Flower Stealing Master

A few hours later, the three of them were on the open sea, surrounded by endless blue. The Isle of Heroes had dispatched a large vessel to escort their honoured young lord back to the Central Plains, and after the assassination incident, they were taking no chances — a substantial force of skilled fighters had been assigned to ensure nothing went wrong on the journey.

“There are Isle of Heroes people everywhere outside,” Zhou Zhiruo said, lifting the window a crack and peering out with a worried frown. “How are we going to get away?”

Song Qingshu, passing as the young lord, had been given the finest cabin on the ship. She and Qi Fang, regarded as the young lord’s consorts, had naturally been placed in the same room.

Since boarding, Zhou Zhiruo had been quietly assessing the guard arrangements, and had arrived at the deflating conclusion that not even a fly could have slipped out unnoticed.

“Come and sit down, Zhiruo. Looking won’t help.” Song Qingshu was reclining in a chair, hands laced behind his head, entirely at ease.

“I genuinely don’t understand how you can be this relaxed.” Zhou Zhiruo knew she wasn’t going to solve anything by staring out the window, and let it fall shut. On her way back to him she gave him a look that conveyed her opinion of his composure. “Don’t you know you’ve walked into the tiger’s den without knowing who put the tiger there in the first place. I want to know who is really behind the Isle of Heroes.”

In his previous life, reading The Swordsman of All Swordsmen, he had taken the Isle’s people simply as a collection of martial arts devotees who had removed themselves from the world. But since arriving in this era and dealing with them directly on several occasions, he had found them nothing like that simple impression — more like a great beast concealed in shadow, which, once it moved, would shake the earth.

Having stumbled inside by chance, leaving without learning its secrets would be an enormous waste of the opportunity.

“But you’ve been poisoned — you can barely protect yourself right now. Couldn’t you investigate once you’ve recovered?” Zhou Zhiruo stamped her foot lightly.

Song Qingshu raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I still have you, don’t I?”

Zhou Zhiruo pressed her lips together with a look of genuine worry. “I’m only one person. I’m not sure I can guarantee your safety with this many Isle of Heroes fighters around us.”

“And we have Sister Qi here as well.” Song Qingshu gestured toward Qi Fang.

Qi Fang had been sitting rather awkwardly to begin with — she was, after all, plainly the third party here, and felt like an unwanted extra in someone else’s scene. Hearing Song Qingshu mention her, she waved both hands in quick protest. “I — my martial arts are too low. I’d only hold you both back.”

Zhou Zhiruo’s brow creased slightly. She knew Qi Fang wasn’t being falsely modest — Qi Fang’s martial arts were a step above an ordinary person’s, but no more than that. In the wulin she would barely register, and in truth she would be outmatched by some of the more senior Emei disciples.

Song Qingshu chose his moment. “Your foundations are actually quite sound, my lady. The only problem has been the lack of access to more advanced arts. Emei’s martial tradition is broad and deep, and well-suited to women’s cultivation. Why not have this Emei sect master teach you a few things?”

Qi Fang looked more flustered than ever. “I’m dull by nature — I couldn’t possibly trouble the Sect Master…”

Zhou Zhiruo also frowned, directing a look at Song Qingshu that was not entirely gentle. “You know perfectly well that established sects have rules about this. Our arts are not passed to outsiders.”

Song Qingshu shrugged without particular concern. “Then have her join the Emei Sect.”

Zhou Zhiruo hesitated. “Having Elder Sister Qi join Emei is one thing — but I can hardly take her as my disciple.”

“Of course not. You two are sisters.” Song Qingshu added the remark with prompt innocence.

Qi Fang went pink. Zhou Zhiruo caught the implication beneath the words and gave him a pointed look, then said: “If she joins as a fellow disciple rather than mine, then she’d naturally be senior to me in the lineage. And it would be rather strange for a martial-junior to teach her martial-senior.”

“You’re a lovely young woman and look what the sect’s rules have done to you,” Song Qingshu sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just teach her privately. No one else needs to know.”

“But —” Zhou Zhiruo began.

“These are exceptional circumstances,” Song Qingshu interrupted. “Don’t you want one more person protecting your husband?”

“Oh, fine.” Zhou Zhiruo relented, her concern for his safety winning as it usually did. She turned to Qi Fang, and her expression softened. “Elder Sister, please don’t think I was trying to avoid helping you just now. The sect rules really are —” she started to bow in apology.

Qi Fang quickly caught her. “Sister Zhou, there’s no need for that at all. I would never think anything of it. If anything, I’m worried that my dull aptitude will mean I can’t learn what you’d teach.”

“I know elder sister is too generous a person to think badly of anyone.” Zhou Zhiruo smiled. “You don’t need to worry — Emei’s arts are of the orthodox school, and they’re not difficult to begin.”

What she left unsaid was the other side of that truth: orthodox school arts tended toward the balanced and harmonious, easy to start but genuinely difficult to perfect. In the wulin, orthodox disciples generally progressed more slowly than those of unorthodox sects in the early years — but by twenty years, the gap had usually closed; by thirty years, the orthodox disciples had typically surpassed them.

Zhou Zhiruo drew Qi Fang to sit beside her on the bed. “All of Emei’s arts are built on internal cultivation. I’ll start with the Emei Nine Yang Art — please pay close attention…” She lowered her voice and began reciting the inner-cultivation method.

Song Qingshu watched the two of them bend their heads close together on the bed, and felt a satisfied smile spread across his face. A harmonious household — that’s the true foundation of a man’s domestic bliss. Though getting there still seems a long way off.

“Elder Sister Qi — the Emei Nine Yang Art needs years of dedicated practice before it shows real results. Given how little time we have, I’ll channel my internal energy to open your meridians first, and bring you to a basic level of competency.” Without waiting for a response, Zhou Zhiruo extended her slender fingers and began pressing them to the meridian points along Qi Fang’s body.

Qi Fang started to say something. Zhou Zhiruo cut her off immediately: “Don’t speak — focus on the pathway of true qi moving through you and remember it.”

Qi Fang nodded. She was no great martial artist, but she was a person of the wulin, and she understood what Zhou Zhiruo was doing — this kind of assistance consumed enormous internal energy, a pure act of generosity at cost to herself.

Some time passed. Zhou Zhiruo let out a quiet breath and drew her hands back, visibly fatigued. “Run the circuit a few more times on your own, following the same path — fix the qi in place. I need to rest.”

She was about to drop onto the bed and pull the covers over her head when she noticed that her clothes were soaked through with sweat, clammy and deeply uncomfortable. She frowned and called out: “Qingshu — can you ask the servants outside to prepare a bucket of hot water? I’d like to bathe before I sleep. Actually — make it two. Elder Sister Qi will probably need one as well after this.”

“Of course.” Hearing the exhaustion in her voice, and seeing how drained she looked, Song Qingshu felt a wave of tenderness. He went out, gave the instructions, came straight back, and took her hand. “Zhiruo — are you all right?”

“I’m fine. With my current cultivation, a few days’ rest will restore what I’ve used. And this ship won’t be docking for several days — I won’t need to do anything physically demanding in the meantime.” Zhou Zhiruo let herself lean against him, soft and worn.

Before long, there was a sound from the door. Zhou Zhiruo sat up. A peculiar expression crossed her face.

“Why is there only one bucket?”

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