Jiang Chen wanted a lot of things in life.
A peaceful sect.
Reasonable disciples.
Less chili in his food.
But most of all?
He wanted just one day without waking up to drama.
So when he opened his eyes that morning and saw nothing but the warm sunlight spilling over the courtyard—no screaming juniors, no explosions, no scrolls falling from the sky—he felt a rare and precious peace settle in his chest.
"…Maybe," he said slowly, brushing the hair from his eyes, "today will be different."
He stepped outside, hands behind his back, breathing in the quiet mountain air.
Birds chirped. The sky was a tranquil blue.
No traps.
No chaos.
No—
"SECT LEADER! SECT LEADER!"
—oh no.
One of the outer sect disciples came sprinting toward him, waving a sword over his head.
Jiang Chen sighed. "Let me guess. Someone painted my face on a spirit beast again?"
The disciple skidded to a stop, panting. "No, no! It's your sword!"
"What about it?"
"It's… speaking."
"…Excuse me?"
The disciple handed it to him. "Listen!"
Jiang Chen blinked, then took the sword slowly. It was his personal blade—Silent Crescent, a beautiful spiritual artifact forged during his early cultivation years.
He lifted it.
It shimmered with spiritual light.
And then…
A voice echoed from the blade in a dreamy tone.
"To the one whose gaze shattered my calm…Your eyes held the warmth I once feared.In your silence, I find harmony.In your chaos, I find peace.If destiny is a sword, let me be its sheath—forever protecting the blush I've seen on your cheeks."
Jiang Chen stared at it.
The sword stared back.
"…"
He turned to the disciple. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes."
"And you're sure it was the sword?"
"Yes!"
"Not… some ancient poetry formation accidentally activated by spirit qi?"
"No!"
Jiang Chen inhaled deeply. "Then WHY is my sword reciting romantic confessions?!"
The disciple looked awestruck. "It's beautiful…"
Jiang Chen wanted to bash his head against a wall.
Instead, he marched back to the sect armory where the sword had been cleaned yesterday—right after the tournament. And lo and behold, Pei Yun was there, casually eating roasted chestnuts and humming.
She blinked as he slammed the sword onto the table.
"Ah, you found the confession sword!"
"It's MY sword! And it's flirting with ME!"
Pei Yun nodded solemnly. "Truly, fate is mysterious."
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Pei Yun. What did you do?"
She tilted her head. "Do you remember that new engraving technique I learned?"
"Pei Yun."
"I may have used it to, uh… amplify the sword's emotions."
"Swords don't have emotions!"
"They do now."
"WHY."
"I wanted to help it express how it feels when you use it."
"It's a sword!"
"A sword with feelings, Jiang Chen! Let it confess in peace!"
He took a long, slow breath. "Can I un-engrave it?"
"…No."
"Why not?"
"Because Lin Wuyue added a second layer of spiritual intent."
He froze. "She what."
Pei Yun beamed. "She didn't know you'd be listening when the sword activated. She just thought it would be romantic to leave a message… in case she died in battle one day."
Jiang Chen turned back to the sword.
It whispered again.
"If you must wield me against the world, then may I fall by your side before I ever fall from your heart."
He covered his face with both hands.
Pei Yun handed him a tissue. "Want another one? I have one from Elder Qiu. It's mostly about regrets and cabbage."
"WHY DO YOU HAVE A COLLECTION."
"For archival purposes."
Just then, Lin Wuyue stepped into the armory, holding a small package.
"Ah, you found it," she said, eyes shining.
"You… engraved my sword," Jiang Chen said, barely containing the blush climbing up his ears.
She looked only mildly guilty. "You always look like you're about to run when I say something heartfelt. So I figured… maybe your sword could say it for me."
"That's not how spiritual tools are meant to be used!"
"It responded to my spiritual resonance just fine."
Jiang Chen turned to leave.
"Wait," she called, stepping forward. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you. I just… didn't want you to think this whole thing was a joke to me."
He stopped.
"It started as a prank," she admitted, "but then I saw you standing there during the play, trying so hard to keep your composure even while everyone was falling all over themselves—and I thought… how lucky am I to know someone like that?"
He blinked.
She fumbled for the package. "Here. This is yours."
Inside was a fresh sheath—made of dark oak, wrapped in green silk. His favorite colors. Quiet and unassuming.
"I thought it deserved a matching scabbard now," she said. "Something that reflects both your calm… and the chaos you cause just by breathing."
"…Is this another romantic metaphor?"
"Maybe," she smiled.
He looked down at the blade, then at her.
The silence between them stretched again. Like a thread tugged taut between two people still figuring out what it meant to be close.
Then he said, "Well. I suppose it's better than chili soup."
She rolled her eyes. "I knew you were going to bring that up."
Before he could protest further, another disciple ran in, holding a huge scroll.
"SECT LEADER! YOU'VE BEEN NOMINATED AGAIN!"
Jiang Chen flinched. "For what this time?!"
The disciple unfurled the scroll:
"Most Swoon-Worthy Swordplay: The Top Ten Romantic Wielders in the Continent."
"…I'm going to scream."
Pei Yun clapped. "You're ranked number one!"
Lin Wuyue added, "Your sword's confession was reprinted in ten sect newsletters."
"I'M GOING TO SCREAM."
And scream he did.
Probably while his sword recited another poem about the curve of his eyebrow.