Chapter 44

Chapter 44: No Sense of Romance

The house was clean as always — even cozier now, thanks to several days of shared living. And a little... quiet.

Jingliu set the armor case down in the living room corner with a heavy thunk, then sat with her back to the table, her small face sulky.

"Whatever. I don't know why you trust that bad woman so much, little Wangshu, but it's not like I can stop you."

She seemed to be talking to herself.

"She's stronger than me. A bit taller too. And when she smiles, she's... mm, a little prettier..."

She dropped her gaze to her own neatly pressed knees, continuing to mutter under her breath, cataloguing offenses.

Jingliu grumbled on and on until she noticed the room was genuinely quiet. She stood up, ready to sneak a peek at little Wangshu's expression... but he wasn't in the living room. He hadn't followed her inside!

The doorway was empty — only afternoon sunlight streaming in from the courtyard. Her cheeks instantly puffed at visible speed, like a tiny inflated pufferfish.

Wangshu was indeed still outside. The artificial canopy was in full afternoon mode, the sun dazzling and bright. Standing in the yard, a phrase suddenly came to mind.

"A sword is a weapon of violence. No matter the reason, no matter how you dress it up — it cannot change the objective reality that swinging a sword is meant to harm, to take life."

"But that really isn't cool enough. Or beautiful enough."

His thoughts drifted back to the training space. Senior Jingliu hadn't dwelt on philosophical questions like these. In her view, neither Wangshu nor Asta needed to wrestle with such complexities in the short term — building a solid foundation was what mattered.

Even now, Wangshu had no desire to echo Senior Jingliu's words. But if he really thought about it — if Senior Jingliu came here, to Star Calendar Year 6299 — could she still say those words so calmly?

"Hmph — as if some two-thousand-year-old, battered, lonely relic could shake my resolve!" Wangshu lifted his chin, expression confident.

He'd been given a fresh start in a new world. No one was going to dampen his passion.

The armor case had somehow ended up on the ground. Wangshu gripped his sword once more. The instant the blade cleared the scabbard, familiar frost spread into the air — but this time, the edges of the creeping ice crystals shimmered with a faint, moonlit radiance.

The barely integrated Propagation source within him seemed to pulse with his emotions, releasing slivers of power. The blade's shadow glowed, ethereal.

"Maybe the sword is a weapon of violence. But swinging one should still have a touch of romance — protection, persistence, or just making someone think you look cool."

Swordsmanship was a long journey of cultivation. Wangshu truly didn't want to make his blade feel this correct yet numbingly dull so early on... Though using "romance" to describe a sword was odd, he didn't know what the right word was.

So — follow your heart.

The moment his resolve crystallized, the sword in his hand seemed to lighten. He twirled it in casual flourishes — not textbook-perfect, but carrying an ease that felt right.

Sword-light traced arcs of radiance through the courtyard until, at the end of a sequence, Wangshu held the blade one-handed, pointing it toward little Jingliu in the distance. His smile was bright as peach blossoms, tinged with pride.

"Well? Does my swordsmanship look cooler now, little Jingliu?"

Jingliu didn't answer immediately. Her cheek was turned to one side, lips pressed so tightly that what should have been a sweet dimple had collapsed into a deep, adorably stubborn little divot. She was a tad... displeased right now.

"Sword, sword, sword! All you think about is swords. Now I understand why the past me hated these things."

Just like Dad and Mom. Dad swinging his sword all day, Mom tinkering with her diviner's tools — neither of them ever getting bored. Didn't they know they had a sweet, adorable daughter?

Just like little Wangshu now. So unlovable.

Wangshu tilted his head, confused. Wasn't it cooler? He felt the flow of his sword-light, even the arc of his swings, was noticeably smoother than before.

Oh well. Reasoning with a girl who was in the middle of being upset was pointless. Whatever Jingliu said was correct.

"You're right. Swinging a sword should have meaning, but right now, the meaning of my sword is standing right in front of me. Keeping at it would be rather... unromantic."

He casually slid the blade back into its scabbard and strolled to the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smile.

Jingliu's lips twitched: "The indecent little Wangshu is only good at saying pretty words."

But Jingliu was never the type to throw tantrums without reason. A few minutes later, she was sitting at the doorstep, leaning against Wangshu, gazing at the artificial sky and the Cangcheng scenery.

The support flying swords hanging from the eaves chimed softly as the three-foot blade gently tapped them — a delicate ringing, like wind chimes. Though there was no wind, and these weren't wind chimes.

Ding, ding, dang. Light and melodious.

"If Dad knew his sword was being used like this, he'd definitely be furious."

"That's fine." Wangshu smiled, continuing his idle tapping, voice warm. "After all, in his eyes... I'd probably be the little pig who came to steal his cabbage."

So even if Jingliu's parents were still alive, Wangshu wouldn't expect a warm welcome.

Little Jingliu puffed her cheeks again. She didn't like that kind of talk — as if she were some clueless little child.

But protest aside, she didn't budge. Listening to the "wind chimes" by her ear, she rested her small head to one side. Her voice was very soft: "Little Wangshu, you're going to become a great hero."

"Me too."

She paused, then added: "But I won't be like that bad woman — embracing Propagation, hugging the darkness."

Senior Jingliu hadn't actually embraced darkness, but there was no point arguing about that now.

"Mm, I will. I'll become a great hero. Though I'd honestly prefer... every day to be this ordinary."

"That's a little unambitious, I'll admit. But I think swinging a sword looks cool, and with little Jingliu here, swinging a sword becomes downright romantic. I just really can't get excited about the blood-and-gore stuff."

But he'd have to adapt. This was Star Calendar Year 6299, not the future Year 8100 — and even Year 8100 wasn't exactly peaceful.

Childhood dreams suddenly placed right in front of him, requiring nothing more than a bit of tempering and hardship — how could Wangshu possibly be content to stand still?

With that thought, his casual sword-taps against the support flying swords grew more rhythmic — no longer so languid, yet still light and full of life.

"No ambition!" Jingliu lifted her little face, crimson eyes sparkling.

Wangshu didn't argue. He gently nuzzled her cheek.

"That's okay." Jingliu let him nuzzle, then said quietly, her tone stubborn yet sincere: "I don't mind."

She suddenly stopped, crimson eyes thoughtful. After a beat, she fished something from her pocket — a pocket watch, not exactly new.

The watch wasn't pristine. The photo inside appeared to have been hastily cropped — cut from a family portrait, it seemed. Wangshu glanced toward the living room. The family portrait on the wall was intact. She must have trimmed a backup copy.

"Oh — right. This is for you."