Chapter Twenty-One: Are You Still Worried About It Leaking?

Compared to his own spacious and minimalist room, the little girl's room was much softer and cozier. On the bed lay several stuffed dolls—a bear, a big tiger, and a long-tailed white fox. Their glass eyes sparkled, making them look particularly amusing.

But those details were unimportant.

Xiao Nan, familiar with the territory, opened the bedside cabinet and unearthed bags upon bags of snacks. His eyes lit up, and he swallowed hard, hands moving uncontrollably to tear open the wrappers. He devoured three packs of nut crisps, two packs of creamy egg rolls, and a bag of candied dates before finally slowing down.

“Uh…”

Xiao Nan lifted his head, bewildered. “I’ve never liked snacks before, have I? Just now, it feels as if some emotion took over me, more childish than any child—and it’s not hunger.” He recalled the earlier urge to boast, so ridiculous, just like a child. Coming back to himself, Xiao Nan sighed mournfully. Well, the dignity of Bloodthorn had been tossed into another world.

Could it be that his body’s youth was making his mind childish as well?

He pondered carefully; no, that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t felt this way before, not until he gained the sword talent.

“Could it be that upon receiving the little girl’s talent, I also inherited her hobbies and habits?”

The thought sent a wave of terror through Xiao Nan’s heart. He felt a chill around his waist, as if cold wind swept past—something was terribly amiss.

His eye caught a pile of things messily thrown at the foot of the bed. He reached out, almost involuntarily. As soon as he looked, Xiao Nan recoiled as if shocked by electricity, tossing the bundle away.

Damn, those were feminine hygiene products—he recognized them instantly.

His sister had grown up, entered adolescence; a good thing. However, why did he instinctively want to tuck them into his pants, as if worried about leaking? He was not a creature that bled every month.

His face burned with embarrassment. In a swift motion, he strode to the doorway, glancing left and right nonchalantly.

“What a mess.”

His mother and sister hadn’t returned yet; fortunately, no one had seen him. He went back, returned the bundle to its place, shut the “treasure trove” of snacks, and, suppressing the lingering chill at his waist, walked out with his legs pressed together.

Tap, tap…

Footsteps approached from a distance.

“Xiao Nan, I’m home!” Before she arrived, the little girl’s playful voice echoed in.

Behind her, Tan Qiuyi gently reproached, “Keep it down, don’t disturb your brother’s studies. Help me with the herbs later.”

“Okay,” Xiao Bei answered casually, her steps not slowing at all as she ran into the yard.

Xiao Nan walked with hands behind his back, pretending to take a stroll.

He hadn’t had time to close his sister’s door or deal with the snack wrappers—he’d just tossed them into the trash bin.

“Huh…”

Xiao Bei eyed her brother suspiciously. Strange—did I forget to close the door when I left?

“Xiao Bei, you mentioned practicing swordsmanship,” Xiao Nan said, clearing his throat and adopting a serious tone.

“Oh right, I promised to teach you the Four Seasons Sword. Don’t worry, I, Xiao Bei, always keep my word. You’ll definitely improve!” At the mention of this, the little girl’s eyes curved into crescents, and she beamed with pride.

This was her greatest point of pride. She often showed off her sword talent in front of Xiao Nan, and would even tell their mother that if she attended the Four Seasons Sword Hall, she’d already be one of its top students—perhaps even chosen as a personal disciple by the main hall, tuition-free, with them begging her to join.

Tan Qiuyi only smiled and shook her head at such claims, treating her daughter’s boasts as nothing more than childish bravado—just as she had with Xiao Nan before. The little girl was born to show off; no one knew who she inherited that from.

“Practice is the best teacher. Xiao Nan, let’s have a sword match.”

Xiao Bei, distracted, found the wooden swords in the yard, gripped hers in reverse and saluted, showing a master’s demeanor—something she’d learned from television competitions. She mimicked adults perfectly.

“Alright, let’s spar. If you win, I’ll teach you any new moves I learn next time,” Xiao Nan replied, suppressing a smile.

This was their agreement, and Xiao Bei’s happiest moment. The junior high division offered no practical combat classes, and membership at the Four Seasons Sword Hall was expensive; their mother wouldn’t let her join. The poor girl could only satisfy her sword passion by tutoring her clumsy brother.

…

Tan Qiuyi chuckled, glanced at Xiao Nan, shook her head, and sighed.

She didn’t concern herself with their sword practice, instead carrying her basket to the herb garden. The stock of Strength Pills and Blood Fortifying Pills in the family pharmacy was running low; she needed to make a batch today to avoid shortages tomorrow. It was already late; she still had to prepare dinner, so she hurried to knead the pills.

Strength Pills and Blood Fortifying Pills paled in comparison to first- and second-grade elixirs, but to ordinary families, they were rare and valuable. Regular use would strengthen the body, nourishing the roots. Combined with intense training, their effect was even better; naturally, they weren’t cheap—each pill sold for several hundred yuan.

Although Tan Qiuyi fully supported Xiao Nan’s martial training, hoping he’d be admitted to a martial arts university, she couldn’t afford to supply him lavishly. She could only give him a few pills every so often, as the family still had to cover both siblings’ tuition—luxury wasn’t an option.

Most importantly, daily living expenses couldn’t be skimped. Both children were growing; nutritious meals aided their development.

Though Tan Qiuyi herself was frail and untrained in martial arts, her knowledge was considerable, and her passion for martial arts ran deep. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married a Yuanjiang martial arts master. It’s hard for couples to get along without shared interests.

She understood her son’s situation well, knowing he was about to be defeated by his sister again. Still, more practice could do no harm; perhaps, with enough training, things might change.

The school martial arts teacher said his coordination was poor—not a good sign. It showed especially in combat skills, and even more so with weapons.

Even Tan Qiuyi could see the difference. When the siblings wielded swords, the little girl moved in a flowing, graceful manner; every strike was elegant and precise. Xiao Nan, in contrast, stumbled and faltered, making onlookers anxious.

He seemed unable to channel his strength properly; holding the sword, he looked as awkward as if wielding a fire poker—nothing about it felt right. It wasn’t the accuracy of his movements, but a matter of instinct. Like dancing: some people move with natural elegance, pleasing to the eye; others, no matter how hard they try, look ridiculous—more like monkeys or apes.

Today, though, Tan Qiuyi noticed something different.

Her daughter Xiao Bei still moved with lively, nimble steps; the glint of her sword flashed, not powerful but quick and deft, each move exquisite. But Xiao Nan—compared to before, he was utterly changed.

Tan Qiuyi rubbed her eyes, stopped in her tracks, mouth agape, her face bright with delight.

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