Little Pink Starfish

Unknowingly, Hua Rongyue had been storytelling well past the usual afternoon rest period. What started as a simple tale about the Sword God and Sword Immortal had somehow stretched on and on—the more she spoke, the more there was to tell.

She had thought the stories were few and simple. So why hadn’t she finished even after all this time? And why were more and more people gathering to listen? This was far beyond her original expectations.

As Hua Rongyue described the stories in detail, she realized just how fascinating these two characters were. Unlike Jin Yong’s novels, where things followed clear logic like “leap off a cliff, find secret martial arts manual,” Gu Long’s world was full of unpredictability and abstract sensations—more about feeling than fact.

Take Ye Gucheng’s sword, for example. There’s hardly any direct description—just the name of his move, “Heavenly Flying Immortal”—yet it remains a shining ideal in countless readers’ minds. Or Ximen Chuixue’s sword—everyone knew it was fast, but how fast? No one could really say.

A child listening nearby suddenly asked Hua Rongyue, “How fast is Ximen Chuixue’s sword?”

She froze.

She wanted to describe it using this world’s standards of swordsmanship, but nothing quite fit. Across the street, the young scholar in the green robe also paused, his cup of tea midair, waiting to hear her answer.

…How could she even begin to explain it? Maybe only her “roommate” Yi Linglong could describe that feeling properly.

But of course, she couldn’t say that. So she simply replied:

“When something is pushed to the absolute limit—beyond all boundaries—it is no longer mortal. It becomes divine.”

Before transmigrating, Hua Rongyue couldn’t truly understand what a “Sword God” meant. But after living in this world, she saw how Gu Long’s so-called randomness often struck something surprisingly true.

“Gods of the Sword” or “Immortals of the Sword” might sound ridiculous here—but if someone really reached such heights, weren’t they gods in their own right?

Whenever she watched the peak of Yi Linglong’s blade techniques in her inherited memories, she couldn’t find the words to describe them. Eventually, all she could think was: This must be a god incarnate.

No flaws. No gaps. Beyond mortal reach.

But she couldn’t demonstrate it now—even her own abilities were still far from that. So all she could do was spin tales.

The people gathered around her were all in awe of her answer.

They didn’t understand it—but it sounded powerful. And somehow… profound.

Hua Rongyue suddenly realized something: talking nonsense had its perks. When you knew nothing, your imagination ran wilder. If people from this world tried writing martial arts novels, they’d probably ground everything in reality, maybe even test the moves themselves—because that’s how professionals think.

But for those who couldn’t fight, nor write, you just made things look cool. Who cared about realism?

And that was exactly what made her stories, though outlandish, captivating.

Across the street, the green-robed scholar seemed spellbound. He didn’t even notice when the people around him left. He kept staring at Baicao Hall, deep in thought.

People in this world often gave up style for practicality. The best martial artists were usually weathered and stoic—efficiency over elegance. In contrast, Gu Long’s characters existed to look cool and act cool, logic be damned.

As modern folk might say—sometimes style is substance.

“Did you make this all up?” Xiao Han suddenly interrupted, skeptical. “You and your ‘friend of a friend of a friend’ knowing three sword masters—who the hell are they?”

Hua Rongyue gave him a helpless look.

Xiao Han ignored the crowd and scoffed, “And what’s with that assassin who only kills after soaking in a bath and getting his nails done, then walks around with servant girls tossing petals… Besides you, who changes outfits daily, who else could make up such nonsense?”

(Apologies, Mr. Gu Long, for the stray bullet.)

Honestly, Hua Rongyue didn’t go as far as tossing petals. That wasn’t just flashy—it required coordination, balance, and agility. What if you tripped over a servant? Fantasies were beautiful but impractical. She prided herself on being more grounded than that.

“Xiao Han.” Dr. Qi appeared behind him with a sigh. “Do you realize you’re the only one who doesn’t get it?”

Hua Rongyue couldn’t hold back a laugh. Wan Fulian added, “If these people were so incredible, the whole Jianghu would know about them. Even storybooks would mention them.”

Xiao Han stammered, “I-I thought they were real…”

Everyone laughed. Xiao Han may have been slow, but he had a certain innocent charm. Wan Fulian didn’t buy Hua Rongyue’s tales either.

“So you made it all up?” Xiao Han pouted. “There’s no such people?”

Hua Rongyue feared he’d never drop it, so she quickly diverted, “Hey! It’s already late. Shouldn’t we be seeing patients this afternoon?”

“Nope. Not until you tell me the truth,” Xiao Han pressed. He was the persistent kind—once he got curious, he needed an answer. Though the listeners drifted away, Xiao Han remained, buzzing endlessly in Hua Rongyue’s ear.

There are three kinds of summer creatures that should have their vocal cords removed:
Cicadas.
Xiao Han.
And Xiao Han.

The scholar across the street kept listening quietly. Hua Rongyue noticed him, but since he hadn’t done anything suspicious—no badge on his forehead reading I’m a villain—she didn’t have grounds to chase him off. So she pretended not to notice.

Annoyed, she nearly grabbed the wrong herbs. She finally snapped, “What do you want, exactly?”

“Do you think anyone could really wield a sword like that?” Xiao Han asked. “Just say yes and I’ll shut up.”

She was about to say no—but paused.

“…Yes,” she said.

“Eh?” Xiao Han perked up.

“If someone practiced to perfection, to a flawless extreme… then it’d be the same thing, wouldn’t it?” she said.

“Ha! And I thought you were literate. Haven’t you heard of ‘there’s no limit to learning’?” Xiao Han teased.

Still, since he asked, Hua Rongyue couldn’t lie to herself. She felt that Yi Linglong had probably gotten very close—even if she couldn’t be certain.

“…Of course, no one’s reached it yet,” she added. “But I hope someone will, someday. It sounds impossible, but I think it’s not entirely out of reach.”

“How?”

Her mind flashed with images of Yi Linglong’s blade—mad, wild, like a demon god.

“Train to the extreme… until you become a demon,” Hua Rongyue blurted, before realizing it was a bit inappropriate. She quickly stopped herself.

Thankfully, Xiao Han didn’t catch the end. “What? I didn’t hear that,” he mumbled.

Hua Rongyue promptly shoved him into the back room to keep him quiet. Good grief. When would this guy finally go home and take over his family business?

She realized: a motor-mouth was truly a threat to sanity. That last line wasn’t something she should’ve said, but Xiao Han had driven her to the brink. Next time, she resolved to call Wan Fulian over first. Maybe that would shut him up faster.

She returned to her bookkeeping, looked up without thinking—and realized something:

The green-robed scholar was gone.

Vanished without a sound—faster than when he arrived. Silently. Invisibly.

Incredible.

Hua Rongyue’s pupils contracted slightly.

To leave that quietly, even under her watch? That was no ordinary lightness skill. This man wasn’t ordinary.

Why had someone like that come to Baicao Hall?

She made a mental note to report this to Six Doors tomorrow. Better to be safe.

Then she glanced back at Xiao Han, who was surprisingly gullible. You could tell him anything and he’d believe it.

Feeling mischievous again, the usually-straightlaced Hua Rongyue said, “Actually, I’ve heard stories of someone reaching unity with heaven through the sword… You know what that means?”

“Nope.”

“It’s called ‘entering the Dao through the sword’… know what that is?”

“…Still no.”

She sighed deeply, like a weathered sage.

“You know so many weird things,” Xiao Han said. “Even Bai Xiaosheng might not know that much.”
Hearing the name Bai Xiaosheng, Hua Rongyue suddenly remembered something. She turned to him:
“You know where the most information gets passed around in the Jianghu? The last place you’d expect—brothels. That’s why I suspect Bai Xiaosheng hangs around pleasure houses to gather intel…”

Just as she said that, she heard a soft creak from above.

Huh? Was that just her imagination? She looked up, but everything was still. The sound had been tiny—quieter than a rat nibbling rice.

“Entering the Dao through the sword…” Xiao Han muttered beside her, lost in thought. “I don’t really get it, but it sounds cool…”