Jiang Ze had never before met her gaze so directly, without any barrier between them.
He saw clearly the sorrow and nostalgia brimming in her eyes.
She looked at him with such intensity, as if forbidding anyone to speak ill of that era's... Immortal Venerable Qingyan.
Teach her... swordsmanship?
Suppressing the irritation in his heart, he coldly averted his gaze:
To ruin a century-forged sword heart, to abandon one's path of cultivation—all for the sake of one person.
Foolish.
With a flick of his sleeve, he turned to leave, his expression icy.
Just then, a burst of arrogant chatter grew louder, drawing near.
Qi Zhiyuan rested one hand on the spiritual sword at his side, his eyes alight with vengeful glee:
"Today, I’ll make sure Xu Wanci pays!"
Having just returned from a sect mission, he had learned from his underlings about recent events.
Xu Wanci had schemed against Young Master Jiang and, when she went to Ruoxu Peak to apologize, was severely injured.
No doubt Young Master Jiang, in his mercy, had spared her life.
But now... with Xu Wanci weakened, how could she possibly stand against him?
The memory of being humiliated by her in the past made Qi Zhiyuan clench his fists.
His lackey eagerly nodded in agreement. "Exactly! Senior Brother Qi is doing the Taiqing Sect a favor by ridding it of this scourge!"
"A shameless, scheming wretch like Xu Wanci, who harms her own sectmates, deserves death."
Then, fawning, he added, "And yet, Senior Brother Qi is so magnanimous—he doesn’t even want her life, just to teach her a lesson."
"Senior Brother Qi is truly a model for us all!"
Qi Zhiyuan gave him an approving glance before striding forward.
When he reached his destination, he paused at the sight of the half-open wooden door, momentarily puzzled:
This wood... could it be thousand-year springwood?
Impossible.
Before he could dwell on it, his eyes locked onto Xu Wanci practicing her sword forms inside.
Her movements were stiff, devoid of sword energy. His eyes widened in excitement.
"Xu Wanci’s sword heart is shattered?!"
Without hesitation, he kicked the door open, malice dripping from his voice:
"Xu Wanci, today you’ve fallen into my hands!"
Jiang Ze stood seven paces behind Qi Zhiyuan. After a brief, inscrutable glance at Xu Wanci, he concealed his presence.
At his Mahayana-stage cultivation, none of them could sense him if he willed it.
He suppressed his chilling aura and watched the scene unfold in the courtyard with detached indifference.
Qi Zhiyuan noticed nothing amiss. Ignoring the newly renovated yard, he fixed his glare on Xu Wanci.
"Did you ever imagine, when you defeated me, that you’d one day lose even your sword heart?"
A cripple with shattered cultivation—how could she resist him now?
His voice dripped with arrogance:
"Beg for mercy on your knees, and I might spare your life."
His gaze lingered on her frail figure beneath the Illusionary Beauty Tree, her face pale. A lecherous smirk twisted his lips.
"Or, if you serve me—fetch my tea, wash my feet, warm my bed—"
"I might even keep you around. Let you enjoy yourself a little."
Jiang Ze’s expression darkened further.
Yet beneath the tree, Xu Wanci remained unperturbed, her swordplay uninterrupted.
The taunts seemed to leave no mark on her.
His eyes gleamed with icy mockery:
Such humiliation...
Did she care for nothing now—not even herself—except for that one person?
Then let’s see how long her composure lasts.
Qi Zhiyuan, infuriated by her indifference, spat,
"Xu Wanci, don’t you dare disrespect me!"
His cronies joined in, hurling vulgar insults:
"Who do you think you are? Weren’t you just a dog trailing after Chu Qingchuan?"
"Look at you now! Senior Brother Qi’s offer is more than you deserve!"
Xu Wanci listened, utterly unmoved, even analyzing her own qi circulation mid-motion.
Words left no wounds. Why should they matter?
Her swordplay seemed to smooth slightly, as if she’d grasped something profound.
Qi Zhiyuan’s face flushed with rage.
Even now, she looked down on him—just like before, when she’d crushed him without remembering his name.
A cripple, yet still so arrogant.
He’d make her regret it.
Drawing his sword, he channeled all his qi into a ruthless strike.
Xu Wanci sensed the incoming blade energy but felt no fear—only exhilaration.
After the Xuanming Needle incident, the Taiqing Sect’s leader must have placed new protective artifacts on her.
Qi Zhiyuan’s group couldn’t possibly breach them.
They were perfect sparring partners.
Before seeing the sect tournament’s spirit talismans, she would’ve endured their provocations passively, waiting for death or the artifacts’ activation.
But now—
For the "Three-Leaf Lotus" left behind by her beloved, she’d practice day and night, stop at nothing.
Even if it meant doing what she’d never done before.
She stepped back, her sword tip deflecting Qi Zhiyuan’s blade with precision, the energy grazing past her.
Whether due to her innate talent or her dual-life enhanced spirit sense, she could track every swing, every shift in his stance.
Yet...
Her training was still too brief. Her form remained unpolished, her qi flow uneven. Each dodge was perilously close.
This wouldn’t do.
Today’s goal was adapting to live combat. If she kept evading, how could she win the tournament?
Victory was her only path—to survival, to her deepest desire.
Pausing mid-retreat, she analyzed Qi Zhiyuan’s patterns, then thrust her sword into the gap between his strikes.
Jiang Ze’s brow arched faintly, intrigue flickering in his gaze.
Though Xu Wanci’s swordplay was still rough, her qi circulation grew smoother by the moment.
Qi Zhiyuan’s face twisted in fury.
Even sword-heartless, she was proving troublesome.
Time to stop holding back.
In the next instant, the sword in his hand suddenly turned ruthless and swift, each strike aimed at the fatal points on Xu Wanci's body.
A single hit would leave her severely wounded.
Xu Wanci, sensing the life-and-death tension, didn’t even attempt to dodge.
Because she had spotted his weakest point—one strike there, and she would win.
Her expression remained indifferent as she watched the sword energy hurtling toward her chest. With a flick of her wrist, spiritual energy surged, and her sword, carrying an unyielding sword intent, shot straight toward Qi Zhiyuan’s left neck.
Qi Zhiyuan, sensing the danger at his neck, abruptly halted his sword technique and leaped back.
His face twisted in disbelief:
"Your sword heart was shattered! How could you possibly wield sword intent after starting over?"
Jiang Ze clearly saw Xu Wanci’s sword intent, a faint trace of astonishment flashing in his eyes:
Every swordsman had their own 'path' to follow. Only by recognizing this 'path' could one comprehend sword intent while executing techniques.
After countless repetitions of swordplay imbued with intent, a swordsman who grasped its essence would forge a sword heart.
From then on, the sword heart would be complete, and the path of the sword set in stone.
For ordinary swordsmen, a shattered sword heart meant a broken path. Rebuilding sword intent was an arduous task.
Most would never grasp it again in their lifetime.
At this thought, Jiang Ze’s gaze toward Xu Wanci turned cold, though laced with an imperceptible complexity.
Watching the two resume their duel, he noted the slight stiffness in Xu Wanci’s spiritual energy flow and spoke in a detached tone:
"Focus inward, divide the three energies."
The moment his words fell, Xu Wanci’s swordplay smoothed out. Before Qi Zhiyuan could react, a long gash appeared on his right chest.
In the next breath, Xu Wanci’s blade rested against his neck, its icy intent pressing deeper inch by inch.
Qi Zhiyuan dropped to his knees with practiced ease, as if he had apologized countless times before, wailing in remorse:
"Grandma Xu! I was blind! I deserve death for daring to challenge you—"
Xu Wanci paid no attention to his words. Calmly observing his tear-streaked face, her voice remained gentle and composed:
"Not continuing?"
Qi Zhiyuan knew his limits. If Xu Wanci could wound him just after rediscovering sword intent, a few more sessions would cost him his life.
Begging on his knees? Far better than getting hurt!
He was an expert at this!
As long as he lived, there’d be another chance!
Seeing Xu Wanci unmoved, he kowtowed repeatedly while cautiously shuffling backward on his knees.
Jiang Ze ignored their exchange, his indifferent gaze fixed on Xu Wanci.
Watching her resume her sword practice as if nothing had happened, his fingers twitched faintly.
This was how a cultivator contending with fate should be.
Compared to the Great Dao, love was insignificant.
A few moments later.
Jiang Ze sat at a dark jade table, summoning a rare pot of millennium-aged Jade Scenery tea with a wave of his hand.
He poured himself a cup unhurriedly.
The golden-patterned black teacup steamed with fragrant warmth.
Taking a leisurely sip, he observed Xu Wanci practicing in the distance, occasionally offering a pointer or two.
After two rounds, her swordplay flowed flawlessly.
Lowering his gaze slightly, he concealed a trace of approval:
Exceptional talent, remarkable comprehension.
If not for—
Just then, he noticed a slight delay in Xu Wanci’s left hand, as if recalling something. His tea-pouring hand paused briefly.
No one understood the damage of the Profound Nether Needle better than him.
For others struck by it, even with the antidote, the searing pain would linger for dozens of days.
To this day, no one had ever wielded spiritual energy for more than two hours within a single day after being poisoned.
Yet Xu Wanci had not only cultivated extensively but also just fought a duel.
His expression remained indifferent:
When the pain peaked, she’d stop.
After one incense stick’s time, he appeared at ease.
Half an hour later, his gaze turned cold.
An hour in, he set down his teacup with a heavy thud, his aura icy.
Xu Wanci continued her swordplay, unfazed.
Jiang Ze averted his eyes, his face stern:
What did her affairs matter to him?
And yet—
Three breaths later, his voice was detached:
"This courtyard may be humble, but the scenery is passable."
Not only did Xu Wanci show no reaction, but her sword movements didn’t falter in the slightest.
Jiang Ze’s expression darkened instantly.
He turned away coldly, refusing to spare her another glance.
After another cup of tea, he frowned and looked back, his tone frigid:
"Impatient and reckless. Useless."
Beneath the Illusionary Beauty Tree, the sound of swordplay persisted.
Jiang Ze closed his eyes indifferently, still sensing the stiffness in her left hand’s spiritual flow.
Another cup of tea later.
He stood and strode toward the gate without expression.
Yet, for some reason, he stopped at the doorway.
Listening to the sword swings behind him, his voice was icy:
"Did that person never teach you moderation in cultivation?"
The swordplay behind him ceased abruptly.
Silence fell.
