Little Pink Starfish

Li Jingyi had already been staying at Baicao Hall for a few days. In that time, she had changed quite a bit. Aside from swapping out her originally cumbersome and ornate dresses for simpler clothing, there were many other small changes too. It was only around this time that Hua Rongyue began to notice just how unexpectedly different this seemingly timid and delicate girl was from her memories.

—Take, for example, the day Hua Rongyue casually told the girl to practice swinging her sword a thousand times daily. She hadn’t expected the girl to stick with it at all.

What did “a thousand swings” mean? In Hua Rongyue’s memory, Yi Linglong had started her sword training with this exact regimen—swinging a sword a thousand times each day. Including time for meals and rest, that still meant practicing from six in the morning until five in the evening.

Of course, Li Jingyi was older now than Yi Linglong had been when she first picked up a sword, but Yi Linglong had a foundation to build on. She had been trained as a top candidate of Tianyi Tower from a young age.

Li Jingyi, on the other hand, had always been a pampered, frail noble daughter.

If someone had told teenage Hua Rongyue to complete ten sets of practice exams a day for ten years, and she actually did it, maybe she would’ve gotten into Tsinghua University. So she deeply understood how difficult it was for a child to maintain that kind of discipline.

Since she didn’t expect much, Hua Rongyue took a very hands-off approach. Li Jingyi hadn’t come to her for several days, and Hua Rongyue had been busy, so she didn’t check in.

But when she did finally go to see how things were going, she discovered that ever since she gave that one instruction, Li Jingyi had been faithfully sticking to it—without missing a single day.

Whether it was windy or rainy, she earnestly completed all one thousand sword swings each day. From day one to now, she had never slacked off. The sword was as tall as she was, and she practiced in a grueling posture, training from morning to afternoon. When tired, she rested a bit, rubbed her sore arms, and then continued.

When Xiao Han reported this to Hua Rongyue, she hadn’t believed him. Could such a delicate girl really have that kind of determination? She’d have been impressed even if the girl had only managed half.

But when Hua Rongyue stepped into the backyard, she saw Li Jingyi alone in a corner, sword in hand, cheeks flushed, arms trembling. She hadn’t even noticed Hua Rongyue’s arrival and was still swinging the sword with effort—her form slightly off, but surprisingly full of force.

Da Hua was crouched nearby on the firewood stack, watching her. Every now and then, Li Jingyi would lower her head and Da Hua would lick its paw before looking back at her. Originally, Hua Rongyue had asked Xiao Han to supervise her, but after a few days of the same repetitive training, Xiao Han had grown bored. Now, only Da Hua kept her company.

Anyone who’s ever participated in sports knows—muscle soreness doesn’t hit immediately. It’s the next day when the real pain comes. Simple movements become incredibly hard.

Li Jingyi was likely in that phase already. But she never once slacked off.

After watching for a while, Hua Rongyue stepped forward. Observing her technique, she said softly, “Adjust your grip a little. Use the strength of your arms, not your wrists.”

Li Jingyi, focused on her practice, was startled by the sudden voice. Her hand slipped, and the sword nearly smashed into her foot.

Hua Rongyue’s heart clenched. In a flash, she used her lightness skill to grab the sword and handed it back gently.

Li Jingyi looked embarrassed, likely feeling that her mishap was shameful. She clutched the sword in silence. Hua Rongyue simply said, “Come with me.”

She led the girl into the kitchen, sorted through various sun-dried herbs, tossed them into a large pot, and brewed a herbal wash. She poured it into a kettle and instructed Li Jingyi to add it to her bath that night.

—Hua Rongyue might not be as skilled as Dr. Qi at treating colds and flu, but when it came to bruises, sprains, and sword injuries, no one in Baicao Hall came close to her. She remembered this formula from Yi Linglong’s childhood. The ingredients might’ve been more refined back then, but she couldn’t trouble Dr. Qi for everything.

After gathering the herbs, she made sure to record it in the medicine ledger and tossed some coins into the cash box.

Steam rose from the pot, fogging her brow. Li Jingyi sat quietly nearby, waiting. By the time Hua Rongyue handed her the herbal water, the girl was already a little sleepy, rubbing her eyes with tiny hands—an image that made Hua Rongyue smile.

After a pause, Hua Rongyue said gently, “Why don’t you skip practice today? Go take a bath and rest. You can continue tomorrow.”

“No—no way!” Li Jingyi’s eyes snapped open. She grabbed the sword in front of her like a hamster clutching corn, looking both drowsy and determined to keep going.

Perhaps because she had dropped the sword earlier, she clung to it tightly now. Hua Rongyue noticed her fair little hands were flushed red, one even blistered and burst—soon, her hands would grow their first calluses.

Li Jingyi wasn’t talentless. Not everyone could be Yi Linglong, and not everyone had to be. She might seem clumsy now, but she had a strong grasp of the sword’s weight.

Such a determined, gifted girl—how had she wasted her life in the previous timeline? Hua Rongyue wondered.

After watching her for a while, Hua Rongyue reached out and smacked her gently on the head. Then, as if petting Da Hua, she ruffled her hair. Li Jingyi stared, stunned—eyes blank, like a cat that had been bopped.

Just like Da Hua.

Hua Rongyue didn’t say much more. “Then take a break before continuing. Soak your arms in this first.”

She fetched a basin, filled it, and let Li Jingyi soak her arms. “How does it feel?” she asked.

Li Jingyi blinked. “A little tingly… but kind of nice.”

Hua Rongyue chuckled at her description. Li Jingyi paused, then smiled too—her smile wide, eyes squinting with innocence. Not exactly graceful, but endearing.

After drying her arms, Hua Rongyue heard a patient had arrived and went to the front hall to help. Several new injuries had come in—knife and sword wounds. Dr. Qi couldn’t handle them all, so she stepped in.

The newcomer… was none other than Wu Ci, who had fled just a few days earlier. Instead of waiting in the front, he went straight to the backyard. There, he saw Hua Rongyue gently drying Li Jingyi’s arms—his expression immediately became complicated.

He was dressed all in white, looking every bit the stoic martial hero, sword strapped to his back. For an ordinary person, he gave off a serious aura.

When Li Jingyi saw him rushing in, she thought he was here to cause trouble. She immediately hid behind Hua Rongyue, hugging her waist and peeking around her side. Hua Rongyue gently patted her head, soothing her fears.

She turned to Wu Ci. Normally serious and composed, Hua Rongyue now looked almost… like a gentle, domestic woman.

Ahem.

Anyway, Wu Ci’s expression became even more complex as he looked at her.

“I came to check on you… are you alright now?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Hua Rongyue said with a smile. She was genuinely grateful—his accidental provocation had helped her experience something she never understood before about Yi Linglong’s mindset. It had opened a new path in her martial practice.

Still… once was enough.

Right now, with the child beside her, Hua Rongyue seemed even gentler. One wouldn’t guess her identity from her current demeanor. She looked more vulnerable than some temperamental women, and her harmless appearance made Wu Ci even more confused.

What puzzled him before was how quickly she’d gone from “madness” back to normal. Unlike other “crazy” martial artists, she didn’t seem unhinged at all.

Maybe… heartbreak-induced madness really was different from the kind that came from failed cultivation?

Hua Rongyue left to tend to patients. Wu Ci stayed behind with Li Jingyi, who was now curiously eyeing the sword at his waist.

With sparkling eyes, she asked, “Are you… a sword-fighting hero?”

She had been learning swordplay from Hua Rongyue, but since Hua Rongyue used a blade, this was her first time meeting a real swordsman.

“Uh… yes,” Wu Ci said after a moment.

“Wow—then you must be amazing!” she said, eyes full of admiration. “I think this is the first time I’ve met a real hero!”

Wu Ci suddenly felt a mountain’s weight press on him.

The first real hero she’s met…

He looked silently toward Hua Rongyue’s retreating figure, thinking of who she really was before retirement. He knew he couldn’t just accept the title of “hero” so easily—not without guilt.

“I’m not really a hero,” he said. “Just a regular person. But your Brother Hua? He’s definitely a hero.”

“But when I asked him before, he said he wasn’t,” Li Jingyi replied, puzzled.

Wu Ci could only touch his nose in silence.

If the world’s greatest killer doesn’t count as a hero… then who does?