14 If There Comes a Day

“Cough, cough, cough—”
Sheng Ningyu choked on her saliva, coughing violently, her heart filled with grief and indignation.

Well then!

It turns out it was “me betraying myself”!

But how could she not remember having given this very thing to Chu Chang’an?

“Be careful.”

Someone behind her soothed her breathing, then handed her a snow-white handkerchief.

She was about to take it when the handkerchief was suddenly withdrawn. Puzzled, Sheng Ningyu looked up and met a pair of dark, ink-black eyes.

Those pupils were so deep, like molten ink; any light in the world that entered them would be swallowed and absorbed.

“You mustn’t move your right hand too much. I’ll do it.”

Sheng Ningyu was about to say it wasn’t a problem, but before she could, the other person gently pressed a hand against the corner of her lips.

This handkerchief was no luxurious silk embroidered with status, nor a celestial robe of superior quality. It was the most ordinary coarse linen, rough against the skin, far less soft and comfortable than the others.

But the warmth of that hand passed through the simple cotton fabric, transferring to her skin, stirring within Sheng Ningyu an unexpected fondness.

A living person—real, breathing.

She hadn’t been this close to anyone in a long while.

Earlier, when Yuan Shuohe was dressing her wound, their movements inevitably brushed, but his body temperature was too high, making Sheng Ningyu suspect he might have caught a cold or fever.

Not like Xie Qianjing.

His touch was cool and gentle, like cold jade warmed by another’s hand—not scorching enough to make one recoil, nor chilling enough to cause shivers.

Even contact didn’t cause her the slightest discomfort.

Sheng Ningyu’s mind wandered for only a few seconds before Xie Qianjing wiped the moisture from her lips and brushed away some stray grass caught in her sleeve when she had sat on the ground.

His movements were natural, neither too careful nor clumsy, as if he had done this many times before.

Though she had resolved earlier to keep her distance from him, at this moment, Sheng Ningyu felt so comfortable she didn’t want to move.

“Just a few bits of grass; it won’t cause any harm.” Sheng Ningyu propped her head with one hand, her eyes lazily scanning Xie Qianjing before settling back, “We can clean it up when everyone gets up in a couple of hours.”

Xie Qianjing paused, then withdrew his hand as instructed.

Everyone in Yunwang Palace had already closed their eyes to rest and replenish their spiritual energy. Before doing so, Yuan Shuohe carefully packed away his notes and left some pills and food for Sheng Ningyu and the others, agreeing they would rest for two hours before setting off again.

Sheng Ningyu toyed with a pill bottle for a while, then casually tossed them all into Xie Qianjing’s arms, exchanging them for a bead that obscured vision, which she twirled in her palm.

She stared at the spinning bead, reminding him, “These are pills from the Yuan family’s young master, worth a fortune. I won’t be needing them anytime soon. You should try them yourself.”

Though she said “worth a fortune,” she tossed them around carelessly, showing no sign of cherishing them.

Xie Qianjing picked up the pill bottle from his bosom; the ceramic vessel still held a cool temperature.

His fingertip unconsciously rubbed the bottle’s surface, then abruptly stopped.

With his lashes lowered, he spoke unexpectedly on an unrelated topic: “Your wound had ruptured before.”

Sheng Ningyu turned to look at him, then back to the campfire ahead, unable to help but smile wryly, “So what? Young Master Yuan helped me treat it. Besides, when traveling, bumps and scrapes are inevitable.”

The firelight was bright, carrying a wave of heat that flickered with the wind.

Sheng Ningyu recalled having been burned by fire before, so she instinctively recoiled slightly.

Xie Qianjing glanced at her, “When I first bandaged you, I saw the wound was very deep. If the sword technique had struck again, the bones in your right hand would have been completely shattered.”

Sheng Ningyu blinked, “So?”

Xie Qianjing flicked a branch to shift the fire farther away, “You refused to consume my blood and flesh; otherwise, you would have healed long ago.”

Sheng Ningyu scoffed lightly, arching an eyebrow at him, “Say what you will, but I absolutely refuse to consume your blood and flesh.”

A faint smile tugged at Xie Qianjing’s lips, or perhaps it didn’t.

They sat in silence for a moment. Xie Qianjing stared into the growing flames and suddenly asked,

“Why did you draw your sword?”

The question came abruptly, like a gust of wind blowing the fire toward them. Sheng Ningyu instinctively leaned back, her right hand reaching for her waist—but there was no sword.

Yet someone was faster than she was.

Without turning his head, Xie Qianjing raised a hand reflexively, half his body shielding her. His voice softened to coax a child unaware of their age, “It’s alright, don’t worry.”

His tone was not gentle, even a bit cold, but it was instinctively protective.

The flame’s glow illuminated the contours of his side profile, the scar on his brow becoming more pronounced.

Sheng Ningyu was startled, lifting her chin with an inexplicable tone, “I’m no child, Xie Qianjing. I’m not afraid of fire.”

Xie Qianjing seemed to finally realize this.

Their eyes met in the firelight.

The flames blazed fiercely in the quiet night.

Xie Qianjing adjusted his sleeve; his posture remained upright like bamboo, his voice returning to its usual gentleness, “Sorry for the earlier intrusion.”

Their positions subtly shifted; Xie Qianjing now sat closer to the fire.

Sheng Ningyu looked past him at the firelight for a while, then suddenly smiled, tilting her head, “Xie Qianjing, didn’t you say before that my right hand was born to wield a sword? Why are you now asking me why I drew my sword?”

Xie Qianjing quietly studied her for a moment, then gazed at the flames, “Because I don’t want you to lose your hand.”

He had recovered much now; controlling the marionette barrier was no longer a problem.

The earlier marionette barrier had not been natural to this place—it was released by him.

Xie Qianjing liked how Sheng Ningyu looked when wielding a sword—spirited, bold, and unrestrained.

But he did not like her saving others.

Especially those from the Chu family.

“Who wants to lose a hand? I don’t want that either.”

Sheng Ningyu didn’t look at him but stared into the campfire, leaning back against a tree trunk with a lazy, casual tone, “So I hesitated before drawing my sword. After all, dealing with such trivial matters wastes both time and effort.”

“But then I came to understand something.”

She laughed softly, the flames flickering in her eyes.

Xie Qianjing said nothing, only the crackling fire filled the silence.

Amid the roaring blaze, a faint voice came from behind, somewhat indistinct,

“I think if my sword strike could save even one person, then losing my hand would be worth it.”

Xie Qianjing: “Even if that person might be a villain?”

Sheng Ningyu: “If there’s a ‘might be,’ then they’re not truly evil.”

[Yes, that’s me—I’m willing to save anyone.]

[But I won’t save you, Xie Qianjing.]

[How pitiful you are, Xie Qianjing! I love everyone in the world, I save everyone in the world, but I will never save you!]

Since earlier—since Yuan Shuohe bandaged Sheng Ningyu—the demon in Xie Qianjing’s heart had been taunting him, never ceasing.

Mocking, venomous, and disdainful.

The cruelest words in the world were spoken in a voice identical to Sheng Ningyu’s.

Xie Qianjing’s lips curved faintly, neither confirming nor denying.

He didn’t mind, for he had long experienced this cold indifference from the Moonlight Sword Sovereign.

Only occasionally, when his mind wandered, strange, vague thoughts would surface.

But the demon in his heart always understood him faster.

Like now.

The demon’s voice, full of malice: [I will save everyone, but if at that moment the one being attacked is you—]

“—If at that moment the one being attacked is you, I will strike without hesitation, not a moment’s delay.”

Xie Qianjing suddenly lifted his head, locking eyes with a pair of bright, dazzling, smiling eyes.

The campfire still burned unevenly, stirred by the wind that swayed hearts and stirred clouds.

The fire was silent within, yet sound echoed outside; the sky bore no moon, yet the moon shone before them.

Just like a hundred years ago.

Bold and casual, shining recklessly.

All was still, illuminated solely by his heart of ice and snow.

Sheng Ningyu didn’t understand what had come over Xie Qianjing—after she spoke those words, he remained silent.

Had she misjudged him? Sheng Ningyu’s smile faded, her brows furrowing slightly.

She belatedly realized that Xie Qianjing might be uneasy about her closeness to Yunwang Palace, a kind of anxiety she herself had felt before.

Worrying a friend might find new companionship and forget her.

Worrying that her master and senior brothers might favor a new disciple and leave her behind.

But Sheng Ningyu’s worries always lasted only a moment.

After all, with her formidable swordsmanship and her considerate, gentle, kind, pleasant, well-mannered, and respectful nature, she believed no one could dislike her.

If anyone did, it only meant they had poor taste and judgment.

Like the one who had sealed her inside a coffin.

Truly a tasteless wretch.

Yet Sheng Ningyu also knew that someone as skilled and perfect as herself was exceedingly rare in the world; Xie Qianjing was certainly different.

Even if he occasionally showed a frost-like chill, as if his earlier gentleness was a façade, deep down Sheng Ningyu felt that Xie Qianjing must be a considerate and gentle person—perhaps even too gentle, too easy to bully.

She was no fool; though Xie Qianjing bore many mysteries and perhaps even some grievances with her, his repeated assistance could not be feigned.

So in trivial matters, Sheng Ningyu was willing to say a few kind words to make him happy.

Yet the methods that never failed before seemed ineffective with Xie Qianjing?

The firelight danced and flickered in her eyes until they grew sore; she rubbed them and was about to change the subject when Xie Qianjing chuckled softly.

“If that moment truly comes...” He paused, then seemed to remember something and laughed again, his voice gentle and light like a mountain spirit born from a bamboo grove.

“If I and another were attacked at the same time—say, that disciple from Yunwang Palace just now—if I could only save one, would you, Brother Ning, choose me?”