Qinglian Valley, the Hidden Divine Tree Sea.

“He Shouwu three liang, Jin Yinzhan two qian…” Hua Mei leaned against the wall with the prescription in hand, halfway through reciting she raised a hand to stop Mu Bai. “You’re mistaken, Little Junior Sister Bai, this is sanqi.”

“Jin Yinzhan is over there.” She pointed to a shelf on the other side, rubbing her temple. “The assessment is in a couple of days. If you still can’t recognize all these herbs, Little Sister, you’ll be getting a few slaps.”

By my count, Junior Sister Mu Bai has been in Qinglian Valley for over ten days. Although the valley harbors many kinds of medicinal herbs, an ordinary newcomer usually needs only three to five days to learn them all. She doesn’t look slow either—so why can’t she tell them apart?

“Hey, hey, Little Sister Bai, where are you going?”

Mu Bai halted and turned back.

“I said—the golden and silver cups are on the shelf, not in the basket.”

“Oh, okay, senior sister.” Mu Bai blinked awake from a dream, turned around to gather herbs and yawned.

“Xiao Bai, I see you look exhausted during the day—can’t sleep well at night?”

Mu Bai shook her head: “I didn’t sleep at all.”

Hua Mei was surprised: “Why not sleep? A night owl?”

Mu Bai fell silent for a moment: “A few days ago the senior sisters laughed at my cracked voice. I felt bad about it, so I got up at night to practice.”

Hua Mei let out a “pfft” laugh: “Just for that?”

“For just that.”

“Eh?” She suddenly leaned in, “You didn’t mention it and I hadn’t noticed—since when did the junior sister’s voice become like this?”

Those four characters just now were enunciated clearly, crisp and neat, and especially in timbre, as if a clear spring of water.

In just ten short days, to train a broken, rasping voice into this—apparently much effort was truly invested.

“How did you train it? Teach me, senior sister.” Huamei looked closely and then made a new discovery on Mu Bai’s face. “Wow, remarkable.”

Junior Sister Xiaobai no longer looked like the bare-faced girl she was when she first entered the valley. On closer inspection, she had applied a light layer of powder; though the lip tint was pale, it brightened her complexion—hard to notice unless you looked closely.

Mu Bai hooked the corner of his eye and waved to her, whispering, “I’ll only tell Senior Sister, don’t let it get out.”

“Got it, got it.”

The two of them whispered for a while, and Hua Mei drew back in shock, neck contracting: “So every night you practice drawing your brows in front of a mirror, and you even ‘squeak, squeak’ practicing your voice?”

“Alright then.” She patted Mu Bai’s shoulder with a complicated expression. “Our apprentice really is diligent.”

“Hard work pays off.” Mu Bai said, “As long as you persist, senior sister, you’ll be able to do it.”

“Don’t give me that.” Hua Mei suddenly rolled up the prescription and with a “smack” hit it against Mu Bai’s forehead. “Staying up half the night and then dozing off at my place during the day—if you fail the assessment in a few days, you’ll drag me into punishment with you.”

Mu Bai raised a hand to cover his forehead. “Wah.”

“What ‘wah’—hurry up and memorize it. If you don’t learn the herbs properly, no meals for you.”

“Alright, senior sister.” He rubbed his eyes and took the prescription from Huamei’s hand.

Huamei looked up at the sky and muttered, “A distinguished guest came to the valley today. Xizhao and the others said it seems to be a prince from the Wuti Kingdom, here for treatment of a leg ailment.”

Mu Bai was momentarily stunned.

Qinglian Valley is located within the borders of Jialan, but it has never involved itself in court affairs, so it wasn’t unusual for the enemy state’s prince of Wuti to come to the valley for treatment.

The key was, he remembered that in the original book the greatest villain behind the scenes was Wuti’s fifth prince, Su Mo.

Mu Bai couldn’t recall most of the names from the original book, but he had a deep impression of this particular antagonist.

As the mastermind behind the scenes, Su Mo is not a one-dimensional villain; he merely stands on a different side from the protagonist, so notions of right and wrong, good and evil, do not neatly apply.

Su Mo lost his mother in childhood and grew up alone in the perilous palace. To posthumously honor his deceased mother as Empress Dowager, he schemed and planned every step with meticulous care…

In the end, he was defeated by the male and female protagonists at the end of the book and slit his wrists before his mother’s tomb.

As the saying goes, it’s not villains being evil that you fear, it’s villains being handsome.

The original text over-characterized Su Mo, making this outwardly graceful, jade-like beauty—who, when cut open, is full of dark water—into a domineering, scheming beauty deeply ingrained in readers’ minds. As a result, in the later stages of the story this darkened, tragic, strong-yet-suffering character’s popularity actually once eclipsed that of the protagonists, becoming the white moonlight in the hearts of countless readers.

Mu Bai still remembered that whenever he flipped to the chapter where that character appeared, the comments section would flood with readers exclaiming: Brother Su Mo is so bad, love him, love him!

Mu Bai: ?

The old man on the subway stared at his phone jg.

As for himself, he had no particular fondness for the character; reading through, he had only one thought: this guy is damn scheming.

So when Huamei casually mentioned that a prince from Wuti State had come to the valley, Mu Bai immediately sounded the alarm: “Which prince? What’s his name? What does he look like?”

“I wouldn’t know that. I only heard about it; I haven’t seen him myself.” Huamei gave him a teasing smile as she spoke. “What, Junior Sister Xiaobai wants to see him?”

“I’m just a little curious.”

Huamei drew out the sound “oh” in a long note. “I heard his leg ailment is quite troublesome. Even Senior Sister can’t help; it probably won’t be cured quickly. You’ll meet him in the valley sooner or later.”

After Huamei left, Mu Bai remained alone, finishing the herbs listed on the prescription.

The black-and-white characters looked like countless ants to him, swarming densely into his head.

The senior sister for the moment didn’t tell the others about Mu Bai’s identity, lest his unfit status provoke jealousy; she also urged Mu Bai to pass the assessment as soon as possible so he could legitimately inherit the young master’s position.

However, Mu Bai was never cut out for medicine. These past few days he’d barely rested at night while practicing his voice, and during the day he felt dizzy and foggy-headed.

He forced himself to recite for a while, then crouched on the ground and couldn’t help dozing off.

It wasn’t until the sky darkened and the clouds took on a thin twilight that Mu Bai rose and left.

Usually at this time he would head west to the emerald bamboo grove to practice martial arts, but perhaps from reciting until his head was muddled, he went the wrong way and ended up at the other side of the forest.

The trees in Qinglian Valley blocked out the sky and sun, making it hard to tell where one was as one walked; only when the view suddenly cleared and an abrupt cliff appeared did Mu Bai realize he had taken the wrong path.

He walked to the edge of the bare cliff and leaned over to look down.

Below was a sheer, black void, fathomless and bottomless.

Mu Bai felt a bit dizzy, recoiled, picked up a stone and tossed it down, but heard no echo for a long time.

This deep?

Although she had originally thought about jumping off the cliff, now standing at the edge it was impossible not to be afraid—after all, falling would mean being smashed to pieces.

He crouched at the cliff’s edge, hesitated for a moment, then decided to be cautious and postponed the jump for another day.

Just as he stood up to head back, the howl of the wind rushed into Mu Bai’s ears.

He didn’t have time to react before a tremendous force dragged him several meters.

Mu Bai was dragged to a safe, flat spot. He staggered a few steps to steady himself, and when he looked up he saw two people in black—one man and one woman.

From deep within the forest came the sound of wooden wheels crunching over dry leaves. Before anyone appeared, a clear, gentle, refined voice reached his ears: “Nightwalker, Jinyi, have you managed to rescue the person?”

The man in black replied, “Your Highness, the young lady is not harmed in the slightest.”

Mu Bai came to his senses. Seeing that the two were not dressed like Qinglian Valley disciples and were nimble in their movements—not seeming like the valley’s patients—he felt a bit suspicious.

The woman among the black-clad people glanced back at him and asked, “Miss, why were you trying to take your own life?”

“I was just looking over the edge of the cliff, not attempting suicide.”

The black-clad woman regarded him with a doubtful look but said no more.

But the voice from the woods laughed as it drifted lazily into Mu Bai’s ears: “Oh, you were just looking? I thought the young lady was trying to end her life, so I called them to rescue her.”

Mu Bai: “Thank you for your trouble, sir.”

“You’re welcome.” The man said calmly. “The mountains are dangerous—miss, return to your room and rest early. Travel at night, and wear brocade.”

The two men in black, having been addressed by name, vanished into the woods in an instant.

Mu Bai didn’t even see what the other looked like; the surroundings fell silent, leaving only the rustle of leaves and wind.

He was sleep-deprived, his mind a little foggy, and he didn’t go to the jade bamboo grove. He went straight back to the treehouse he lived in to rest, sleeping until late at night before waking up.

Mu Bai stretched, opened the window hole, and saw it was still dark. Just as he was about to begin practicing the refined demeanor of a cross-dressing master, a single flute note drifted softly into the forest.

During the days he had lived in Qinglian Valley, he had never heard anyone play the flute at midnight.

Mu Bai pushed the door open and discovered the flute music came from another treehouse not far away.

The night was cold and clear; within the sea of trees only black silhouettes could be glimpsed. That treehouse hung in midair; as he approached below, the wind shook leaves loose, blotting out his eyes.

Brushing aside the fallen leaves, the thin clouds that had hidden the moon happened to part. On the tree sat a person in black, holding a bamboo flute, black hair draped over the branches.

He was lying back looking up at the stars and moon, but their beauty paled compared to the charm in his brows and eyes.

Mu Bai: Where did this beauty come from, I love—no, wait, it’s a man.

Forget it, I don’t love him anymore. Farewell.