Chapter Forty-Eight: First Encounter

Urgently asking for recommendation votes—if I make it onto the recommendation list, I’ll serve you with three chapters a day!

Chen Jianchen gazed at the woman’s graceful, ethereal figure and wondered if she too was a student of the Snowy Grove Academy. He cleared his throat to make his presence known.

Sure enough, upon hearing his cough, the woman slowly turned her head.

Her face was veiled, revealing only brows like distant mountains and eyes as clear and bright as water.

Chen Jianchen clasped his hands in greeting, “Miss, are you also a student of the Snowy Grove Academy? What brings you here?”

This woman, daring to stand high above the river, clearly possessed courage, unlike the usual delicate ladies.

She replied, “My heart felt unsettled, so I came here to enjoy the breeze.” Her voice was crisp and melodious, as if a young oriole had just begun to sing—truly pleasant to the ear.

Chen Jianchen was about to speak when, in a flash, the woman leapt down from the five-foot-high stone like a swallow, landing with the silent, steady grace of a seasoned martial artist.

She knows martial arts?

This completely exceeded Chen Jianchen’s expectations.

Noticing the surprise flash across his face, the woman appeared a bit pleased with herself, clapping her hands in a display of spirited confidence.

Chen Jianchen quickly regained his composure. “I hadn’t expected you to possess such skill, Miss. My apologies for underestimating you.”

He spoke sincerely. In the Celestial Dominion, a woman who not only knew martial arts but had clearly trained well was a rare sight indeed.

“Xiaoqian! So this is where you’ve been!”

Wu Wencai’s voice suddenly sounded, and soon he came running over, a burly servant following behind.

“Huh? Chen Jianchen, what are you doing here?”

Seeing Chen Jianchen present, seemingly chatting with Xiaoqian, Wu Wencai’s face darkened immediately, discarding all courtesy as he called out Chen Jianchen’s name directly.

So, she was Nie Xiaoqian. Yet, it was still impossible to see her true face… The thought flashed through Chen Jianchen’s mind in an instant. He replied calmly, “I was merely here to admire the river view.”

Wu Wencai snorted. He held little fondness for Chen Jianchen and was particularly annoyed by his reputation as a prodigy and scholar. But he refrained from acting out, instead hurrying to Nie Xiaoqian’s side and addressing her with exaggerated concern, “Xiaoqian, why did you come here alone? What if something had happened to you?”

Nie Xiaoqian instinctively stepped aside, saying, “What could possibly happen? You’re a scholar who can’t even catch a chicken, but I’m not.”

Her words were forthright, unrestrained—clearly a candid temperament.

Having said her piece, she walked back along the path toward the banyan tree.

Wu Wencai hurried after her, trying to please her with flattering words, but Nie Xiaoqian responded only with indifferent remarks.

—It seemed Wang Fu’s intelligence wasn’t entirely reliable. Though the Wu and Nie families were old friends, there was evidently nothing between Nie Xiaoqian and Wu Wencai. It was Wu Wencai alone who was infatuated.

But what did that matter?

Nie Xiaoqian, daughter of the Prefect of Jiangzhou, was a pearl in the palm of her family. Chen Jianchen, by contrast, was a classic poor scholar. How could their paths truly cross?

If only life were as it was at first meeting; but even the first meeting was only half a meeting.

How different reality was from his imagination.

Chen Jianchen gave a self-deprecating smile. Seeing no one around, he gathered his energy and leapt onto the very stone where Nie Xiaoqian had stood—let’s not forget, he too knew some martial arts.

Standing atop the stone, he gazed into the distance. The river stretched wide and mighty, waves surging. The sight filled him with a heroic spirit.

Suddenly, a small boat drifted downstream. At its prow stood a man, tall and imposing, his hair tied in a simple Daoist topknot, his face bristling with needle-sharp whiskers. He wore straw sandals and coarse linen, a massive sword case strapped to his back—some three feet long, with its dark hilt protruding over his shoulder.

Chen Jianchen tried to see more clearly, but the boat sped downriver, and in the blink of an eye it had become a black dot, soon vanishing altogether.

His heart was filled with curiosity and uncertainty. Yet that fleeting glimpse offered no clue to the stranger’s identity.

“Liuxian! Liuxian, why are you still here? The gathering’s about to begin!”

Wang Fu arrived, panting.

Chen Jianchen responded, gathering his scattered thoughts, and leapt down from the stone in a single motion—giving Wang Fu quite a fright.

Seeing this, Chen Jianchen laughed heartily. In that instant, he caught a faint glimmer of Nie Xiaoqian’s earlier mischief—so she had leapt down to startle him? Perhaps she was annoyed at his sudden appearance, which had interrupted her quiet contemplation.

How intriguing!

With that leap, Chen Jianchen gained a new perspective on Nie Xiaoqian’s character—she was nothing like the conventionally demure, cautious young ladies, but rather resembled a heroine, bold and free-spirited.

…

The gathering of students from the two study halls was not actually held at the riverbank. The riverbank was merely the opening scenic stop; after paying their respects to the sacred tree and receiving wish pouches, the group boarded carriages and headed straight for Brushrack Mountain.

According to their plan, the formal gathering would take place at the pavilion on the mountain’s summit.

Brushrack Mountain was tall and steep, with only a single stone stairway leading up. At the base, many laborers offered sedan chair rides—twenty copper coins per person.

Most students chose to ride, not to mention the older teachers. After all, climbing the mountain step by step with their frail bodies would be a real ordeal.

In the end, only two chose to walk: Chen Jianchen, and Wu Wencai’s robust servant.

Oblivious to the odd looks from others, Chen Jianchen strode out in front, moving with vigorous energy—he did not rest once, and when he reached the summit, he wasn’t even out of breath.

The mountaintop had been leveled into a broad, open square, surrounded by various pavilions for visitors to rest. There was even a humble teahouse.

Four pillars, a thatch roof, six tables—that was the entirety of the teahouse.

Though the building was rough, the tea brewed by the old man within was famous for its pure fragrance. The proprietor was a white-haired elder, his face wrinkled, a snowy beard hanging to his chest. His age was unknown, but his manner was unhurried and composed.

He claimed his surname was Huang, and he was not a native of Jiangzhou.

It was odd that an outsider had come to open a teahouse atop Brushrack Mountain. Yet, since Old Huang had made arrangements with the local authorities, his shop operated with official sanction.

Over the years, countless dignitaries, scholars, and poets had come here for tea—all praised Old Huang’s skill. Some wealthy patrons had even tried to hire him as a private tea master for a handsome price, but he always smiled and refused, saying he was too old and wished only to live out his days in the mountains.

Perhaps it was for the best. The teahouse atop the mountain provided a place for visitors to rest and refresh themselves.

It was Chen Jianchen’s first time on Brushrack Mountain. Passing by the teahouse, he saw Old Huang busy inside. Suddenly, Chen Jianchen felt a faint, inexplicable sense of danger, as if a bloodthirsty beast lurked nearby.

Just then, Old Huang looked up and gave Chen Jianchen a smile. But his mouth was entirely toothless—only dark red gums, as red as blood, and deeply unsettling.