. Crossing quickly and seeking refuge with the First Miss and the Third Miss would have been a good option. He had no time to settle on it: he found he did not need to step aboard.

Three men closed in around him, smiling with bad intent. Yu Fu smiled the most sinister of the three. Even they had not expected to run into the Big-Bearded Man here.

The three men had simply been walking along the Chu, and by chance found a household where cries came from inside. They learned that the son of that family lay at the edge of death, illness deep and hopeless. At that moment of mourning, Zhao Qingzhi appeared. Though she could not cultivate herself, one had to consider her status: daughter of the present head of Old Huangshan, the sect master’s own child. A little medicinal knowledge, a few miraculous pills—nothing beyond reason.

That family had nothing to repay them with; only then did the Wuyue trio notice that the house had a boat, and a cheerful river outing began.

The journey proved unnaturally smooth. With no rough bends like those of a road, they nearly caught up to the Bafang Hall caravan. Then, hearing the Big-Bearded Man’s voice, they checked and found only him.

“Well then—so it is you,” Yu Fu said with a dark edge, “the one who made the young master keep silent all day?”

The Big-Bearded Man looked at the three men. Forgetting how they had killed those two, he saw only the arrow that could be loosed at the slightest provocation. He swiftly knelt, then slapped himself hard twice. “This lowly one has eyes and still failed to recognize greatness.”

“This is what yielding looks like?” Yu Fu sighed, distinctly bored. Then he said casually, “For the handful of steamed buns you once gave this little master, I’ll spare your life. But while you may escape a death sentence, the sentence of living remains. You are forbidden to speak for three days. Speak once—yes, once—and I’ll cut off a finger.”

The Big-Bearded Man nodded and kept making that eager “uh-uh.”

“Then tell me how you got yourself expelled,” Yu Fu asked suddenly.

The Big-Bearded Man glanced at his hands, nodding once, then shaking his head, his muttered “umms” growing harsher.