The Thousand-Layer Schemes of the Sickly Beautiful Master - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

When Qing Zhuxue returned to Crane Feather Peak, she was covered in dust. For some reason, she didn’t want Yun Shuchen to see her like this, so she headed straight to the bathhouse.

After changing clothes and washing away the dust and sweat, she felt clean and refreshed. As she stepped out holding her dirty clothes, she ran into Yun Shuchen.

Yun Shuchen seemed to be heading to the study but paused when she saw her. Whenever Yun Shuchen’s gaze fell on her, Qing Zhuxue couldn’t help but lift her foot and walk toward her.

“Did you learn well today?” Yun Shuchen asked softly.

“Hmm,” Qing Zhuxue replied carefully, “It went well.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Yun Shuchen noticed the bundle of dusty clothes Qing Zhuxue held, streaked with traces of dirt, and her trembling hand tucked beneath.

“A senior brother from Sword Pavilion sparred with me.”

Yun Shuchen told her to put the clothes back, saying Ah Jin would wash them. Qing Zhuxue lowered her sleeve, hiding the injury.

“Come固定1

“Come here.”

She led her to her bedroom and took out several bottles of medicine from a cabinet, telling Qing Zhuxue to sit. Qing Zhuxue sat properly on a stool as Yun Shuchen pulled up her sleeve.

Her wrist was badly bruised, stark against her pale arm, looking quite alarming. Yun Shuchen opened a bottle, and a bitter scent wafted out. This wasn’t ordinary medicine—it was a high-grade powder ground from pills taken from Elder Liu.

She sprinkled it lightly and rubbed Qing Zhuxue’s hand, causing her to wince in pain and purse her lips. The pain soon faded, and the bruise melted away like snow in summer.

“Anywhere else?”

Qing Zhuxue flexed her healed wrist and shook her head. Her knee had some scrapes, but her strong self-healing ability had already closed the wounds by the time she arrived.

“None,” she said, her eyes curving politely. “Thank you, Elder.”

After all these years, she was still so formal. This girl never seemed to warm up to people.

But today, she smiled a little. Qing Zhuxue rarely smiled, her face usually expressionless. When happy, she only curved her eyes slightly like this.

Quite cute.

Caught off guard by the cuteness, Yun Shuchen asked, “Which senior brother sparred with you?”

“Xiao…” Qing Zhuxue frowned, forgetting the name.

Yun Shuchen smiled faintly. “I see. The Sect Leader’s head disciple, right?”

The next day, when Qing Zhuxue went to practice swordsmanship, the arrogant Xiao Hong was nowhere to be seen. Only Chen Lianqing was there, looking apologetic.

“Is your hand okay?” Chen Lianqing asked.

“It’s fine.” Qing Zhuxue rolled up her sleeve, showing no pain, just a faint mark.

Chen Lianqing sighed in relief. “Good. A sword cultivator’s hand is vital. You can take hits anywhere else, but not there. You’re still young, your bones aren’t fully hardened. A lingering injury could stop your training.”

“After the Sect Leader found out yesterday, he was furious. He scolded Xiao Hong and sent him to kneel in confinement at the back mountain.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted that troublemaker.”

Chen Lianqing sighed. “I thought he’d just laze around drinking and sleeping, ignoring you at worst. I didn’t expect him to get drunk, go wild, and pick a fight with you without holding back.”

“Is this the level of inner sect competitions?” Qing Zhuxue recalled her defenseless self from yesterday, calculating where she might be in four years.

“No,” Chen Lianqing reassured her. “Xiao Hong won first place back then and has years more sword training than you. The average competition level is much lower.”

First place.

If the Sect Leader’s head disciple was first in the competition, would Yun Shuchen’s first disciple need to take first place to measure up?

With this thought, Qing Zhuxue felt an odd pressure.

Life went on quietly. Qing Zhuxue rose before dawn to practice her sword, steady and diligent. Yun Shuchen, far more leisurely, slept until she woke naturally. If the Sect Leader had important matters, she’d occasionally listen in. Otherwise, she stayed in her courtyard tending flowers, reading books, passing the day.

Her health still seemed frail, coughing often in cold, damp weather. Disciples from Lingsu Peak brought medicinal herbs every so often.

Brewing medicine used to be Ah Jin’s task, but Qing Zhuxue took it over completely. She skillfully tended the small stove, fanning the flame if it weakened.

The thick, bitter black medicine was set on the table, cooled to a safe temperature, then delivered.

Each time Yun Shuchen woke, she’d find the medicine bowl quietly placed on the table, with a candied fruit neatly set beside it, as if Qing Zhuxue feared she’d mind the bitterness.

Drinking the medicine, Elder Yun always thought, truly a child, assuming everyone fears bitterness.

The medicine came intermittently for four years, and she practiced her sword daily for four years. She grew four years older.

Half a year ago, Qing Zhuxue easily passed the outer sect’s written exam. Today was the exact day of the ten-year promise she’d awaited since she was eight.

It snowed heavily, flakes falling in delicate strands.

For the inner sect competition, elders had to attend. Yun Shuchen woke earlier than usual, lingering lazily in bed to shake off a dream, then noticed a slender figure moving outside the window.

She lifted her hand, opening the window a crack.

A woman in white was practicing her sword. Her dark hair flowed like a waterfall, her cool eyes and brows seemed steeped in Crane Feather Peak’s wind and snow.

Her final sword form swept gracefully, her sleeves fluttering, her aura natural, her sword tip stirring the swirling snow.

It was quite cold.

Yun Shuchen exhaled a puff of white breath.

She didn’t watch long before gently closing the window.

By the time Yun Shuchen dressed and stepped out, Qing Zhuxue had left, as competitors needed to arrive early.

The once-a-decade competition was grandly arranged at Taichu Realm’s Main Peak. Loose cultivators and disciples from immortal families gathered from all directions, seeking a chance.

The crowd of competitors was dense. Yun Shuchen sat beside Liu Xunqin, her gaze sweeping over those below, lingering on Qing Zhuxue’s face.

Qing Zhuxue stood alone with her sword, silent. Beside her was a woman in red, striking and vivid, talking endlessly with a cheerful smile—Ruan Mingzhu.

Since turning fourteen, Qing Zhuxue hadn’t visited the outer sect and had little contact with her. By strange coincidence, fate brought them together at the competition.

The foreign girl had grown up, now speaking fluent Chinese and wearing Central Plains clothing, brimming with excitement.

“Senior Sister, who do you want as your master? I picked mine a month ago!”

Qing Zhuxue asked, “Who?”

“Elder Yun.”

“Why?”

“She’s really beautiful.” Ruan Mingzhu grinned at the graceful figure on the high seat, laughing like a rogue, startling those around.

Qing Zhuxue felt uneasy, paused, then nodded lightly. “I also want to go to Crane Feather Peak.”

“Oh!” Ruan Mingzhu happily grabbed her hand. “That’s great. Do you think she’s nice too?”

“Wait,” Qing Zhuxue frowned. “Apprenticeship is for learning skills. What does appearance have to do with it?”

Ruan Mingzhu said frankly, “Looking at a pleasing master’s face makes my cultivation soar.”

“…”

“Well, we don’t know the elders’ true natures, so we choose by looks, don’t we?”

Qing Zhuxue silently thought she knew quite well. These years, she’d grown familiar with the elders of each peak, half a step into the inner sect.

“I want to see her every day. In my hometown, the rough winds and sand rarely nurture such soft, willow-like beauty.”

Qing Zhuxue thought quietly that she’d watched her for nearly a decade—minus six years of seclusion, still four years.

“Ah!”

Qing Zhuxue’s arm stung, but the fierce cry wasn’t hers—it came from Ruan Mingzhu, thrilled and pinching her. “She looked at me! And smiled!”

Qing Zhuxue glanced up. Yun Shuchen was likely looking at her, lips curved, but their eyes barely met before she turned away, chatting and laughing with the Sect Leader.

A voice drifted faintly into her mind.

“It’s starting. Do your best.”

The first few rounds were effortless. The initial selection had uneven talents, and Qing Zhuxue fought with ease.

As it progressed, it felt like rowing against the current, growing harder. Her opponents were like her, having won multiple rounds.

A bead of sweat slid from her forehead, hitting the ground, leaving a dark mark.

The man before her swung fists the size of wine jars, smashing the floor tiles, raising dust.

Just a little more.

Qing Zhuxue nearly had her spine broken by a punch. She steadied her racing heart, seeking an opening.

The matches were grouped by cultivation. Qing Zhuxue advanced quickly, reaching the late Foundation Building stage, giving her a slight edge.

But her opponent was close in cultivation, so the advantage wasn’t large.

The gap in physique and strength was far greater.

She couldn’t attack head-on.

Her eyes didn’t dare blink, fixed on the man. A faint smirk curled his lips, as if victory was certain.

In a brief pause, he surged forward, his fist roaring like wind, aiming to force her out of the ring.

Qing Zhuxue seized the moment, freezing the air into ice, stepping on the shard, then kicking off his raised fist, leaping upward.

Her sleeves fluttered as she spun swiftly in the air, like a white bird folding its wings. Diving down, her sword flashed, stopping an inch from the man’s back.

The crowd erupted in gasps as the tide turned.

But her opponent wasn’t weak. Though he reacted a step late, taking her sword strike, his spiritual energy surged. QingZhuxue couldn’t dodge in time and coughed up bl00d.