WPCID 46: The Noisy Spiritual Altar

Shen Zhou absolutely could not sleep anymore.

He scrambled out of bed to find Xie Xianqing, only to discover he was gone.

Only Chu Xuan was sitting outside alone, folding small paper figures. His fingers flew up and down, the thin calluses on his fingertips pressing and smoothing against the paper. He opened, folded, and with a few dazzling movements like a butterfly flitting through flowers, a figure was complete.

Shen Zhou hesitated for a moment before approaching.

When he was still ten steps away, Chu Xuan glanced up at him, then lowered his head to continue folding. 

“What is it?”

Shen Zhou nodded, waiting for Chu Xuan to ask him, “What’s the matter?”

But Chu Xuan didn’t see him nod.

And so, a silence fell. One stood ten paces away, the other kept his head down folding paper figures. Neither was the type to speak unless spoken to, making communication extremely difficult.

Fortunately, Xie Xianqing appeared.

“What’s wrong? Why are you out here again?” He was carrying several bamboo baskets filled with fresh medicinal herbs that had just been delivered, ready to be dried. He casually handed one to Shen Zhou. 

“If you’re really too restless to lie down, help me dry these herbs. Thanks, I’ll bake you some flaky pastries later.”

Shen Zhou’s wolf ears shot up. 

“!”

Putting other things aside, Doctor Xie was truly skilled at making pastries. Both the crust and the filling were fragrant, sweet, and crisp, unlike anything sold outside. Especially the flaky pastries—Shen Zhou could eat fifteen in one go.

If he told Xie Xianqing now, Shen Zhou mused, those two would definitely go to that Sword Bestowal Valley immediately to find the soul. The flaky pastries would very likely be postponed until tomorrow.

So, he quietly said, “It’s nothing,” and, hugging the bamboo basket, followed behind Xie Xianqing to dry the herbs.

Xie Xianqing, completely unaware that his pastries had already surpassed the former Sect Leader in importance, was still chatting enthusiastically with Shen Zhou. 

“What kind of filling do you want? Red bean paste, lotus seed paste, or custard? What kind of stamp pattern should be on the crust? Plum blossom, lotus, or chrysanthemum?”

Shen Zhou thought for a moment and requested two of each combination.

“Only six?” Xie Xianqing turned his head. 

“Didn’t you used to eat more than a dozen? Has your appetite gotten smaller? I can prescribe some medicine to help you regulate… Hey! You’re drying them wrong, don’t mix them together. Are you feeding fish, just tossing them out by the handful?”

Shen Zhou came back to his senses and picked up the herbs he had just thrown out one by one, folding his wolf ears down apologetically.

Xie Xianqing dusted the herb leaves off his hands and gladly gave the ears a couple of rubs, his attitude changing completely.

“It’s fine,” he said. 

“Just toss them wherever. I’ll have a young boy come over and re-sort them later.”

The wolf ears didn’t quite like the medicinal smell on Xie Xianqing’s hands and shook back and forth, which made Xie Xianqing’s heart bloom with joy.

Shen Zhou, oblivious, was still engrossed in the previous question. 

“Not six. Three types of fillings with three types of patterns, two of each resulting combination, that should be… twelve.”

After speaking, he nodded confidently. 

“Twelve.”

Xie Xianqing corrected, “That should be eighteen.”

Shen Zhou calculated again, frowning. 

“Twelve. Doesn’t the Kunlun Ruins teach arithmetic?”

The half-demon’s gaze was clear, sincere, and extremely firm. Xie Xianqing couldn’t help but start to doubt himself.

So he put down the bamboo basket and went back to ask Chu Xuan, “There are three types of fillings for the flaky pastries, which can be paired with three types of patterns. If I make two of each resulting combination, how many pastries should I make?”

Chu Xuan finished folding another paper figure, casually tucked it into Xie Xianqing’s lapel, and glanced up at him as if looking at an idiot. 

“I told you not to hang around with the half-demon all day long.”

Xie Xianqing: “.”

Xie Xianqing: “You just have something against Shen Zhou. Other than accidentally spilling porridge on you, he hasn’t done anything else bad. I’m not saying spilling porridge on you is a good thing, but you were also holding a sword and wanted to kill him before.”

Hmph. His loyalty was so skewed outwards, it was about to stray from the sect entirely.

Chu Xuan raised an eyebrow, silently pulled back the small paper figure, and stalked off amidst Xie Xianqing’s melodramatic and regretful cries of “Hey, hey, hey.”

That evening, Shen Zhou received eighteen flaky pastries.

Shen Zhou: “?”

“Count them yourself. Doesn’t Lu Buzhuo teach you arithmetic?” Xie Xianqing washed the flour off his hands. 

“Eat slowly. There’s tea on the table, want some?”

Shen Zhou shook his head, swallowing the red bean paste filling in his mouth. It was delicious. He squinted his eyes, finally in the mood to talk about serious matters. 

“Xie Xianqing, what kind of place is the Sword Bestowal Valley?”

“The Sword Bestowal Valley…” Xie Xianqing paused. 

“Where did you hear about the Sword Bestowal Valley?”

“Lu Buzhuo told me.”

Clang!

The copper basin for washing hands fell to the floor, and Xie Xianqing vanished in the blink of an eye.

Shen Zhou twitched his wolf ears and lowered his head to take another bite.

After chewing a couple of times, he saw Xie Xianqing sweep back in like a gust of wind. 

“He’s not awake. When did he speak to you?”

“This morning.” Shen Zhou poured him a cup of tea. 

“Don’t run off just yet.”

Xie Xianqing dazedly took the tea, and a pastry was pressed into his other hand. Shen Zhou even hooked a stool over with his foot, looking all set to have a chat with him over tea.

Xie Xianqing obliged by sitting down, taking a bite of the pastry, and sipping the tea before saying, “Get to the point, I’m in a hurry.”

“There’s a myna bird in Lu Buzhuo’s spiritual altar,” Shen Zhou said. 

“His soul is with the myna bird right now, and he’s talking to it. I heard everything.”

Xie Xianqing didn’t quite understand.

But he knew how to grasp the key points, filtering out the strange parts of the other’s words and picking out what he could understand. 

“You heard Lu Buzhuo say he’s in the Sword Bestowal Valley?”

“Mhm.” Shen Zhou’s eyes glazed over for a moment, as if he had returned to his spiritual altar, but they quickly regained their focus as he continued eating pastries. 

“He’s calling you a quack doctor right now, for leaving his soul outside for days without noticing.”

He paused, glanced at Xie Xianqing, and added with an unaccustomed awkwardness, “How could he scold you.”

Xie Xianqing didn’t notice he had been secretly defended. He put down the pastry and tea and hurried off to find Chu Xuan.

The wolf ears drooped with a bit of disappointment.

Shen Zhou lowered his head and nibbled on his pastry, thinking, at least the pastries are still delicious.

Night fell.

No one had returned to Shuyu Peak. Shen Zhou turned over in bed, somewhat missing Xie Xianqing reading medical books to him as a bedtime story.

Still not back.

…

After tossing and turning, tangling the blankets into a wrinkled mess, the soul in his spiritual altar quietly opened its eyes, pricking up its ears to listen for any activity from the myna bird’s side.

As expected, the moment he returned to his spiritual altar, he felt his face being nuzzled.

“Sigh,” a sad voice came from the other side. 

“They’ve practically dug up the entire Sword Bestowal Valley. Haven’t they discovered that I’m trapped inside the Punishment Sword?”

Shen Zhou: “.”

Why didn’t you say that earlier!

Shen Zhou patiently stayed in his spiritual altar for another quarter of an hour. He didn’t hear any more useful information, but instead was petted from head to toe and kissed more than a dozen times.

He didn’t know what was wrong with this person. He would just kiss the myna bird whenever he had nothing to do—kissing its eyes, then its beak, then its claws after the beak. The kisses made Shen Zhou’s fingers tingle and itch, and the myna bird’s feathers were probably all damp by now.

Pervert.

Shen Zhou thought coldly. He hid his soul back in the tree hollow, left his spiritual altar, got out of bed, dressed, and pushed the door open.

The entire mountain peak was bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight, bright and gentle. The distant mountains weren’t black but were shrouded in a faint blue mist. It was indeed a little prettier than the Bamboo Dock.

He didn’t know where the Sword Bestowal Valley was. After thinking for a moment, he slipped into Xie Xianqing’s room, trying to find the communication jade slip.

After rummaging for a long time, he didn’t find the jade slip, but instead found a strange painting.

On the painting was only a long, beautiful, well-defined hand holding a sword.

The hand was drawn with just a few sparse strokes, not very clear, but the sword hilt was painted with great detail, as if it had been meticulously rendered for a long time, not even missing the slightest signs of wear.

Shen Zhou recognized this sword hilt. He too had once secretly ground it for a long time to remove the line of characters engraved on it.

Could it be that Xie Xianqing likes Chu Xuan’s sword?

The wolf ears tilted in confusion. Shen Zhou put down the scroll and went to Chu Xuan’s room instead.

Chu Xuan’s sword was hanging on the wall, wrapped in cloth. Beneath it was a stack of the small paper figures he had folded during the day.

Shen Zhou paid no mind to the paper figures.

He had already forgotten he was looking for the communication jade slip. He casually brushed aside the paper figures, stepped onto the desk, and took down the sword.

Shen Zhou had wanted to give Xie Xianqing a gift for a long time. The man had been scratched by him at their first meeting in the inn, then was nearly doused with scalding porridge, kicked out the door, and even got his head bloodied in the dungeon.

He was truly unlucky, to the point that even Shen Zhou felt a little embarrassed.

Since Xie Xianqing liked Chu Xuan’s sword so much, he would steal it and give it to him.

The sword was rolled into the painting and put back in its original place.

Shen Zhou was very satisfied. He clapped his hands, ready to go back to sleep, feeling as though he had forgotten something.

In the Sword Bestowal Valley.

Chu Xuan, who was digging up the ground, suddenly looked up and said, “Xie Xianqing.”

Xie Xianqing had already examined every piece of the shattered stone stele five times over. Without looking up, he replied, “Hmm?”

“Someone moved the paper figures in my room.” Chu Xuan dusted off his hands, walked over to him, and gently nudged him with his boot. 

“It’s too late. Let’s head back for today.”

“Alright. I’m a bit tired too.” Xie Xianqing stood up, covered in dust, and looked around. 

“Is Lu Buzhuo’s soul really lost here? No matter how we call, there’s no response… Speaking of which, where did the Elder Hall put the Punishment Sword?”

“The Sword-Forging Grotto behind the waterfall deep in the valley. That place is far away and wasn’t affected; it’s still intact.” Chu Xuan glanced in that direction. 

“I heard the sword’s body is too damaged to be repaired by ordinary means. It needs to be tempered with Li Fire. Just firing up the furnace took many days. It should be placed in the furnace around tomorrow.”

“Such a big fuss,” Xie Xianqing said. 

“I heard that fire can directly melt a soul into ashes.”

Chu Xuan hummed in agreement.

Both were tired. They didn’t say much on the way back, just walked quietly side by side.

Upon returning to Shuyu Peak, Chu Xuan first went back to his room and found that his sword was indeed gone. He checked the small paper figures again, then turned to Xie Xianqing, who was leaning against the doorframe, and said, “It was that half-demon.”

“Don’t call him ‘half-demon’ all the time,” Xie Xianqing said. 

“He has a name.”

Chu Xuan gave him a very cold glance.

“Alright, alright, fine… It was indeed Shen Zhou’s fault for rummaging through your room,” Xie Xianqing continued to smooth things over. 

“Maybe he rummaged through my room too. You know, half-demons are always more curious.”

Chu Xuan: “I don’t know.”

Though he said that, he still followed Xie Xianqing to the room next door.

Sure enough, there were signs of it being searched as well.

Chu Xuan glanced around, detected the aura of his sword, and casually fiddled with the items on a shelf. He unerringly pulled out the scroll and unfurled it with a flick.

Xie Xianqing heard the sound and turned his head. He recognized the carefully hidden painting in Chu Xuan’s hand at a glance. His pupils shrank, and he blurted out, “Don’t touch it!”

Swish— The map unrolled to reveal the dagger.

A dead silence suddenly fell in the room; the atmosphere was almost frozen.

By the window, a pair of swaying wolf ears abruptly appeared.

“Xie Xianqing, you’re back.” Shen Zhou appeared, clinging to the window, and climbed in. 

“Lu Buzhuo said… What’s wrong with you two?”

Chu Xuan held the scroll by its hanging cord, dangling the clear, almost intimate painting of “Sect Leader Holding a Sword.” He shook it slightly, his eyebrows raised a fraction.

Xie Xianqing felt as if all his souls and spirits had fled. His ears were ringing, his vision swam between black and white, and he stumbled back half a step, bumping into the table.

Shen Zhou frowned in confusion, sensing intuitively that Xie Xianqing was not happy to receive this gift.

And since neither of them was speaking, it was hard for him to say anything either.

After a moment, Chu Xuan nonchalantly rolled up the painting, tossed it back on the shelf, and looked past Xie Xianqing directly at Shen Zhou. 

“What did Senior Brother say?”

“He said he’s trapped in the Punishment Sword.” It had been a day of uncomfortable sleep and unsatisfying meals, and Shen Zhou was actually a bit annoyed. One of his wolf ears was always drooping while the other was pricked up. If he were happy, both would be up.

Therefore, with a hint of complaint, he said bluntly, “Can you find him a little faster? Otherwise, he’s going to touch the myna bird’s butt again.”

Chu Xuan: “…”

Chu Xuan looked him up and down with a very complicated and strange expression. After hearing the news about Lu Buzhuo, he surprisingly didn’t rush back to the Sword Bestowal Valley. Instead, he asked, “Why did you hide my sword in Xie Xianqing’s room?”

Xie Xianqing had just regained his senses. Hearing this, he wished he could just die again.

Shen Zhou’s reply was also perfectly self-righteous. 

“Because Xie Xianqing likes your sword. You’re not using it anyway, so I took it for him to look at. I’ll give it back to you when he’s done.”

Chu Xuan: “…”

Xie Xianqing: “… …”

Another dead silence.

Especially Xie Xianqing, whose face was as pale as three-day-old spoiled rice.

Shen Zhou vaguely sensed he had done something wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. His wolf ears flattened back, then pricked up again. He quietly tugged on Xie Xianqing, pulling the man behind him.

Chu Xuan suddenly let out an uncharacteristically small laugh.

It was very light, just a slight upturn of his lips, barely a movement.

Xie Xianqing was about to faint.

Just as he was considering whether to grab the half-demon and jump out the window to perish together, he suddenly saw Chu Xuan walk over, push Shen Zhou aside, stuff the sword into his hands, and pat his shoulder.

“Look at it,” he said, and then left.

He was probably going back to the Sword Bestowal Valley to fish someone out. After all, finding Lu Buzhuo was a pressing matter. If they waited until tomorrow, there might not even be ashes left.

After Chu Xuan left, Xie Xianqing was even more distraught, sitting in a daze holding the sword without a word.

Shen Zhou stayed with him for a while with nothing to do.

Since the two of them didn’t start fighting over this sword, it must not be a big deal, he thought. I’ve also passed on Lu Buzhuo’s message. Today has been really tiring.

So, he went back to sleep with peace of mind.

The night was quiet, without even the chirping of insects.

The chattering voice in his spiritual altar was even more distinct, making it impossible to sleep.

Shen Zhou lay with his eyes open for a long while, feeling that the man surnamed Lu was truly too much. He turned his head to look at the oblivious Lu Buzhuo lying on the other side, and a flash of inspiration struck him.

And so, he spent a full half of the night busy. In Lu Buzhuo’s temporarily unguarded spiritual altar, he planted trees, raised birds, and even built a small shed, in which he, the cuckoo, settled in to sleep.