When Nan Shan said she hadn’t finished her studies, Ji Yue wondered if it was because the words in the jade tablet were too obscure for her to understand.
Perhaps her comprehension was even less than he had anticipated.
It crossed his mind that maybe she simply hadn’t tried hard enough or was just going through the motions.
In the end, he thought of every possible reason, except that she couldn’t read at all.
The silence stretched on for too long, and Nan Shan couldn’t help but take a step back.
“A-Are you mad?” she asked, her voice laced with caution.
It wasn’t that she feared Ji Yue, but for some reason, the silence reminded her of the old teacher from her village.
Since the day she had been forced to go to the school and cried so much she never wanted to return, that teacher would always sigh whenever he saw her.
He made her feel so guilty that whenever she was within a three-mile radius of the school, she felt like running away—just as fast as a rabbit.
Ji Yue’s current look made her feel the same way.
“I… I didn’t mean to keep this from you until today,” Nan Shan rambled, “It’s not that I forgot, it’s just… by the time I remembered, you had already left, and I didn’t know where to find you. I couldn’t find Shou Xin either. I thought of asking Uncle Zhong for help, but I didn’t want to bother him…”
Ji Yue snapped out of his thoughts and softly reassured her, “I’m not upset with you.”
Nan Shan quickly shut up, her face flushing with embarrassment.
“If you tell me the content of the jade tablet, I’ll make sure to practice properly this time. Even if it’s just to get back home faster, I won’t slack off again.”
Ji Yue smiled faintly.
“No rush. Let’s start with the basics.”
A quarter of an hour later, a table appeared in the yard out of nowhere.
On the upper-right corner sat the four treasures of the study, and in the center, an old book lay open.
Shou Xin, who had disappeared for several meals, reappeared, sulking as he crouched under the eaves.
Nan Shan ignored him as usual.
Ji Yue gestured for Nan Shan to sit at the table.
Nan Shan gave up trying to talk to Shou Xin and obediently did as told.
However, as soon as she sat down, Ji Yue’s voice rang out, warm and soft: “From today on, you’ll be reading and learning characters here.”
Nan Shan’s butt felt like it was on fire, and she hastily tried to get up, but as soon as she moved an inch, Ji Yue pressed her back into the seat.
“Please, Ji Yue, I beg you! I really can’t do it!” Nan Shan wriggled, her face contorted in desperation.
“I feel sick when I look at books, and my head hurts when I try to write… Aren’t you in a hurry to save Dongyi? Why not just explain the jade tablet to me directly instead of making me study like this?”
“You used an idiom, well done,” Ji Yue praised gently, his tone a mix of admiration and humor.
Shou Xin mumbled, “…”
Nan Shan muttered, “The same method of cultivation, but different people interpret it in their own ways. If you explain it to me directly, I’ll be limited to your way of thinking. And if I just follow your interpretation, I’ll never surpass you.”
Ji Yue paused before continuing, “But I can’t break through that barrier in my own cultivation.”
“So, just read it aloud to me. I’ll understand it myself,” Nan Shan insisted.
Ji Yue raised an eyebrow.
“You think you can memorize it after hearing it once?”
Nan Shan stubbornly added, “There are countless people in Dongyi praying every day. I can’t just sit here waiting for you.”
Ji Yue smiled kindly, as if speaking to a child who didn’t know any better.
Flushed with embarrassment, Nan Shan mumbled, “Well, let Shou Xin read it then. He’s got nothing to do.”
Shou Xin quickly rejected the idea, puffing up his chest.
“I’m not doing it!”
Ji Yue calmly explained, “He has no spiritual power, so he can’t see the words on the jade tablet.”
Shou Xin’s pride was shattered by Ji Yue’s words, and he huddled up, looking as if someone had taken away his favorite toy.
Nan Shan kept arguing, “But I have no spiritual power either.”
The spiritual energy from her dual cultivation was long gone, and now, she was just an ordinary human.
“You have spiritual bones, so you can see it,” Ji Yue replied.
Before she could argue further, he added, “You have too much to learn. These few jade tablets are just a fraction of it. Even if I take the time to transcribe them for you today, you’ll still have to study the rest yourself.”
He truly had the temperament of a teacher—so patient and gentle when explaining things.
Nan Shan had no response, so she reluctantly stopped struggling.
She placed her hand on the back of his hand that rested on her shoulder, momentarily forgetting to pull away.
Ji Yue’s gaze unintentionally swept over her shoulder, his hand remaining for a beat longer than necessary.
He slowly withdrew it, leaning in to meet her gaze with seriousness.
“You want to go home quickly, don’t you?”
It sounded as though he were thinking of her first, but Nan Shan grumbled inwardly, “Who trapped me here in the first place?”
Ji Yue’s smile deepened, his tone warm like a spring breeze.
“So, are you going to study?”
Nan Shan sighed deeply, her voice soft.
“I’m really not cut out for this. Even if you tie me here, I won’t be able to learn anything.”
Ji Yue didn’t see this as a problem.
“If you trust me, let me arrange everything for you, how about that?”
Although Nan Shan didn’t trust him at all, by now, she had no other choice.
Seeing her reluctant agreement, Ji Yue smiled and opened the old book to the first page.
Nan Shan reluctantly leaned forward to take a look.
“This is my literacy book…” Shou Xin muttered.
Ji Yue shot him a look, silently reassuring him with his eyes.
Nan Shan, however, ignored the little brat entirely—partly to get back at him for ignoring her earlier.
“The first page has four characters: Heaven, Earth, People, Harmony. Beside each character, you’ll find the stroke order. Copy them according to the strokes, and you’ll pick it up faster.”
Ji Yue took a brush and wrote the characters on the paper.
Nan Shan gasped, “Your handwriting is beautiful!”
Ji Yue smiled faintly, “Can you hold a brush?”
Nan Shan hesitated.
Ji Yue sighed, reaching for another brush on the table.
Standing at her left side, his long hair, loosely tied with a pale blue ribbon, brushed against her ear as he leaned in to grab the brush.
The scent of fresh sea breeze mixed with a trace of bitterness hit her face, almost suffocating.
Before she could feel uncomfortable, he had already returned to a reasonable distance, holding out the brush.
“Here.”
Nan Shan grasped the brush tentatively.
Shou Xin suddenly sneered, “How do you hold your chopsticks?”
Nan Shan ignored him completely.
“I could hold a brush properly when I was three,” Shou Xin bragged.
Nan Shan shot him a glare.
Finally, Shou Xin’s teasing ceased as Ji Yue spoke gently, “Focus.”
Both the teacher and the student’s attention was now sharp.
“Place your index finger and thumb here,” Ji Yue lowered his gaze, taking her wrist in one hand and guiding her fingers gently, “This finger should rest against the back of the brush…”
As he spoke, he adjusted her grip.
Nan Shan had been too focused on escaping the terrifying desk earlier to notice the temperature of his hand.
Now, as their fingers touched, she realized how cold his hands were—like those of a frozen corpse.
She shuddered at the thought, and Ji Yue sensed her discomfort, releasing her hand after a moment.
“My hands are too cold,” he said.
Before, Nan Shan had been frightening herself with wild thoughts, but now that he had said it, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.
“No, no, it’s not that cold.”
Ji Yue smiled and let out a soft breath of spiritual energy, as though breaking an invisible bubble of smoke in his palm.
When he corrected her position again, his fingers had warmed up.
As Nan Shan felt the difference, she briefly lost focus.
“Yes, that’s it.” Ji Yue released her hand, satisfied with her now proper grip on the brush.
“Now, sit up straight, don’t slouch. Keep a fist’s distance from the table, lightly dip the brush in ink, and slowly trace the character ‘Heaven’ according to the stroke order.”
He listed a heap of demands.
Nanshan—followed them dutifully.
After writing the character “天” in a trembling manner, as if crawling like a dog, she felt her back and waist aching.
“Ugh, I’m so tired…”
“You’re too tense, relax a bit.”
After saying this, Ji Yue watched as Nanshan slouched even more, and sighed, reminding her again, “Nanshan.”
Nanshan thought, ‘I can write it, why care about posture?’
“Then just write however you like.”
Ji Yue surprisingly agreed, her tone unusually gentle.
Nanshan immediately slouched, wrote another “天” with full confidence, then fell into a long silence.
Guanxin, observing her subtle expression, couldn’t help but lean in.
The moment he saw the mess of ink blobs on the paper, he was stunned: “What is this supposed to be? Can you even recognize it?”
Nanshan straightened up, not bothering to argue with Ji Yue.
Seeing that she was at least somewhat serious about her studies, Ji Yue turned to leave, handing over the task of supervising her to Guanxin.
Guanxin was far stricter than Ji Yue.
He must have found a thin bamboo stick somewhere, about the width of his finger and half a meter long—almost as tall as he was.
With his stick in hand, he walked around the desk, strutting around like a proud general.
“Can you back off a bit? I feel dizzy just seeing you,” Nanshan muttered.
Guanxin raised his chin proudly.
“Less talking. Get writing. If you don’t master these four characters, no food for you.”
Nanshan raised an eyebrow.
“Feeling proud, huh? Seeing the immortal teach me personally, aren’t you jealous?”
“I’ve never been jealous,” Guanxin lied through his teeth, “I’ve just been in a bad mood lately, that’s why I didn’t want to see you.”
Nanshan, intrigued, smirked.
“Where were you hiding? There are only four rooms in the back yard, I searched everywhere and couldn’t find you.”
“You clearly couldn’t find me,” Guanxin smirked, “I was in the front yard.”
Nanshan paused, then gave him a thumbs up with her left hand.
“You’re something else, willing to endure that pungent smell just to avoid me.”
“I was just in the corridor, not the shrine… and stop talking so much. Get to writing!”
Guanxin waved the bamboo stick threateningly.
Nanshan’s lazy plans were crushed, so she reluctantly got back to work.
Before Ji Yue left, she left Nanshan some homework.
Not only did she need to memorize these four characters, but she also had to copy each one twenty times, then hand it over to Guanxin for review when done.
Nanshan was annoyed.
To her, this felt like pure repetition, but with the big demon gone and only the little one left, she had no choice but to painfully write over and over again, her body stiffening with each completed line.
“I don’t get it… Aren’t the jade scrolls just about recognizing characters? Why do I need to write them? I’m not planning on copying the technique down!” Nanshan protested.
Guanxin shot her a sideways glance.
“Cultivation is like building a tall tower. Without a solid foundation, how can the tower rise? Knowing the characters is not enough to understand the technique.”
“…Don’t imitate Ji Yue’s way of talking. His tone is much gentler than yours.” Nanshan replied, frustrated.
Guanxin gave her a sideways glance, then looked at her work with disdain as he collected it.
“Your writing is ugly. You’ve got more work to do.”
Nanshan snorted.
“What makes yours any better?”
“Compared to yours, it’s like the sky and the earth.”
The seven-year-old was easy to irritate, and soon he spread out the paper Ji Yue had written, then quickly copied the four characters underneath it.
As a self-proclaimed illiterate, Nanshan didn’t care much about strokes and character shapes, but she could tell the child wrote well.
His style resembled Ji Yue’s, though not quite as refined.
Nanshan grabbed the workbook and compared the characters, scoffing.