WBICDPH Chapter 119

Chapter 119: Plucking the Zither

Hearing this, Jiang Xianrou paused slightly.

Ever since she was little, everyone who met her for the first time would praise her for being cute or pretty. Only this person, standing before her now, opened with, “Nice moves.”

Jiang Xianrou felt a little pleased. She looked the woman up and down and asked,
“Big sister, what do you do?”

“A cultivator,” the woman replied calmly.
“I came to your small town to rid it of demons.”

“Rid it of demons?” The term was unfamiliar to Jiang Xianrou.

But the woman didn’t explain, nor did she seem interested in continuing the conversation. Without lingering, she turned and left the courtyard.

Jiang Xianrou didn’t call out to stop her. She simply stared blankly in the direction the woman had gone.

Was that a sword on her back?

Jiang Xianrou had seen illustrations of sword-wielding figures in her brother’s study, but they were always men. She had never known that women could wield swords too.

Fascinated, after climbing down from the wall that day, she borrowed one of those illustrated manuals from her brother and picked up a tree branch, imitating the figures in the drawings.

She treated it as a game, a way to pass the time—but when her mother caught her, she flew into a rage.

Her mother scolded her harshly, saying her behavior was crude and lacking all the grace of a proper young lady, more like a village peasant. She said Jiang Xianrou was far too mischievous and had learned none of the etiquette she had been taught.

Jiang Xianrou listened, but couldn’t help replying,
“Mother, why are you so inconsistent? When my brother climbs trees, scales walls, catches fish and birds, you praise him for being brave and resourceful, like a young general. Even when he causes trouble, you say it’s just a youthful spirit. But today, all I did was wave a tree branch in the backyard—why must you scold me like this?”

Her mother’s face turned pale with anger.
“How can your brother be the same as you? He is a boy, and you are a girl!”

“What difference does that make? Aren’t we both human? We both have a head and two legs—how are we any different?”

“You—!”

Unable to argue with her, her mother clutched her chest and sat down, then punished Jiang Xianrou by making her kneel in the ancestral hall.

Though punished, Jiang Xianrou didn’t think she was wrong.

Kneeling on the cushion, she wondered: why must people always dictate how others should live? Why must men wield swords, study, and serve in office, but not cook, embroider, or wear beautiful hairpins? Why must women follow the “three obediences and four virtues,” become virtuous wives and mothers, never run wild, never practice swordplay, and certainly never bring a bride price to marry a man?

How strange.

Even snowflakes are never identical—so why do people force their children to conform, to become exactly what others expect?

She thought about it for a long time, until her knees began to ache, but still couldn’t understand.

Later that night, someone quietly slipped into the ancestral hall.

It was her older brother. He brought her food and a soft cushion, placing it beneath her knees, then took out her favorite pastries.

“Xiao Rou, you must be hungry. Why argue with Mother? Just listen when she scolds you—if you don’t like it, let it go in one ear and out the other. You felt good in the moment, but now you’re stuck kneeling here. Do you regret it? If it weren’t for me caring about you, you’d still be starving.”

Her brother was more than ten years older and already of marriageable age. He had always doted on his little sister. While their parents insisted on punishing her, he was the only one who worried whether she was hurting or hungry.

“No regrets.”

Jiang Xianrou took the pastry and stuffed her cheeks full.

Her brother chuckled helplessly and ruffled her hair.

Looking up at him, she swallowed her food and, after a pause, suddenly asked,
“Brother, is your wedding with Miss Li set for next March?”

“It is,” he said, surprised.
“You remember that?”

“Mm. I want to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you like Miss Li?”

“Huh?” He hadn’t expected that.
“You little rascal—how old are you to be worrying about this already?”

“I may be young, but our parents are already planning who I’ll marry. Why can’t I care?”

At that, his playful expression faded. He thought seriously for a moment, then shook his head.

“I’ve only met her once. I don’t even remember what she looks like. How could I say I like her?”

“Then why marry her?” Jiang Xianrou pressed.

“Because Father and Mother think she’s suitable.”

“But shouldn’t marriage be based on mutual affection? You’ve only met her once—you don’t even remember her face. Yet you’re willing to marry her? You’ll be spending decades together.”

“Maybe… because that’s just how things are.”

He smiled faintly, a little helpless.
“Look around—how many couples truly love each other? People have to marry eventually. When the time comes, if you can’t find someone you truly love, you find someone suitable. If love comes after marriage, that’s good. If not, you just treat each other with respect and make do.”

“Who decided that?”

“Hm?”

“Who made that rule? Who says people must marry when they come of age? And who decides what ‘suitable’ means?”

Jiang Xianrou shook her head.
“How strange.”

“What do you think about all day?” Her brother laughed.
“Don’t worry about these things yet—they’re my concern, not yours. You’re still far from all that.”

He smiled, then reached into his robe with a mysterious look.
“Guess what I brought you.”

“What?”

He pulled out a small wooden sword.

It wasn’t large—about the length of his forearm—clearly a simple toy.

“You asked for that sword manual—interested in swordplay? Here, take this. Now you won’t have to swing tree branches.”

Jiang Xianrou’s eyes lit up. She reached for it eagerly, but just as she was about to grab it, he pulled it back.

“On one condition—you can only play with it in your room. Don’t let Father and Mother see, or I’ll get scolded too.”

“Got it.”

She quickly took the sword.

It was roughly made, likely carved by her brother himself, but she loved it.

Later, when it grew late, her brother chatted with her a bit longer before leaving, even leaving behind his cloak.

Wrapped in it, Jiang Xianrou knelt in the brightly lit ancestral hall, idly playing with the wooden sword, mimicking the clumsy moves she’d seen in the drawings.

Eventually, she grew sleepy. Just as she was about to lie down using the cloak as bedding, the hall doors suddenly burst open in the wind.

It was the dead of winter. A biting gust rushed in, bending the candle flames until they flickered out.

Startled, Jiang Xianrou turned. The wind stung her eyes, and she could barely make out a dark shadow slipping through the doorway.

The moment it entered, the air turned cold.

She gripped her wooden sword tightly, staring at it in tension.

The shadow coiled in a corner, as if confronting her.

“What are you?” she demanded, summoning her courage.
“Don’t come any closer!”

But it ignored her. After writhing for a moment, it suddenly lunged at her like a black snake.

Jiang Xianrou flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and instinctively thrusting her wooden sword forward.

Just before it struck her, she felt the blade pierce something soft—and heard a shrill scream.

In the next instant, a streak of sky-blue flashed into the hall. A gentle light enveloped her, and beyond it, the woman in the sky-blue robe spun her sword in a graceful arc and drove it into the shadow’s chest.

Jiang Xianrou watched as the shadow shrieked and dissipated beneath her blade. It all happened so quickly—so cleanly.

Wide-eyed, she looked up.

It was the same woman she had seen by the wall.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked, sheathing her sword and withdrawing the protective barrier.

Jiang Xianrou shook her head and glanced at the now-quiet hall.
“You’re amazing.”

“So are you.”

The woman looked at the wooden sword in Jiang Xianrou’s hand, still faintly glowing with spiritual energy.
“To injure a spirit with an ordinary wooden sword, without any training—you have rare talent.”

She reached out and gently straightened Jiang Xianrou’s crooked hairpin.
“I am Fang Yunzi of the Piaomiao Pavilion. Would you like to cultivate under me?”

“Cultivate?” Jiang Xianrou didn’t quite understand.
“What does that mean?”

Fang Yunzi smiled softly.
“To follow the path your heart seeks, and with your own strength, uphold justice in the world.”

“Justice? Isn’t that something only men do? What would I do—embroider?”

“Only men? Who says so?” Fang Yunzi chuckled.
“You won’t be holding a needle—you’ll be holding a sword.”

A sword.

Jiang Xianrou looked at the blade on Fang Yunzi’s back, recalling her earlier display, and nodded without hesitation.

“I want to! I want to cultivate!”

“But you should know—this path is dangerous. It’s far less stable than the life you have now.”

“I’m not afraid. This ‘stable’ life isn’t what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want a life without rigid rules. I want to be free, to do what I want—like a bird, like the wind.”

“Very well.”

Fang Yunzi’s eyes softened with approval.
“It’s late. I’ll come for you tomorrow.”

Jiang Xianrou eagerly agreed, watching her leave.

After she was gone, she relit the candles. Her heart pounded wildly as she kept replaying the image of Fang Yunzi wielding her sword.

No one had said justice belonged only to men. She wouldn’t hold a needle—she would hold a sword.

She wished she could leave with Fang Yunzi right then. Too excited to sleep, she stayed awake all night, waiting eagerly at dawn for her return.

But before Fang Yunzi arrived, she heard her mother’s voice from afar:

“No!”

Jiang Xianrou froze. Sensing what it meant, she quietly slipped out of the hall and followed the sound.

In the courtyard, Fang Yunzi stood with her whisk, facing Jiang Xianrou’s stern parents.

“Cultivation? I think you’re a fraud,” her mother snapped.
“That’s something for men to do. Why are you eyeing our daughter? Who knows if you’re some trafficker trying to abduct her?”

Fang Yunzi didn’t argue. She formed a hand seal and revealed the jade token of the Piaomiao Pavilion.

Seeing her magic and the exquisite token, clearly not of this world, the parents’ expressions changed.

After exchanging glances, Jiang’s father spoke:
“My apologies. We spoke rashly. But there are so many boys in this town—why must you take our daughter? To be honest, she is already being arranged for marriage. Cultivation is too dangerous—let men handle such things. As for her… we only wish for her to marry, manage a household, and live a peaceful life.”

“Her life should be her own choice,” Fang Yunzi said calmly.
“Even as her parents, you cannot decide for her.”

She continued,
“No one says men must brave danger while women live in safety. A woman’s purpose is not to serve her husband and raise children, nor to exist as an accessory to a man. Your daughter is a natural-born sword cultivator. Her talent surpasses every male cultivator I’ve seen. She was born with the heart and hands meant to wield a sword—not to cook for others.”