Chapter Fifty-Five: The Little Sword

A residence, a mouse demon companion—unbeknownst to himself, Chen Jianchen’s foundation in this world had begun to expand. The house was already cleaned out, and both Madam Mo and A’bao had been brought into the city.

Upon seeing the spacious home, Madam Mo was overcome with astonishment and delight, almost doubting she was awake—a son who entered the city to study, and during his studies, managed to purchase such a grand house; how could she not be surprised?

She asked Chen Jianchen repeatedly how all this had come to be.

Chen Jianchen replied, “All the money came from selling my calligraphy, and what was lacking I borrowed from Wang Fu.”

Hearing that he had borrowed money, Madam Mo grew anxious, saying he ought not to have done so.

Chen Jianchen responded, “I was concerned for Mother suffering in the countryside and unable to focus on my studies, so I resolved to bring you into the city... Besides, the amount borrowed isn’t much, and there’s no interest or deadline. I’ll repay it once I’ve earned enough.”

Hearing his heartfelt filial piety, Madam Mo was deeply gratified, feeling that ever since her son became a scholar, it was as though he had been reborn—his words and actions all the more composed and mature.

A’bao, meanwhile, was overjoyed; in her heart, Liu Xian-ge had always been the most capable man in the world—a literary star descended to earth, yet unpretentious. See, he’d effortlessly earned a grand residence within Jiangzhou’s city walls. For ordinary people, such a feat was simply unthinkable.

Naturally, the management of the household fell to the two women, who soon had everything in perfect order. Though funds were limited and they could not furnish the place with luxurious pieces, simple wooden beds and stools, warmed by affection, made for a cozy, complete home.

The neighbors, upon seeing Chen Jianchen take over the haunted house and remain unharmed, were all full of wonder, speculating among themselves—could it be that the ghost was actually afraid of scholars and thus dared not cause trouble? They whispered endlessly in private.

Indeed, among common folk, the saying that scholars do not fear ghosts or gods had long existed and was widely believed.

In these days, all the calligraphy and inkwork Chen Jianchen consigned to Xue Ni Studio had sold out. Although the prices were modest, the profits were considerable and provided a relatively stable source of income.

With so many affairs to manage and his frequent outings, Chen Jianchen soon attracted the attention of the academy’s supervisors, who summoned him for a “heart-to-heart talk”—the gist of which, of course, was that studies are paramount and must not be neglected.

This reminded Chen Jianchen of being called into the teacher’s office for reprimands after misbehaving in his previous life.

To be fair, the gentlemen of the academy were quite just; in their eyes, the talented Chen Jianchen was a promising seedling to be carefully nurtured, who might one day rank among the top three in the imperial examinations. Whether laureate, second, or first place, it would be the highest honor for the individual and a glory for the academy as well.

Minghua Academy, a state-level school, had never in its history produced a top-three scholar—only ordinary jinshi, which was a source of regret and a stain on its reputation.

As expected, after his stern talking-to, Chen Jianchen stopped taking frequent leaves and venturing out. The tutors were relieved, little knowing it was simply because he no longer needed to go out as before.

In his former world, Chen Jianchen was never one to sit quietly and bury himself in books; he was lively and imaginative. Now, with the True Chapter of the Three Principles as his foundation, he felt even less compelled to force himself to study formulaic essays, preferring instead to follow his own path.

A bamboo staff and straw sandals are lighter than a steed; who would fear the journey? Cloaked in mist and rain, I live as I please!

Such a free and unrestrained life was precisely what he yearned for.

Little Yi, too, had followed him into the academy. This tiny mouse, clever and nimble, could hide without being discovered by anyone. Chen Jianchen was uneasy leaving it outside, and bringing it in allowed him to teach it to read and write.

To teach a mouse to read!

This was an utterly mad notion, inconceivable to ordinary people.

Little Yi, though enlightened and possessed of spiritual intelligence, was noticeably slower than Ying Ning—clumsy and slow-witted. He had to teach each character many times before it would remember.

Because of this, Chen Jianchen specially broke off a willow twig to keep in the room; if Little Yi misbehaved during lessons, the willow was immediately employed—a light flick, and the mouse demon would bare its teeth in pain before hastily straightening up to recite and write properly.

After many days of instruction, Little Yi had improved greatly—it was no longer a mere parrot, but had learned many characters and could even recite a few lines of poetry, becoming a mouse that was, in its way, both learned and well-mannered.

At this point, Chen Jianchen produced the Invisibility Technique he had acquired from Wang Fu, and began to teach it to Little Yi.

At the sight of it, the mouse demon’s little eyes shone green, and it tumbled three times across the desk in delight—its proud little antics making Chen Jianchen burst out laughing.

With this secret art in hand, Little Yi immediately set about cultivating. Yet although it was enlightened, practicing the Dao was no easy task—it required perseverance and diligence.

“Thank you, Master!”

Little Yi, though usually glib, was extremely respectful at this moment, bowing low to Chen Jianchen—for Daoist manuals were treasures, zealously guarded and rarely shared by the great sects. For a mouse demon like Little Yi, to obtain one was an improbable stroke of fortune.

By teaching it to read and granting it a Daoist manual, Chen Jianchen was, to all intents and purposes, its master.

This Invisibility Technique was not a one-use item; once Little Yi had mastered it, it could later be passed to Ying Ning without conflict.

Speaking of Ying Ning, the image of a pure white, charming little fox surfaced unbidden in Chen Jianchen’s mind. He wondered how its cultivation was progressing, whether it was faring well on the back hills of Maple Mountain. When the academy closed for holidays in August, perhaps he would have a chance to visit...

One night, after much diligent cultivation, the mouse demon finally achieved a breakthrough. Though it had yet to master the Invisibility Technique, it unexpectedly transcended its Daoist level and condensed a Yin Spirit.

Little Yi was overjoyed. In the deep of night, when all was quiet and undisturbed, it immediately set its Yin Spirit loose to play and enjoy itself.

The Yin Spirit emerged, taking on a vaguely human form—short and plump, with indistinct features, endearingly comical. This was the “Burrowing Ancestor” image that Little Yi idealized.

The mouse demon drifted about the room, looking around with curiosity.

A sudden hum, clear and sharp as a plucked blade, reverberated through the air.

At the sound, the Yin Spirit nearly shattered—on the verge of being scattered.

Startled out of its wits, Little Yi fled backward. It saw Chen Jianchen still sleeping soundly in his bed, but above him, a white glow had appeared out of nowhere—about three inches long and very slender. At first glance, it seemed no more than a thread; but on closer inspection, it was a sword, exquisitely tiny.

It had a point, a blade, and a hilt—all distinct. It was unmistakably a small sword.

Yet at that moment, the sword glimmered with an overwhelming aura, vast and majestic; under its pressure, Little Yi’s Yin Spirit was nearly slain on the spot.