Honkai Star Rail: My Chat Group is Full of Broken Timelines — Chapter 35

Chapter 36: Grandmaster, I Really Don’t Want to Learn the Sword!

Why is she here?

The question echoed in Kazuki’s mind, a cold stone dropping into the warm bustle of the market. With her sudden appearance, all interest he had in browsing the stalls evaporated like morning mist.

She was Jingliu. The Sword Champion of the Xianzhou, a living legend who had commanded the winds and clouds eight hundred years ago. A hero who later fell to the Mara, only to vanish from history after a fated battle with Jing Yuan.

According to the story he knew, she was supposed to be living in self-imposed exile, hidden away in some forgotten corner of the galaxy until Luocha came knocking, drawing her back into the world’s affairs. So why would she turn up here, in a fringe settlement practically on the Luofu’s doorstep?

‘I remember… she went in this direction,’ he thought, his feet moving before his mind had fully committed. He turned away from the market crowds, heading toward a passage where the flow of people began to thin.

The surrounding clamor gradually faded, replaced by the dissonant creak of rubbing metal and the muffled drone of distant conversations, each word laced with a wary, conspiratorial rasp. He reached a fork in the path and came to an abrupt halt. Before him lay a narrow alley, hemmed in by towering stacks of discarded shipping crates. The shadows within were unnaturally deep, concealing something that radiated an indescribable eeriness.

“Wait, this is a terrible idea,” Kazuki muttered, scratching his head as a belated wave of self-preservation washed over him. “In a situation like this, what’s the difference between me and the idiotic side character in a horror movie who gets curious, chases a dark shadow, and ends up as the first victim?”

His instincts screamed at him to turn around and walk away, but his feet felt as though they were nailed to the spot.

It’s Jingliu… That’s Jingliu. The name was a siren’s call, overriding all common sense.

He tried to rationalize it. ‘I’m technically Jing Yuan’s grand-nephew, which makes me her grand-disciple, more or less. She wouldn’t just kill me… right?’

With that flimsy reassurance, Kazuki steadied his nerves, took a deep breath, and stepped into the secluded alley.

The further he ventured, the dimmer the light became. A thick layer of dust coated the crates, some of which still bore the faded, yellowed labels of long-discontinued interstellar fuels. The air was heavy with the cloying scent of rust and old engine oil. An occasional breeze snaked through the narrow passage, stirring loose metal scraps on the ground with a faint, rustling whisper.

As he walked, Kazuki mused to himself. Jingliu’s hometown, Cangcheng, was destroyed long ago. For her, the Luofu was likely the closest thing she had to a second home. Even if she was exiled, she probably couldn’t bring herself to abandon it completely. Choosing to live in seclusion nearby, watching over it from afar… it was actually a perfectly logical, if tragic, choice.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a voice cut through the silence. It was cold and clear, impossible to place, like the sound of icy beads falling onto a jade plate. It carried a sharp, piercing quality that seemed to cut right through the oppressive stillness.

“Little brother, did your elders never teach you not to follow strangers?”

The voice was disembodied, yet its familiarity confirmed what Kazuki already knew. He hadn’t been mistaken.

He composed himself, cupping his hands in a formal gesture towards the unseen speaker. He pitched his voice to sound as respectful and harmless as possible. “My apologies for the intrusion. My Great-Uncle taught me that when you encounter an esteemed elder, you should always step forward and offer a proper greeting.”

“Great-Uncle?” The voice paused, a flicker of confusion coloring its icy tone.

In the next instant, a figure materialized before Kazuki without a whisper of warning. She was so close he could smell the faint, cold fragrance that clung to her like a winter shroud. A black veil concealed her face, but he could feel her gaze fixed on him, sharp and intense.

Kazuki instinctively stumbled back two steps, his heart hammering against his ribs. When did she get here? There wasn’t a sound!

But a moment later, he relaxed. It would be more surprising if he could detect the movements of the legendary Jingliu. Besides, she wasn’t going to actually mince him into paste. What was there to be afraid of?

Just then, Jingliu raised a hand and gracefully removed the black veil.

A face of extraordinary, almost striking beauty was revealed. Her complexion was the pale, luminous white of someone who hadn’t felt the sun on their skin for years. But her most striking feature was her eyes—the pupils were like perfectly cut rubies, currently narrowed in scrutiny as she carefully sized him up.

“Indeed,” Jingliu spoke at last, her voice slow and tinged with a subtle, unreadable emotion. “You do have a slight resemblance to him. Even that clever streak is the same. Your Great-Uncle… how has he been?”

“My Great-Uncle?” Kazuki replied quickly, a note of genuine pride in his voice. “He’s been in high spirits! I feel like if he keeps this up, the onset of his Mara-Struck state can be delayed for a very long time.”

“Mara…” At the mention of that word, Jingliu’s expression hardened, and her gaze turned several degrees colder. “Child, do not speak of the Mara so casually.”

“Yes, Grandmaster is right to scold me.” Kazuki hurriedly bowed his head, feigning contrition. Internally, a frantic calculation was running. ‘It’s safer to call her Grandmaster. Compared to being Jing Yuan’s grand-nephew, the identity of a grand-disciple feels closer. Maybe she’ll scold me less.’

“Grandmaster?” Jingliu raised a delicate eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in her ruby eyes. “What is your name?”

“To answer Grandmaster, my name is Kazuki,” he replied respectfully.

“Kazuki…” Jingliu repeated the name, nodding thoughtfully. Then, her gaze sharpened, and she abruptly changed the subject. “How about I teach you a move?”

Her eyes swept over him with a newfound intensity, as if she were an artisan evaluating a piece of unpolished jade. In her estimation, though the boy was young, his eyes were clear and his foundation was solid. He was a talent worth molding.

“Uh… perhaps not.” The offer sent a jolt of panic through Kazuki, and he immediately began waving his hands. “This grand-disciple is dull-witted, far inferior to my Great-Uncle’s other disciple.”

“Hmph. No ambition.” A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity. “But… this other disciple, how is his talent?”

“Oh, Grandmaster, you have no idea!” Seizing the opportunity, Kazuki launched into a breathless, exaggerated torrent of praise for Yanqing. “My junior brother Yanqing’s talent is absolutely monstrous! Before he was even ten, he could control six flying swords at once! I can’t beat him at all, not even a little, and also…”

He painted Yanqing as a once-in-a-millennium prodigy, hoping that when Jingliu inevitably decided to “teach” the boy, she might remember this praise and not go too hard on him. Though Kazuki secretly coveted learning Jingliu’s legendary swordplay—the ‘Breakfast and Dinner’ technique, as the fans called it—he knew he lacked the specific genius for it. Yanqing, on the other hand, was the type to master a technique after getting beaten with it just once.

Jingliu listened in silence, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Her ruby eyes glinted with amusement; she was clearly entertained by his transparent attempt at misdirection.

When Kazuki finally ran out of steam, she asked softly, “You speak so highly of your junior brother… but what about you?”

Before he could answer, her hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

Her fingertips were cool to the touch, with a piercing quality that seemed to probe right through his skin. A faint, unfamiliar energy traveled up his arm, inspecting his meridians and the flow of power within his body. Kazuki flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but her grip, though gentle, was like a steel clamp.

After a few moments, Jingliu released him. The look in her eyes had changed completely. It was now a strange mixture of disbelief and astonishment, as if she had just witnessed something impossible.

She was silent for a long moment before speaking, her voice laced with incredulity. “At such a young age… how did your Great-Uncle dare to let you out on your own?”

“I passed the adulthood exam a long time ago!” Kazuki puffed out his chest, a flicker of pride cutting through his anxiety.

“I see you are quite the genius yourself,” Jingliu mused, her gaze softening. “Far stronger than your Great-Uncle was at your age.”

The child was only in his twenties. On the Xianzhou, that was barely out of primary education, yet he was already this powerful. And he claimed his talent was poor? Perhaps he truly was inferior to the Yanqing he described, but he was certainly no dullard. A desire to nurture this raw talent began to bloom in her heart.

“Little Tian,” Jingliu’s tone grew serious, “our meeting is fate. I want to teach you.”

“Huh?” Kazuki froze, his heart skipping a beat. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had shot himself in the foot. Had he accidentally praised himself too much? If he had known his power level would actually catch Jingliu’s eye, he never would have followed her into this alley.

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” Jingliu’s tone was now imperious, leaving no room for argument. “If I say I am teaching you, then you will learn. No matter how dull you claim your talent is, I have the confidence to teach you well.”

An unvoiced thought crossed her mind. All those years ago, Jing Yuan had followed her to learn the sword, only to run off halfway through to study the way of the formation blade. The slight had left her stewing for quite some time; it took Baiheng dragging her out for a drink to finally lift her spirits. Now, to finally meet a junior of Jing Yuan’s—one who was also her grand-disciple and possessed such fine talent—it would be a crime not to teach him properly.

“Grandmaster, Grandmaster, Grandmaster!” Kazuki waved his hands frantically, shaking his head like a rattle drum. “I really don’t want to learn the sword!”

He had only come here to satisfy his curiosity, to see a legend with his own eyes. He had absolutely no intention of becoming her apprentice!

“Words are useless. Watch the sword!” Jingliu had no intention of listening to his protests. With a wave of her hand, a soft, lunar glow condensed in her palm, instantly solidifying into a longsword. The blade shimmered as if forged from frozen moonlight, radiating a cold luster that seemed to freeze the very air around it.

Kazuki’s pupils contracted to pinpricks. On pure instinct, he summoned his Stone Fire Dream Body. The massive, complex formation blade materialized in front of him, a shield of complex machinery and glowing energy, just in time to intercept the strike.

Clang—!

The crisp ring of metal on metal echoed through the alley as the tip of her sword met his formation blade.

A colossal force slammed into him, sending him stumbling back several meters until his back crashed into a stack of crates. The web of his thumb went numb, and he nearly lost his grip on the massive blade.

Was that just a normal thrust? Kazuki stared in shock. Jingliu’s strength was truly unfathomable.

But when Jingliu saw his weapon, her expression changed drastically. Her gaze fell upon the familiar, complex patterns of the formation blade, and her ruby-like pupils flashed with a dangerous crimson light. A barely detectable tremor entered her voice.

“Stone Fire Dream Body? You are just like your Great-Uncle, refusing to learn the sword?!”

Kazuki’s heart plummeted. Oh no. Oh no, I’m dead meat!

From the look of it, even if Jingliu hadn’t fully succumbed to the Mara, she was teetering on the very edge. The sight of the formation blade—the very path Jing Yuan had chosen over her own—had clearly triggered her.

Watching as the crimson stain in her eyes deepened, Kazuki’s mind was filled with a single, regretful thought: ‘Grandmaster, oh Grandmaster, why couldn’t you have just kept your veil on? You had to take it off, and now I can see the crazy in your eyes with perfect clarity. It’s going to be really hard to play dumb now!’