I Studied Abroad in the Modern Times

Chapter 52: Stitching Secrets

Some refusals are, in truth, agreements.

Seeing Zheng Fa’s smile, the Madam shook her head. “Don’t smile just yet. Although I can’t fathom why that supposed Nascent Soul cultivator hasn’t directly taken you as a disciple—these great figures act in ways I cannot predict—even if you summoned him, you wouldn’t get this spot.”

“Ten years ago, I gave one spot to my maiden family and the other to my daughter. That nearly incited rebellion among the Zhao clan,” she said, her face revealing deep mockery. “This time, one spot is reserved for my foolish son, and the other will be used to placate the others. Giving it to a mere study attendant like you? Impossible.”

Zheng Fa nodded without showing any disappointment.

His request had only been a ploy to assuage her doubts.

Noticing his calm expression, the Madam abruptly remarked, “That fool’s sister has returned as an inner sect disciple this time.”

“The Eldest Young Lady?”

“According to Qingmu Sect’s rules, inner sect disciples may select two attendants from the mortal world.”

“But it’s not a free gift,” the Madam continued, pointing at the two books on the table. “I don’t care how you do it or if you even have a way, but that foolish son of mine must enter the Immortal Sect.”

“If he succeeds, even if you’ve done nothing, I’ll grant you an attendant spot.”

“If he fails, you’d better pray that Nascent Soul master of yours takes you away. Otherwise, you’ll remain here and serve the Zhao family well.”

“I only care about my son. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

According to the Seventh Young Master, he was confident in entering the Immortal Sect. The Madam’s offer was essentially gifting Zheng Fa an attendant spot.

Suddenly, she said, “You know, I’ve considered killing you.”

“I know.”

The Madam chuckled. “You don’t believe me? Do you know the cultivation level of the Zhao family’s ancestor?”

“No.”

“Nascent Soul,” she said, sipping her tea lightly. “Don’t worry; he’s long gone.”

“What do you mean by this, Madam?”

“Although the ancestor has passed, he left the Zhao family a formation and an artifact. Can you guess where that artifact is?”

Zheng Fa glanced around the seemingly ordinary pavilion.

“You’re indeed very clever.”

Her tone grew increasingly appreciative as she tipped her teacup slightly. Tea flowed from its rim, and in an instant, the room transformed.

The carved beams above became a sky filled with rotating stars. The cushion beneath him turned cold and damp like a stone slab, chilling his knees.

The low table before him vanished, replaced by a bottomless abyss. He sat on its edge, the wind from the chasm lifting his robes and nearly blinding him.

The Madam was gone, leaving only the tea cascading from the cup, which transformed into a roaring waterfall plunging into the gorge below. Mist and thunderous noise assaulted his senses.

Her cold voice carried on the wind: “The artifact left by the ancestor exists to protect the family. Though my cultivation is weak, with it, I could hold off a Nascent Soul cultivator long enough for the formation to activate and for Qingmu Sect’s reinforcements to arrive.”

“I’m genuinely curious. Would that Nascent Soul cultivator of yours risk everything for a mere mortal who hasn’t even entered the Qi Refinement stage?”

Zheng Fa finally understood why the Madam had ruled the Zhao family unchallenged for twenty years—she was a cultivator!

Though the Zhao family claimed to have cultivators in every generation, Zheng Fa had never seen one. To his surprise, the Madam herself was one.

With another blink, the scene reverted.

The warmth of the cushion returned, along with the steaming tea and the Madam’s languid smile. It all seemed like a fleeting dream.

“Do you know when I stopped wanting to kill you?” she asked.

“When?”

“When you said the one thing I trust the least.”

Zheng Fa immediately realized what she referred to: “I regard the Young Master as a friend.”

The Madam’s face twisted in mild disdain, as if finding the admission difficult. “This morning, a fool came crying to me, snot and tears everywhere, saying the same thing.”

A curtain in the corner fluttered slightly.

Both ignored it.

“That fool… he’s clueless when he should be clever, yet figures out what he shouldn’t.”

Zheng Fa stared at the tea in front of him, its rising steam seeming to seep into his heart.

“Last time, I separated him from his sister. That stubborn boy didn’t speak to me for ten years.” She shook her head, exasperated. “As a mother, I don’t want my son to hate and avoid me forever. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Zheng Fa replied. “Parents can never truly win against their children.”

“I don’t trust words, especially not from men,” the Madam said, her gaze sharp as it fixed on him. “But for that fool, I’m willing to believe you just this once. Don’t let me down.”

Zheng Fa rose, bowed deeply, and repeated firmly, “I regard the Young Master as a friend.”

“I hope you mean it. Go now.”

As Zheng Fa descended the stairs, the curtain stirred again. The Seventh Young Master emerged, confusion plain on his face. “Mother, were you really going to use the ancestral artifact to kill him?”

The Madam rolled her eyes. “Scaring him.”

“Scaring?”

“Help me up.”

“Mother?”

“With my meager cultivation, activating that artifact even slightly would cost me half my life. Think I could really fight a Nascent Soul? I’d probably drop dead before they even made a move.”

Leaning against the couch, her face pale, she spoke again. “Fan’er?”

“Yes?” The Seventh Young Master looked at her, puzzled by her seriousness.

“Do you know why I agreed to meet him and grant him that attendant spot?”

“Because of those books?”

“Yes, and no. In two months, you’ll enter the Immortal Sect,” she said, stroking his head, a rare softness and reluctance in her expression. “The sect is no paradise. He’s talented, and I hope he’ll be a help to you someday. If he aids you even once, I’ll tolerate him.”

“Mother…”

“With your temperament, I wouldn’t have sent you to the sect if I had any choice.”

The Seventh Young Master lowered his head, silent.

“Zheng Fa was right. Parents can never truly win against their children.” She wasn’t angry, only looked at her son tenderly. “The Immortal Sect is far away. I won’t be able to protect you anymore. This is all I can do.”

...

Outside the pavilion, Steward Wu was waiting for Zheng Fa. The two walked side by side.

“Did the Madam really intend to kill me?” Zheng Fa wondered.

He wasn’t sure.

The Madam’s actions—calling the Young Master to the pavilion—seemed like preparation for the worst.

But as she said, would a mere study attendant with no cultivation be worth offending a Nascent Soul cultivator?

Perhaps this threat was simply a gesture to demonstrate the Young Master’s goodwill—a favor extended through her son.

Zheng Fa smiled wryly at the thought.

Who would’ve guessed that being expendable could be an advantage?

“Zheng Fa, when I first saw you, I never imagined you’d come this far,” Steward Wu remarked enviously. “The Young Master values you, and even the Madam treats you differently. In twenty years, no man has entered her inner sanctum.”

“The Young Master treats me well, and so does the Madam,” Zheng Fa replied calmly.

He didn’t resent the Madam’s aloofness or caution—only the exhausting world that demanded endless scheming for survival.

He turned to Steward Wu. “Steward Wu, do you think that after entering the Immortal Sect, I could cross the Zhao family’s walls?”

“Immortal Sect? Walls?” Steward Wu looked at him oddly, as if finding the question foolish. “If you enter the Immortal Sect, you’ll be an Immortal. Walls, mountains, cliffs—they’ll all be like walking on flat ground. You’ll go wherever you wish, without fear or restraint, and find true freedom.”

“Yes, the Immortal Sect,” Zheng Fa murmured, “without fear or restraint, to find true freedom...”

...

In the present day, inside a classroom.

Wang Chen stared at Zheng Fa. “Zheng Fa, didn’t sleep well again? Stayed up watching videos?”

Zheng Fa shook his head with a smile. “No, just had a nightmare.”

“A nightmare? About what?”

“About a world,” Zheng Fa replied, “that wasn’t very kind.”

Wang Chen tilted his head, frowning. “I think no world could be worse than the one where we have a midterm tomorrow.”

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