Eming shook again, looking desperate to jump out of its scabbard.
Xie Lian asked curiously, “Are you telling it ‘no’？”
“Yes,” Hua Cheng deadpanned. “It wants you to pet it, but I’m telling it no.”
Xie Lian grinned. “Well, why not?”
He reached out. Eming’s eye instantly widened, like it was looking at him with great anticipation. I can’t pet here, poking the eye will hurt, Xie Lian thought, then lowered his hand and stroked lightly along the curve of the hilt. The eye squinted into a full crescent line and quivered even harder, as if it was extremely pleased and enjoying the touch very much.
The more Xie Lian stroked the scimitar, the more intriguing he found it. He was the type of person animals liked; when he’d pet furry dogs and cats, they’d squint their eyes like this when they got comfortable and would often throw themselves into his embrace, whining and mewling. Who knew that he’d be stroking a cold, silver scimitar—that legendary cursed blade, no less—like he would a puppy! In what way was this a “bloody, cursed blade of misfortune”？
Xie Lian hadn’t believed it before, but after seeing this with his own eyes, he threw away all that awful hearsay entirely, tossing it into the trash pile labeled “not believable.” An evil, bloody ritual wouldn’t forge a spirit this clever and cute.
***
The two spent a considerable amount of time discussing and critiquing various famous swords and legendary blades in detail, and Xie Lian exited the armory in high spirits after; even grabbing hold of Hua Cheng’s hands on the return to Paradise Hall.
The boy had also been brought in after being washed up and dressed in clean bandages. Although his face was still wholly covered, he looked new and refreshed. He was a person of slender frame and delicate build, and should have been a seedling with infinite possibilities—but the version of him here right now was one of hunched shoulders and slumped figure, a cowering form who couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, a pitiful soul.
Xie Lian pulled the boy to sit. “With her last words, Miss Xiao-Ying asked me to take care of you, and I agreed to it. But nevertheless, I still have to ask what you want to do. Would you be interested in following me in cultivation from now on?”
The boy stared at him blankly, as if afraid to believe the words he was hearing—that someone was actually willing to take him in and teach him. He looked hesitant and hopeful.
Xie Lian continued, “I can’t say the conditions at my place are good, but I can still promise you won’t need to hide any longer. You won’t need to steal food, and you won’t be beaten.”
As he spoke, Xie Lian didn’t notice that next to him, Hua Cheng’s eye was narrowed. He was watching the boy with a cold, judging look.
Xie Lian continued warmly, “If you can’t remember your own name, then why don’t we come up with a new one?”
The boy pondered for a moment and said, “Ying.”
Xie Lian supposed that the name was to commemorate Miss Xiao-Ying, since both names used the character for “firefly.” He nodded. “Good. That’s a good name. You’re from the Kingdom of Yong’an, and Yong’an’s national surname is Lang, so why don’t you use that as your new name and call yourself Lang Ying?”
The boy finally nodded, hesitantly. Xie Lian understood it as the boy accepting the offer to follow him.
The banquet began. It was a “small” feast that Hua Cheng had prepared for Xie Lian, but by its setup and size, it could very well host over a dozen. Innumerous women carried jaded plates in their hands, and upon the plates were various delicacies: fine wines, fresh fruits, and small refreshments. Their offerings were endless, and their steps were dainty and light as they walked along the sides of the main hall in a line, each presenting their jaded plate as they approached the black jaded divan. Lang Ying watched but didn’t dare to reach out, and it wasn’t until Xie Lian pushed some of the plates toward him that he slowly grabbed a few items to eat.
Watching him, another scene flashed in Xie Lian’s mind. It was of another boy whose face was wrapped in bandages, dirty and unkempt; he was kneeling on the floor hugging a plate of offerings, his head bowed low as he stuffed his face.
Just then, a sashaying lady in purple silk approached, offering a carafe of wine. Hua Cheng reached out and poured for Xie Lian.
“Gege, have a cup?”
Xie Lian’s mind was occupied and he wasn’t paying attention, so he carelessly accepted the cup, delivering it directly to his lips. He didn’t realize it was wine until the drink entered his mouth, then his eyes refocused once more. His gaze just happened to land on what—or rather, who—was behind Hua Cheng. The lady who offered the wine looked back and winked at him.