Chapter Sixty-Three: Aspiration

Chapter Sixty-Three: Intentions

“The water is ready…”

In the tranquil yet somewhat desolate courtyard, city lights flickered in the night. Ning Yi placed a basin of water on the table in the inner room.

The woman in black held a small packet of medicine in her hand. She had been tending to her wounds by the bedside, and when Ning Yi entered, she pulled her clothes closed and paused. Her face was still veiled, but bloodstains marked her body. After a moment’s thought, Ning Yi rummaged through a cabinet nearby and drew out a long robe.

“There are no spare clothes here, only this one. It’s clean. Your clothes are torn, so you can change for tonight. New clothes will arrive tomorrow.”

She cast him a cold, sharp glance. “Where are you planning to go?”

Ning Yi hesitated, then raised his hand with a smile. “Alright, wait until you trust me. Tend to your wounds first. I’ll sit outside and boil more water.”

“If you try to leave, no matter how fast you run, I promise you won’t make it out the gate.”

“Understood. I won’t leave.”

Ning Yi smiled, then turned to take down a jar from the shelf, opening it to release a strong scent of alcohol.

“It’s wine, but too strong to drink. If you need to clean your wounds, use this.”

It was actually alcohol. Ning Yi stepped out and closed the door behind him. The woman frowned, listening to his footsteps. After a moment, she opened her collar beneath the lamp, revealing layers of blood-soaked bandages around her chest. Some bandages were already torn. From her shoulder down to her abdomen, her skin was covered in blood, some congealed into dark scabs, the wounds shocking to behold. The injuries on her front were lighter; the ones on her back and hands seemed deep enough to have reached bone. As her clothes came off, dried scabs tore anew, and she bit her lip to endure the pain. Most wounds had stopped bleeding; they had sealed themselves.

She wrung out a cloth from the basin, frowning slightly as she began to wipe away the blood. In the dim lamplight, amid old swords and a bare, simple room, she cleansed herself. On the other side of the wall, Ning Yi sat on a stool, gazing at the lamplight within. The woman could hear his movements, paused for a moment, then continued treating her wounds and applying medicinal powder.

“This was once an abandoned garden. Few people come here. In the past, searches might have reached this place, but I’ve rented it now, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Next door is Yushan Academy. Beyond that, a small bamboo grove, and a stream flows nearby—not wide. Across the river are two taverns, then a triangular block of residences with winding alleys. If someone tried to chase you there, it wouldn’t be easy. Nearby are Changxing and Changye Streets, and further on, the road leads to the south gate… On the other side of the courtyard…”

Leaning against the wall, Ning Yi spoke softly, detailing the surroundings. The woman listened quietly as she applied medicine. After some time, she asked, “Are you a disciple of the Daoist sect?”

“Hm?”

“There are so many alchemical things outside.”

“Oh, not for alchemy. I should be a Confucian, those are for studying objects.”

“Should be?”

“Should be.”

“...How did you know I was under the carriage?”

“A feeling… or a guess…”

“Do you have a grudge against Song Xian?”

“No, I’ve only heard of his reputation.”

“...Not all of it is true.”

“I’ve seen you before.”

A slight pause. “When?”

“During Lantern Festival, when you fought on Zhuque Avenue—I was watching nearby, a few dozen meters away. Later, at the tavern, you disguised yourself as a maid and served wine.”

“...I remember.” Her voice softened. She stopped tending her wounds, swept her right arm, and grasped the sword on the table, stabbing it backward through the wall. With a thud, earth and stone shot out from the other side; the blade stopped beside Ning Yi’s face. He smiled and tilted his head to glance at it.

“You’re the poet scholar from that day… why did you follow me?”

“Today, it was you who followed me.” Ning Yi’s reply carried through the wall. The woman paused, “But you should know I mean no harm.”

After a moment, the blade was withdrawn, and light shone through the slit in the wall.

“Then why follow me? What are you after?”

“Besides Song Xian… I want to learn martial arts.” Ning Yi confessed. The woman was silent for quite a while, seemingly surprised. After a moment, her voice softened. “Nonsense.”

“It’s true. I’ve admired martial arts since childhood and always wondered about those legendary skills…”

“You’re quite talented?” she interrupted.

“Uh, it’s not for me to say…”

“That day in the tavern, everyone asked you to compose a poem, and you silenced them with your verse. Talented scholars like you always look down on warriors. You’re a well-known scholar, and now you say you want to learn martial arts—high-level martial arts, no less. You never go to battle or fight, only for show. What’s the use? I don’t believe it.”

Her tone was calm, merely stating facts without emotion. Ning Yi listened to the distant toll of city bells and smiled, “That’s true… Not much use. And I’ve heard that profound martial arts must be practiced from childhood, ten or twenty years without pause to achieve mastery. Is that right?”

“You’ve passed the age to learn.”

“A shame.” Ning Yi laughed. “Actually… I like studying objects.”

“...Studying objects?”

“Yes, it’s about investigating the principles of things to deduce their uses. For example, the alcohol you use to clean wounds—after several rounds of cooling and distillation, it’s just a small amount extracted. If you used it to brew…”

It was late. Ning Yi chatted idly, passing the time. In the room, the woman tended her wounds, occasionally responding absent-mindedly. Her clothes were soaked in blood and lay aside; white bandages wrapped her chest, looped around her shoulders, even her thighs and right foot. After a moment’s hesitation, she finally draped the long robe over herself, removed her veil, revealing a pale, weak but still wary face.

After some time, Ning Yi said, “It’s late. If I don’t return, my household will worry. I’ll come again in the morning. You’re wounded—rest early.”

He waited a moment; there was no reply. He extinguished the lamp and prepared to leave, then added, “Right, to extinguish the alcohol lamp, cover the flame with a lid. Blowing on it might cause an explosion.” With that, he left and gently closed the door.

The inner room’s door was quietly opened. Holding the long robe, the woman stepped out barefoot, silent, and frowned toward the doorway. She then opened the door a crack and looked toward the courtyard. Ning Yi was already gone. Soon after, the sound of the carriage faded into the distance.

In the grassy courtyard, crickets chirped, and the stars blinked in the night. The woman gazed after the departing carriage, frowning in thought. She turned back and looked at the room outside. On the shelves were various items—bottles and jars. When she awoke earlier, she’d only glanced inside and assumed it was a Daoist’s alchemy den. Now she saw more: tables arranged in rows, strange iron racks, odd barrels and tubes, incomprehensible instruments, a black wooden board hung at the end wall with white symbols. Starlight streamed through the window, illuminating the pages and scrolls on the tables, and a brush clattered on its rack…

The night wind blew through the crack in the wooden door, stirring her already tousled hair and the oversized robe. Beneath the robe, the outline of her bandaged figure was faintly visible. She closed the door behind her and returned to the inner room, clutching her sword and knees, curling up in the corner of the bed to sleep…

Tonight, he shouldn’t leave abruptly…

On the road to the Su family’s side gate, Ning Yi took a few deep breaths and smiled to himself.

Because she has no clothes…

But mainly because of her injuries. With an official like Song Xian dead, soldiers would soon set up checkpoints throughout Jiangning. With wounds this severe, she couldn’t escape for now.

Judging by how she orchestrated the dispersal of Song Xian’s guards, she’s no fool, and understands the balance of things—she wouldn’t make a reckless mistake.

To directly express interest in martial arts was a delicate matter. If he waited to mention it later, it might seem the entire scheme was for this purpose. Though these times value literature over martial prowess, personal skills are still guarded with pride—especially such legendary abilities. He was past the age, but wasn’t seeking to become a top master, nor had he considered roaming the world or going to war.

So, by stating his interest first and tempering it with other topics, he appeared open and honest. If he cleared this hurdle, he could mention it again later without issue. If postponed, it might make her uneasy, and she might think he was scheming to use her, and dismiss him.

Tomorrow, he must make a good impression so she stays…

Since coming to the Wu Dynasty, it was the first time he’d proactively planned like this. It felt much like negotiating deals or pitching ideas in his previous life—first, he had to seem sincere. On the way home, he passed through the side gate and narrow paths. In the distance, his courtyard was dark; Tan’er and her maid were likely not back, and he wondered if Xiaochan had gone to bed. As he reached the gate, he saw a girl sitting in the central pavilion.

Her neat bangs and floral white dress made her look thoughtful, fists clenched on her knees as if steeling herself. The starlight shone on her focused profile. Ning Yi watched for a couple of seconds, and her gaze shifted, turning toward him as she stood.

The night breeze ruffled her dress as she stared at him, stunned. She didn’t look like the lively Xiaochan with her hair wrapped up, but rather a more mature version that usually hid in the background. This feeling lasted only a couple of seconds.

“Gu…”

The first syllable came out, already choked with emotion as tears rolled down her cheeks. She raised her hand to wipe them, but suddenly burst into tears.

“Master…”

Crying, Xiaochan ran over and threw herself into his arms, nearly pushing him back a step. Ning Yi embraced her, sighing softly.

“I’m back…”

“Master… where did you go…”

In the night, the weeping girl seemed a head shorter, and thus became the Xiaochan of old once more…

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