15 - Crazy! Criticizing the Prime Minister for Being a Servant

Ning Songwu rubbed her head. "Master, what time is it now?" Ran Fanyin paused for a moment and questioned her gently. [Oh, we don't seem to use that kind of timekeeping anymore...] "Now," her disciple often seemed to place herself outside the current reality. "Master, what hour is it now?" Ran Fanyin sat gracefully at her seat and replied softly, "It’s about three quarters past the hour of the dog. You’ve slept the entire day." "Oh..." The air fell silent once again. [Now it's even more awkward...] "Currently, you've reverted to the early stage of Qi cultivation. Tomorrow, rise at the hour of the hare to practice swordsmanship, then proceed with cultivation training to prepare for the assessment in a year's time." [When exactly is the hour of the hare? Isn’t it seven in the morning? No, wait—it’s five in the morning!] [Me, a university student who never attends 8 a.m. classes, has to get up at five a.m. every day now?] Ran Fanyin had a rough idea that so-called "eight in the morning" and "five in the morning" referred to early classes and that her little disciple probably never attended early classes. Not a diligent child, indeed. She picked up a piece of rib and placed it on her disciple’s plate, tapping the edge of the plate gently with the chopsticks. Looking down, she said softly, "If you’re late, there will be a punishment." [See? I knew it; I'll be the one getting punished!] Ning Songwu’s eyes were hollow as she replied, "Yes, Master." Getting up at five in the morning was worse than death for her! Chapter 8: Displacement The next morning, Ning Songwu donned her narrow-sleeved training outfit and tied her long hair behind her head. She held a wooden sword and stood in the courtyard, her eyes vacant. The sky was lightening, and although the sun had not yet fully risen, golden light had begun to spread. It seemed to be called refraction. Yes, refraction. This was the subconscious analysis of a wandering humanities student. Thanks to the absence of mobile phones and short videos here, she went to bed right after digesting her meal last night. Considering the timeline, it was only about the hour of the pig, so she fell asleep around ten-thirty. Consequently, she wasn’t particularly sleepy now. But getting up at eight a.m. is deadly, not just because it makes her tired! [Mom, are you touched that your daughter went to bed at ten-thirty?] [Oh wait, my mom can't be touched anymore. Her daughter is already gone, the best warning against staying up late.] [Boohoo, Mom...] She wished she could go back and slap her former, nocturnal self. Look at you now; enjoying getting up at five a.m., are you? Ran Fanyin massaged her temple, observing the limp and boneless-looking girl—was Ning Songwu not an orphan? Where were these parents coming from? Suppressing her inner curiosity, she took the girl's hand, pressing her fingertips on her wrist, causing a slight burn. Finally, some life returned to those muddled eyes. Disciplining her thoughts, the girl obediently stood up straight. In teaching mode, Elder Ran became colder. Her lips formed no curve as she wielded a bamboo sword. With grace, she demonstrated piercing, parrying, slashing, and lifting, making a beautiful spin in the air before ending crisply. Her sword techniques were clean but imbued with latent power. A single light thrust could be as weighty as a thousand pounds, slicing through the air with a sharp sound that made Ning Songwu shiver. [If I knew, I'd have chosen fencing as an elective in P.E.] Ran Fanyin gripped her wrist and said coldly, "The sword techniques you are learning now will be applicable in real combat, unlike the flower swords used for performances." "Our spiritual roots differ. A cultivator must fight in harmony with their spiritual force. Consequently, I can only teach you the basic and common sword techniques. Once you master these, you will need to study on your own, developing your own methods." "But that’s far in the future; no need to rush. For now, your goal is to build a solid foundation." Saying this, she guided Ning Songwu through a basic routine, correcting her mistakes as she repeated it a few times. Ning Songwu had to admit, though she lacked the original owner’s memory, this body still retained it. The skills were ingrained deeply, and with the guidance of her master, she quickly reawakened the muscle memory. With each repetition, she grew more proficient, even managing a half-spin in mid-air. The original owner was truly impressive and dedicated, clearly aspiring to become an excellent cultivator. This filled her, an otherworldly soul, with a sense of guilt. However, that guilt did not last long. Ran Fanyin, gently stroking her chin, watched her repeat the routine several times, then raised her hand to stop her sword. With a trace of a smile, she said, "Next, pierce, parry, slash, and lift, five hundred times each." [What?!] Inside, the girl screamed in agony, but outwardly, she only lowered her eyes pitiably. "Master, five hundred each?" "Yes. Do it now. I have things to attend to but will check your progress later. Your movements must be precise—no slacking." [How would you even know if I slacked off...] Almost immediately after the thought surfaced, the red cord that had been tied to her wrist glowed, searing her flesh in a hot circle, as a melodious voice echoed in Ning Songwu's mind. "Feel free to test whether I can detect your laziness." "......" * It seemed the old sword masters had an obsession with pulling kids up early for sword practice, though there was nothing particularly significant about this time. Perhaps it was just that they themselves had trained at this hour in their youth. At Luo Yun Hall, the neatly arranged children followed the senior sister in their daily morning practice. The bustling crowd was in stark contrast to the sparsely populated Zhaomu Peak, which had only two occupants—a master and her disciple. Ran Fanyin glanced indifferently, spotting Lin Yuxue, who seemed less content. When she noticed her master’s arrival, the girl’s gaze drifted towards her, her discontent easing slightly as she tried harder to display her skills. What a strange girl. Why was she so eager to win her favor? The woman in green robes floated past without stopping. Lin Yuxue's spirits deflated, and her resentment toward Ning Songwu grew all the more. Clearly, she was the better choice—so why not pick her? What was so special about that ice spiritual root holder that made her more suitable to inherit Ran Fanyin’s legacy?