SES Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The old city’s charm lay in how it stayed cool all year round—cool enough to feel refreshing, but never biting.

This time of year, most of the north might still be clinging to the tail end of winter, snow and rain lingering. But here, farmland gleamed in bright sunlight, and willows were sprouting green again. Further north, the vast plains of Shangri-La unfurled like a massive canvas, each day dipped in fresh, vibrant ink.

Almost every day, Mu Dai would bring Cao Yanhua to Luo Ren’s house to “train.” In her words, it’s spacious, quiet, and there’s no risk of anyone spying on them to steal techniques.

It was early morning, the soft sweep of a broom brushing the courtyard stones. Cao Yanhua was working up a sweat, broom swinging with audible effort. Every time he started sweeping, he’d curse Luo Ren to hell and back in his heart—“So what if you’re rich? The average person in China lives in a space no bigger than 300 square feet. What makes you think you deserve a sprawling mansion with a triple courtyard and decorative wall?”

Mu Dai’s training orders had been very clear: sweep everything. Big rooms, little rooms, every nook and cranny. Nothing left untouched.

Sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes, stinging like hell, but Cao Yanhua just blinked a few times. No time to wipe his face.

And let’s not forget—he had twenty pounds of weights strapped to each arm. Add the ones on his legs, and he was hauling around over fifty pounds in total. At this point, lying down would’ve been exhausting, let alone sweeping.

And yet—look at his “Little Master.”

Cao Yanhua glanced bitterly at Mu Dai, who was lounging on a cushion on the steps, back against a column, leisurely reading a book. Beside her sat a bowl of freshly washed blueberries. Now, anyone else would just eat them, but not her. No, she had to flick them into the air—sometimes over a meter high—and then, without ever taking her eyes off the page, she’d lean, open her mouth, and catch them perfectly. Over and over. Like she had eyes on top of her head.

Cao Yanhua felt a wave of jealousy and sorrow crash over him. At this rate, how many lifetimes would it take for him to become a “Shaolin sweeping monk”?

He pushed on a little longer, until his legs were shaking and his arms trembled like leaves in the wind. “Little Master,” he gasped, “I can’t take it anymore. Seriously, I’m done…”

Mu Dai replied in a mock-wise tone, “Persevere. It’s for your good.”

In international competitions, fighters at least get separated by weight class. Even if this was “for his good,” couldn’t she at least consider what a fat guy could realistically handle?

Five more minutes passed. Cao Yanhua’s brain buzzed, and her vision went dark. He swung the broom one last time with all his strength—and collapsed.

Mu Dai moved like a swallow skimming water, darting across the courtyard just in time to catch him by the collar and ease him into a sitting position before he could faceplant. In her other hand, like a magician pulling a trick, she produced a tiny facial mist bottle—one of those girlie kinds—and sprayed it right in his face.

It worked because Cao Yanhua’s little eyes popped open. He stared blankly ahead.

“Fatty Cao, keep going. You’re just a beginner, so I’m letting you use my face mist. Next time, I’m switching to wasabi juice.”

“I really can’t… I need to rest…” he mumbled, eyes still glazed. “I think I just… hallucinated or something…”

Mu Dai crouched to get a look from his eye level. “What kind of hallucination?”

In the sunlight, the dust he’d kicked up was still settling slowly from his last broom swing.

“In the middle of all that dust,” Cao Yanhua whispered dramatically, “I swear I saw… a line of tiny people, and the one in front was riding something. But then—poof—they were gone…”

Mu Dai gave a sweet smile. “Oh?”

Then immediately dropped the act. “Keep talking. Next, take the feather duster and dust every support beam and floral carving on the corridor columns!”

They say, “A teacher for a day is a father for life.” So, how come there were still so many stories in ancient times about disciples turning on their masters? Cao Yanhua used to wonder. Now, he was starting to get it.

Back at the bar, just as they walked through the door, they heard Uncle Zhang talking about “thirteen grand.”

“What’s with you lately?” he asked. “You go out once and come back like you’ve lost your soul. Where’s your motivation?”

“Uncle,” came the tired reply, “with a salary this low, you expect me to be motivated?”

Mid-complaint, he spotted Mu Dai and Cao Yanhua. His tone shifted. “Anyway, just ask the boss lady. Going out with her wrecked my worldview. I need time to recalibrate.”

Mu Dai rolled her eyes. Seriously? After all the insane stuff you calmly witnessed—like cursed bamboo slips and the phoenix seal—this is what makes you clutch your pearls?

Just as she was gearing up to roast him, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and immediately picked up. “Hello?”

Yiwansan gave a snort, shrugged like he couldn’t care less, and silently mouthed to Cao Yanhua: “It’s Luo Ren.”

Cao Yanhua gave him a knowing nod, and the two leaned in, eavesdropping.

But Mu Dai was already on guard—she turned away and kept her voice low, murmuring things like “Yeah,” “Okay,” and “No problem.” Just when they were about to give up listening, her voice suddenly shot up an octave.

“Really? When?”

Oho! Something’s up! Cao Yanhua and Yiwansan perked right up.

Mu Dai’s face dropped. She clenched her fists and stomped a few times in frustration. Even after she hung up, she kept sighing dramatically.

Luo Ren probably isn’t coming back—serves him right, thought Yiwansan gleefully. He asked, “What happened?”

Mu Dai flopped into a chair, chin on the table, and groaned, “Luo Ren said… he’s meeting the Taoist tonight.”

The wineglass in Yiwansan’s hand slipped and clattered on the bar. He caught it quickly and nervously looked around.

Only Uncle Zhang shot him an annoyed glare as he passed.

“I should’ve seen it coming!” Mu Dai groaned, fingers tangled in her hair like she wanted to rip it out. “The Taoist’s obsessed with the supernatural, of course, he’d want to see the cursed bamboo slip for himself. And since it’s with Luo Ren, obviously, he’d go to him. I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

Cao Yanhua offered his condolences. “Yeah, yeah, grieve in peace, Auntie Xianglin.”

Taoist or not, what’s the big deal? The guy probably looks like a stick himself. What was Mu Dai so worked up about?

Yiwansan chimed in, sounding oddly off: “What’s the point of going all that way? Why not just have Luo Ren take a photo?”

Mu Dai gave him a sideways look. “Of course it’s worth it. If it weren’t, why would the Taoist bother making the trip?”

“Luo Ren borrowed the kind of camera you mentioned,” she added. “He said that after he meets the Taoist tonight, they’ll do a high-speed burst shoot and digitally stack the photos. That way we’ll get ultra-detailed images.”

She didn’t forget to rub it in. “Way better than those dog-scratched sketches you made. Who knows—we might find more clues.”

Yiwansan stayed quiet, obsessively polishing the same glass over and over. His hand trembled slightly.

It’s fine, he told himself. Even if Luo Ren finds more drawings, they’ll never figure out what they mean.

And yet… his thoughts wandered. He could almost hear the ocean waves. Sunlight on the dark gray eaves the elder had once described as “soaring like birds,” so bright it hurt to open his eyes.

Mu Dai reached for her phone several times, but always stopped—didn’t want to interrupt whatever Luo Ren and the Taoist were doing. She was restless all night. Even in bed, she couldn’t stop tossing and turning.

Finally, close to midnight, the call came.

She picked up at once, rapid-fire: “Did you meet him? What does he look like? Is he hot? Does he have that sage-like aura? Did you take pictures?”

How was Luo Ren supposed to answer that?

He recalled the Taoist arriving, one hand holding a red-white-blue plastic bag, the other clutching a KFC family bucket, grinning as he opened the car door…

“…He’s definitely… unique.”

Mu Dai sighed like a tragic heroine denied her one fated meeting. “Ugh, what a missed connection.”

Then something struck her. “What about the stacked photos? Did it work?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

His tone was off. Mu Dai sat straight up. “What happened?”

“No one saw the water shadows. Not me, not the Taoist, not even the high-speed camera we borrowed.”

They tried everything. At first, they thought maybe the shutter speed was too fast, so they increased exposure time like you would when photographing star trails. Still nothing.

The Taoist said maybe the light arcs were just too dim, only visible to the naked eye.

But even he didn’t sound convinced. Cameras are supposed to be the third eye of humanity, capturing what the human eye can’t.

They turned off all the lights, waited a long time, but the basin of water remained completely still. No glint, no shimmer.

Mu Dai didn’t understand. “But that night, we all saw it! Even if we didn’t realize it was a drawing, every ten seconds or so, those arcs of light kept appearing.”

“I told the Taoist the same thing,” Luo Ren replied. “I even said maybe it was the angle—maybe it was because of where Yiwansan was sitting. The Taoist tried every position, twisted his neck in every direction… Nothing.”

Mu Dai racked her brain. “Could it be the bamboo slip died? You stabbed it that day. Maybe it looked fine at the time, but then succumbed to its injuries?”

Luo Ren gave a helpless laugh, picking up the same knife from the table. “Mu Dai, don’t forget—the Taoist said the water shadows come from the Phoenix Lock. If they’re gone, it’s probably not because the cursed slip died… it’s because someone strangled the Phoenix Lock.”

At that, his heart skipped a beat.

His gaze slowly dropped to the steel-bladed knife in his hand.

Mu Dai’s voice came faintly. “Luo Ren?”

He didn’t answer. Holding his breath, he looked at the blade. It had a matte finish, but still reflected its surroundings just enough.

Had he imagined it?

Just now, he could’ve sworn he saw a line of tiny people walking across the surface of the blade.