"Here's your sword," the Dark Wind Master said as he casually tossed the now sheathed blade toward me. "You're clearly better off holding that than that pathetic stick."
I caught it in one hand, studying the weapon. "Master, this isn't mine. Someone threw it to me during the fight… I didn't see who."
"Then find out who it belongs to and return it properly," he replied without a hint of concern. "And while you're at it, start saving up for a decent sword. A real one."
I let out a sigh and glanced down at myself. The current had washed away most of the monster's remains—but not all—and my robes were still soaked, leaving a trail of water wherever I stood.
"Master, you owe me a new set of clothes," I said.
He raised a brow, his smirk widening. "Oh, I'm afraid your master is so poor I can't even afford a new set for myself. But fret not—we can remedy that."
Before I could respond, he cast a sudden gust of wind that lifted me off my feet, carrying me through the air like a stray leaf. I flailed instinctively, landing unceremoniously on the bow of the ship. As I stumbled upright, another windstorm hit me—a warm, rotating cyclone that encased me in its vortex. The force whipped my hair and clothes wildly, and for a moment, I was blinded by the sheer intensity.
A minute later, the winds subsided, leaving me standing with disheveled hair and crumpled clothes that were, admittedly, dry. The Dark Wind Master crossed his arms, a self-satisfied look on his face.
"There," he declared, clearly proud of himself. "Nice and dry. Just like brand new!"
I brushed a hand through my tangled hair, suppressing the urge to throw my staff at him. "This master is the worse," I muttered under my breath.
With a resigned sigh, I began smoothing out my hair and clothes, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Now, push the ship to the dock," the Dark Wind Master ordered, his tone as casual as if he were asking me to brew tea.
I blinked at him. "I just fought a monster, and you want me to push the ship?"
"Don't tell me you're too tired," he taunted, his grin widening. "Is the great Wei Fan just a tale, then?"
The name made me freeze, my hands clenching involuntarily.
"Is the engine not working?" I asked.
"Will I ask you to push if it is?"
I sighed.
From the deck, I jumped into a small boat that had survived the mutated plant's attack. After I positioned myself before the hull of the ship, I closed my eyes, drew a slow breath, and summoned my energy.
With a forceful sweep of my arm, a powerful gust of wind surged across the river, slamming into the ship's hull and pushing it forward. The massive vessel groaned, then slowly began to drift toward the dock, the water parting in frothy waves as I redirected the current with precise bursts of qi.
It wasn't easy. The weight of the ship and the shifting pull of the river demanded constant control—but I said nothing, keeping my focus sharp, refusing to let my thoughts drift toward the presence I could feel nearby.
I knew he was watching me.
By the time the ship finally reached the dock, my breath was coming shallow. The stranded passengers wasted no time boarding, their faces full of relief and murmured gratitude.
"Are they not going to check the ship first?" I asked, still panting slightly as the Dark Wind Master landed on another boat beside me in a gust of air.
"The repair wharf is on the other side of the river," he replied, completely unfazed.
I blinked. "Then why did you make me push the ship to this side?"
He gave a casual shrug. "Because the passengers are here."
I stared at him. "So after they board, I'm going to have to push it all the way across again?"
"Are you complaining?" His tone could have cleaved a mountain in two.
I exhaled slowly, trying not to sound mutinous. "Master, this river is enormous. I don't have enough energy to move a ship this size to the other side." I paused and tried to look across the river. "I can't even see the docks on the other side from here."
"Consider it your punishment for breaking your word," he said. "And take it as an opportunity to improve your endurance. Refine your wind skill. I'll take over once you're on the verge of collapse."
Once I'm a breath away from death, I wanted to mutter—but I kept the words behind my teeth. There was no point. He was immovable.
This master truly was worse than Ruan Yanjun.
…Which reminded me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him step aboard the ship with Huang Wen at his side. His gaze never wavered. Not once did he glance toward me. It was as if I didn't exist.
The indifference hit harder than I cared to admit, but I pushed the feeling down. I had more pressing matters to deal with than his cold, unreadable silences.
Once the passengers had boarded, the process of loading horses and carriages began. A loud voice rose from the crowd.
"Make way! These are Priest Luo's carriages!"
Xiao Delun.
I turned, half-dreading what I'd see. Sure enough, Xiao Delun was strutting proudly at the reins, guiding his own wagon and Li Yao's side by side to the very front of the line. Both of them were grinning like fools, waving at me as if they hadn't just abused my name in front of a hundred people.
Still… a faint smile tugged at my lips despite myself.
I jumped onto the deck to rest while waiting for the passengers to finish boarding. As I leaned against the railing, I let out a slow breath and glanced down at the sword still sheathed in my hand—the one that had been tossed to me mid-battle. I hadn't had time to think about it until now.
I turned it over slowly, my fingers brushing along the scabbard. The material was worn but familiar, the faint ridges along the guard etched in a pattern I hadn't seen in years. My heart stilled. I unsheathed it an inch—just enough to glimpse the blade.
A chill crept over my skin.
There, carved faintly into the metal near the base of the blade, was my own name: Fan.
Not one I'd inscribed myself, but one engraved by my former master. This was my sword. The very same sword I had left behind seven years ago.
I gripped the hilt tighter, stunned. The weight of it in my palm felt too familiar—like an echo of who I used to be. Of the life that had been stripped away.
Who had tossed it to me?
My gaze swept across the crowd on the dock. Cultivators, merchants, passengers—none looked familiar. I scanned the faces one by one, eyes sharp, desperate.
No one met my gaze. No one stepped forward.
I turned toward the ship, hoping to find some clue, some flicker of recognition in the eyes of those onboard. Huang Wen was helping the crew settle the horses. The Dark Wind Master stood at the other end, casually flipping his fan. Ruan Yanjun…
He stood at the upper deck, one hand on the rail, his back half-turned.
Watching.
But if he had noticed my distress, he gave no indication. His expression was placid, unreadable as always.
I clenched the sword again, a mix of confusion and unease swirling in my chest.
How had this sword found its way back to me?
And more importantly… who had kept it safe all this time?
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
RUAN YANJUN
— ✦ —
The vast river stretched endlessly before us, its surface catching the golden light of late afternoon. Shimmering reflections danced upon the ripples, casting fleeting glimmers across the hull of the ship. But I wasn't looking at the water.
My gaze rested solely on him.
Luo Fan stood poised on a small boat, his silhouette framed by the sun's glow—windswept, radiant, and maddeningly distant. With a smooth, commanding motion, he summoned a powerful draft of wind beneath the stranded vessel. The air obeyed him like a loyal beast, stirring the river into rippling currents that surged beneath the ship. The deck groaned as it shifted, inching ever closer to the dock.
It had been nearly an hour since he and the Dark Wind Master began moving the boat. He never once asked for rest.
I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, saying nothing.
It wasn't just his skill that held me here, unmoving.
Every motion he made was deliberate—each gust of wind, each step across the boat. Even soaked and disheveled, he exuded the kind of quiet control most cultivators spent decades trying to mimic. His long black hair had come undone from its usual restraint, whipping freely in the wind he himself had summoned. It framed his face in loose strands that clung to his temple and cheek, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, and the unwavering resolve in his gaze.
He was… beautiful.
The thought rooted itself before I could drive it away.
There was something sacred in the way he stood, as though the weight of the world bowed to him yet he refused to be crushed by it. Sweat beaded his forehead. His breath was controlled, his movements sharp. He had pushed himself past his limit—and still pressed forward.
He didn't know what he looked like.
He didn't know what he did to me.
Of all the cultivators I'd met in my long life, not one had ever carved their presence so deeply into my bones. Not one had stirred this ache in my chest. This longing.
And yet… not once had he looked at me.
Not truly.
He was keeping his word. The one request he made four months ago—that if we were ever to meet again, we'd treat each other as strangers.
And so I did. I kept my distance. I restrained my words, buried my fire, and gave him what he asked for.
But when he spotted the bamboo stick drifting away—the same one I had gifted him months ago—and dove into the river without a second thought… I felt something inside me break.
He nearly drowned.
His qi faltered in the current, and for a moment, I felt the world still.
He didn't risk his life for the stick.
He did it for what it represented.
Me.
Even now, he won't admit it. Won't show it openly. But that single reckless act told me more than words ever could.
Despite everything—despite his silence and his distance—I still meant something to him.
And that was all I needed to know.
When the ship finally docked, a cheer erupted from the gathered crowd. Luo Fan exhaled, his chest rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths. He turned toward the crowd, his lips curving into a modest smile. It was as though their praise embarrassed him, and that humility—so rare among cultivators—stirred something within me.
That smile. It was radiant, heartwarming, and utterly captivating. Yet, as beautiful as it was, I couldn't help the pang of jealousy that surged within me. I wished… selfishly, desperately wished… that he had given that smile to me instead. My chest tightened as I realized how fiercely I desired his attention, his regard. But he didn't even glance my way.
As the wind shifted, it caught his sleeves and his hair, sending them billowing in graceful arcs. For a moment, he looked otherworldly, like a figure plucked from the heavens.
My A-Fan.
The thought came unbidden. My hands curled into fists behind my back, steadying the sudden rush of want.
My heart was beating too quickly. My breath came short. I, who had mastered restraint and calculation, felt myself unraveling.
I wanted him. More than I had ever wanted power or vengeance or peace. More than I had wanted anything in my long, ruthless life.
Behind me, Huang Wen shifted awkwardly. "Master," he ventured carefully, "shall we assist Priest Luo?"
I didn't answer immediately. My gaze remained locked on Luo Fan as he leapt lightly onto the dock. The motion was effortless. He landed with grace that belied the strength it took, as if gravity itself yielded to his presence. He brushed back his hair with a casual flick of his hand, unaware of how elegant the gesture was. Unaware of the hearts he stirred.
He was utterly, infuriatingly unaware of mine.
"There's no need," I said at last, my voice low and final. "He doesn't need anyone's help."
Huang Wen gave me a confused glance, but I didn't explain.
I wouldn't. I couldn't.
Instead, I indulged myself in silence. Watching him. Letting my gaze linger on the gentle curve of his mouth, the proud line of his shoulders, the quiet fire in his eyes. He didn't demand attention—he commanded it, effortlessly. And I wasn't immune.
He was magnetic in a way that defied logic, and yet… he had no idea.
My fingers twitched behind my back. I had let him go once—told myself I would honor his request to remain strangers, to let him walk away without a fight.
But not this time.
This time, I would not lose him.
He belonged to me.
He always had.
And whether he realized it or not… I would make sure he fell for me again—just as hard, just as completely, just as devastatingly as I had fallen for him.