Sword Whispers of Cangming

Jiang Yu, the eldest disciple of Cangming Sect, was as cold as a sword and kept everyone at arm’s length. For two hundred years, his only trouble had been the junior disciple his master had foisted on him: Mu Huaijin.

The boy was always covered in mud, cried easily, was afraid of the dark, and could barely hold a sword. Everyone in the sect was waiting for Jiang Yu to throw him out.

Then the outer sect disciples locked Mu Huaijin in a forbidden area. Jiang Yu cleaved through the barrier with one stroke and shielded the trembling boy behind him. With his sword pointed at the crowd, he made the disciples drop to their knees in fear. “You want to lay a hand on my person? Did you ask my sword first?”

Later, they explored secret realms together. Demonic beasts bowed their heads, and spirit herbs practically leaped into their hands. Then the Demon Cult invaded, and Jiang Yu was gravely injured and fell off a cliff. The junior disciple who had once hidden behind him and cried awakened his divine bloodline overnight and searched all three realms like a madman. “Have you seen my senior brother?”

When they reunited, Mu Huaijin clung to the barely breathing Jiang Yu and wept inconsolably. Jiang Yu woke to find him stuck to his side, refusing to let go, and said helplessly, “If you keep clinging to me, I really won’t be able to get up.”

Mu Huaijin buried his face in Jiang Yu’s neck. “Then don’t get up. I’ll take care of you.”

From “Mu Huaijin, let go” at the beginning to “…As you wish” in the end, an ice-cold mountain that had stood unmelted for three hundred years was softened into tenderness by one little crybaby.