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

Chapter 89: Response Ning Song Wu carefully selected over a dozen different rulers, varying in length and weight. He then lined them up neatly and pulled Cen Ran over, earnestly pointing at the row of rulers. "Senior Sister, which one do you think hurts less when whipped?" Cen Ran burst into laughter, "What are you up to now? Have you been spoiled too much that you're itching for a beating?" "No, it's not that," Ning Song Wu sighed, recalling his master's icy tone. He must be angry. "I messed up, and my master wants to punish me." "With his cold demeanor, how could Master ever get mad at you? What kind of mischief have you caused this time?" "Well..." Ning Song Wu blushed, mumbling incoherently, "Don't ask, Senior Sister..." "Alright then. Take this one with you; it shows sincerity," Cen Ran playfully picked out the thickest one. Ning Song Wu almost burst into tears, "It's so thick! Won't my palms crack?" Cen Ran raised an eyebrow, "Then pick the lightest one? Long and thin, it'll sting sharper." Ning Song Wu's mind raced. Actually, both thick and thin would hurt. Perhaps bringing all of them for his master to choose would appear sincere. Who knows, maybe his master would be touched by his earnestness and decide not to punish him at all. With a crafty smile, Ning Song Wu clumsily gathered all the rulers of various sizes and headed towards Ran Fan Yin's chamber. Ran Fan Yin had obviously put that joke behind her. After a dusty journey, she only wanted to cleanse herself upon returning to her quarters. Dismissing all the maids, Ran Fan Yin stood alone by the bath, preparing to undress. The white robes slid off one by one, revealing her slender, alabaster neck and perfectly sculpted shoulders. Her long, soft black hair cascaded like a waterfall, partially veiling her enticingly slender waist, as the graceful butterfly bones on her back danced slightly with her movements. The undulating curve of her waist was enough to stir wicked thoughts in anyone. Under her flowing, ascetic white robes was unexpectedly such a breathtaking sight. Ran Fan Yin sank half her body into the steaming bath, closing her eyes to meditate. Her thoughts drifted to half a month ago. ◆ It took her five days to reach Mount Hua. Social norms dictated that she should've stayed for at least a month before heading back. Yet, during her stay, she constantly received flying messages from Cen Ran, disrupting her peace. In nine out of ten letters, Cen Ran mentioned Ning Song Wu. Since her departure to Mount Hua, Ning Song Wu had been in a daze, sometimes waking from sleep in tears or calling out "Master" in her sleep. He wasn’t eating properly either. With Ran Fan Yin gone for just a few days, his little face noticeably thinned. Ran Fan Yin felt her trip to Mount Hua was fruitless—just five days running back and forth, staying a while, eating a few meals cooked by Mount Hua, and finding out their dishes had more potatoes than Northern Punishment's vegetables, nothing more. She felt something tugging at her heart, perhaps waiting for something. The steam enveloped Ran Fan Yin, adding a hint of flush to her pale face, making her usually composed expression slightly alluring. "Master..." "Hey, don't go in. The Venerable is bathing..." "Master called me over. You can’t stop me." The voice suddenly reached the threshold, and Ran Fan Yin furrowed her brow, rising quickly. In an instant, the sound of water splashing filled the room. In the blink of an eye, a white robe from the garment rack flew up and wrapped around her delicate body. The thin robe clung wetly to Ran Fan Yin, her hair still dripping and her collar slightly parted, revealing skin as white as jade. Ning Song Wu had just stepped inside and froze, wide-eyed, clutching a bundle of rulers. "I told you to come at night. What time is it now?" Ran Fan Yin's brow furrowed in annoyance. She glanced outside. The sky was dark, featuring a slender crescent moon with no stars. Her voice trailed off, and silence filled the room. The air seemed to freeze. Ning Song Wu swallowed nervously, feeling his heart racing in his chest. After a while, Ran Fan Yin snapped back, "Oh... It's dark already." "I apologize... it was presumptuous of me..." Ning Song Wu stumbled over his words, nearly biting his tongue. His master was truly beautiful, the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Though admittedly, he hadn’t seen many people in Northern Punishment. Ning Song Wu shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy, maybe overwhelmed by the bath steam. “What are you doing with all those sticks?” Ran Fan Yin momentarily forgot. “Master... you told me earlier to bring a ruler to see you…” Ran Fan Yin approached, bending slightly. The freshly bathed scent of plum blossoms, combined with her unsettled white attire, made Ning Song Wu breathless. "I remember now. Just use this one then," Ran Fan Yin selected a long and slender one, placing it on a small table. Ning Song Wu nodded blankly, "Oh..." "Take it and wait for me at the Plum Garden. Tonight, I'll teach you the basics of Northern Punishment swordsmanship." Ning Song Wu blinked, then quickly knelt in gratitude, "Thank you, Master." The cold evening breeze stirred, causing a shower of fallen plum petals to dance lightly. The wind carried the scent of plums into Ning Song Wu's nostrils, exactly like the fragrance Ran Fan Yin carried. Located in the far north, Northern Punishment is often covered in snow, where ordinary plants cannot survive. Only this garden of plum trees blooms with delicate white and pink blossoms, adding a splash of color to the snowy landscape. Ran Fan Yin loved the plum blossoms and often meditated in the garden. The petals scattered across the ground like a fairyland. Individually mesmerizing, they were also frequently used for sword practice. There was once a period when Ran Fan Yin was obsessed with carving words on the tiny petals using sheer force without knocking them off their branches. Ning Song Wu stood in the Plum Garden with the ruler, waiting for Ran Fan Yin, not noticing how long it had been as plum blossoms began to settle on his shoulders. Ran Fan Yin appeared behind him, holding a snow-colored longsword, "Your alertness is lacking," she said with emotionless neutrality. Ning Song Wu didn’t turn, instead smiling sweetly, "I knew it was you, Master, so I wasn't alerted." Though Ran Fan Yin's presence blended seamlessly with the Plum Garden, the warmth from her freshly bathed self and an unmistakable familiarity were things Ning Song Wu could not miss. Ran Fan Yin shook her head, "Excuses! ...Have you been practicing the heart technique I gave you?" "Yes, I've been practicing." "Good. Watch closely. Observe my sword movements and footwork." Before her words fell completely, Ran Fan Yin leaped into a graceful sword dance. Ning Song Wu watched intently, unwilling to blink, eyes fixed on Ran Fan Yin's elegant swordplay. Her slender form, wrapped in crisp white sleeves, moved like a dragon through the darkness, the sleeves stirring the wind and lifting the pink petals in pursuit. The snow-hued sword aimed at a cluster of plum blossoms, slicing twelve petals with precision. Ran Fan Yin smoothly leapt and turned, her foot landing on the first petal to reach the ground, her sword relentlessly piercing another floating petal. The sword's movement lifted the remaining petals to an ideal height. Ran Fan Yin turned deftly, her second step landed on another petal, body as close to the ground as possible, piercing yet another petal flawlessly. The remaining four steps followed this same sequence. Ran Fan Yin finished the entire sequence, stepping on six petals exactly, each one accompanying her precise strike on an airborne blossom. It seemed effortless, so swift that one scarcely noticed the choreography without careful observation. After she sheathed her sword, Ran Fan Yin turned to Ning Song Wu, who looked a bit dazed, "Have you memorized it? I’ll knock down the petals, and you shall use the ruler to strike them as I did." "Master, isn’t this too difficult? Weren’t you going to teach me beginner sword techniques?" Ning Song Wu's face was one of distress. "This is the fundamental six-step sword technique you must master. All advanced sword skills stem from and are constrained by these six steps. Everything has its origin; the origin is the simplest yet most fundamental." "Oh... Alright..." Ning Song Wu responded with trepidation. Seeing her anxiety, Ran Fan Yin sought to reassure her, "Utilize the heart technique I taught you to channel energy before swinging your sword. It will make it much easier." Ning Song Wu nodded, though her left hand trembled slightly holding the ruler. A sudden thought crossed Ran Fan Yin's mind, a fleeting emotion in her eyes, "Use your right hand." "What? My... right hand?!" Ning Song Wu's mind went blank. Already feeling underconfident, Ran Fan Yin's sudden high-stakes request left her utterly at a loss. Her right hand at her side trembled uncontrollably. That right hand... held the memories of a time three years ago, a period of naive innocence but also deep regret—events she wished she could forget. The recollections flooded back, devastating the small confidence Ning Song Wu had painstakingly built. "Just try it. I want to see how your right hand has recovered over these years." "Master!" Ning Song Wu exclaimed urgently. Ran Fan Yin's gaze softened as she looked at Ning Song Wu. She approached slowly and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, speaking softly, "Wu'er, what are you afraid of? I'm here. What is there to fear?" Exactly, what was there to fear? Ning Song Wu fell silent. It wasn't just the physical obstacle but a psychological one. The excruciating pain of having his tendons severed years ago was fresh in his mind. Once bitten by a snake, he now feared even a simple rope for ten years. He rarely dared to use his right hand in daily activities, let alone wield a sword. How could that be easy? The air felt thick and still. Ran Fan Yin waited for a response from Ning Song Wu, but none came. She sighed, "Never mind. Remember, growing older and honing your sword skills are not what's most important. Understanding and breaking through your mental barriers is the path we pursue in Northern Punishment. For now, practice with your left hand." At that moment, Ning Song Wu felt utterly inadequate. He couldn't grasp the essence of his master's philosophy, nor did he dare to act. He knew nothing. When would he ever catch up to his master? Perhaps never in this lifetime. Ran Fan Yin stood calmly by a plum tree, casually wielding her snow-hued longsword, controlling each petal’s descent without needing to look. Her casual, carefree manner exuded profound and unfathomable skill with every movement. Watching her elegant silhouette under the plum tree, Ning Song Wu felt a pang of bitterness in his chest. Though his master stood so near, it was as if an endless cycle of worlds and lifetimes separated them, making her forever unreachable. His first attempt missed the mark completely. "Again." Ran Fan Yin's emotionless voice sounded disconcerting at that moment. Ning Song Wu nodded, returning to his spot, striving to recall and emulate his master's movements. He didn't know how long he practiced. Initially, he silently counted his attempts, but the endless cycle of starting over demoralized him. Why were his master's seemingly simple and fluid movements impossible for him? Several times, he was close to striking a petal but always fell just short. Exhausted after the first two successful strikes, Ning Song Wu's foot slipped as he turned for the third move, sending him crashing heavily to the ground. His eyes stung with unshed tears, a sense of inexplicable grievance washing over him. Contrary to expectations, Ran Fan Yin didn't rush over to comfort or assist him. Her gaze sharpened, her voice turned icy, "Get up and try again!" "Master..." Ning Song Wu's voice choked, having tried hard and practiced long, his wrists throbbed with fatigue. "Do you think bawling on the ground is acceptable just because you can't complete it? Do you think sword practice is a child's play, done however you please?" Ran Fan Yin's expression seemed cloaked in frost. "Did you know Zi Sheng perfected five strikes flawlessly his first time, and Cen Ran managed the full six on her third attempt?" Ning Song Wu dared not utter another word. Ran Fan Yin observed Ning Song Wu's small, helpless form sitting on the ground, his side profile silent under her reprimand, and she suddenly realized something. She once thought that Ning Song Wu's brutal childhood experiences would make him more mature than his peers. But reality contradicted her expectations. In the Glory and Decline Pavilion, only she, Cen Ran, and Zi Sheng could influence Ning Song Wu, and what they offered was limited. They've indulged him too much, cultivating this delicate nature in him that relied heavily on tears and tantrums for solving problems, an approach that was unsustainable. Pausing as if having contemplated thoroughly, Ran Fan Yin spoke, "Tomorrow, you'll go to Hongfei Pavilion. Train alongside the entry-level disciples there, attending the morning and evening classes, starting from the basics." Her next words, spoken with usual composure yet chilling to Ning Song Wu, sent him into a numbing shock: "From now on, Peng Zilai, the master of Hongfei Pavilion, will be your new master." With those final words, Ran Fan Yin hardened her heart, turned away with a swish of her sleeve, and left without another glance at Ning Song Wu. Ran Fan Yin knew it was difficult for Ning Song Wu to make substantial progress in the sheltered environment of the Glory and Decline Pavilion. Some things were beyond what she or Cen Ran could teach—certain experiences Ning Song Wu had to discover for himself. He needed the companionship of his peers, a necessity she couldn't provide. Upon hearing the phrase "new master," Ning Song Wu's body shook violently, tears streaming even more fiercely. He watched Ran Fan Yin's retreating, cold figure, leaving without a backward glance. Ning Song Wu felt a part of his heart had been hollowed out. He sat alone in the Plum Garden for a long time, until dawn broke in the east and layers of fallen petals nearly buried him into a mound of flowers.