Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Familiar Ring

Qin Sheng had already gripped her Tang sword, just a breath away from drawing it, when she noticed the pale hand approaching her, glowing under the moonlight. The little finger, adorned with a white jade ring, shone especially bright, as if the ring itself emitted light.

She had seen it before—the ring belonged to the very person who had failed to show up last time.

Song Qing’an.

Qin Sheng raised an eyebrow, showing no hesitation as she picked up her Tang sword and swung it in a practiced arc behind her. She didn’t hold back just because it was Song Qing’an; if anything, her strike was more forceful and cautious than usual.

A sharp intake of breath cut through the air.

Song Qing’an dodged her sudden attack with ease, putting a healthy distance between them. His eyes sparkled with amusement, as if he had expected nothing less.

He knew all too well the look Qin Sheng wore after he had stood her up last time—this very expression, cold and indifferent, as though she were facing a stranger.

Song Qing’an recognized she was putting on this display for his benefit, and the knowledge brought a dull ache to his heart.

“Still as hot-tempered as ever, I see?” Song Qing’an’s tone was as flippant as always, his smile even more unrestrained than usual—perhaps out of guilt, or something else.

Qin Sheng, of course, had recognized him; her attack with the Tang sword had been anticipated in his calculations. It had only been a few days since they last met, yet it felt to her as if Song Qing’an had been gone an age.

“What brings you here?” she asked coolly, sheathing her sword and sitting back down to nibble at her biscuits.

Song Qing’an, seeing her seated, inched closer until he was by her side. As he prepared to sit next to her, Qin Sheng, seemingly sensing his intent, placed her Tang sword precisely where he meant to sit.

Song Qing’an paused, awkwardly rubbing his nose, and obediently took a spot in front of her instead.

She ignored him completely, lowering her head like a squirrel as she munched her biscuit, as if Song Qing’an didn’t exist.

He sat down across from her, not too close, but close enough to observe her every movement with keen interest. Watching her eat with such single-minded focus, he propped his head on his hand, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched the girl finish her snack.

Once done, Qin Sheng stood, sword in hand, and made to leave the rooftop, still acting as though Song Qing’an were invisible.

He sprang up nimbly and stepped in her path just as she took her first step forward.

Unfazed, she looked at him and asked, “Why are you blocking me? I’m going back to sleep.”

Song Qing’an knew well that she was not one to let go of a grudge. Still, being the target of such resentment was a novel sensation—one he found surprisingly agreeable.

“It was my fault last time. If you have any anger, take it out on me. I’ll accept it all,” he said, his voice softer than before, almost coaxing.

Qin Sheng looked up at him. She saw the weariness etched on his face, but even so, he smiled at her with a gentle warmth, despite her obvious displeasure.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, Qin Sheng felt a faint ache in her chest.

It must be because she’d eaten too much, she told herself. Why should she feel heartache for someone who had stood her up? The thought was ridiculous.

She quickly dismissed her own wavering, met Song Qing’an’s gaze again, and asked, “Alright, can I go now?”

Song Qing’an paused, then smiled brightly, finally realizing she wouldn’t be so easily appeased this time.

“Wait—could you give me another chance…?” He pressed his palms together in a pleading gesture, his eyes suddenly filled with a wounded look.

Qin Sheng was reminded of the first time she’d met him, when his hair was white and, with such an aggrieved expression, he looked for all the world like a Samoyed begging for affection. Now, with his hair dyed black, he looked more like a scruffy little house dog.

The image made her smile involuntarily.

Song Qing’an, watching her closely, relaxed a little at the sight of her smile. As long as she could still smile at him, things weren’t too dire.

Qin Sheng snapped out of her reverie, her grin bright and mischievous. “Fine. Make up for what you owe me from last time.”

Song Qing’an caught her meaning at once.

A real fight.

He instantly felt the chill of her Tang sword and dodged as she launched another sudden attack.

He widened the gap between them, chuckling as he watched her charge.

Perhaps realizing the sword made things unfair, Qin Sheng set it aside.

Song Qing’an arched an eyebrow, surprised by her sense of fairness—and relieved. If she didn’t use her sword, it meant she wasn’t truly angry anymore.

He could be forgiven.

In the moment he was distracted, Qin Sheng sprang into the air, her fist flying toward his face.

He reacted in time, grabbing her slender wrist before the punch landed.

Without hesitation, Qin Sheng twisted, kicking at his waist. Fortunately, her leap had lasted too long, and the kick didn’t land squarely.

Song Qing’an’s smile widened as he caught her other wrist, bringing her down gently to the ground.

But Qin Sheng was not so easily subdued. The moment her feet touched down, she launched another attack.

Song Qing’an could only keep dodging—never striking back, only evading her every blow.

After a while, Qin Sheng grew irritated by his passivity, increasing the force of her attacks.

He noticed the change, dropping his frivolous demeanor to meet her assaults with new caution.

Under the moonlight, their figures seemed to dance across the rooftop, sometimes entwined, sometimes flung apart, with the unspoken tension between them crackling like fire.

Qin Sheng had not fought so freely in a long time; her focus sharpened, and she soon lost all sense of time. There was only one thought in her mind: to defeat Song Qing’an.

He was no easy opponent—each time he dodged, he was ready for her next, quicker assault. Such speed would have overwhelmed anyone else, but Song Qing’an handled her attacks without a hint of panic.

Qin Sheng, fully immersed, did not notice the fiery red glow spreading along the phoenix tattoo on her wrist, as if it bathed in flames.

Song Qing’an thought she should be tiring by now, but her next attack was even fiercer, her strikes turning ruthless.

He frowned slightly, and a strange blue shimmer began to flicker in his dark eyes.

“An ability?” he realized, sensing her body awash with power. Her eyes, too, burned red, luminous against the darkness.

Qin Sheng didn’t know what was happening. She simply felt inexhaustible, every blow more vicious than the last, as if an unstoppable force surged through her.

Yet this power was not fully under her control.

Suddenly, as if caught by a backlash, her strength was drained away. She could barely stand.

She lunged at Song Qing’an, but her body lost all power and she plummeted like a kite with a severed string.

She was falling headfirst from a dangerous height—she braced herself for the impact, her mind clear though her body refused to respond.

The rush of wind roared past her ears. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting the pain.

But instead, she landed in a warm, broad embrace—he had caught her, holding her securely in his arms.

Thump, thump-thump-thump, thump…

Qin Sheng heard a heartbeat that was not her own, strong and steady, bringing her unexpected peace and comfort. Her eyes fluttered closed again.

Song Qing’an landed safely with her in his arms, gazing down at the tense, small girl who kept her eyes shut tight. His smile deepened.

When she heard him laugh above her, Qin Sheng realized she had been caught. She wriggled free and tried to leap away, but her legs gave out and she fell into his arms once more.

A deep, low chuckle sounded above her. “Well? Isn’t my embrace comfortable?”