After My Thoughts Were Read, My Master Led Me to Change My Fate - Chapter 76.2

Sensing Ran Fan-yin’s resistance, Ning Song-wu hugged her even tighter, pretending to be scared: “I’m afraid.”

Seeing Ning Song-wu’s tearful eyes and over-frightened appearance, Ran Fan-yin felt guilty again. She thought, “She is just a child. Why am I angry with her?”

She raised her hand and stroked Ning Song-wu’s head: “Don’t be afraid. We’ll be there soon.”

A chill ran down Ning Song-wu’s spine. She secretly vowed in her heart that if she ever had the chance, she would make Ran Fan-yin pay for this. Watching such a cold and powerful person cry would surely be a beautiful sight.

Ran Fan-yin could not see the subtle upward curve of Ning Song-wu’s lips in the dark. She awkwardly stroked Ning Song-wu’s head, attempting to provide some comfort to the child, unaware that this child was actually a little wolf cub.

Before she could process the logic, the main hall door was pulled open by two disciples: “Come in.”

Ping Zi-lai  was a young man who looked no more than twenty-six or twenty-seven. His demeanor was dignified and scholarly, his temperament somewhat similar to Jiang Yue’s, but his features were slightly more rugged.

His gaze swept over the newly admitted disciples and lingered on Ning Song-wu for a moment. It truly was timely that Ran Fan-yin sent her over just as this group of new disciples had arrived a few days ago. He hoped the child’s nature was not too stubborn.

“Choose a seat for yourselves. Today we will not be lecturing. I will talk to you about the basic affairs of the sect…”

As soon as Ning Song-wu chose a corner seat and sat down, He-lan Mian-mian, who had spoken to her earlier, sat down next to her and smiled brightly at her. Ning Song-wu’s mood brightened considerably as she looked at He-lan Mian-mian’s cute face.

Ping Zi-lai picked up the teacup in front of him to wet his throat and continued: “The place where you are now is the Grand Flight Pavilion, located on the southeast peak. To the east is the Elixir Hall; to the south is the Training Field, and right next to the Training Field is the Sword Discussion Platform. A little further west is the Northern Vengeance Palace’s Library Pavilion; and in the southwest corner is the Sword Forging Pool. With the exception of the Sword Discussion Platform and the Sword Forging Pool, you may go to these places at any time…”

He-lan Mian-mian listened with rapt attention, secretly whispering to Ning Song-wu, “Northern Vengeance Palace is so big. I got lost two days ago trying to find the Grand Flight Pavilion with a map.”

Ning Song-wu pouted: “It’s quite big. I’ve been here for three years and still haven’t fully explored it.”

“You’ve been here for three years? That’s amazing,” He-lan Mian-mian said, smiling at Ning Song-wu.

Suddenly, a sharp voice spoke up mockingly: “Oh yes, how is she not amazing? She came down from the Withering-Prospering Pavilion to experience the common people’s plight!” The last two words were pronounced with deliberate emphasis.

Ning Song-wu looked in the direction of the voice and saw a girl about twelve or thirteen years old with her arms crossed over her chest. Her delicate face held a strong sense of provocation, and she was squinting at Ning Song-wu.

“I truly don’t know what good deeds you accumulated in your past life to be taken as a disciple by Venerable Ran Fan-yin without doing anything. I’m looking forward to seeing your strength!” The girl lowered her voice, her tone completely impolite, a hint of viciousness in her gaze toward Ning Song-wu.

Ning Song-wu looked at her expression, raised an eyebrow, and smiled: “It’s nothing, I just had slightly better luck than some people. I can’t speak for my strength, but I’m certainly stronger than some newly admitted disciples.”

The girl was stunned for a moment, then sneered: “Is that so? If you’re so strong, why were you chased here to the Grand Flight Pavilion? I’m afraid Venerable Ran Fan-yin regretted taking a stupid disciple.”

“My Master didn’t!” Ning Song-wu’s face instantly changed. Her tone was angry, and her voice involuntarily rose.

“Quiet,” Ping Zi-lai glanced indifferently at Ning Song-wu, a look of displeasure on his face.

He-lan Mian-mian pulled on Ning Song-wu’s sleeve. Ning Song-wu was full of anger but had to suppress it. She ignored He-lan Mian-mian and propped her head up, sulking by herself.

“Don’t provoke her. She is Lan Ze (蘭澤), the eldest daughter of the prestigious Lan Family in Jiangnan. You know about the Four Great Noble Families, right? They are very powerful. I see a lot of people trying to butter her up every day,” He-lan Mian-mian quietly told Ning Song-wu the girl’s identity.

“So what?!” Ning Song-wu’s tone was extremely fiery when she spoke.

“The Lan Family Head and the Northern Vengeance Sect Master have always been on good terms. I heard that Lan Ze knows quite a bit about the affairs of Northern Vengeance Palace. If she dislikes you, she’ll have plenty of ways to make trouble for you!” He-lan Mian-mian sighed. Her roommate had provoked a troublesome person.

“Everyone sitting here has such a prominent background? What does your family do?” Ning Song-wu looked at He-lan Mian-mian with a touch of curiosity.

He-lan Mian-mian froze, her face troubled. She stammered, “This… I shouldn’t say…”

“Oh… if you don’t want to say it, then don’t.” Ning Song-wu immediately became depressed again, leaning weakly on the desk. She had no interest whatsoever in listening to Ping Zi-lai’s endless sermon.

The Flowing Jade around her neck was uncomfortably pressing into her skin, giving off a trace of warmth. Thinking that a drop of her Master’s blood was also fused into this jade, Ning Song-wu’s nose inexplicably felt a sting of sadness.

She truly disliked this place. She missed her Master so much.

As she thought about it, Ning Song-wu’s eyes turned red again.

That night, He-lan Mian-mian tried to tease Ning Song-wu several times. Seeing that Ning Song-wu was always distracted, she pouted and climbed into bed to sleep.

Ning Song-wu sat alone, listlessly hunched over the table. She didn’t want to do anything, but she didn’t want to sleep either. She remembered the words of the disciples during the day, and also that Senior Brother Zi-sheng (子笙) had mentioned that both he and Senior Sister Cen Ran had come from the Grand Flight Pavilion. It seemed that the disciples of the Grand Flight Pavilion truly had the possibility of being taken in by a Venerable as a disciple.

In the entire Northern Vengeance Palace, only she was an anomaly, a breach of custom that had occurred only because of Ran Fan-yin’s momentary sympathy. Master must still dislike that I’m not as good as the regular disciples who come out of the Grand Flight Pavilion! That’s why she threw me here for re-training.

If I don’t learn as well as the other disciples later, will Master no longer like me, and really abandon me to choose an excellent disciple to be her little one?

Ning Song-wu violently shook her head. She didn’t want to think about these things.

Ning Song-wu suddenly opened her eyes. She remembered one thing she hadn’t finished—drawing a landscape painting of Northern Vengeance Palace for her Master.

Ning Song-wu suddenly looked down at her right hand.

If I finish this painting with my right hand, Master will definitely be happy when she sees it.

The thought of using her right hand made Ning Song-wu feel guilty again, and her hand trembled uncontrollably. She slowly reached for the brush hanging on the rack, grasping it nervously.

Back then, the tendons and bones of this hand were severed. Her right hand nearly separated from her arm. Even though the tendons and bones were reattached and continuously treated with rare ointments, it still occasionally ached faintly. Not to mention that as soon as she exerted force, a pain like ten thousand ants gnawing at her bone marrow would pierce through her.

Whenever her Master asked about her right hand injury, Ning Song-wu would hide the bad news for fear of worrying her Master. She would sometimes even lie, enduring the pain without speaking. Ran Fan-yin truly didn’t know, and wouldn’t have guessed, that her ten-year-old disciple would be so considerate of her feelings.

Ning Song-wu’s hand, gripping the brush, trembled violently. The ink on the tip of the brush swayed precariously, finally landing with a plop onto the snowy white rice paper. A dot of thick black ink slowly began to spread.

But the brush just couldn’t move downward.

The disciple dormitory area of the Grand Flight Pavilion was pitch black, except for the window of this one room, where a flicker of candlelight burned all night, not extinguishing even as dawn broke in the east.