Chapter 11#

Husband, I’m About to Be Caught by a Bad Guy, Wuwu#

“Did you hear? Ying Qingye got beaten up by Immortal Venerable Tan last night!”

“Huh? Why?”

“No idea, but last night the golden light on the Vault of Heaven peak flooded the sky for nearly half a shichen… Ying Qingye is the only gold spiritual root disciple under Immortal Venerable Tan, so it must have been him who got hit.”

Dawn was just breaking, and Yan Jianxiao was woken early by the chatter outside. Those people probably assumed Ying Qingye had slept here last night and came looking for a show.

Yan Jianxiao got up swiftly, without a trace of morning grumpiness—it was the way one lived after years of being in a constant state of alert.

There was a bronze mirror in the room. Yan Jianxiao combed his hair in front of it, his mind involuntarily worrying about Ying Qingye.

The person in the mirror frowned, long hair braided into two small plaits that hung behind his ears—it was actually the only hairstyle he knew how to do. On normal days it took him only a few breaths to finish, but today it took a full quarter of a shichen.

He also listened for a full quarter of a shichen.

“Honestly, Tan Cang probably can’t stand him either, right? He thought he’d taken in a genius, but after all this time he’s still at second-layer Golden Core—Qiao Weiyang from the same cohort is already at ninth-layer.”

Yan Jianxiao silently tightened his grip on the comb. The mirror reflected the displeased look on his face, his small brows furrowing again and again. He had a kind of blind faith in Ying Qingye, and couldn’t help rebutting those people in his heart—

Hmph, so what if they’re at ninth-layer!

Those two have never actually fought, so who knows if Qiao Weiyang’s ninth-layer was padded with swallowed pills, and besides, Ying Qingye would definitely become even stronger—he’s just pretending▼_▼!

“What are you all chatting about?” Suddenly, a familiar voice cut in. Yan Jianxiao paused, recognized the voice, and his eyes instantly shrank.

Wang Moqing: “Did you find the thing I told you to find, or are you just standing around gossiping!”

Under the blue-gray sky, the two chatting disciples each received a hard knock on the head from Wang Moqing. “Finding the blue bird for Princess Tianxiang is way more important than Ying Qingye!”

Princess Tianxiang?

Yan Jianxiao ducked under the windowsill and leaned in closer, his big black-and-white eyes peeking out through a small hole in the window.

Three people stood outside: Wang Moqing and two disciples, one tall and one short, both wearing the white robes that signified Foundation Establishment cultivation.

“Princess Tianxiang already went back to the Jade Palace, do we still need to look?” the short disciple asked reluctantly.

Princess Tianxiang was a Nascent Soul stage cultivator who governed the Jade Palace, where the ancient divine artifacts were kept. It was said her body flowed with the blood of an ancient phoenix, which was why her cultivation progressed at such an astonishing speed.

Wang Moqing crouched on the rockery in the courtyard, still in that red robe, a spiritual herb dangling from his mouth, and lazily cut his eyes at him. “Obviously. If you have lunch at noon, do you skip dinner?”

There were still faint red bruises on his face, clearly from the beating he’d taken before.

The two shrank back under his scolding, and the air fell quiet for a moment.

The taller disciple seemed the more clever one. Seeing the situation, he sycophantically showed concern. “Brother, your injury still hasn’t healed? Did you apply your medicine today? Don’t forget to put it on.”

That was really poking the hornet’s nest. Wang Moqing’s face sank rapidly. Come to think of it, strange—when he was beaten that day, he’d assumed it was an ordinary wound that would heal in no time. But who knew what kind of dirty trick Ying Qingye had pulled; no matter what he tried, his spiritual power couldn’t get rid of these marks.

The tall disciple took one look at his face, instantly realized he’d misspoken, and shut his mouth.

“What about that pretty five-spiritual-roots girl?” Wang Moqing suddenly asked.

The tall and short disciples froze, having no idea who he meant.

Since when did the inner sect have a disciple with five spiritual roots?

Wang Moqing couldn’t help but roar: “That girl who slapped me! You two are useless—can’t find a green-eyed blue bird, and you haven’t even caught sight of that five-spiritual-roots girl?!”

A green-eyed blue bird? Yan Jianxiao sharply caught that phrase, and couldn’t help thinking of Doubao.

But Doubao was a little cat, not a bird.

He did remember Princess Tianxiang though. In the original plot, she later became Ying Qingye’s capable assistant—an actual assistant, with not the slightest shred of ambiguity between them.

In the book, it was written that Princess Tianxiang had a black scar the size of a palm on her face. That scar had made her suffer endless scorn as a child and left her with a psychological shadow of misanthropy. From then on, she devoted herself to cultivation and became a woman who never married, never had children, had no man, and loved cats.

It wasn’t until Ying Qingye saved her cat, and Tianxiang repaid the favor, that she became his assistant.

“I did look, Brother Wang, I really did. You said the blue bird likes spiritual fruits, so I’ve been squatting at the Spiritual Fruit Pavilion these past few days, and I haven’t seen anything come to steal a bite.” The man covered his head and said aggrievedly, “As for that five-spiritual-roots girl you mentioned… we didn’t see her.”

Wang Moqing glanced at him impatiently. “So the number of spiritual fruits hasn’t gone down either? That damn bird isn’t secretly eating one every d—”

He suddenly stopped, a flash of inspiration striking him, and his eyes narrowed dangerously—

“Every d—what?” The two disciples exchanged looks, confused about why their Brother Wang had stopped mid-sentence.

Wang Moqing muttered to himself, “Why didn’t I think of it? Wasn’t she also here to steal food? The blue bird must be with her.”

“Who?” the two disciples asked in unison.

Wang Moqing stood up, spat out the grass in his mouth, and his gaze turned sinister. “Where is that pretty five-spiritual-roots girl that Ying Qingye brought back?”

“?!”

Yan Jianxiao had no idea why Wang Moqing suddenly started looking for him. He hurried back to the bed, grabbed Doubao, who was still snoring away, and shook him twice.

Doubao had just woken up when he noticed a few words floating in front of his eyes: “Tianxiang is looking for you.”

In that instant, Doubao’s soul nearly flew out of him. His eyes went wide. “What?! Tianxiang found me?”

Yan Jianxiao wrote in a flurry: “You really are the blue bird. Why did you come to my side?”

Doubao: “Th-this is all a misunderstanding, she… who said I’m her bird? I’m your bird now!”

Yan Jianxiao wrote calmly: “My current identity is a woman. I don’t have a bird.”

Doubao stared in shock. This person actually said something like that just to get rid of him!

But before the human and the cat could come up with a plan, a bang suddenly came from the door. Wang Moqing kicked it open and strode in, clearly coming straight for Ying Qingye. He sneered as he threw aside the curtain and walked inside. “Ying Qingye, where’s your little beauty? I heard you brought someone back to your bedroom last night—”

The curtain was tossed aside, revealing the neat, square furniture within. The bed was not far away, and he could faintly make out something lumpy under the blanket.

Wang Moqing let out a derisive snort, swaggered over, and flung the bedding open—

…Empty. No one there.

Wang Moqing’s brows instantly furrowed, and he whipped his head around, eyes nearly splitting with fury as he glared at the disciples following him. “Didn’t you say he took that five-spiritual-roots girl to bed last night? Where’s the person?”

But one of the disciples picked up a hairpin from the vanity and cried out, “There’s a hairpin here! I saw it in her hair yesterday! She was definitely here last night! She must have run out the back door!”

—The sword cultivator’s bedroom was rather large, with both front and back doors. Yan Jianxiao grabbed Doubao and bolted out the back, like a startled little rabbit suddenly darting off, moving faster than lightning.

Doubao opened his mouth in his arms and got a mouthful of wind. “Ahhhhh you-you-you’re act-act-actually running th-th-this f-f-fast—”

Yan Jianxiao thought, Isn’t that obvious? Who can afford to stroll when their life’s on the line?

Wang Moqing had kicked down his door without a care in the world, clearly not planning to let this go peacefully. He wasn’t stupid—of course he had to run!

Yan Jianxiao headed straight for places with lots of people and lots of buildings. The sword cultivator’s dormitory connected to the grand training grounds of the Cangsang Sect, and at this hour many cultivators were practicing their swords there. They only saw a small figure dart into the crowd, with Wang Moqing chasing close behind at lightning speed—

“Catch that five-spiritual-roots girl! Whoever catches her, this young master will reward handsomely!”

But the moment those words landed, all that rose was a chorus of curses. Sword cultivators all had gold spiritual roots and explosive tempers. As the saying went: when sword cultivators mediate a fight, the more they mediate, the more it gets fought. Others would gently coax people to stop fighting; sword cultivators just delivered a court verdict with every opening of their mouths—

“Wang Moqing, are you in a hurry to die under my sword?! Running my ass!”

“Do you two have a death wish or what, running into a sword cultivator’s training grounds?! Who’s paying if someone gets stabbed to death?! I really don’t have the money for medical bills anymore!”

“Wang Moqing, you again! You’re a pill cultivator—quit coming here to pick fights, alright?!”

“Who cares about your lousy rewards!”

“Augh augh augh wait, whose little sister ran out here?! I’m practicing sword control and I can’t hold my sword—someone save me!!!”

Yan Jianxiao’s pupils shrank as a blade of sword light flew straight at him—

Clang!!

The sound of clashing blades rang out in an instant, and Yan Jianxiao found himself falling into an embrace that carried the cold air of early morning, with a pair of hands around his waist.

The out-of-control sword was knocked back by Ying Qingye’s blade, and with a bang, it knocked out the sword cultivator.

“She’s my little sister.” Ying Qingye sheathed his sword without changing his expression, and said to the dazed sword cultivator, “Sorry about that.”

The sword cultivator clutched the big lump on his head, eyes swimming with stars, and staggered to his feet—only to see the person in Ying Qingye’s arms.

Yan Jianxiao was clinging to Ying Qingye’s waist, hidden in his embrace, the corners of his eyes red, hair even mussed and drooping at both sides, like a little rabbit that had been bullied.

The sword cultivator snapped to full alert in an instant: “!”