The sun hung low on the horizon, its golden rays draping over Yuan Ji like a delicate veil. Behind her, the sky blazed with twilight hues. She exhaled softly as she opened her eyes.
A breeze stirred.
“River God, you’re awake!”
Fang Mingzhu was playing cat’s cradle with Luan Xuan using a red string. Seeing Yuan Ji awake, she brightened. “I steamed some buns—would you like one?”
At the mention of buns, Luan Xuan’s mouth watered. “Uncle Yan left us honey! It makes the buns sweet. I’ll go fetch one for the River God!”
Yuan Ji nodded. She had drunk nothing but tea all afternoon and was now ravenous.
Glancing around the courtyard, she noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. “Where’s Qi Yan?”
“Ah, Cultivator Qi?” Fang Mingzhu’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “He said he received a distress signal from his sect’s disciples. As their senior brother, he went to check on them. He told us not to worry.”
Yuan Ji chuckled. “How dutiful of him.”
“Indeed,” Fang Mingzhu agreed warmly. “He may seem cold and stern, but he’s actually quite gentle and refined.”
She paused, then muttered, “Though it’s strange—hardly anyone comes to the Forgotten River. Why are the Tianji Sect members suddenly so frequent here?”
Originally, she and Wu Boshan had chosen this place precisely because it was secluded. Yet lately, it had grown oddly lively.
Yuan Ji’s hand hesitated mid-reach for the bun before she replied, “Perhaps it’s for the better. The Forgotten River has been cold for too long.” She gestured toward the two men standing like stone lions at the gate. “Ah Xuan, take some buns to them too.”
It was rare for her to show kindness, but if they starved, her temple would be left unguarded—and all sorts of pests would slither in to annoy her.
Luan Xuan nodded and dashed off. “Uncle Xuan! Uncle Ye! The River God sent these for you!”
Ye Wenshu, who had been scratching calculations into the dirt (wondering how many novels he’d need to write to buy his and Xuan Chengren’s freedom), was moved to tears. He was famished.
After a hurried thanks, he took a bite—and froze.
He turned to Xuan Chengren, whose eyes mirrored his shock.
The bun contained traces of spiritual energy. Just a wisp, but enough to stun them. For cultivators, spiritual energy was a treasure. Drawing it from the world was hard enough; infusing it into food was nearly unthinkable.
Ye Wenshu’s eyes bulged. Only one person he knew could achieve this: Yan Chu, master of the “Culinary Dao.” But he’d vanished years ago.
No. It couldn’t be him.
Shoving the rest of the bun into his mouth, Ye Wenshu digested this revelation along with his meal. He stole a glance at Yuan Ji in the courtyard and shuddered.
If it really is Yan Chu… then this River God is far more formidable than she seems.
Just then, cheerful voices rang out in the distance. “It’s right ahead!”
“Senior Brother must be there!” A blushing girl smoothed her hair, fussing over every detail.
Six Tianji Sect female cultivators, adorned in silks and elaborate hairstyles, jostled each other as they flew toward the temple on their swords. Their laughter was like wind chimes—bright and infectious.
Yuan Ji watched them, amused. Such radiant beauties. She propped her chin on her hand, waiting.
But behind them lurked less welcome figures. Yuan Ji lifted a fingertip, where a flicker of flame danced.
It remembered.
Hidden in the crowd, Dongfang Hua’s neck prickled. He glared at the temple, then smirked at the women ahead.
These spoiled shijie and shimei will tear you apart. Perfect revenge.
Rumors had reached him about Qi Yan’s “ambiguous relationship” with the River God. These women—pampered, arrogant, and obsessively devoted to their senior brother—would make Yuan Ji’s life hell once they knew.
“Let’s hurry,” he urged softly, masking his disdain.
The women composed themselves and sprinted toward the temple, calling, “Senior Brother! Are you here?”
Ye Wenshu, mid-bite, blinked and held up a hand. “Who’re you looking for?”
“Who are you?” Huang Li’s willow-leaf eyebrows furrowed. “Out of my way, or you’ll regret it!”
“Move!” another snapped, eyeing his bun with disdain. “Here’s some spirit stones—buy decent food and stop embarrassing yourself.”
Ye Wenshu frowned. The bun was perfectly fine. But then his eyes lit up. “How many stones? A hundred thousand?”
“You—! Mocking me?” Her face darkened as she summoned her weapon.
Huang Li stopped her. “Calm down. We’re here for Senior Brother.”
The woman huffed but relented—until Ye Wenshu muttered, “Guess you don’t have 100,000 premium stones after all. So much for generosity.”
Her temple throbbed. She itched to slice him in half.
“Shimei!”
Hearing the commotion, Yuan Ji lowered her lashes, shadows veiling her eyes.
“Let them in,” she said coolly.
Ye Wenshu scrambled aside like escaping plague.
Better the River God than these shrieking harpies. At least she’d kill you quickly.
The women strutted in, the last one flipping her hair at Ye Wenshu like a victorious peacock.
Yuan Ji observed them, amused. “How obedient. The wall’s collapsed, yet they still use the gate. Admirable.”
System: …Was that a compliment or an insult?
“Where’s Senior Brother?” Luo Qiushui demanded, chin high.
Yuan Ji studied her in silence, unnerving them all.
“I’m Huang Li of the Tianji Sect,” the leader snapped. “Who are you?”
Catching a whiff of honeyed fragrance, Yuan Ji’s lips curled. “The River God. Yuan Ji.”
Ye Wenshu elbowed Xuan Chengren. “She gave them her name? After all my secrets, this is how I learn it?”
Xuan Chengren smiled. “The River God has her reasons.”
“You’re the River God?” Huang Li scoffed, recalling the rumors. “Nothing special. And this dump? Pathetic.”
She drew her blade. “Fight me. Win, and Senior Brother’s yours. Lose, and stay away from him.”
The others erupted in agreement, as if volume guaranteed victory.
Yuan Ji admired simplicity—but not collateral damage. She straightened, dusting off her fingers.
“Shh.”
“Too noisy.”
