Teacher by day, Farmer by passion - Chapter 277

Chapter 277: The Ring [2]
Warmth.

That was the first thing Shan Yifeng noticed, layers of it, heavy and soft, cocooning his battered body.

The second was the cool press of damp cloth resting on his forehead.

He blinked groggily, eyes fluttering open to a blurry ceiling carved from old wood, unfamiliar and dimly lit by the soft orange glow of afternoon sun filtering through paper windows.

Where… am I?

He tried to sit up but a sharp throb lanced through his ribs, and he groaned, collapsing back with a grunt.

That’s when he noticed the blanket.

Heavy.

Tucked up to his chin.

…And beneath it?

Nothing.

His eyes widened slightly. His limbs stiffened in alarm.

Wait, I’m not wearing—?!

A shadow moved.

“Don’t move,” came Elder Mati’s calm voice, footsteps approaching from beyond the screen divider. “You’ll tear your muscles and reopen the bruises.”

Her voice was smooth but firm, the kind that brokered no room for argument.

And yet—

Shan Yifeng wasn’t thinking about his injuries.

He was thinking about the ring.

The fake! His heart skipped. What if she saw it? What if she compared it to the real one?

His eyes flicked left.

Then right.

A bead of sweat formed on his temple, not from fever, but panic. His gaze swept the room like a guilty thief searching for the constable.

But before he could make a move—

Thunk.

A firm hand pressed against his chest.

Elder Mati stood above him, her long hair now dry, tied back into a braid.

Her robes were modest and crisp, and her expression radiated the stern patience of someone who’d had enough of his antics for one day.

“I said,” she repeated, pressing down harder, “sleep.”

“I’m fine, really,” Shan croaked, trying to muster a charming smile. “Just… just checking the lighting..”

Mati raised a brow. “Mm-hm. And your eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit is part of your spiritual recovery, I assume?”

“…Yes?”

She didn’t blink.

Instead, she reached over to the nightstand and picked up a small bundle of green herbs tied together with silk thread.

“Wait, what’s that—”

She brought it down to his face and flicked the tips under his nose.

An aggressive tangy-sweet scent hit him like a bolt of lightning, mint, thunderroot, and something oddly medicinal.

“Wha—” he choked, eyes rolling.

And then—

Thunk.

The world blurred again, scents, sounds, heat and Shan slipped into sleep, mouth slightly agape.

Elder Mati sighed, setting the herb down and adjusting the blanket around his shoulders.

“You really are your master’s disciple,” she muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

The room had fallen silent again, save for the gentle whistle of wind against the paper window.

Mati lingered for a moment, confirming his pulse and checking the cloth on his head.

Satisfied, she turned away and let a barely audible sigh escape her lips.

She padded quietly toward her reading desk. There, half-buried beneath scrolls of alchemy formulas and spirit herb notes, lay something much more secretive.

A scroll tied in pink ribbon, the paper perfumed faintly with moonblossom and cinnamon.

She lifted it with an almost bashful care, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching.

Pen name: Ruby.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Still as dramatic as ever,” she murmured to herself, fingers delicately unrolling the scroll.

Her eyes scanned the elegant brushstrokes, and she twirled a lock of her hair absently around one finger as she began to read.

“Moonlit Promises.”

By: Ruby

The wandering sword cultivator with eyes the color of storm clouds, stood beneath the blossoms as they fell like silk snow.

He had slain beasts, shattered bandit armies, and resisted the temptations of immortality but now, he trembled before the maiden in white.

“I do not fear death,” he said, voice roughened by years of solitude, “but I fear touching your hand. For if I do, I may never let go.”

The maiden lowered her veil. Beneath it, her eyes shimmered with spring dew. “Then don’t,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Hold on, and never let go.”

He reached out.

Their fingers touched.

And in that moment, even the wind dared not move.

Mati sighed softly, her expression distant, the smile still lingering as she re-read the last line.

“Tch… over-the-top nonsense,” she muttered, eyes suspiciously warm.

But still, she kept reading. A little too eagerly.

She didn’t notice Shan Yifeng’s fingers twitch slightly beneath the blanket.

Mati shifted her weight slightly, reclining against the edge of the chair as the scroll unfurled further across her lap.

A breeze teased the paper, and she anchored it with her elbow, eyes still dancing over the ink.

Her fingers reached up again, absently, and this time she caught a lock of her damp, dark hair.

She gave it a slow twirl around her finger, then another, watching how it looped and unwound with a light spring.

A quiet giggle, embarrassingly girlish, slipped out before she could catch it.

“I’m beginning to understand why my other sisters want a wig so badly,” she mused aloud, her tone half-sarcastic but her smile entirely real. “It doesn’t feel so bad to twirl the hair.”

She paused, twirling again. This time on purpose.

“…Hmph.”

The romance scroll rested open on her lap, glowing slightly under the lamp’s warm light.

The heroine and hero had just shared their second forbidden kiss, this time behind a silk screen during a storm, while their sect elders argued in the hall.

The maiden’s heart raced so vividly it felt like thunder had crawled into her chest. And the swordsman was trembling just holding her wrist.

Mati bit the inside of her cheek.

“So dramatic,” she whispered, breathless, turning the scroll with tender precision. “I love it.”

She twirled again. This time with both fingers. A rhythmic loop and spin.

Her eyes never left the scroll, but her thoughts drifted… not to the maiden, not even to the brooding swordsman…

Her eyes briefly flicked toward the sleeping figure in the bed across the room.

A heartbeat passed.

Then she scowled and snapped the scroll shut like a startled cat, stuffing it back under her alchemy papers with ruthless precision.

Her cheeks, however, betrayed her, tinged with the softest hue of rose.

“Too much fluff,” she muttered. “Bad for the heart. And the discipline.”