A Breath of Peace: Lin Ye’s Bathhouse Respite

Chapter 9

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting amber light through the thin clouds above Baizhu Village. The forest trials were over, and the once-buzzing grounds now quieted to a steady hum of returning voices, meals being served, and doors opening to rest.

The courtyard, paved in worn stone, was enclosed by Lin Ye's uncle's modest two-story house, with tiled eaves and prayer tags fluttering under the roof beams. A bamboo wind chime swayed lazily near the front door, nestled against a mossy slope. Simple, clean, and infused with soft spiritual wards that shimmered faintly over its doorframe, the home had stood for generations.

Lin Ye's room was on the second floor.

With a loud thud, the door flew open and Lin Ye all but threw himself inside.

"I'm dead—leave me," he groaned, dragging his feet in and letting the weight of exhaustion pull him downward.

With a theatrical spin, he collapsed face-down onto the wooden floor, arms outstretched like a fallen spirit. His robes rustled in all directions, his hair—mildly chaotic from the forest chase—spread across the floor like black ink. He didn't move.

The room was modest. A wide window let in slanted afternoon light and overlooked the distant rooftops. The wooden floor was smooth and cool, faint creaks beneath his limbs. A low bed was neatly made—though untouched since the morning. Nearby stood a narrow table cluttered with talismans in various states of completion, a scattering of brush-stroke papers, and a flute resting proudly on top of the mess as if reigning over the chaos.

Above the doorway, two talismans hung for warding—one faded, one newer—and a copper pendant shaped like a lotus dangled from a nail, humming quietly with stored spiritual energy.

Lin Ye rolled lazily onto his back, arms spread wide like he was melting into the floor.

"…No one even noticed—huh?"

His eyes wandered to the ceiling, blinking.

He huffed.

A flicker of memory returned: the Shuilan disciples, walking gracefully with their light-blue robes that barely touched the ground. Every movement is poised. Even after the forest trial, they looked... composed. Serene.

And then—him.

Xuan Luo.

He wasn't even trying, but somehow the Shuilan Master always seemed to draw all eyes whenever he passed. Whether he moved, spoke, or even just stood there, people stared with silent admiration. His posture was unshakable. His presence—commanding.

Lin Ye's face twitched.

"Ugh."

He rolled again, now lying sideways, propping his cheek on one hand while the other traced lazy circles on the floor.

Sure, his uncle was proud like he'd just come home from war. Some villagers even applauded—there were cheers, wide eyes, excited voices. Some disciples nodded respectfully as well.

But still—

"No one said, 'You were incredible, Lin Ye!' or 'You're amazing, Lin Ye!' Not the kind of praise that mattered."

And definitely not from Xuan Luo.

The Shuilan master hadn't even blinked. No nod. No acknowledgment.

Besides, it wasn't new. Lin Ye was used to it—being seen as the playful one, the reckless cousin, the boy who climbed trees and cracked jokes during sword drills. No matter how well he fought or how sharp his talismans were, they never quite believed he meant it.

He sighed loudly, flipping over again.

"Not even a thank you," he muttered.

Sure, maybe his hair was always sticking up a bit from running or wind. And maybe he liked climbing trees in the middle of a spirit chase. And yes, maybe he returned looking like he fell out of a tree and rolled down the hill, but—!

"I always shower," he muttered aloud. "I always wear clean robes. I'm very clean. I smell like peach blossoms most of the time."

His voice pitched higher as he sat up on the floor, pointing at no one. "I'm not that bad-looking either! If I comb my hair, I'm basically halfway to radiant!"

He got up and walked to the small mirror on the wall, squinting at his reflection and fixing a strand of hair.

"And I saved him," he said darkly.

His face turned sour, brows lowering, mouth twisting into a tight little grin of disbelief. His eyes narrowed, turning into thin slits of envy.

"He didn't even say thank you."

"Graceful my foot," Lin Ye grumbled.

And yet...

His fingers stilled.

The image of the Shuilan master standing under the trees, sword drawn, the light flickering around him in quiet ripples, came back uninvited.

Okay... maybe he is graceful.

Maybe the whole clan looked like they'd descended from the heavens.

But Lin Ye straightened his back and crossed his arms anyway, a cocky gleam rising in his eye.

"Well, I don't care," he declared proudly to no one. "I'm better."

He spun on his heel toward the door.

"Bath time," he said like it was a royal decree.

Just as he reached for the latch, the door opened—bumping slightly into a body on the other side.

Lin Shen stood there.

He blinked.

"You…" Lin Shen said slowly, eyes narrowing at the unexpected sight. "You're taking a bath?"

Lin Ye looked down at himself. His arms were comically full—folded robes, soaps, oils, a clean towel, even a polished comb. Far more than his usual habit of grabbing a single robe and a half-dry towel before running off barefoot.

He looked back at his cousin, raising an eyebrow.

"…Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? You act like I've never taken a bath in my life."

"You seem like you're planning to move in there," Lin Shen quipped, stepping aside just slightly. "Staying long in the bath this time, Cousin Ye?"

"What? I bathe," Lin Ye said, lifting a brow like it was obvious. "Sometimes with flair."

Lin Shen gave him a suspicious once-over. "Since when do you bring the entire bathhouse with you?"

Lin Ye sniffed. "Since today. Is that a crime?"

"You even brought the good sandalwood soap."

"It's for spiritual recovery," Lin Ye replied haughtily, already brushing past him like a victorious general. "Also, I guided a spiritual beast and saved someone today. I deserve luxury."

Lin Shen's mouth opened, clearly trying very hard not to roll his eyes, but no words came out. He just stared.

He swept past Lin Shen dramatically, robes swishing with every smug step.

"Now, move aside—I'm in a rush."

Lin Shen stood frozen in the doorway.

Lin Ye had his back to him now, walking down the hall like a prince after a declaration of victory.

He could feel Lin Shen dying to ask about the forest.

He smiled to himself—smug, pleased, unreadable.

Then he stopped suddenly and turned his head back just slightly, catching Lin Shen still standing there like a confused statue.

"Oh right. Why did you come to my room?" Lin Ye asked with pure innocence.

Lin Shen hesitated, then crossed his arms and answered coolly, "No reason. Just wanted to talk about... the trial. Since it started."

He didn't meet Lin Ye's eyes. His tone was casual—too casual.

Lin Ye's grin returned.

"Then we'll talk later. Right now my legs feel like tree trunks. I swear I fell off something at least three times today."

He took a step forward, pausing to add: "You should bathe too, by the way."

A beat.

"You smell terrible."

Lin Shen turned red.

"Hey—!!"

But Lin Ye had already vanished down the stairs, laughter trailing behind him—along with the scent of peach blossom oil.

Lin Shen stood in the doorway, stunned. He glanced down at himself, then sniffed his sleeve—dramatically.

A pause.

"…I don't smell that bad."

Flustered, red-faced, and muttering to himself, he stomped off toward his own room like an angry cat.

A Moment of Warmth,

The path to the bathhouse led through the inner hallway of their home. Scrolls of protection lined the walls, and the soft smell of burning herbs wafted from the kitchen chamber further down. A few old spirit stones marked the turns—faintly glowing in daylight.

The bathhouse was built from smooth cedar, sealed to retain warmth, and shaped in soft curves. A large wooden tub dominated the center, steam rising faintly above the still water.

Lin Ye stepped in and shut the door behind him, shutting out the world. The warm air wrapped around him like silk.

He sighed, then began peeling off his outer robes one by one. First the dust-covered outer cloak, worn thin from the day's trials, followed by the lighter robe beneath—faded but sturdy—and finally his inner shirt, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. His slender arms and shoulders, marked with faint scratches and fading bruises, were revealed under the soft light. Despite the marks, his skin remained surprisingly neat and smooth.

His fingers unfastened the delicate bindings of his underclothes—soft, breathable fabric that hugged his lean frame without excess—as the material fell away quietly and the warm air grazed his bare skin.

Lin Ye paused for a moment, undoing the ribbon that bound his hair and running a hand through the damp strands. Then he stepped toward the bathhouse door.

He slid into the tub, slow and deliberate, wincing only once as he eased sore muscles beneath the surface.

The hot water welcomed him.

His head dipped beneath the surface, hair swirling like ink ribbons in the heat. Then—he rose, breaking the surface with a deep breath, droplets sliding down his face and neck, water glistening on his shoulders.

His arms rested along the edges of the tub. His head tilted back. Eyes closed.

"…It's not bad," he muttered.

The warmth seeped into his limbs.

"…Actually… it's really good," he whispered.

He sighed again, dramatically.

"Ow… ow… I am in pain," he said to no one, laughing to himself.

His hair, dark and damp, clung in soft, shining strands to the nape of his neck and curved delicately over his collarbones. The droplets traced gentle paths down, catching the light like tiny beads of dew, and his skin—now free of the forest dust held a pale, smooth radiance—unexpectedly refined and handsome for someone who'd spent the day tumbling through the trees.

A few red marks still streaked his forearms where branches had scraped him, but they were fading fast.

Lin Ye dipped his hands into the warm water, lifting handfuls to his face and arms, the gentle bubbles breaking against his skin. Slowly, he reached for the soap, rubbing it over his shoulders and chest with deliberate care. As his fingers traced the smooth curves of his body, they paused near his heart, where a faint, shimmering mark glowed softly—golden runes etched delicately into his skin, the talisman his mother had pressed there long ago. 

His eyes lingered there; a quiet sadness flickered across his expression, a silent remembrance of his mother and the clan that was no more. Without a word, he sank deeper into the water, the moment slipping quietly away like a whispered sigh, only his nose and eyes above the surface now.

"…Hot water is healing," he murmured, content.

Outside, the house was quiet.

But within the bathhouse, Lin Ye floated in peaceful silence—body sore but spirit shining.

The faint scent of sandalwood mingled with the delicate aroma of peach blossoms, swirling gently with the steam rising from the tub and wrapping the room in a calm embrace. Soft creaks of the wooden floorboards echoed quietly, punctuating the stillness like a gentle heartbeat.