Chapter 91.3: Let the Fish Bite First

After getting in the car, Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes and dozed off for a while. By the time he woke up, they had already arrived at the school gate.

He walked into the campus and returned to the dormitory. In the early morning hours, the sink area was deserted, and the two of them took a shower.

As basin after basin of cold water splashed over him, Li Zhuiyuan felt not just refreshed but also a faint, genuine sense of lightness and joy. Fleeting, perhaps, but unmistakably real.

Back in the dorm room, Tan Wenbin tossed and turned on his bed, occasionally waving his arms and grinning.

“Binbin, if you don’t sleep now, it’ll be dawn soon.”

“Xiaoyuan, I’m too hyped. My mind’s full of scenes from the construction site. I just can’t sleep.”

“You’ve still got military training tomorrow.”

“No big deal. Lin Shuyou won’t be discharged yet, so I can still take a leave to stay with him. Oh, right—Xiaoyuan, I saw you when I was out cold.”

“Hm?”

“I saw you press a huge snake down with your thumb, then burn it to ash.”

He clapped his hands as he spoke. “I swear, that move—clapping afterward—was epic!”

“You saw the fire?”

“Yeah. Black flames.”

“Then you crossed into the shade.”

“I did? I thought I was half-unconscious and just couldn’t move. If I’d known, I would’ve helped you catch the snake.”

“If you’d come over, you might’ve gotten burned too.”

“Uh… then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t.”

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t continue the conversation. He shut his eyes and dozed off again.

At dawn, he got up early. Even counting the nap in the car, he hadn’t rested much. After packing his things into his backpack, he left the dorm.

Aunt Liu had just gotten up and opened the door when she saw the boy push open the courtyard gate.

“Xiaoyuan, you’re coming earlier and earlier.”

“Good morning, Aunt Liu.”

“I haven’t even started breakfast yet. What do you want to eat?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Alright, wait a bit. I’ll comb Grandma Liu’s hair first, then I’ll cook.”

“No rush. I’m not very hungry.”

Li Zhuiyuan walked into the living room and sat down on a chair.

Liu Yumei was sitting with her back to him. Aunt Liu stepped behind her with a comb in hand.

Before she got far, A’Li, dressed in white silk pajamas, came downstairs.

Liu Yumei said, “Just a few quick strokes.”

“Got it,” Aunt Liu said, picking up the pace.

“That’s enough.” Liu Yumei turned slightly and waved to A’Li. “A’Li, come sit with Grandma.”

A’Li glanced at Li Zhuiyuan. He smiled at her.

The girl sat down beside her grandmother, and Liu Yumei personally began combing her hair and dressing her.

Li Zhuiyuan watched quietly. A’Li reached out to start a game of chess, and he took the pieces.

But when he instinctively prepared to play two or three games at once, the girl didn’t move her pieces.

Liu Yumei glanced at him and asked, “What’s the matter? Out setting fires again last night?”

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. “No, I went to the construction site.”

“Didn’t your Taigong send you money? Why are you working on a site?”

“He did.”

Once A’Li was dressed, Liu Yumei’s face showed contentment.

Over the years, her greatest joy had been grooming her granddaughter each day. Her second joy was designing new clothes for her.

“Breakfast time.”

The three of them sat at the table.

Aunt Liu brought over breakfast with a smile on her face.

In the past, if A’Li came out before getting dolled up and let the boy see her like that, the old lady would’ve been displeased, going on and on about “dignity.” Now, she seemed to have accepted it.

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t have much appetite. Before Liu Yumei could say, “Come to the study after breakfast,” he had already put down his chopsticks.

The elder and the youth entered the study together.

Li Zhuiyuan took out a thick handwritten manuscript of the complete version of The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi.

Liu Yumei glanced at its thickness and sighed silently.

Truthfully, she was already a bit tired after translating two scrolls these past few days. Age was catching up, and her original intention was to provide better guidance for younger disciples.

But now, the only heir was so young—and worse, the heir wasn’t even her own doing. It meant that everything she was doing might never see use in her lifetime.

People tend to lose patience with an invisible future.

Li Zhuiyuan then handed her the advanced version of The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons.

Liu Yumei paused. Though she’d already been astonished before, she was still amazed upon seeing this again.

After flipping through and confirming it was the full volume, she looked at the boy’s tired face. A mix of comfort and heartache swept through her.

“You’ve worked hard, child.”

“Grandma, it’s what I should do.”

“Staying up is already harmful. Staying up to do this kind of work? You’ll hurt your health.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

Li Zhuiyuan knew she mistakenly believed he had stayed up all night to write them.

“Not hard? What, The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons is easier?”

“Yeah. After reading The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi, this one felt simple.”

“Hehehe…”

Liu Yumei covered her mouth and laughed.

After a long moment, she composed herself.

“I told that old coot before—his Qin family techniques are crude and clumsy. Look, wasn’t I right?”

Li Zhuiyuan smiled but didn’t reply.

“Alright, go find A’Li upstairs.”

“Okay, Grandma.”

He left the study and went upstairs.

Aunt Liu came in with a fruit platter. Seeing only the old lady, she joked, “I was wondering why the lesson schedule kept speeding up.”

“I’m in a good mood today, so I won’t slap that cheek of yours.”

“Oh? What’s got you so cheerful? Share the joy.”

Liu Yumei handed her the copy of The Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons. Aunt Liu flipped through it and exclaimed, “Xiaoyuan finished it already?”

She added, “He really got through it quicker than our Liu Clan one.”

“Enough flattery. These two books come from the same roots. Understand one, and the second goes twice as fast.

“If he’d read the Qin one first, the Liu one would’ve been just as easy.

“That boy didn’t lie, but he did rearrange the truth to make me happy.”

“You see? He says it and you laugh out loud. I was outside cutting fruit and still heard your ‘hehehe.’ But when I say the same thing, I get scolded.

“Now I see how it is. A blood child will always beat an in-house disciple.”

“Then why don’t you spend a few days raising your insight on these two books?”

“Hmph. I don’t have that skill—or the spare time. How can I compare? He’s not just a direct disciple. He might even be the heir.

“Back in the day, with stricter rules, someone of his status—A’Li and I would’ve had to kneel and call him Young Master.”

“All that talk of inheritance—still early. Even if we consider it, not until a few years down the road.”

Aunt Liu leaned against her playfully, gently brushing her arm.

“Listen to that. Sounds so soft now.

“Didn’t you used to look down on him? Called him some dragon from across the river, worried he’d change the family name of the Qin and Liu clans.

“But now, even if he doesn’t marry in, the Qin and Liu inheritance still ends up his.”

“Enough nonsense. Tomorrow when A’Li comes back, give him this. Even though he’s already learned it, deeper insights can still improve him in every way.”

“Smart as ever, our A’Li. A year ago at Uncle Li’s, he already tried probing if Xiaoyuan minded which surname the kids would take.”

Liu Yumei pricked up her ears.

But Aunt Liu deliberately changed the subject, tidying the tea table.

“Okay, okay. I won’t push it. Wouldn’t want to get punished for cheekiness.”

“You little rascal.”

Li Zhuiyuan and A’Li sat on the rooftop terrace in rattan chairs.

At first, the boy recounted what had happened the night before. But under the soft morning sunlight and the peace he always felt near the girl, he soon fell asleep.

He was exhausted. Several sleepless nights and high-energy events had worn him out.

A’Li lay sideways beside him, resting her chin on her hand, quietly watching him sleep.

She knew his heart often felt blank, yet he always acted vivid and alive when he was with her.

Because she was timid, afraid to step outside—he brought the world into her room.

Partway through, Aunt Liu came up with a chilled drink.

Noticing the boy had dozed off, she tread silently, gliding like a shadow to the rattan chairs.

She pointed at the boy, then down.

A’Li nodded.

Aunt Liu bent down and gently picked him up.

Feeling the movement, Li Zhuiyuan opened his eyes, saw it was her, and shut them again. He was too tired to care.

She carried him to the second floor, intending to place him in a guest room.

But A’Li opened the door to her own room and looked at her.

Aunt Liu hesitated but gave in, setting the boy on A’Li’s bed.

Before leaving, she even lit a sleep-inducing incense.

A’Li took her light quilt and, remembering how the boy liked things neatly arranged back home, folded it and draped it over his stomach.

Then she sat at her desk, placed a stack of Yellow Talismans in front of her, dipped her brush in vermillion gold, and began to draw.

Each stroke completed in one breath.

As soon as one was finished, it floated up and affixed itself to the wall.

She filled an entire wall.

When she set the brush down, it cracked apart, unable to bear more.

She didn’t mind. Looking up, she eyed the three types of talismans.

She gestured once—one row fell into her hand.

Another gesture—the second row dropped, followed by the third.

She bound each set with string and placed them in the boy’s backpack.

The effort left her drained too.

She turned the chair to face the bed, sat with her feet on its edge, arms resting on her knees.

Just like before.

Like in the east room of Li Sanjiang’s house—her on a stool inside, feet on the threshold. Only now, on the threshold slept a boy who kept her company in the sun.

She used to hate sleeping. Every time she closed her eyes, they’d come—taunting, threatening, cursing.

Each voice full of bitterness from the past, determined to make her pay.

Behind her, the ancestral tablets of those who had once suppressed these spirits—cracked and silent. Unmoving. Leaving her to face the crowd alone.

As a child, she saw her grandmother speak to those tablets.

She had tried too—in dreams—pleading with them. But only silence answered.

Later she realized, Grandma had known all along—the tablets heard nothing.

She liked collecting things the boy had used. His scent and traces lingered on them. Her filled collection boxes gave her courage—her straw in dreamland.

Now, she was tired. So tired. She wanted to sleep.

And so, she did.

She returned to that old house. Outside, it was raining. In the downpour, shadowy figures began to emerge.

They sensed her presence.

The girl stood, this time not sitting inside. She sat on the threshold, half her body exposed, her back against the frame, staring across it.

In her heart, she imagined him resting on the other side.

Liu Yumei had warned Li Zhuiyuan many times—walking the shade too often could cause one to lose control, to forget the line between dream and waking.

Everyone had their quirks. But elders’ advice wasn’t without reason.

As he lay on the bed, sleeping, Li Zhuiyuan’s eyelids twitched slightly.

Then, from A’Li’s dreamscape, he appeared—leaning against the opposite threshold, still asleep.

Outside, the howls of ghosts and wolves filled the air.

The girl closed her eyes.

For the first time, sitting in her chair, as she drifted to sleep, dimples bloomed at the corners of her mouth.

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