The Green-Eyed Blademaster

Chapter 8: An Echo Across Nine Hundred Years

The Huang Clan had given Li Qingyan a secluded courtyard for his stay. It was a tranquil place, with a small pavilion overlooking a placid koi pond, a weeping willow trailing its leaves in the water. After the bloody chaos of the tavern, the silence was a welcome change.

He sat in the pavilion, observing the lazy movements of the fish, when he heard soft footsteps approach. It was Huang Lianxue. She had changed from her battle-worn robes into a simple but elegant dress, and she carried a tray with a fresh pot of premium tea. It was a gesture of gratitude that felt distinctly personal.

"Senior Li," she began, her voice much softer than it had been in the face of danger. She knelt gracefully, pouring him a cup. "I... I came to thank you again properly. You saved my life, and the lives of my fellow disciples. My family is eternally in your debt."

Li Qingyan accepted the cup, his gaze quietly studying her. It was not her words that held his attention, but the small, unconscious gestures she made. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the earnest light in her eyes as she spoke.

A simple, human gesture. A gesture he had seen before.

The memory was not emotional. It was a file, pulled from the vast, cold archive of his mind. It was thousand and one hundred years ago. He had been a hundred years old then, a peerless expert already, but still wandering the world, tempering his spirit before the final, great slumber his technique required.

He had stumbled upon a scene of slaughter. A young couple, the last survivors of a merchant caravan, were cornered by demonic cultivators. He had intervened, of course. Not out of compassion, but because the demonic cultivators were an eyesore, their Qi a discordant note in the world's harmony. He had erased them with a single thought.

The woman he had saved that day... her face was a near-perfect echo of Huang Lianxue's. The same determined set of her jaw, the same graceful curve of her neck, the same captivating beauty.

And he remembered the man beside her. A handsome, talented young cultivator who had looked at the woman with a foolish, all-consuming devotion. Every glance was filled with adoration, every word was a testament to his love. Li Qingyan recalled finding it tiresome even then. That kind of devotion was a vulnerability, a glaring weakness in one's armor. It was a fire that consumes, offering little warmth and leaving only ash. A pointless, mortal endeavor.

"...so my father hopes you will grace us with your presence at a banquet tonight," Huang Lianxue was saying, finishing her formal invitation.

"I will attend," Li Qingyan replied simply, his mind returning to the present.

"Good." A small, relieved smile touched her lips. She seemed to relax slightly in his presence. As she stood to leave, a massive, golden-scaled koi fish, the size of a man's arm, breached the water's surface with a loud splash.

Startled by the sudden noise, she took an instinctive step back. Her heel caught on the edge of an uneven stone tile. With a small gasp, her balance was lost, and she tipped backwards, falling directly towards him.

She didn't hit the hard floor of the pavilion.

She was caught. Held in an embrace as steady and unyielding as a mountain. Li Qingyan had not moved with his usual blinding speed, but with a simple, reflexive action, his arms coming around her to stop her fall.

For a moment, there was absolute silence, save for the ripple of water in the pond. Huang Lianxue was pressed against his chest. It was firm, solid. She could feel the calm, steady rhythm of his breathing, smell the faint, clean scent of his white robes. Her heart, usually as calm as a frozen lake even in battle, now hammered against her ribs like a war drum. A flush of heat spread from her neck all the way to the tips of her ears.

"Lianxue, we were just coming to see if our guest was comfortable—"

A voice, warm and paternal, called out from the entrance to the courtyard. Huang Jianshu and his wife Liu Wanqing had just entered, and they froze mid-step, their eyes wide as they took in the scene: their precious daughter, held firmly in the arms of the mysterious and powerful Li Qingyan.

Huang Lianxue sprang back as if scalded, her face the color of a sunset-ripened tomato. She couldn't look at her parents, couldn't look at Li Qingyan, and found herself utterly speechless, stammering nonsense as she tried to fix her slightly disheveled clothes.

Li Qingyan, however, remained as he was, seated calmly. He released her without any change in expression, his face a placid mask. As he looked at the two stunned parents, his jade-green eyes held a flicker of something that might have been, for the briefest of moments, amusement.