Flower Stealing Master

Having absorbed as much of the Supreme Mysteries Scripture as he had, Song Qingshu felt considerably steadier in himself. The Scripture wasn’t fully learned — not yet — but it gave him more to stand on than before, and he no longer had to rely entirely on the Soul Capture Technique and the careful tread of a man walking on ice.

He stopped a passing servant, used the Soul Capture Technique to extract the location where Qi Fang was being kept, then set off in that direction using the movement art from the Supreme Mysteries Scripture. He hadn’t reached the gravity-defying ideal — not even close — but the improvement over ordinary qinggong was already noticeable.

The stone chambers containing the Scripture’s diagrams were carved into the mountain caves. The living quarters of the isle’s inhabitants lay on the opposite side, in a valley where a broad spread of courtyards sat arranged in careful order — the outer ones modest, the inner ones growing more imposing the closer to the centre they stood. The innermost two courtyards belonged to the island’s two masters.

Song Qingshu had learned from the servant that both Island Masters were away from the isle these past few days, and felt a quiet surge of relief. In the source novel these two were figures of unfathomable depth. At full strength he might have had no reason to fear them — but right now, with only a half-learned Supreme Mysteries Scripture to lean on, his confidence had its limits.

The mysterious guest’s quarters were situated close to the Island Masters’ courtyards, right at the heart of the valley. Qi Fang, he had been told, had been carefully dressed and attended to by the isle’s serving women and delivered to that guest’s residence.

‘Please let me not be too late.’ Song Qingshu felt the guilt bite. He shouldn’t have lost himself in the Supreme Mysteries Scripture and left Qi Fang to face this alone. Urgency sharpened his pace, and he moved through the darkness like a hunting owl, making straight for the central courtyards.

It occurred to him only distantly that he hadn’t treated Qi Fang as he would have treated the others. Had it been Zhou Zhiruo, Ah Jiu, or Qingqing who’d been taken, the Supreme Mysteries Scripture would have been forgotten — he would have gone to them the moment they were out of his sight.

He slipped through the valley carefully, and found, to his puzzlement, that there were no guards to speak of. A moment’s thought explained it. The Isle of Heroes’ location was its own protection — no outsider knew where to look for it, and every person on the island was a martial artist. Guards were unnecessary. And at this hour, virtually every one of those martial artists was in the mountain caves, poring over the Scripture’s chambers, grudging every moment away from them. The island was, in practical terms, unguarded.

Qi Fang’s location was easy to find. Every other courtyard nearby sat in darkness; only hers blazed with light. Several men stood watch at the courtyard gate — not weaklings, at a glance — but Song Qingshu gave them a wide berth and slipped in through a secluded gap at the side.

Inside, the room was empty of people but lavishly prepared. Flower petals blanketed the floor, fine incense burned on the table, and the air was soaked in a warm, rose-tinted atmosphere of deliberate romance.

‘These people of antiquity really do know how to set a scene,’ Song Qingshu thought, not without admiration.

Then something made him pause. He touched a toe to the ground, pushed off lightly, and rose to the ceiling beam, settling himself in the shadows.

Not long after, the door swung open with a soft creak. Several serving girls filed in, calling back over their shoulders: “Watch your step, my lady.”

“Mm~”

A voice like clear spring water. Up on the beam, Song Qingshu went absolutely still.

‘Why does that voice sound so familiar?’

He wanted badly to lean out and look — but there were too many people below, and the risk of being spotted was too great. He held himself in check, and then felt a fresh spike of alarm: whoever had just come in, it clearly wasn’t Qi Fang. Had he found the wrong room?

He was still worrying over what this meant for Qi Fang when the serving girls below began chattering among themselves.

“My lady is so beautiful!”

“Isn’t she? Earlier they brought back another young woman too — lovely in her own right, the sort that makes your heart ache just to look at her. But compared to my lady, she can’t hold a candle.”

“The Young Lord watched them both from concealment and chose my lady without a moment’s hesitation — she’s to be first.”

“With the Young Lord’s standards, for my lady to catch his eye so immediately — that’s truly something.”

Song Qingshu exhaled with quiet relief. The other woman they’d described — that had to be Qi Fang. And since the peculiar young lord had chosen this woman first, Qi Fang would be safe for the time being.

“Who exactly is this young lord you keep speaking of?” The beautiful woman before the mirror spoke again, her voice carrying a note of unease.

‘It’s too similar. Far too similar. Could it possibly be her? But how?’ Song Qingshu was burning with impatience — yet he knew better than to act rashly. On this island, even the servants were martial artists. Small missteps ruined great plans. He would wait for the serving girls to leave, then look properly.

“The Young Lord is just the Young Lord — who else would he be?” the girls answered with bright laughter.

“My lady needn’t worry too much. The Young Lord is someone of extraordinary standing — far above my lady’s previous husband, I’m sure. Win his favour, and you’ll have more wealth and comfort than you can spend in a lifetime.”

“And setting aside his status entirely — the Young Lord himself is a rare and gifted young man, the sort every woman dreams of.”

Song Qingshu had just witnessed these girls’ talent for extolling their lady’s beauty, and now they had turned the same gift on the Young Lord with equal vigour.

“Hmph. However fine he may be, he is no match for my husband.” A clear, cool sniff of dismissal — and Song Qingshu felt a warmth rise unexpectedly in his chest. He could hold himself back no longer, and carefully leaned his head out.

A woman sat at the dressing table. Her figure was elegant and graceful, her blue-green skirt pooling to the floor. A fall of black hair, lustrous as still water, lay smooth and soft over her shoulders. In the warm flicker of the room’s light, a faint blush touched her pale face — clean-featured, quietly lovely, like a narcissus in the early morning dew. The serving girls around her were pretty enough by any ordinary measure, but beside her they were candles beside the moon.

What can firefly-light do against the radiance of the full moon?

“Zhiruo! It really is you!” (G: Anti-ntr working overtime.)

The surprise and joy that hit him simultaneously — joy at finding her, surprise at finding her here. How had Zhou Zhiruo ended up on the Isle of Heroes?

‘Was she taken?’ He turned the serving girls’ words over again in his mind, uneasy. But Zhou Zhiruo’s bearing showed no sign of restraint or suppressed cultivation — she moved and sat freely. There was clearly more to this than it appeared.

A few years ago he might have let doubt creep in. But time and everything it had brought him — growing capability, growing certainty — had made him a more open-hearted man. He had learned to give his trust where it was owed. Zhou Zhiruo was his wife. If he couldn’t trust her, whom could he trust?

Then the sound of movement outside the door made the serving girls flutter to their feet with bright cries: “The Young Lord is here!”

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