Chapter Twenty-One: The Fool Awakens

In the latter half of the night, a gentle rain began to fall, pattering quietly until dawn, when it stopped. As Yu Youwei pushed open her window, a young thunderhawk, perched atop the pagoda-shaped bald cypress, was preening its feathers. At the sight of her, it soared over, circling joyfully in the air, and her spirits lifted with its dance.

“Youwei, get up quickly, we’re about to set off!” Ning Mofei burst through the door and rushed straight to Yu Youwei’s side. At his voice, she turned; dappled light and shadow flickered across her smooth, rosy cheeks. From his angle, he could see the fine down on her delicate pink earlobe. With the wit of a five-year-old, he suddenly had an idea and bent down to take that enticingly pink earlobe into his mouth.

A jolt like an electric current ran through them both, making them pull away, startled.

A blush bloomed on Yu Youwei’s jade-like face. When she saw Ning Mofei looking utterly flustered, like a child caught in mischief, she couldn’t help but burst into peals of laughter.

“I saw Second Brother often do that to Second Sister-in-law,” Ning Mofei confessed guilelessly, twisting his fingers together. Sneaking a glance and finding she wasn’t angry, he smacked his lips and asked, “But there’s no taste at all—why does Second Brother like licking her ear so much?”

Her smile froze. For all her wit and cleverness, Yu Youwei was at a loss for how to answer such a question. She turned away, pretending to admire the view outside. The young thunderhawk, startled when Ning Mofei entered, had already shot into the clouds like an arrow. The golden branches and leaves of the cypress outside the window swayed, casting off countless droplets that sparkled in the sun.

“It’s nothing. What are you looking at?” Ning Mofei leaned out to peer through the window, then suddenly pointed outside and exclaimed, “Isn’t that man dead? Why is he here again?”

The space between the window and the cypress faced the back gate of the neighboring courtyard. Surprised, Yu Youwei glanced over and saw that it was her Eighth Uncle, Yu Tianzuo, standing by the neighbor’s back door with two others beside him.

Eighth Uncle was a full brother of her Second Uncle, both born of the same mother, and they looked much alike. She immediately guessed that Ning Mofei had mistaken him for their deceased Second Uncle. She was a little curious why Eighth Uncle was living next door, and one of the black-clad men at his side wore a sword at his waist that seemed vaguely familiar. Eighth Uncle’s attitude toward this man was exceedingly respectful.

“Does the house next door belong to the Ning family too?” Yu Youwei asked.

“I don’t know, I’ll ask Eldest Brother.” Ning Mofei ran off, turned back and said, “Eldest Brother says you should get ready and come for breakfast. Once Second Brother returns, we’ll set off.”

With her dowry lost to the river with the wedding barge, Yu Youwei had nothing to pack. She regarded the Ning household as little more than a place to feed herself and had no intention of spending her own savings to replace her dowry. With a flick of her sleeve, she followed Ning Mofei out.

Breakfast appeared simple: cabbage and tofu soup, plain porridge, and lotus-paste silver thread rolls. Yet the broth itself was a high stock, simmered from various spiritual ingredients until its essence remained, the flavor rich and infused with potent energy. It was clear this meal was anything but frugal. Yet Ning Mofei and his third brother both set down their spoons, wrinkling their brows. Eldest Brother Ning Bowen advised, “We’re traveling; let’s make do.”

The Qian Empire was the strongest nation of the Eastern Continent, and cultivation was fairly widespread, but the continent as a whole was poor in spiritual energy, making cultivation resources scarce. One in ten thousand might be born with a spiritual root, but such resources were almost entirely controlled by immortal sects and the great cultivation families. For those not born into such a family or admitted to a sect, the immortal path was closed unless fate offered some extraordinary opportunity.

Though born into the Yu family and raised apart, Yu Youwei had been identified at birth as possessing a spiritual root. As a middling cultivation family, the Yu clan still provided her with resources for cultivation—though the difference in treatment between her and Yu Shiyu was stark. Still, her cultivation progressed no slower than his, thanks to her mother Mu Qingxi’s tireless efforts to fund her training, and her own ventures under the alias Lady Poison Yu Xuanji.

Even with her current status, Yu Youwei could not afford to drink such cabbage and tofu soup every day, yet here the brothers found it lacking, unwilling even to “make do.”

Privately cursing them as “spendthrifts,” Yu Youwei drank three bowls of soup and ate two silver thread rolls. The fire-element energy in the soup was no less potent than a second-grade Vitality Pill. Pills were graded from one to nine; second-grade might not sound impressive, but if every meal matched a second-grade pill, the cumulative effect would be extraordinary. She couldn’t help but feel eager at the thought of life in the Ning family; as a freeloader for a few years, her strength would surely soar.

While high-level cultivators could live on air and dew, shunning mundane food, those at the lower levels could not forgo eating. For a Qi-Refining cultivator, meals infused with spiritual energy were essential. Yet too much was dangerous—a novice could easily perish if the spiritual energy in the food was too concentrated.

Ning Baixia made no effort to hide his disdain, earning a glare from Eldest Brother, after which he shut his eyes, feigning meditation. Ning Mofei, however, asked in puzzlement, “Youwei, this soup tastes like raw beans—it’s awful. Do you really like it?”

“There’s no beaniness at all. Is this tofu even made from soybeans?” Yu Youwei retorted.

“Of course, tofu ought to taste of beans.” Ning Mofei took another spoonful, smacked his lips, and declared, “Third Brother is silly.”

“How did I provoke you?” Ning Baixia demanded in annoyance.

“Only a fool doesn’t know tofu made from soybeans tastes of beans.” From the time Ning Mofei could crawl, he’d been his third brother’s shadow; if Third Brother said the moon was round, he’d never doubt it. But after just a short time away with Yu Youwei, Third Brother’s heroic image had utterly collapsed—at least to Ning Baixia, who saw this as a case of “close to ink, one grows black.”

“Hmph!” Ning Baixia snorted in vexation, glaring at Yu Youwei.

With no ambitions, Yu Youwei simply intended to bide a few years with the Nings—at least until she successfully established her Foundation and her little bear and thunderhawk had grown. Whatever attitude the Nings showed her, she remained serene.

After three bowls, Mofei set down his spoon and lobbed another gem of a question: “Youwei, tofu tastes of beans, so why doesn’t licking an ear have any taste at all?”

Yu Youwei was struck dumb, her face flaming with embarrassment. “Don’t talk nonsense!” she scolded.

Ning Bowen, kinder than most, covered his mouth and coughed, pretending not to hear.

Ice-faced Ning Baixia, tone sour, reprimanded, “Sister-in-law, what kind of attitude is this? Can’t you speak to Fourth Brother properly?”

Even if she was only here to freeload, Yu Youwei saw no reason to endure Ning Baixia’s ill temper. With a cool glance, she retorted, “Third Brother, are you planning to inquire into what goes on in our marital chambers?”

Never in his life had Ning Baixia been so embarrassed—he couldn’t even find a suitable retort. Compared to Yu Shiyu’s status in both clan and sect, his own was even higher. In the family, Eldest Brother’s words might not always be law, but his were never questioned. In the sect, he was the sect master’s direct disciple and heir apparent. Yet he had never met anyone as unyielding as Yu Youwei.

A flock of crows flew overhead as Ning Baixia, bristling with anger, barked, “Stop your unreasonable nonsense!”