The late afternoon sun bathed the Lan Estate in a mellow golden glow. From outside the main gate, the place looked less like a simple mansion and more like a small kingdom in miniature—spacious courtyards, layered roofs with green tiles that caught the light, vermilion-painted beams carved with phoenixes and cranes, and walls lined with flowering vines. The smell of camellia mixed with the faint tang of incense drifting from somewhere deep inside.
Beyond the gates stretched a winding stone path, clean enough to reflect light. Along its edges, garden beds bloomed with clusters of lilac, hydrangea, and plum blossoms—an elegant display of wealth and care. Servants in pale-blue robes moved between paths, heads bowed, carrying trays, tea, or scrolls. Even the air here seemed fresher, tinged with the sound of flowing water from a koi pond somewhere ahead.
Little Water walked quietly beside Qianya, his current guide and an ever-watchful presence behind that thin silk veil. He wore his disguise art—today, he looked like a plain-faced mortal man in his twenties. His true beauty, the kind that could unsettle even cultivators from higher realms, was hidden beneath a mask of unremarkable features. His hair was tied simply, his clothes neat but plain, as if he were just another itinerant worker.
They were halfway down the garden path when a young boy appeared ahead, standing with hands on his hips. His hair was ink-black and slightly tousled, his small robe embroidered with silver clouds. His bright eyes scanned Little Water from head to toe with an intensity unusual for someone his age.
The boy's gaze lingered on Little Water's posture, the way he carried himself, and—despite the disguise—the faint, effortless grace that no mortal could imitate.
"You," the boy said, squinting slightly. "Who are you? Are you… molesting my big sister?"
Qianya let out a quiet pfft of laughter behind her veil. Little Water's brows rose.
"Why do you think that way, little guy—that I'm bullying your sister? And even if I did bully her, she'd probably be happy."
"Shut your mouth," Qianya barked, her tone sharp.
The boy's eyes narrowed, but his curiosity didn't fade.
"Who are you?" he asked again, this time with a touch of indignation.
"I'm Xiao Shui," Little Water replied calmly. "And who are you, little guy?"
"I am Lan Zhihao, the young master of this place. And I am seven years old."
Little Water tilted his head slightly. "Then… is your mother Lan Ruyin, little guy?"
"Yes," Zhihao said proudly. "My mother is the owner of this place."
"Mm." Little Water nodded, as if checking off a detail in his mind.
They walked deeper into the estate together until they reached a garden tea chamber—a raised wooden pavilion built beside a pond where koi swam lazily under lotus leaves. The polished wooden floor shone in the fading sunlight, and carved railings framed the view. The faint aroma of jasmine tea drifted from a low table already set for guests.
Zhihao sat cross-legged, looking at Little Water with open curiosity.
"Why are you here, Xiao Shui?"
"Hey," Qianya cut in, giving the boy a light glare. "You cannot call him directly by name like that. He's older than you, little guy."
"Oh… sorry, Sister," Zhihao muttered. "But why is he here?"
Little Water leaned back slightly. "I am your caretaker from here on."
"What's a caretaker?" the boy asked, tilting his head.
Qianya explained, "It means he will teach you something every day, look after you, and also take care of your unborn sibling."
Zhihao frowned. "Why do I need him if you're here?"
"Because I will be with your mother when she needs me," Qianya said patiently. "And when I'm not around, who will take care of you? He will."
The boy still looked unconvinced, but he didn't argue further.
Little Water turned the subject. "Tell me about the pavilion and the estate."
Qianya began describing each section in detail—the East Wing, where the library and calligraphy rooms lay; the North Garden, reserved for meditation and tea; the training courtyard, lined with weapon racks; the servants' quarters, far to the west. Her voice painted pictures of each place until the world outside the tea chamber felt alive with movement and history.
By the time the sky darkened to a soft violet, Qianya rose.
"Lady Ruyin will meet you tomorrow. Tonight, you can stay where the workers live."
Little Water shook his head. "What about the old house—the broken one where no one lives? I'll stay there."
Zhihao's eyes widened. "You'll stay there? But… there are ghosts! And on some nights, you can hear the voice of a lady screaming."
Little Water's eyes sharpened for just a moment. He already suspected what that voice was. "Don't worry. When I start living there, no voices will be heard. I'll chase away any ghost."
From behind her veil, Qianya's lips curved faintly upward.
Then, without warning, Little Water's gaze swept the area. His voice was casual, but his eyes were cold.
"The three people hiding on the roof, in that tree, and in the brush—are they your companions, Qianya?"
"No," she replied at once. "Today, one of my companions is with Lady Ruyin, and the other is with Zhihao. I was assigned to bring you here."
She turned to the boy. "Where is the other sister who was with you earlier?"
"She went to bring me a fake sword this afternoon, but she never came back," Zhihao said, now frowning.
Qianya's voice turned flat. "They're assassins."
Even as she spoke, a flicker of silver flashed through the air—
Shhhk! A dagger whistled toward them.
Qianya moved instantly, shielding Zhihao. Little Water tilted just enough for the blade to miss his heart, his hands already shifting into a defensive stance. Two assassins burst forward—one with a curved blade, the other with a long sword—clashing against Qianya in a storm of steel.
The garden became a blur of motion. Qianya fought with a dagger in her left hand and a slender sword in her right, weaving between the attackers. Her strikes were sharp and precise, her footwork light as falling petals, yet she met both men head-on without giving ground. The assassin with the blade slashed in broad arcs, forcing her to pivot and deflect, while the swordsman pressed forward with thrusts meant to pierce through her guard.
Then—
A fourth assassin emerged from the shadows, leaping from the roof. His dagger spun toward Qianya's back.
Little Water moved without thinking, intercepting the throw with his arm. The impact jolted through his bones—then the assassin he had been watching lunged, driving a sword into his side.
The world slowed for a breath. Qianya's eyes widened; the assassins froze, gathering together.
Qianya stepped back beside Zhihao, her voice low but sharp. "Who sent you here?"
The three men pulled down their masks—and Little Water's eyes narrowed. They were the same ones who had robbed him upon arriving in the city.
They weren't here for him this time—they were after Qianya and the boy. Little Water said nothing, though the dagger in his chest pulsed strangely. It carried Qi energy… in the mortal realm? That shouldn't be possible. He felt something deep inside stir—his sealed power, straining against the lock.
"You're also a cultivator?" he asked Qianya quietly.
She glanced at him. "What? You didn't know until now?"
"What's your cultivation level?"
"Qi Collector, peak stage."
Little Water went silent, processing.
The assassins recognized him then—memory flashing in their eyes—and they began to mock him.
"Well, well… the pretty-faced traveler who couldn't even protect his own coin purse."
"Thought you could play hero, eh? Look at you now, skewered like a pig."
"Guess that handsome face doesn't help much when you're bleeding."
Qianya's eyes hardened. She wrapped her sword with a faint shimmer of Qi—
—but at the last moment, her sword strike carried no true energy. Instead, the Qi was in her dagger. She feinted left, then drove the dagger straight into one assassin's heart. His eyes went wide, his breath catching—then his body seized.
Her Qi was poisonous. He collapsed without another sound.
The remaining two assassins roared in rage, ready to tear her apart—but before they could close in, the sharp cry of a horn split the air.
From the eastern path, Lan Estate's royal guards poured in—armor gleaming, spears raised, moving with crisp precision. Their boots thundered against the stone path, and torchlight flashed against their helms.
The assassins exchanged a glance, then leapt for the walls, vanishing into the shadows before the guards could reach them.
The garden fell silent again, save for the sound of koi rippling the pond water.
----To be Continued---