I Can Fix My Talent in Hundred Lives

Chapter 646: Chapter 493: The Prince

Time flies like a fleeting horse; another dozen years have passed.

Outside the Materia Medica Hall, the old locust tree grows more robust, its branches lush and dense, blocking out the sky and sun.

This morning, the door to the courtyard of the Materia Medica Hall was wide open.

A figure in a blue robe stood in the courtyard, tall and erect, with eyes as exquisite as jade; it was Qin Ping’an.

A long sword, with an ebony sword scabbard, hung at his waist, the sword tassels gently swaying in the breeze, exuding a scholarly aura, yet concealing an introverted sharpness.

Not long ago, he had just passed the Xiucai exams. Now, he was about to embark on a scholarly journey, traversing famous mountains and rivers to broaden his knowledge.

Qin Ping’an respectfully bowed deeply to Tang Xichen and Qin Yuan in front of the hall, his voice clear yet reverent:

"Mother, Father, your child is leaving!"

Tang Xichen, dressed in simple attire, with gentle eyebrows and eyes, raised her hand to adjust his collar, gently admonishing:

"Go, be cautious on the road; do not be impulsive or competitive. Treat others kindly, but do not lose your integrity."

Qin Yuan stood aside, hands behind his back, his gaze steady as he looked at his son, adding:

"By the way, don’t forget to visit your grandparents afterward."

Qin Ping’an nodded:

"Your child understands."

With that, he turned to the rest of the elders in the courtyard, bowing and bidding farewell one by one. Cousins like Tang Yunhe gathered around, stuffing him with dry food and specialties, repeatedly urging him to return soon.

Qin Ping’an thanked them each, picked up his luggage, and walked slowly out of the courtyard gate.

When he arrived under the old locust tree, he saw Uncle Zhou from the neighboring woodcarving shop sitting on a small stool, smoking a dry tobacco pipe, blue smoke rising faintly from it.

It was Zhou Yunsheng.

Qin Ping’an had loved playing in the woodcarving shop since childhood, and Zhou Yunsheng often carved little trinkets for him. He stopped, smiling and bowing:

"Uncle Zhou, your child is leaving for a scholarly journey today; I’m here to say goodbye!"

Zhou Yunsheng looked up, pausing the tobacco pipe, a gentle smile spreading across his face:

"Ping’an, grown up now, it’s time to see the world. Be careful on the road; the Jianghu is perilous, keep your wits about you."

He paused again, then added:

"Come back early."

"Don’t worry, Uncle Zhou; take care of your health!"

Qin Ping’an replied with a smile, turning to set off, his figure in blue gradually disappearing at the end of the alley.

...

Traveling during daylight and resting at night, several months passed in the blink of an eye.

That afternoon, the sky suddenly changed, clouds gathered densely, and a fierce wind accompanied a downpour of bean-sized raindrops.

Qin Ping’an happened to reach a deserted mountain region, seeing a dilapidated Mountain God Temple ahead, he hurried over to take shelter from the rain inside.

The Mountain God Temple had long been abandoned, the deity statue crumbling, the altar covered in dust, and cobwebs crowded the corners.

Qin Ping’an found a relatively dry corner, took out a fire starter, and lit dry branches, the crackling fire dispelling the damp cold lingering in the temple.

He leaned against the corner, taking out dry food, slowly chewing.

Soon, urgent footsteps sounded from outside the temple, a black figure rushed in, swept along by wind and rain.

It was a woman, dressed in tight attire, with a charming appearance, yet a veil of black cloth covered her face, revealing only a pair of bright eyes.

Her body was smeared with mud, and faint bloodstains lingered on the sword at her waist, a subtle aura of blood surrounded her, evidently having just gone through a battle.

Upon entering, her gaze quickly scanned the temple, only seeing Qin Ping’an alone, she somewhat relaxed, yet maintained her vigilance.

She found a secluded corner away from the fire, silently sat down, raising her hand to wipe the bloodstains from the sword, her movements crisp and neat.

Looking at her sorry state, Qin Ping’an spoke gently:

"Miss, come and warm yourself by the fire. The rain outside is heavy; sitting there might lead to catching a cold."

The woman glanced up, observing the sincerity in Qin Ping’an’s eyes. Hesitating for a moment, she finally stood up, walked slowly to the fire, and sat down, still keeping a distance from him.

"Scholar, leave here quickly."

"I bring trouble with me; soon pursuers might come, and staying here will only implicate you."

Qin Ping’an, upon hearing this, felt a surge of realization, instantly understanding that he might have inadvertently got entangled in Jianghu disputes.

He instinctively tightened his grip on the sword at his waist, the cool touch of the hilt calming his heart spirit.

"Since the lady warns me, it is out of kindness, but the rain is heavy, and I have nowhere to go."

"Moreover, though a scholar, I am not powerless; I may not necessarily hold you back."

A hint of surprise flickered in the woman’s eyes, seemingly unexpected that this scholar, who appeared weak, actually had such courage.

She was about to say more, when suddenly a wild laughter sounded outside the temple, its penetrating force surpassing the noise of rain and wind:

"Haha, Li Baifeng! Neither you nor this scholar can escape!"

As the words fell, five figures rushed in, each brandishing a sharp blade, faces fierce, their eyes locked onto the woman in black, a fearless murderous aura exuding from them.

Li Baifeng’s gaze turned sharp, instantly rising and drawing her sword, the blade ringing with a clear dragon’s cry.

Qin Ping’an also stood slowly, right hand resting on the sword hilt, expression calm, eyes sharply fixed on the intruders, the scholarly aura around him gradually shedding, replaced by an aura of battle.

"Kill!"

Li Baifeng shouted angrily, charging forward, her swordsmanship fierce and cunning, every move deadly.

Qin Ping’an followed closely, a flick of the wrist, drawing his sword, its light shimmering white, the strokes simple and swift, yet carrying undeniable force.

It was his first real fight with someone, yet his heart held not a trace of panic.

Growing up in the Materia Medica Hall, he had seen the cycle of life and death, his parents teaching him through words and actions: