Young hero, stay put and don't be reckless.

Chapter 9 Spring Water School

noon.

Jiang Xun helped carry a load of rice and followed Ding Shun out of the city.

He kept talking the whole way, asking all sorts of questions—how many people are there in the Chunshui Sect? Is the kitchen busy? Are the senior brothers easy to get along with?

Ding Shun laughed at his question, but didn't seem annoyed at all.

After walking for about an hour, we finally arrived at the foot of Qixia Mountain.

Looking up, a winding stone staircase leads up into the depths of the bamboo forest, its end nowhere in sight.

Two disciples in blue robes stood at the mountain gate, swords hanging from their waists, their backs ramrod straight; they were clearly not ordinary people.

Jiang Xun looked at the two people and felt a little uneasy—his tattered clothes made him look like a beggar standing in front of them.

But Dingshun carried him along without any obstacles.

The two disciples nodded to Ding Shun and called him "Manager Ding," without giving him a second glance.

Pass through the mountain gate and walk up the steps.

There are dense bamboo groves on both sides, rustling in the wind, and a fresh fragrance in the air.

As Jiang Xun walked, he secretly looked around, thinking to himself, "This place is much more impressive than the mansions of those nouveau riche in Jiangzhou City."

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, we arrived at a courtyard.

A plaque hung at the entrance of the courtyard, bearing three characters: "Tingzhu Residence". The characters were written in a vigorous and elegant style, and it took Jiang Xun a while to decipher them all.

Ding Shun told him to put down the load and went inside. He came out a short while later, carrying a set of dusty gray clothes, neatly folded.

"Change into these and come with me to the kitchen."

Jiang Xun took the clothes and put them on in a few quick movements. They were a bit too big, so he rolled up the sleeves twice, but they were still much better than his tattered clothes.

Ding Shun looked him up and down and nodded.

"Let's go."

The kitchen of Chunshui School is located in a separate courtyard to the left of the mountain gate.

The courtyard was small, with three tiled houses, a well, and a woodpile—the woodpile was taller than a person and stacked neatly.

There were a few vegetable leaves on the ground, and several hens were pecking at them nearby.

When Jiang Xun was led to the kitchen door, a fat man with a big head and big ears was squatting on the threshold gnawing on a chicken leg.

His mouth was dripping with oil, and his hands were covered in grease. When he saw people coming, he didn't get up, but just raised his eyelids slightly.

"Manager Song," Ding Shun called out, "this is the new handyman, please make arrangements for him."

The fat man slowly stood up, grinning with his greasy mouth. He first looked at Ding Shun, then at Jiang Xun, his eyes lingering on Jiang Xun for a moment with an ambiguous look.

"Did Steward Ding deliver it personally?"

"I met him on the way. He helped me out. He's a pretty quick-witted kid," Ding Shun said casually. "We happen to be short-staffed in the kitchen. You can decide how to arrange it."

The fat man grunted in response and didn't say anything more, picking his teeth with a toothpick.

Ding Shunchong nodded to Jiang Xun, then turned and left.

The fat man picked his teeth, walked up to Jiang Xun, and circled around him like he was picking out winter melons at a market.

"So skinny he looks like a monkey, what can he possibly do?"

Jiang Xun remained silent.

The fat man snorted.

"What's your name?"

"Jiang Xun".

"Alright, now that you're here, get to work. Chop wood, fetch water, start the fire, wash the dishes—do whatever I tell you to do. Don't be lazy, don't try to shirk your duties, understand?"

"I heard you."

The fat man snorted again and pointed with his greasy fingers at the pile of firewood in the corner of the yard.

"Chop that pile of firewood first, then we'll eat."

Jiang Xun glanced at the pile of firewood taller than a person, said nothing, walked over and picked up the axe leaning against the wall.

The axe is a bit dull, but the handle is polished to a shine; I wonder how many people have used it.

The fat man went back into the house with the chicken leg in his mouth.

Jiang Xun picked up his axe and began chopping wood.

I spent the whole afternoon chopping.

The sun slowly slid from overhead to the west, and the light and shadow in the courtyard moved inch by inch.

Jiang Xun's clothes were wet and then dried, then wet again, leaving a layer of white sweat stains on his back.

The blisters on his hands burst, and new ones appeared. Eventually, his entire palm was numb; he could only mechanically swing the axe, chop down, and then swing it again.

As the sun was about to set, the pile of firewood was finally chopped.

Jiang Xun put down the axe, his hands trembling like leaves, his whole body feeling as if he had been pulled out of the water. He sat down heavily on the ground, panting heavily.

An old woman came over carrying a bowl of water.

"Young man, have some water and take a rest."

Jiang Xun took the bowl and gulped it down, water dripping down his chin, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The old woman, surnamed Zhao, had worked in the kitchen for twenty years. Her hair was gray, and her face was lined with wrinkles, but she was still quite nimble. She looked at the blisters on Jiang Xun's hands and sighed.

"That's just how Fatty Song is. He thinks he can do whatever he wants just because he's a distant relative of the sect leader's wife. Don't take him seriously."

Jiang Xun nodded.

"I know."

Aunt Zhao smiled, took a steamed bun from her bosom, and handed it to him. The bun was still warm from her body heat, the outer skin was a little dry, but it smelled delicious.

"Are you hungry? Have something to eat first. I'll secretly save you something good when we eat later."

Jiang Xun took the steamed bun, feeling a warmth in his heart.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Aunt Zhao waved her hand and went back to the kitchen to get busy.

Jiang Xun squatted in the corner, munching on a steamed bun.

The steamed buns were cold and a bit hard, making them difficult to chew, but they tasted much better than spoiled roast chicken.

He ate very slowly, chewing each bite carefully, reluctant to finish it all at once.

He ate while looking around the yard.

Smoke billowed from the kitchen, and several helpers were busy running around. Aunt Zhao was stir-frying vegetables at the stove, her movements swift and efficient, the spatula flying across the surface.

Fatty Song has disappeared; he hasn't been seen for a long time.

Suddenly, cheers erupted from afar.

Jiang Xun looked up and saw a martial arts training ground outside the courtyard, where a dozen disciples in blue robes were practicing their swordsmanship.

The sword flashed, dazzling the eyes in the setting sun.

They were agile and nimble, leaping and bounding, completely different from the fake performers on the stage.

Jiang Xun's eyes widened in disbelief.

Is this what martial arts practitioners are like?

In his previous life in Jiangzhou, he had only seen thugs fighting – swinging sticks, throwing bricks, pulling hair, rolling on the ground in a frenzy. Compared to this, it was like heaven and earth.

The leading disciple thrust out his sword, and a white light more than an inch long emerged from the tip of the sword.

Jiang Xun rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things.

But the white light was indeed there, flashing by in an instant, striking the wooden stake and leaving a deep sword mark, sending wood chips flying.

Jiang Xun was stunned, forgetting to chew the steamed bun in his mouth.

"What are you looking at!"

A voice suddenly rang in my ears.

Jiang Xun was startled and almost dropped the steamed bun in his hand.

Looking back, he saw Fatty Song standing behind him, glaring at him with his eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

"Finished chopping firewood? Bored out of your mind?"

"I'm done chopping." Jiang Xun quickly stood up.

"You're done chopping and can't you go fetch water?" Fatty Song pointed at his nose, spitting almost onto his face. "Let me tell you, working for the Spring Water Sect means following its rules. The training grounds aren't for a handyman like you. If the elders find out you're stealing their techniques, you'll be kicked off the mountain at best, and have your arms and legs broken at worst—can you handle that?"

Jiang Xun's expression changed.

"I...I was just curious..."

"Curious?" Fatty Song sneered, his lips curling downwards. "Curiousness invites trouble, haven't you heard? Get to work!"

Jiang Xun didn't say anything more and lowered his head to pick up the carrying pole and bucket.

From behind came Fatty Song's muttered voice: "Steward Ding is really something, picking up all sorts of junk from the mountain..."

Jiang Xun gritted his teeth and didn't turn around.

That night, Jiang Xun was arranged to stay in a small hut next to the woodshed.

The room was small, with only a wooden bed, a thin quilt, and cobwebs in the corner.

But it's much better than a dilapidated temple—at least it has a roof, so it doesn't let in any draft, and the door can be closed.

Jiang Xun lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

It's not that I don't want to sleep, it's that I can't fall asleep.

I chopped firewood all afternoon today, and I'm so tired I feel like my bones are about to fall apart. My arms are so sore I can't even lift them. I should have just gone to sleep.

But as soon as I close my eyes, all I can see in my mind is the scene I witnessed during the day—

Sword light.

A white awn, a little over an inch long.

If you were to pierce someone's skin with that needle, wouldn't they be pierced through to the bone?

Jiang Xun touched his chest; the hard iron plate was pressing against him, causing him some pain.

He suddenly remembered what the old man had said.

"There's a type of person in this world called a martial artist. They can leap across rooftops and injure people with a single leaf—it's all true. If you encounter one of these people, run as far away as possible."

At the time, he didn't believe it and thought the old man was just trying to scare him.

Now I believe it.

Those people are truly capable of killing.

But he just had to go to places with lots of people.

Jiang Xun gave a wry smile, turned over, and pulled the thin blanket tighter around himself.

That heat wave didn't come tonight.

I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.