"…Maybe it's not that it's cold—it was cold to begin with."
Li Yun gave Cheng Qian a quick glance. Then, as if something occurred to him, he suddenly flashed a smile—one that seemed less than friendly. "I heard Master brought back two new junior brothers. Is that you?"
Cheng Qian instinctively disliked the look in Li Yun's eyes. It didn't feel like anything good. So he replied flatly, "Yeah. Me and the fourth junior brother, Han Yuan."
Li Yun stepped closer, his tone filled with interest—as if he were an old wolf eyeing a rabbit. Cheng Qian almost wanted to take a step back but restrained himself. He stayed still and answered dryly, "Cheng Qian."
"Oh, Xiao Qian," Li Yun said, nodding like they were old friends and giving him a bright, toothy smile. "Nice to meet you."
Cheng Qian stared at those white teeth. At that moment, he realized: in the entire Fuyao Sect, apart from his master, there wasn't a single person he liked even a little.
And to be honest, he still wasn't sure if the master counted as human.
Before long, Han Yuan and their master arrived. Han Yuan flopped down in front of Cheng Qian without a care, complaining that Cheng Qian hadn't come to play with him. He then casually sampled every piece of refreshment on the table.
He was the very picture of someone who didn't know how to sit still—flashing ingratiating smiles at their master one moment, winking at Cheng Qian the next. Busy, chaotic, but somehow managing it all without crashing. A living, breathing example of "fools rush in."
Then, eldest brother Yan Zhengming finally made his grand appearance—a whole two quarters of an hour late. He strolled in mid-yawn, clearly reluctant to walk on his own, lounging in a rattan chair carried by two Daoist boys all the way from "Gentle Village."
Behind him trailed a beautiful girl delicately fanning him, and another servant shielding him with an umbrella. Dressed in white robes that fluttered like clouds, Yan Zhengming looked less like he was heading to a morning class and more like he was attending some celestial fashion show.
As soon as he entered the lecture hall, his first act was to shoot Li Yun a frosty glare, his disdain plain as day. Then he swept his gaze to Han Yuan's half-eaten dessert table and sneered like he was about to faint. "What kind of barbarian eats like that?" He snapped open his folding fan to shield his eyes from the sight.
In the end, he had no choice but to sit near Cheng Qian, looking as if he were being wronged by fate. His attendant came forward to wipe the stone bench clean—four times—placed down a cushion, brewed tea, and served it in a talisman-inscribed saucer that instantly cooled it to the perfect temperature.
Only once that entire ritual was completed did Young Master Yan sit down with the grace of an emperor settling into court.
Li Yun didn't even acknowledge him. Han Yuan stared in shock, his expression clearly reading: What kind of creature is this?
Cheng Qian, witnessing the entire spectacle up close, didn't even know what to say. He prided himself on being sharp-tongued, but in this moment, words failed him.
Thus began the morning class at Fuyao Sect—with all four of Mu Chun's disciples silently loathing each other in their own special ways.
Whether Master Mu Chun had foreseen this exact mess, no one could say. But given the odd mix of cracked bowls and rusty swords he'd gathered as disciples, he certainly seemed prepared.
With eyes half-lidded, Master stepped up to the platform, completely ignoring the quiet chaos bubbling below. In a voice that sounded only half-alive, he intoned, "For morning class… everyone recite the Qingjing Sutra with me."
This Qingjing Sutra wasn't the classic Taishang Laojun's Qingjing Jing—it was more like something Master had invented himself. Confusing, vague, and utterly nonsensical.
Maybe it was supposed to represent "tranquility." But when Master Mu Chun recited it, he dragged every word out like it had double the syllables. By the end of each line, his voice trembled like a mad old man muttering curses.
Cheng Qian listened for a while, his nerves fraying with every syllable. The constant buzzing in his ears gave him an absurd fear—that Master might drone him to death.
After one excruciating round, Master paused to sip his tea. Cheng Qian shook off the goosebumps, mentally bracing for the "lecture" that was supposed to follow.
But what he heard instead was: "Alright, let's read it again."
Cheng Qian: "…"
A firm hand tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, kid," Yan Zhengming said lazily. "Move over."
As the sect's golden child, if the eldest brother wanted a seat, Cheng Qian wasn't about to refuse.
Yan Zhengming flicked his eyelids, and immediately a Daoist boy brought over a bamboo backrest. As Master droned on, he dozed off in peace, the picture of elegance—even while napping.
Cheng Qian noticed that, to his credit, the eldest brother didn't snore. Small blessings.
Everyone else had clearly grown used to this. Yan Zhengming snoozed, Li Yun cheerfully bonded with Han Yuan, and still found time to throw smirks at Cheng Qian from across the room.
Of the four, only Cheng Qian remained firmly upright—stoic and unswayed. He took everything seriously, whether it was tolerating his master or maintaining his own standards. He sat like a mountain and dutifully chanted the entire strange scripture from beginning to end.
Li Yun, noticing that Cheng Qian was ignoring him, smirked and rolled his eyes. Then, like a thief, he pulled a small porcelain bottle from his sleeve and waved it under Han Yuan's nose. "Know what this is?"
Han Yuan opened it—and was immediately assaulted by an eye-watering stench. Even Cheng Qian behind him caught a whiff and grimaced.
Li Yun beamed proudly. "Golden Clam Divine Water. I made it myself."
Between his chants, Cheng Qian muttered, "Smells like Jin Ha's foot bath."
Han Yuan, pinching his nose, asked, "What's it for?"
With a mischievous grin, Li Yun rolled up a piece of rice paper into a ball, dropped a few drops of the so-called divine water onto it—and in a blink, it turned into a very real toad.
Of all things to play with in the world—why toads?
Cheng Qian suddenly understood why the eldest brother always looked at Li Yun like he was stepping in something unpleasant.
Li Yun caught Cheng Qian's eye and, still grinning, poked the toad with his brush and said, "Go get him!"
The toad croaked and hopped toward Cheng Qian—only to be plucked out of the air by a pale hand.
Master Mu Chun had appeared beside them at some point. The toad dissolved back into paper in his hand.
"Tell me, Xiaoyun," he sighed in a tone like he was reciting scripture, "what exactly are you trying to become?"
Li Yun stuck out his tongue.
"In that case," Master said serenely, "why don't you come lead the chanting?"
And so, Li Yun stood at the front, crooning through the sutra in a falsetto more suited to a palace eunuch. It took them nearly an hour to finish the passage—for the eleventh time—before Master mercifully ended the torture.
Han Yuan whispered to Cheng Qian, trembling, "If we had to read that one more time, I would've peed myself."
Cheng Qian sat up even straighter and acted like he didn't know him.
Now that Master had been resting with his eyes closed for over an hour, he was finally full of energy again. "That's enough of the scripture. Let's go out to the pavilion. Oh—Cheng Qian, you're Senior Brother now."
Cheng Qian, who had just been hit by a bolt from the blue, turned to look at the boy in white. He poked his shoulder like touching fire. This is Master's idea. Don't act weird, okay?
Miraculously, the usually dramatic eldest brother didn't. Maybe he was still half asleep. He blinked at Cheng Qian, yawned, and waved him off weakly. "Got it. You go first."
For once, Yan Zhengming's peach blossom eyes looked gentle, a soft mist blurring their usual arrogance.
Then he asked quietly, "By the way, what's your name?"
"…Cheng Qian."
"Oh," Yan Zhengming nodded, already losing interest. Compared to his disdain for Li Yun and his dramatic avoidance of Han Yuan, this was practically polite.
He stopped looking at Cheng Qian, covered his mouth with a hand, and yawned again, waiting for Xiao Yu'er to come comb his hair.
Cheng Qian had once suspected that their eldest brother might be a flamboyant peacock—his behavior certainly fit. But seeing him groomed every morning without losing a single feather, Cheng Qian dismissed the theory. Any real peacock pampered like that daily would've gone bald already.
The hair on Yan Zhengming's head was still thick and healthy, so… he was probably some even stranger kind of creature.
Just then, a Daoist boy arrived, offering Master Mu Chun a wooden sword with both hands.
Cheng Qian and Han Yuan straightened up immediately. They'd grown up on stories of sword-riding immortals who flew with the wind. Even Cheng Qian—jaded as he was—felt a spark of excitement deep inside.
He wouldn't admit it, but the legend still stirred something in him.