Ji Qinghong was just a hair's breadth away from dropping dead.
Rumors abound that Ji Qinghong has no conscience.
But in truth, the correct interpretation of this statement should be: Ji Qinghong occasionally has a conscience.
As Jiang Tingbai finished seeking advice and was about to take his leave, Ji Qinghong suddenly noticed his attire.
This senior disciple of Sulu Hall wore a sword robe that had faded to a pale hue, its coarse linen fabric softened from repeated washing, no longer stiff as it once was.
Observing this, Ji Qinghong fell into brief contemplation.
The proposal to confiscate Jiang Tingbai’s earnings for the next century had indeed been a compromise between him and the Sword Peak.
But what surprised Ji Qinghong was… did this disciple of his really have no savings at all before joining the Guiyuan Sect?
"I do have some savings," Jiang Tingbai replied humbly. "With careful budgeting, they could last a hundred years."
"However, after damaging the Great Dao Azure Sky Stele, I donated all those spirit stones to the sect’s external medical hall."
Ji Qinghong pondered the reasoning behind Jiang Tingbai’s actions.
As a man who lived for amusement, he couldn’t fathom it.
Switching to Yun Sulü’s perspective, he tried again.
"Truly remarkable—a healer who cannot heal himself," Ji Qinghong said with exaggerated sympathy. "Did that medical hall save your life or something?"
Jiang Tingbai: "…"
Clearing his throat, Jiang Tingbai replied solemnly, "When the Sword Peak passed judgment, the intention was for me to reflect deeply over these hundred years, not to live comfortably on past savings. I am deeply grateful for Master’s intervention, but the damage to the Great Dao Azure Sky Stele is an indisputable fact."
Knock over a cup, and you must clean the shards and spilled water; commit a mistake, and you must bear the consequences in full.
Thus, Jiang Tingbai accepted his punishment and embraced a century of poverty.
After hearing this reasoning, Ji Qinghong was stunned.
The faintly discernible average level of conscience on this peak had been single-handedly elevated by Jiang Tingbai to an unprecedented height.
Out of a shred of compassion (which surfaced perhaps once in a millennium) and a sliver of duty as a master (which appeared maybe once in a century), Ji Qinghong suggested, "In that case, I’ll teach you artifact forging."
This way, even without spirit stones, Jiang Tingbai would at least have a skill.
As long as he mastered the art of bartering labor for sustenance, Ji Qinghong wouldn’t have to worry about this overly virtuous disciple starving to death somewhere.
By conventional logic, as the master of artifact and array techniques, Ji Qinghong should have taught Jiang Tingbai one of these disciplines on the very first day.
But these two—one stubbornly insistent on learning the sword, the other delighting in defying expectations—had dragged this out until now.
And so, Ji Qinghong began Jiang Tingbai’s lessons.
Jiang Tingbai was exceptionally diligent, his attitude impeccable—the model student any teacher would adore. He immediately pulled out a notebook, jotting down notes as he listened, filling several pages in no time.
But when the theoretical lesson ended and practice began…
Ji Qinghong’s eyes darkened with contemplation.
Truth be told, he was now questioning how Jiang Tingbai had ever become a healer.
…Had none of his patients ever filed complaints after being stabbed through by a misplaced needle?
Gently poking the lump of iron Jiang Tingbai had forged, Ji Qinghong could only marvel.
"Truly my disciple—you’ve inherited my essence flawlessly."
If this thing were shown to outsiders, who could possibly recognize it as a dagger?
It was neither square nor round, neither sharp nor blunt.
Even calling it an iron ingot would be an insult to ingots—Ji Qinghong had never seen one so hideous in all his years.
This, too, was a kind of talent—just the opposite of what one might hope for.
A hint of shame colored Jiang Tingbai’s expression. "My skills are lacking, my talent insufficient. I’ve embarrassed Master. There’s no need to…" spare my feelings with such forced praise.
"Oh, I’m not sparing your feelings."
Ji Qinghong cheerfully picked up the iron lump, tossed it in his palm, and then hurled it with a flick of his wrist—instantly obliterating the peak of a nearby unclaimed mountain.
"In the art of creating delightful surprises and spreading joy, you truly are my disciple."
Jiang Tingbai: "…"
Clearly, Jiang Tingbai’s talent for artifact forging was… extraordinary in its absence.
Fortunately, Ji Qinghong had many skills to offer. If one path was blocked, another could be taken.
Thus, Jiang Tingbai opened a fresh notebook, and Ji Qinghong pivoted to explaining the fundamentals of array formation.
After the tedious theory came practice once more.
This time, gazing at the array Jiang Tingbai had drawn, Ji Qinghong’s smile grew even brighter.
He studied Jiang Tingbai thoughtfully, his tone gentle, the picture of a perfect mentor:
"My disciple is indeed a rare genius."
Jiang Tingbai hesitated. "…Master?"
Though not particularly gifted, he was self-aware.
The array he’d just drawn was shaky, the lines clumsy—it had committed nearly every mistake mentioned in the foundational texts.
An ordinary master might encourage him to try again. A strict one might scold him.
But Ji Qinghong? He beamed with pure delight, patting Jiang Tingbai’s shoulder warmly.
"Excellent. You’ve chosen your path wisely. No wonder you grasped sword intent at the Foundation Establishment stage—you were born to be a sword cultivator."
Something about this praise felt… off.
Jiang Tingbai tried again. "…Master?"
Ji Qinghong declared joyfully, "Because you’ve mastered the highest principle of sword cultivation—"
Jiang Tingbai held his breath.
"—eternal poverty."
Jiang Tingbai: "…"
With a sweep of his sleeve, Ji Qinghong erased the array from the ground and sighed contentedly.
"There’s nothing more I can teach you. So… well, while you can still rely on the peak’s public funds, eat whatever you fancy."
Jiang Tingbai: "…"
A memory surfaced—back when he was a healer, whenever he encountered a hopelessly incurable illness, he would advise the family to let the patient eat whatever they desired…
Now, comparing the two situations, Jiang Tingbai had to admit: being hopeless with one’s hands might also be a terminal condition.
The final verdict on Jiang Tingbai’s manual dexterity came the next day.
The incident began when Ji Qinghong, passing by, noticed Jiang Tingbai weaving grass under the shade of a tree.
Had it been an ordinary trinket, no matter how exquisite or skillfully made, it would hardly have caught Ji Qinghong’s interest.
But Jiang Tingbai's straw weaving... its brilliance lay in its utterly ambiguous shape, a form so indescribable it seemed to shatter the very dimensions of the cultivation world, as if dragging one straight into the realm of Lovecraftian horror!
Ji Qinghong: "......"
After studying it from a distance for a long while, he finally asked in a tone brimming with interest:
"Are you... making a voodoo doll of me?"
Indeed, upon closer inspection, Ji Qinghong confirmed that the thing in Jiang Tingbai's hands had five distinct protrusions.
By conventional logic, that would likely represent a person's head and limbs.
Moreover, the crude craftsmanship made it almost impossible not to suspect it was some form of dark sorcery.
Ji Qinghong stroked his chin, deeply amused by the thought: those who secretly made voodoo dolls of him were probably numerous, but if even his own disciple had started doing it...
—Then he must have truly excelled at being a human!
Hearing this, Jiang Tingbai froze momentarily. First, he glanced at Ji Qinghong, then lowered his gaze to the straw weaving in his hands. Then he looked back at Ji Qinghong, hesitated, and stared at the straw weaving again...
If Jiang Tingbai were a balloon, his current state would undoubtedly be one of visible deflation.
"Master, you misunderstand. That was not my intention."
Ji Qinghong pointed at the straw creation: "I see the tumors growing on its limbs."
Jiang Tingbai took a deep, pained breath: "Those aren’t tumors... they’re the tiny bumps on a starfish."
Ji Qinghong: "......"
Jiang Tingbai murmured: "What I’m weaving... is actually a starfish."
"......"
Even Ji Qinghong had to admit that, by conventional standards, Jiang Tingbai’s character and talents were beyond reproach.
Of course, by his own standards, his eldest disciple fell somewhat short in the "interesting" department.
But now, Ji Qinghong reconsidered.
After scrutinizing Jiang Tingbai’s straw weaving for an excruciatingly long time, Ji Qinghong finally asked slowly, in a tone laced with uncertainty:
"When you abandoned medicine for the sword path back then... it wasn’t because you kept misidentifying meridians and acupoints, accidentally stabbing people to death, was it?"
Jiang Tingbai immediately clarified: "Identifying meridians and acupoints is a fundamental skill in medicine. Everyone starts by practicing on themselves—how could one dare treat others before mastering it?"
"That’s... hard to say." Ji Qinghong paused meaningfully. "This master just thinks..."
Ji Qinghong just thought that if Jiang Tingbai had practiced medicine using straw figures he made himself, it wouldn’t be impossible for him to accidentally stab someone to death!
......
As for the second disciple, Mi Jichen, joining their peak, that happened several decades later.
At the time, Jiang Tingbai was away on a training journey, completing a few sect missions. Ji Qinghong, meanwhile, had wandered out to stir up some fresh grudges.
Though Ji Qinghong’s influence had loosened the rigid formality between master and disciple, Jiang Tingbai’s innate gentleness and propriety were deeply ingrained in his bones.
Thus, unless he was in seclusion, every half-month, Jiang Tingbai would send Ji Qinghong a paper crane with updates.
Aside from inquiring after his master’s health, he would also briefly mention his own recent activities.
It was in one of these paper cranes that Ji Qinghong discovered an uncanny coincidence: the two of them were traveling in neighboring cities.
By then, Jiang Tingbai and Ji Qinghong hadn’t seen each other in three to five years, leaving their peak practically deserted.
Only the peak’s name, which Ji Qinghong would whimsically change every now and then in his return messages, continued to baffle the disciples tasked with updating the records.
Since fate had brought them so close, a meeting was inevitable.
It was at a bustling tavern that the two heard an unusual piece of news.
Rumor had it that strange occurrences had been happening lately in the Gourd Alley to the north of the city.
For instance, a beggar who wished for money to buy a winter coat woke the next morning to find a large ingot of silver under his head.
Or a mischievous schoolboy who hated homework and feared his teacher’s scolding suddenly found himself rising from bed in the dead of night, half-asleep, and writing thirty pages of calligraphy—only to wake with a sore wrist the next day.
Then there was the case of Aunt Wang’s missing speckled hen. After days of cursing the thief at her doorstep, the hen suddenly flew back from the sky in broad daylight!
Now, domestic hens might hop onto rooftops and glide a few yards with the wind, but flying fifty yards against the wind? That hen must have become a spirit!
Listening to these vivid tales from the mortal world, Jiang Tingbai couldn’t help but smile knowingly.
To mortals, such wish-fulfilling phenomena seemed miraculous.
But Jiang Tingbai recognized them at once: this was likely the work of a wild deity in a local temple, awakened by belief and responding to the incense offerings.
However, such awakened obsessions rarely distinguished good from evil. If someone prayed for murder, the obsession might oblige.
Thus, when cultivators encountered an obsession that had already committed evil and gained agency, they would often purify it as a matter of course.
But the obsession in these rumors... sounded unusually reasonable.
Jiang Tingbai pondered: in that case, perhaps he could ask his master for a celestial-grade artifact to serve as a vessel for the obsession.
If it could cultivate into an artifact spirit, it might even have a chance to attain the Dao.
Before this thought fully formed, the tea-drinkers brought up another strange tale from Gourd Alley.
They said that the second daughter of the Du family had been dreaming every night of her deceased lover returning to life, meeting her in her dreams.
The young lady had sworn she wished to live in that dream forever, never to part again.
"......"
Before the story even concluded, Ji Qinghong slowly set his wine cup down, his lips curving into a smile devoid of warmth.
Seeing this, Jiang Tingbai’s eyes flickered—he knew trouble was brewing.
Having been Ji Qinghong’s disciple for decades, Jiang Tingbai had pieced together fragments of his master’s past.
For instance, there was the matter of their grandmaster, Yun Sulü. She and Ji Qinghong had been peers in age and talent, their peak adorned with the twin structures of "Sulu Hall" and "Qinghong Pavilion." And then, during the Demon Subjugation War, she had died before Ji Qinghong’s eyes...
Jiang Tingbai had a vague inkling about the complicated relationship between his master and grandmaster.
Ji Qinghong’s temperament was far from pleasant, but his true triggers were few.
Yet manipulating the emotions of the dead? That trampled squarely on his bottom line.
Jiang Tingbai quickly weighed the situation but still couldn’t conclude that the obsession harbored malice.
In that case...
He softly dissuaded: "Master, to punish without teaching is cruelty."
Ji Qinghong arched a brow at his eldest disciple, then suddenly let out a light, humorless chuckle.
He tapped the desk leisurely, teasing, "With a temper like yours... I really should have registered you under Sulu Hall back then. Have you suffered any losses out there? Surely you didn’t mistake a stone for candy and swallow it along with your teeth?"
Jiang Tingbai replied calmly, "If someone gave me a stone thinking it was candy, they must have meant well."
"So?"
Jiang Tingbai smiled faintly. "So, first, I’d thank them for the candy—even if it was just a stone. Then, I’d explain that stones aren’t edible, lest they hurt someone else’s teeth. Finally, I’d wash the stone clean and place it on my bookshelf. A stone given with kindness is worth treasuring."
Ji Qinghong studied Jiang Tingbai for a moment before suddenly clapping his hands in amusement.
"If you’re so confident, then you’re the one to ‘eat’ this stone."
This was his tacit approval for Jiang Tingbai to handle the matter.
Years later, Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang heard about this incident.
Jiang Tingbai referred to it as "an internal exchange of values within the sect."
Ji Qinghong, however, named it—
Ji Qinghong pinched his fingers together, mimicking a tiny gap, and said leisurely, "Back then, Mi Jichen—before he became your second senior—was this close to meeting his maker."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Wu Manshuang: "..."
Mi Jichen, only now realizing how close he’d come to death: "..."
Senior Brother, thank you. Because of you, the seasons are warm.
