Suo Qingjun Chapter 3
byMad Strings Lock the Heart, Cold Blade Reflects
Night had deepened by the time Qing Feng’an led Jin Xianling away from Murong Manor. The lights of Gusu City reflected on the river’s surface, shattering into a flowing golden glow that failed to dispel the dark glint in Jin Xianling’s eyes. He followed closely behind his master, his fingertips stroking a sharp jade hairpin hidden in his sleeve—something he had just picked up from behind the rockery in the Murong Manor gardens. It felt cold against his skin as he gripped it tightly.
“Master, I am to blame for my recklessness earlier.” Jin Xianling lowered his head, his voice carrying just the right amount of guilt, while the corners of his eyes remained fixed on Qing Feng’an’s profile. He loved the cold silhouette the moonlight traced upon his master, and he loved his master’s calm, steady voice. This obsession had long since taken root in his heart, growing into a madness that allowed no interference.
Qing Feng’an did not stop, saying indifferently, “The matter is settled; there is no need to mention it again.” Although he did not press further, the trace of unease in his heart had not vanished. Jin Xianling’s “confession” had been too timely, and his explanation too perfect, as if it were a script prepared in advance. However, he was never one to over-scrutinize others, especially since the person was his newly accepted disciple, so he suppressed his doubts for the time being.
Upon returning to the inn, Jin Xianling served Qing Feng’an a bowl of soothing soup, his inner madness masked by a gentle smile. “Master, have some soup to warm your body. You have worked hard today.” He watched as Qing Feng’an tilted his head back to drink the medicine. The movement of his master’s throat sent a surge of heat through his own heart, and his fingertips nearly trembled with the urge to reach out and touch him.
“Rest early.” Qing Feng’an set down the bowl and turned toward the inner chamber, unaware of the nearly predatory gaze Jin Xianling fixed upon his back.
After Qing Feng’an had extinguished the lamp to rest, Jin Xianling quietly slipped out of the room, his figure vanishing into the night like a ghost. He made his way to a secluded alley outside Murong Manor and whispered into the darkness, “Have you brought the person?”
Two men in black emerged from the shadows—the very same bandits who had besieged Murong Xue during the day. Now, they bowed respectfully to Jin Xianling. “Young Master Jin, as you instructed, the ‘evidence’ has been returned to Murong Xiong’s study.”
A cold sneer curled on Jin Xianling’s lips as he tossed them a silver ingot. “Well done. Remember, if you encounter anyone from the Murong family in the future, show no mercy.” He would make anyone who tried to get close to his master pay the price. It was true for Murong Xue, and it would be true for anyone else who followed.
The men in black took the silver, quickly promised to obey, and vanished into the end of the alley. Jin Xianling stood where he was, looking toward Murong Manor with a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. He pulled the jade hairpin from his sleeve and sliced a bloody mark into his palm. The blood dripped onto the bluestone pavement, blooming into a small patch of dark red.
“Master, no one can take you away,” he murmured to himself, his voice soft yet carrying a heart-stopping madness. “Even if I must destroy every obstacle in this world, I will remain by your side.”
The next morning, Qing Feng’an went to Qionglong Mountain to practice his swordplay as usual. Jin Xianling followed obediently, but as his master demonstrated the Seven Styles of Cloud Flow, his gaze held more than just admiration—it contained a touch of possessive obsession. He deliberately slowed his pace of practice, and when Qing Feng’an approached to offer guidance, he intentionally slipped, falling toward his master’s arms.
Qing Feng’an instinctively reached out to steady him. As his fingertips touched Jin Xianling’s warm robes, his heart skipped a beat for reasons he couldn’t explain. Leaning into his master’s embrace, Jin Xianling inhaled the cold scent of his master’s body, mingled with a faint medicinal fragrance. He was nearly intoxicated by it. He wanted to hold his master like this forever, letting time stop at this very moment.
“Be careful.” Qing Feng’an released him. His tone remained flat, but he quietly took half a step back to create distance.
A flash of disappointment crossed Jin Xianling’s eyes, but he quickly regained his gentle smile. “Thank you, Master. I was clumsy.” He knew his master’s personality was cold and that he could not rush things. But the waiting was an ordeal, and those hidden admirers or potential “good matches” were like poisonous thorns pricking at his heart.
Halfway through their practice, the sound of hoofbeats approached from a distance, accompanied by the clear laughter of a woman. Jin Xianling’s expression shifted slightly as he looked toward the sound. A group of people was heading into the mountains, led by a young girl in a pink dress. She was charming, with a pouch of Tang Clan specialized hidden weapons hanging at her waist—it was Tang Yuwei of the Tang Clan from Shu.
“Master Qing Feng?” Tang Yuwei’s eyes lit up when she saw Qing Feng’an. She dismounted and walked over quickly, followed by several Tang Clan disciples. “What a coincidence! I was sent by my father to Gusu on business. Hearing that Master was here, I took a detour to pay my respects.”
Qing Feng’an nodded in acknowledgment. “Miss Tang is too kind.”
Tang Yuwei’s gaze lingered on Qing Feng’an for a moment, her cheeks flushing slightly. She then noticed Jin Xianling standing nearby and asked curiously, “And this is?”
“Disciple Jin Xianling greets Miss Tang,” Jin Xianling spoke before Qing Feng’an could answer. His smile was warm, but a cold killing intent flickered in the depths of his eyes. Another woman trying to get close to his master!
Unaware of his hostility, Tang Yuwei smiled back. “So it is Junior Brother Jin. I heard Master Qing Feng never took disciples; you are truly fortunate.” As she spoke, she took a brocade box from her robes and handed it to Qing Feng’an. “This is the Tang Clan’s specially made Heart-Clearing Powder that my father asked me to deliver. It is said to be highly beneficial for practitioners to calm their spirits and steady their Qi. Please accept it, Master.”
Seeing Qing Feng’an accept the box, Jin Xianling nearly snapped his fingers in frustration, his heart burning with jealousy. He swore to himself that this Tang Yuwei must not be allowed to stay near his master.
Qing Feng’an took the box and said simply, “Give my thanks to Clan Leader Tang.”
Tang Yuwei beamed. “There is no need for such formality. Since I am here, I would also like to ask Master for guidance on a few sword techniques. I wonder if Master has the time?”
“Miss Tang is joking. A mutual exchange of pointers would be fine.” Just as Qing Feng’an finished speaking, Jin Xianling stepped forward, his smile still gentle. “Master, I happen to have some confusion regarding my swordplay recently. Why don’t I seek guidance from Miss Tang first, so Master can observe and point out our flaws?”
Without waiting for Qing Feng’an’s permission, he drew the wooden sword from his waist. His gaze seemed respectful, but it hid a sharp edge. Though surprised, Tang Yuwei agreed readily. “Very well! I’ve been wanting to see the swordplay of the Xuanqing Sword Sect!”
The two faced each other, and sword light instantly began to weave through the forest. Although Jin Xianling had not been practicing for long, his sword techniques were exceptionally fierce, each move aimed at vital points. There was no room for a friendly exchange; instead, he fought with a desperate, maddened aura. Tang Yuwei gradually realized something was wrong. Startled, she cast aside her lightheartedness and focused entirely on the fight.
“Junior Brother Jin, it is only a spar. Why fight so desperately?” Tang Yuwei dodged a vicious strike, her brow furrowed.
A cold sneer touched Jin Xianling’s lips, though his voice remained gentle. “Miss Tang’s swordplay is superb. If I do not give my all, would that not be disrespectful?” Before he finished speaking, his sword momentum suddenly accelerated. The wooden sword, carrying sharp True Qi, lunged directly toward Tang Yuwei’s face.
Qing Feng’an frowned, sensing the killing intent in Jin Xianling’s moves. He was about to stop them when Jin Xianling suddenly tripped over his own feet, falling backward with a cry of pain. “Ah!”
Tang Yuwei instinctively tried to pull back her sword, but it was too late. The tip of the blade grazed Jin Xianling’s arm, leaving a bloody gash.
“Junior Brother!” Tang Yuwei cried out in alarm, quickly sheathing her sword and rushing forward. “I didn’t mean to!”
Jin Xianling clutched his arm, his face pale. The look he gave Qing Feng’an was full of grievance. “Master… I am fine. It is just that my skills are lacking; Miss Tang is not to blame.” He appeared weak, but he secretly used his fingernails to dig deeper into the wound, making the blood flow more freely to gain Qing Feng’an’s pity.
Qing Feng’an stepped forward to examine the wound, his frown deepening. He had clearly seen Jin Xianling trip himself on purpose, yet he could not understand why. “Enough. We shall end the sparring here for today.” His voice was flat, but it carried a trace of imperceptible distance.
Looking at the wound on Jin Xianling’s arm, Tang Yuwei felt guilty, yet she also felt something was amiss. Jin Xianling’s gaze was too strange—it wasn’t one of grievance, but a kind of near-insane obsession.
Jin Xianling relied on Qing Feng’an’s side, feeling his master’s concern, and allowed a smile that no one could see to curl on his lips. Tang Yuwei, this is just a warning. If you dare to approach Master again, next time it won’t be as simple as a single wound.
Qing Feng’an looked at his aggrieved disciple and then at the confused Tang Yuwei, the doubt in his heart growing heavier. He vaguely felt that beneath Jin Xianling’s gentle exterior lay a heart of madness and obsession. This journey down the mountain, which had begun because of a marriage push, had already been stirred into a turbulent undercurrent by this maddened heart, leaving the path ahead uncertain.