Haven't Been a Senior Sister for Many Years - Chapter 23
Chapter 23: Su Yan
The road from Anning Town to Ningxiang Town was wide and smooth. Sitting in the cart bed, Chu Zhiqin didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. On the contrary, she enjoyed the spring breeze brushing her cheeks and the scenic countryside.
“Sister Sanqi, have you ever been to any fun places over the years? I’ve always stayed in Anning Town and never gone anywhere else. The farthest I’ve been is Ningxiang Town. I really want to know what the outside world is like.” Lin Mianmian propped her hands on the seat, her legs swinging back and forth. “When I grow up, I want to travel too—with Qiao’er.”
Qiao’er was Chen Wang’s granddaughter. Lin Mianmian had known Chen Qiao’er since childhood. The moment they met, they hit it off instantly. Though they didn’t grow up in the same town, they kept in touch through letters and occasionally visited each other’s homes with their elders.
In Lin Mianmian’s eyes, Chen Qiao’er was the kindest, most beautiful, and best person in all of Jiuzhou. She wanted to be best friends with her forever.
Lin Mianmian planned to travel with Chen Qiao’er after her coming-of-age ceremony. Though they might not be allowed to go far, and their elders might not approve, she was already preparing.
Getting to learn about Jiuzhou from Liu Sanqi was a good start.
To Chu Zhiqin, the girl swinging her little feet was no different than a kitten just weaned—small, soft, and full of curiosity about the world.
She gently tidied the girl’s wind-tousled twin braids. “What would you like to hear?”
Lin Mianmian turned her head, her eyes sparkling.
“I’ve heard travelers say that far north of Anning Town is a land blanketed in white, where it snows everywhere. The people there don’t leave their homes during winter and only go out when the snow melts near summer. Is that true?”
The first place that came to Chu Zhiqin’s mind was Fuxian Town.
A town wrapped in snow, coexisting with an endless white world.
“Have you ever heard of Fuxian Town, Miss Lin?”
Lin Mianmian shook her head. “No, but it must be beautiful! Otherwise, why would it be named something as lovely as ‘Fuxian’?”
“Yes, that place is covered in snow all year round. Even in the hottest summer, only a thin layer of snow melts, revealing patches of dark brown earth.”
“Then what do they eat?” Lin Mianmian tilted her head in confusion. Without soft soil, how could they grow crops? Without food, how would they survive?
Sitting in front, Lin Chunsheng—driving the mule cart—quietly pricked up his ears. He’d never traveled far either, always farming the ancestral fields under his feet. The outside world was fresh and mysterious to the Lin family, and he understood his granddaughter’s yearning to explore. But as an elder, he couldn’t help but worry.
Chu Zhiqin countered, “What do you usually eat?”
Lin Mianmian counted on her fingers: “When the harvest is good, we have fragrant white rice. When it’s bad, just sweet potatoes and rice porridge. But life is better now. We may not have white rice every meal, but we have enough to eat and sometimes meat too. Why are you asking this? Weren’t we talking about Fuxian Town?”
Chu Zhiqin smiled. “Yes, just like you, they eat white rice too.”
Lin Mianmian was surprised. “But doesn’t it snow all the time? Where do they get the food?”
Chu Zhiqin explained, “They used to buy it. Fuxian Town produces a special spiritual herb that grows under very harsh conditions—conditions that just happen to be met in Fuxian. They’d grow the herbs, sell them once mature, and exchange for spirit stones or silver, then use those to buy food.”
“Later, the town lord of Fuxian was worried that others would exploit them, so he spent a great deal of spirit stones and rare treasures to create farmlands that could grow food even in freezing conditions. The price of food matched the market rate and even saved on shipping. Though they still have to purchase some things externally, at least there’s no problem feeding themselves.”
Lin Mianmian clapped happily. “That’s wonderful! The town lord must be a good person!”
Chu Zhiqin said, “Yes. If you ever get the chance to visit, you might even see the town lord.”
“Really?” Lin Mianmian asked eagerly.
“Mhm. Every year, Fuxian holds a blessing ceremony to pray for a good harvest, and it’s presided over by the town lord. Sadly, the lord is quite old and may retire in a few years.”
Chu Zhiqin remembered the first time she met the town lord—clad in a faded robe, with a square jaw and gentle eyes, appearing only around thirty. Under her governance, Fuxian was orderly and peaceful.
But during her last visit with Leng Junzhu, snowstorms burdened the town, and the oppressive atmosphere masked hidden struggles. No wonder people like Hu Laosan could act lawlessly, bullying men and women alike. In the past, such scum would’ve been beaten half to death by the lord’s men and tossed out of town.
Chu Zhiqin had her doubts. Even if the town lord was aging, she should still have trusted aides. Why hadn’t those thugs been dealt with? Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to meet the town lord and learn what had changed.
“I really hope to meet the town lord someday,” Lin Mianmian sighed. “Is there anything fun in Fuxian?”
Clearly, she was thinking about what fun places she could visit with Qiao’er.
“There is,” Chu Zhiqin said.
Snowbound mountains, rivers with hanging icicles, sparkling ice sculptures, and unique local cuisine—Chu Zhiqin knew them all well.
Lin Mianmian listened in awe, her imagination replacing the gentle scenery of Anning with the vast, frozen world of Fuxian. She could almost smell the snow.
A sudden jolt broke her daydream. She had to grab the cart edge to avoid tumbling into the vegetable baskets.
“Grandpa, what’s wrong?” she asked. Lin Chunsheng was always steady at the reins. Could something have gone wrong?
She turned to Chu Zhiqin. “Sister Sanqi, are you okay?”
Chu Zhiqin nodded. “I’m fine.”
Lin Chunsheng didn’t answer her question—they were surrounded.
“What do you want?” he asked the strangers.
Leading them was a rugged man with wild short hair and bulging muscles, holding a nearly two-meter-long saber. Another man stood behind him, also with short hair and a slightly shorter weapon.
Unbeknownst to them, a woman had appeared behind the cart. Her sun-kissed skin was smooth, her exposed muscles lean and well-defined—beautiful but clearly powerful. Her black hair wasn’t tied in a typical bun but was instead braided into thin strands tied in a high ponytail.
Though the large man stood in front, both men subtly deferred to the woman.
“Relax, old man. We’re not here for you or the little girl,” the woman said. “I smelled that foul stench from a mile away. Thought I was imagining things—but I was right.”
Lin Chunsheng sensed his granddaughter trembling against him. The woman wasn’t after them; it must be Liu Sanqi she wanted. Though he didn’t know what trouble the girl had stirred, he couldn’t stand by while someone just a little older than his granddaughter was in danger.
“There’s no one here like that,” he lied, sweat pouring down his temples.
The woman scoffed. “You really want to drag innocent people into our feud?”
Chu Zhiqin finally moved. She gently patted Lin Mianmian’s fluffy head. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Miss, you must have mistaken me for someone else. We’ve never met. What feud could there be?” she said, even though she recognized the woman.
—Su Yan of the Blade Sect.
The feud between the Blade Sect and the Sword Pavilion dated back to their founders—two women who were once sworn friends, opposites in personality: one cold and focused solely on swordsmanship, the other cheerful and sociable.
What should’ve been a legendary friendship ended in sudden estrangement. Since then, their sects had always clashed on sight.
Su Yan was the same age as Chu Zhiqin. Though they had never truly interacted, their names were constantly compared: in cultivation, talent, background, and looks.
People believed they were destined rivals. Mention Chu Zhiqin, and you’d hear Su Yan. Mention Su Yan, and Chu Zhiqin followed.
But Leng Junzhu’s death severed that tie.
In her grief and thirst for revenge, Chu Zhiqin trained with a fury, ignoring injuries, pushing herself past every limit, driven by guilt and regret.
Thanks to her reckless resolve and rare talent, she became the Sword Immortal of Jiuzhou—once a girl whose shattered meridians foretold an early death.
From then on, no one mentioned Su Yan in the same breath. People spoke only of Chu Zhiqin, and when Su Yan came up, it was with pity: “She used to be her equal… what a shame.”
Su Yan hated Chu Zhiqin. Without her, would anyone speak of “what a shame”? At seventeen she formed her core, at twenty-five her nascent soul, and soon after reached the next level—impressive by any standard. Yet all that effort was dismissed with one word: pity.
How could she not hate her?
Su Yan sneered, “That Sword Pavilion stench of yours—I smelled it from a mile away. And now you’re pretending I got the wrong person? Don’t make me laugh. Even if you turned to ash, I’d recognize you!”
“What’s wrong? After all these years, can’t even admit you’re Chu Zhiqin?”
Chu Zhiqin chuckled bitterly. After all these years, Su Yan’s mouth was still as sharp as ever.
“Your dog nose and foul mouth haven’t changed,” she said.
“—Su Yan.”
She had admitted her identity.