541: Chapter 541 Calm Mind, and Then, Transformation (Under Revision)

The Master has died.

There were no cries of pain, no struggling; he simply closed his eyes in silence, without saying goodbye to anyone. Just as when he first arrived in this small town alone all those years ago, it was quiet.

There was no tombstone or inscription when he was buried.

There was only a low mound of earth, blending in with the surrounding slopes, unrecognizable if one didn't look closely.

Everything in the small town remained as before; Willow Creek was still Willow Creek, the jujube tree was still the same jujube tree, and the days flowed on as usual.

The only difference was that the schoolhouse had closed its doors because there was no longer a teacher.

The children had nowhere to go and appeared on the streets in small groups, chasing and playing, making it much livelier than usual.

It was as if no one remembered that the old gentleman who had taught them for several years was gone.

And then there was this.

Qin Wangchuan's pupils had turned golden since that night.

He had changed, too; it was hard to say exactly how, but he was simply different.

It was as if something in his heart had been let go, and instead, it had sunk deep, down to the very bottom, becoming still.

Qin Zhaoer stood with her hands on her hips, circling the stone table left and right, her eyes fixed on him as if trying to dig an answer out of those two pools of gold.

"What's going on with your eyes?"

"Who knows." Qin Wangchuan turned a page of a medical book and casually touched the corner of his eye, not caring at all.

Qin Zhaoer was relentless, leaning in close, her voice rising half a pitch: "Don't give me that! You definitely know!"

"I don't."

"You definitely do! Tell me!"

Qin Wangchuan finally looked up and glanced at her.

There was no impatience in those golden eyes, only a hint of faint helplessness.

"Why would I lie to you?" he said, his voice very soft, carrying a trace of a smile.

Looking into those eyes, Qin Zhaoer felt waves of warmth rising in her face.

She hurriedly turned away and reached out to touch her face.

As expected, it was burning hot.

Only when Qin Wangchuan lowered his head to continue flipping through the book did she quietly turn back and look over cautiously.

After that night, everything seemed unchanged.

But Qin Zhaoer always felt that he had changed.

He spoke more gently, his eyes held a smile, and he was incredibly handsome.

Yet this gentleness didn't make him feel approachable.

Quite the opposite; he felt as if separated by a layer of something—visible, but untouchable.

'Why would it be like this?'

She slowly sat down across from him, propping her head up to watch him.

As she watched, at some point she moved from across from him to his side, her hands folded on the stone table, her head turned to look at him.

Qin Wangchuan would occasionally look up and glance at her.

Those golden eyes were indifferent, neither cold nor warm, like moonlight falling on the water's surface—beautiful, but impossible to grasp.

He didn't know what she was looking at, nor did he ask; he just lowered his head again and continued reading.

That gaze falling on her was gentle.

A gentleness that accepted everything.

But that wasn't what Qin Zhaoer wanted.

She wanted those eyes to only look at her, to only smile at her.

She didn't know when this thought had begun, nor if it counted as greed.

Thinking about it, Qin Zhaoer withdrew her gaze and lowered her head, staring at her fingers resting on the stone table.

Then, she looked at Qin Wangchuan's fingers.

She wanted to touch them.

He was sitting right beside her, and she could reach him with her hand, but it felt as if they were far apart.

As far as the distance between this world and the Immortal Court.

One was reading under the jujube tree, while the other lay there watching him.

The sunlight was just right, and the wind was gentle, lightly swaying the shadow of the jujube tree across the ground.

Qin Zhaoer slowly, slowly closed her eyes.

BOOM—!

The door was kicked open.

It wasn't that Zhou Heng wanted to use his foot; he simply had no hands left.

A bunch of bags hung from his left hand, he held a potted plant in his right, and a stack of papers was tucked under his elbow; he looked like a tree laden with fruit, teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Hey, Qin Wangchuan, is this yours?"

Before he could finish, a book flew toward him and smacked him right on the forehead.

Zhou Heng's body tilted, the bags swayed, and he finally managed to steady himself.

"What are you doing!" he glared and roared.

Qin Zhaoer glared back at him, her voice even sharper: "What are YOU doing! Even a deer knows to knock, don't you?!"

The white deer under the jujube tree looked up, glanced at her, then lowered its head without a word.

"I didn't have any hands!" Zhou Heng shouted, craning his neck and turning the fire toward Qin Wangchuan, "Look, she's biting people again. Keep her under control!"

Qin Wangchuan smiled and shook his head, not responding.

"Fine, this thing is yours, right?" Zhou Heng held out the potted plant.

It was the same item that had been given to the Master before.

A Spirit Gathering Talisman was buried at the bottom, making it a treasure.

Qin Wangchuan glanced at it, then looked at Zhou Heng.

"You've been running in and out lately, and it hasn't been easy. It's yours."

Zhou Heng was stunned.

He looked down at the unremarkable little thing in his hand, then up at Qin Wangchuan, his eyelids blinking twice, his face practically screaming, 'Are you kidding me?'

"Wait, I've done so much work for you, and instead of treating me to a meal, you're brushing me off with this little thing?"

"Hey, do you know what this is—"

Qin Zhaoer stepped forward, but as soon as she spoke, her wrist was gently caught by Qin Wangchuan.

He didn't use any force, but Qin Zhaoer still stood in place.

Qin Wangchuan turned to look at Zhou Heng, the corners of his eyes curving slightly; the smile was faint, but it made it impossible for anyone to refuse.

"Alright, I'll treat you."

"Hiss—" Zhou Heng finally noticed those eyes. "What's going on with your eyes?"

Qin Zhaoer stood in front again, her voice neither high nor low: "You're talking too much."

"Eighth Sister."

Two words, spoken neither lightly nor heavily.

Qin Zhaoer immediately shut up, her lips twitching, but in the end, she didn't make another sound, only glaring at Zhou Heng.

Get lost, you dead monkey!

From Zhou Heng's perspective.

Under the jujube tree, Qin Wangchuan sat in the dappled sunlight, flipping through a book, unhurried and steady as a mountain.

The sunlight fell on his shoulders, making him look soft and bright, like someone who had stepped out of a painting.

And Qin Zhaoer stood beside him, hands on her hips, eyes wide, like a cat about to bristle.

She was full of movement from head to toe, never still for a moment.

Yet such a person immediately shut up when he called her, only daring to glare.

Seeing this scene, Zhou Heng clicked his tongue inwardly: 'These two really are a perfect match.'

'But, Eighth Sister? What kind of game are they playing?'

Previously, that Lord Zhenshan's head had been cut off and sent to Jiang Zhuo's courtyard, but the corpse remained where it was.

Qin Wangchuan hadn't had the chance to retrieve it then, and later he was busy with the Master's affairs, so no one cared about it.

Elder Fan had been out lately looking for a prescription to treat the Master and wasn't in town, so no one was watching that area.

Several Martial Artists followed the pungent smell of blood and made their way into the mountain hollow.