Sword Empress’s POV
"Gasp... gasp..."
I jolted awake, my breath ragged and uneven. Another nightmare had clawed its way into my sleep—the inner demon rearing its ugly head once more.
["Oh... come to think of it, were you interested too, Master? Is that why you kept asking about him? You should’ve said so—I might’ve shared him with you once, since it’s you."]
"Hoo..."
I exhaled slowly, channeling my inner energy in steady cycles to purge the lingering haze from my mind. Far from diminishing over the years, this torment seemed to grow sharper, more insistent, burrowing deeper into my soul.
’I can’t understand you.’
It was one thing for my disciple to harbor such twisted lust toward that innocent young boy, but to force herself upon him without consent? That was a sin no human should ever commit—a violation that stained the very essence of trust and humanity.
Yet there was something even more abhorrent in her madness.
["Still, no matter what woman he meets, he’ll never forget me."]
["I left an indelible mark on his body. No matter what life he lives going forward, he’ll see that scar and think of me."]
"Ugh..."
Her words echoed like a curse, a mad obsession I could scarcely comprehend. Even if her cultivation realm was modest at the time, how could she fail to grasp the sanctity of a martial artist’s dantian? To shatter it—not in battle, but out of possessive delusion? It defied all reason, all mercy.
’...Please, just be alive...’
For most warriors, the destruction of the dantian meant utter ruin. The mental devastation of losing every ounce of hard-earned power, the physical torment as the core of one’s qi collapsed inward—it was a fate whispered to be worse than death. Survival in such a state was rare; existence became a hollow echo, a shadow of what once was. I refused to surrender to despair, clinging to the endless search, but deep in my heart, I knew the truth: after a decade, the chances of him enduring were vanishingly small.
"..."
Even so, I pressed on. How could I not? And wasn’t there proof of resilience right beside me—a man whose own dantian lay shattered, yet who carved out a life defying the odds?
’...Come to think of it, we haven’t even exchanged names.’
Traveling companions deserved that much, at least. A nickname sufficed for casual talk, but he’d never uttered his true name to anyone in my presence. If secrecy was his burden, I respected it, yet sharing ours would ease the subtle distance between us.
Knock knock.
"Miss, are you in there?"
As if summoned by the thought, his voice drifted through the door—the Masked Golden Ghost, ever timely.
"What’s up?"
"I came to brush your hair."
...Huh?
"N-Now, now. Didn’t I say we should try everything we can?"
"But still, over just hair..."
"There are countless women out there who’d risk their lives for ’just hair,’ Miss. Don’t underestimate it."
Before I could protest further, he pushed inside, armed with a comb and a vial of some unfamiliar oil, gently but insistently guiding me to a chair. His determination was as baffling as it was endearing.
"How often do you usually care for your hair?"
"...Never."
"For someone who doesn’t, it’s in amazing shape. Is this a martial arts perk too? I’m jealous."
It was true—beyond a handful of esoteric techniques, most advanced martial paths naturally expelled bodily impurities, maintaining the form in flawless equilibrium. I’d heard whispers of pampered noble daughters dabbling in beginner arts solely for that benefit, though I doubted its efficacy for the uncommitted.
"What’s that potion?"
"It’s a kind of oil for improving hair texture... but since your hair’s already in such good shape, I’m not sure it’ll make much difference."
"Then why not just—"
"It’s got beauty benefits on its own, so that’s reason enough."
Squelch.
A soft, viscous sound emanated from behind me as he worked the oil into the comb.
Swish.
The tines glided through my hair with surprising ease, parting strands I’d long neglected. The unfamiliar sensation—gentle, rhythmic, almost soothing—left me adrift, and as he hummed a faint, tuneless melody, words tumbled out unbidden.
"...Are you always this kind to women?"
"Why do you ask?"
"...Just answer the question."
This man operated utterly outside the bounds of convention. Few would dare lavish such unabashed gifts, flattery, or intimate touches on a near-stranger, whether from cunning design or guileless nature. His carefree demeanor was disarming, to say the least.
Thump thump.
’Sigh...’
It was enough to sow seeds of misunderstanding in even the steadiest heart. Yet I detected no lechery in his aura, no hidden agenda—just an open warmth that made outright rebuke feel unjust.
If this was his default with every woman, I could dismiss him as a harmless, affable soul and move on. But...
"I don’t treat every woman kindly. I’m human—how could I? I’m kind to people I like."
"...Hoo..."
There it was—the root of my unease. He delivered the line with such effortless sincerity, as if stating the weather, but it landed like a thunderclap, stirring ripples I couldn’t ignore.
If he’d confessed boldly, I might have deflected with practiced ease. But this ambiguity? It left me adrift, second-guessing every glance, every gesture. To rebuff him harshly now risked mortifying awkwardness if it proved mere overreach on my part.
Swish.
"Does it hurt at all?"
"...It’s fine, don’t worry."
"Good thing my skills haven’t rusted."
Whether he sensed my turmoil or not, he continued undeterred, and a stray phrase snagged in my thoughts.
’Rusted skills...?’
That wasn’t the phrasing of a novice. Combing his own hair wouldn’t evoke such a term...
"...Just to be sure, do you currently have a woman you’re involved with?"
It suggested prior practice—on someone else’s locks, no doubt. Surely not a man’s, slicked with oil like this.
"Haha, no such thing. I was talking about my master. Her hair was as long as yours."
"...Oh. That’s what you meant."
"Yeah. Back then, I squeezed oil from plants, but luckily the market had something similar. Saved me."
Of course—he’d mentioned a decade in the mountains under a master’s tutelage. Solitude wouldn’t have defined that isolation.
"So no other women in the secular world? I heard you’ve lived in Shaanxi for a while—surely you’ve had some connections with women there."
"You’re that curious about my love life?"
"It’s because you—!"
"Well, I don’t know why you’re curious, but if you want to know, I’ll tell you. None."
"...Really?"
"Well... there was a woman who helped me set up my fortune-telling shop, but we’re just friends. She probably sees me that way too."
Swish.
"Hmm..."
His entanglements—or lack thereof—painted a simple picture, unmarred by the webs so many wove.
"I guess since I’m at taverns every night drinking and gambling, some people misunderstand me that way. I’m not really interested in chasing women, though."
"...Oh."
I’d momentarily overlooked the shadow in his past.
Squeeze.
’...And I was about to harbor feelings for a man like that?’
Betrayed by the one he’d trusted most. A wound like that didn’t mend overnight; it armored the heart against vulnerability.
’Hoo...’
With renewed clarity, I reined in the errant flutters, my pulse steadying at last.
"...Sorry."
This clarified the haze for now. We each bore our scars—entangling them further served no one.
So I’d sever this thread cleanly, preserve the fragile camaraderie of the road—
"No need for you to apologize, though."
"...Huh?"
"What did you do wrong to say sorry? It’s that woman who wronged me, not you."
"..."
His empathy extended even here, a quiet balm without demand.
Still, with my resolve firm, I wouldn’t falter as before.
Swish.
This was mere aid in heeding his prophecy, not a tapestry of deeper intent. At most, it bespoke his innate generosity.
’Heh.’
I’d cherish it as a fleeting bond from this uncommon venture into the wider world—
"Well, life’s too short not to enjoy, right? Clinging to a wound forever is foolish. People learn from pain, after all. And, Miss—"
"..."
Let it remain just that—
"Wounds from people are healed by people."
"..."
’Urghhh...’
Thump thump thump.
The composure I’d painstakingly reclaimed shattered anew, my heart surging with a ferocity that drowned out all reason.