The small town at the foot of Xijian Pavilion Mountain was brightly lit tonight.
Tomorrow was the Sword Testing Tournament, and the inn was packed with young talents from all over. They talked animatedly, their swordplay vibrant.
Shen Qingqiu disliked noise and returned to her room early.
In her room, Seventeen sat before a bronze mirror.
Shen Qingqiu stood behind him, holding an irregularly shaped piece of silver metal. It was a fragment of the original body left behind by the ghost in the mirror from the Lin family after its death, possessing the property of blocking divine sense.
"Your face is too conspicuous."
Shen Qingqiu's fingers gently traced Seventeen's cheek. Those perfect features, even in the cultivation world, were enough to cause a sensation. More importantly, the occasional flash of data in his eyes must not be detected by those old monsters.
"Bear with it, it might be a little hot."
Shen Qingqiu ignited a wisp of spiritual fire at her fingertips (a low-level spell she had learned from her previous "spoils of war"), and began to soften the metal piece.
The silver metal became as soft as water in the firelight. She leaned down, very close. So close their breaths mingled.
She carefully shaped the softened metal sheet, piece by piece, onto Seventeen's face. From his brow bone to the bridge of his nose, then to his left cheekbone.
Seventeen remained motionless.
At this distance, he could see her long eyelashes and smell her faint, cool fragrance. In his vision, countless red warning boxes flashed frantically:
[Warning: Too close. Defense system… recommended to deactivate.]
[Warning: Heart rate simulation module abnormally accelerated.]
He should back away. This was the tactical safe distance.
But he didn't move. He even consciously suppressed the chilling aura emanating from him, afraid of hurting her hands that were "painting" his face.
"Done." After a moment, Shen Qingqiu withdrew her hand, admiring her masterpiece with satisfaction.
It was a silver half-mask, covering most of his face, revealing only his deep, cold eyes and perfect jawline.
The cold silver light complemented his pale skin, making him appear less eerie and more mysteriously ascetic. Like a sealed deity, noble, dangerous, and untouchable.
"From tomorrow onwards, only I can remove it." Shen Qingqiu declared her ownership softly, looking at him in the mirror.
Seventeen looked at himself in the mirror and reached out to touch the cold mask. The touch was unfamiliar, but he didn't reject it.
Because it was given to him by her.
"And another thing." Shen Qingqiu suddenly remembered something and pulled a red hair ribbon from her sleeve—the most ordinary thing in the mortal market.
She went behind him, gathered his cascading long hair, and loosely tied it with the red ribbon.
Black hair, silver mask, red ribbon.
Extreme coldness and extreme beauty blended perfectly on him.
Shen Qingqiu met his gaze through the bronze mirror.
"Seventeen, tomorrow's road won't be easy." She was referring to the trials at the Sword Washing Pavilion, and also to this future filled with danger.
Seventeen slowly stood up. In the cramped inn room, he was like a sword about to be drawn. He turned around, lowered his head, and made his gaze level with hers.
Behind the mask, her image was reflected in his eyes, so focused that it seemed the whole world consisted only of her.
He didn't speak, but simply reached out and, with extreme awkwardness yet utmost solemnity, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
He had secretly practiced that gesture eight thousand times on the boat.
"I'm here." Two words, more powerful than a thousand armies.
Outside the window, the moonlight was like water. Tomorrow, they would step onto that Sword Washing Pavilion, littered with shattered jade, to shatter this illusory heaven.
But tonight, the moonlight was beautiful.