The courtyard fell into silence once again.
Jiang Ze’s face was cold, his entire body radiating a chilling aura, as if he could freeze everything around him.
Beneath the Illusionary Beauty Tree, Xu Wanci seemed oblivious. With stubborn determination, she once again drew her spirit sword.
After several repetitions, her movements gradually became fluid, each swing of her sword now carrying genuine sword intent.
The sound of the blade whistled through the air, her heart guiding the sword’s path.
Jiang Ze watched as Xu Wanci mastered the Guiyuan Sword Technique in just four hours, his gaze icy.
By now, she had already been practicing for over two hours today.
His eyes flickered briefly to the wound on her left hand before he coldly averted his gaze.
Another hour passed.
Seeing how effortlessly Xu Wanci wielded the Guiyuan Sword Technique, Jiang Ze’s fingers twitched slightly.
For the first time, he asked a question he had never cared about before:
“Why have you taken up the sword again?”
That person had been utterly annihilated a century ago, never to return.
Xu Wanci knew this—so why, at this moment, was she so recklessly and desperately reforging her sword heart?
After completing another round of the Guiyuan Sword Technique, Xu Wanci slowly sheathed her spirit sword.
Her voice was calm, yet filled with unwavering resolve:
“To win.”
“I took up the sword again only to win.”
To win that Three-Leaf Lotus. To win the chance to survive.
Hearing her answer, Jiang Ze’s brows relaxed almost imperceptibly.
It seemed that in Xu Wanci’s heart, there were still things that outweighed that person.
He poured himself a cup of tea with practiced ease, took a sip, and spoke in a voice as cold and refined as jade:
“If you want to win, staying stagnant will never be enough.”
Rising to his feet, he walked unhurriedly toward Xu Wanci.
His gaze swept over her pale face, lingering on the deep sorrow and desolation hidden beneath her calm exterior. Suppressing the faint discomfort in his chest, he said indifferently:
“Only by crossing blades with others can you recognize your weaknesses and learn how to win.”
Xu Wanci lifted her head calmly, her eyes fixed on him.
Jiang Ze saw his own reflection in her gaze and allowed the faintest trace of a smile to touch his lips.
“I’ll suppress my cultivation to the Golden Core level.”
He caught a falling leaf from the Illusionary Beauty Tree in his left hand, his voice composed and cool:
“You want to win, don’t you?”
“Then try.”
Xu Wanci’s fingers twitched almost imperceptibly.
Over the past few days, she had immersed herself completely in her role, and her reactions to mentions of Immortal Venerable Qingyan had become almost instinctive.
As for why she was participating in the sect competition, why she was fighting to win—it was all for him, for that Three-Leaf Lotus.
Everything she had done recently was inextricably tied to Immortal Venerable Qingyan.
She didn’t need to broadcast her intentions to the world. She only needed to follow her goal, pushing forward with everything she had.
So, it didn’t matter why Jiang Ze wanted to spar with her.
Whether he was testing her sword intent or toying with her under the guise of a match—none of it mattered.
What mattered was what she could gain from this exchange.
Her long lashes trembled slightly as she replied in a cool voice:
“Then I’ll trouble the Young Master.”
The moment she finished speaking, her spirit sword surged forward with unstoppable sword intent, aimed directly at the man before her.
Though Jiang Ze had suppressed his cultivation to the Golden Core level, his divine sense and combat instincts far surpassed Xu Wanci’s.
He observed the trajectory of her blade—sharp but predictable—and countered with a single flick of his finger.
Xu Wanci’s sword was forced off course.
Her expression remained unchanged as she redirected the momentum into a graceful flourish, then thrust the tip of her blade toward Jiang Ze’s side.
Several exchanges later.
Even though Jiang Ze held back, and even though Xu Wanci was at a disadvantage, she managed to hold her own against him, narrowly avoiding defeat time and again.
Jiang Ze watched her, a glimmer of approval flashing in his eyes.
She had only regained her sword intent two days ago, had only mastered the sword technique for two hours—yet she could already wield it seamlessly, exchanging blows with him like this.
Such talent was rare even in the entire cultivation world.
If her sword heart had never been shattered, if she had devoted herself to cultivation all along…
His thoughts darkened, but his movements never faltered.
Xu Wanci wasn’t merely dodging or defending. She was studying Jiang Ze’s every move, waiting for even the slightest opening.
For her, these past few days hadn’t been about practicing the sword—they had been about shedding this body’s instincts, relearning how to channel spiritual energy in a way she could understand and control.
In her past life, she had acted in many fight scenes. As a low-ranking actress, her roles often demanded realism—no stunt doubles, no pulled punches.
Back then, she couldn’t afford the consequences of injury.
To minimize the risk, she had trained herself to focus entirely on her opponent’s movements, anticipating every strike.
That same focus, enhanced by her current body’s talent and spiritual sense, made her reflexes even sharper in this world.
That was how she had repelled Qi Zhiyuan earlier.
That was how she could hold her own against Jiang Ze, the Young Master of the sect.
Xu Wanci felt her spiritual energy nearing exhaustion, but her expression only grew calmer. Then, in the split second between Jiang Ze’s movements, she detected a flaw.
A flaw so slight it was almost negligible.
She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for another mistake. To win, she had to gamble.
She had to bet whether Jiang Ze’s spiritual energy would strike her first—or whether her sword could exploit that tiny weakness and wound him.
At worst, she could endure severe injury.
As his attack surged toward her, she didn’t evade. Instead, her spirit sword arced upward, slipping past the weakest point in Jiang Ze’s defenses and aiming straight for his vitals.
Jiang Ze’s expression darkened. Seeing his spiritual energy about to strike Xu Wanci’s left hand, he swiftly adjusted his stance, redirecting the attack so it barely grazed her shoulder.
Dark energy seared through the blue fabric of her robe, leaving a long, charred mark.
But Xu Wanci’s sword stopped just three inches from Jiang Ze’s body.
She lowered her blade slowly, not even glancing at her injured shoulder.
She still wasn’t fast enough.
“Xu Wanci.” Jiang Ze’s voice was frigid. “Do you realize what would have happened if I hadn’t held back?”
“If your left hand is injured again within three days, it will be crippled.”
Xu Wanci showed no reaction. Instead, she looked at him with mild confusion.
“But I wouldn’t die.”
“And I might have won.”
Hearing her reply, Jiang Ze’s expression turned even colder. His voice was measured, but sharp as ice:
“So when you said you took up the sword to win—”
“You meant that you’d accept severe injury, even permanent damage, as long as it led to victory.”
Among the three thousand paths of cultivation, with her talent, she could have walked any of them with ease.
Yet she had chosen this one—a path paved with self-destruction, littered with scars.
His voice dropped abruptly, laced with warning:
“Do you understand the consequences of this sword path?”
Xu Wanci lifted her gaze to meet his, yet her eyes held no emotion—only a void. Her voice was so faint it seemed to dissolve into the wind the moment she spoke:
"Nothing could be worse than now."
Jiang Ze saw the desolation in her eyes, his own darkening with turbulent emotion:
Again, because of him.
Even her cultivation was shackled by love, treading a path shrouded in darkness.
Did nothing matter to her after his death?
How foolish.
His icy gaze swept over her pale profile, her delicate collarbones, and finally settled on her left shoulder.
With a derisive scoff, his voice returned to its usual indifference:
"Didn’t you want to win?"
"Then keep going."
Jiang Ze knew Xu Wanci carried a defensive artifact left by the Taiqing Sect’s sect leader. But pushing her to the brink of death without triggering it was no challenge for him.
From then on, he held nothing back.
Xu Wanci never lasted more than three moves against him.
The defensive artifact wasn’t activated by mere injuries—Jiang Ze controlled each strike perfectly, ensuring the wounds were just shy of triggering it.
Though the physical damage was minor, her mind was stretched to its limits.
Time and again, she teetered on the edge of life and death, her body accumulating cuts and gashes.
Yet the closer she came to dying, the greater her breakthroughs.
Her once-feeble sword intent solidified bit by bit through this brutal refinement.
Despite his ruthlessness, Jiang Ze avoided Xu Wanci’s left hand—the one wounded by the Profound Nether Needle.
His gaze darkened as he observed her eerie calm even in the face of death:
He’d seen those with death wishes before, but instinct always drove cultivators to resist when death loomed.
Xu Wanci was different.
She truly… feared nothing.
On Ruoxu Peak.
Jiang Qiuning had just finished handling the Jiang family’s affairs when she spotted the injuries on Chu Qingchuan as he exited the hall.
Frowning, she approached, her voice laced with concern:
"Qingchuan, what happened to you?"
Chu Qingchuan instinctively stepped back, shielding the lingering black marks even after treatment.
His voice stiffened. "Just sparring."
"I need to meditate."
Watching his retreating figure, Jiang Qiuning lowered her eyes thoughtfully:
Given Chu Qingchuan’s status, no one in the Taiqing Sect would dare fight him to this extent.
And those wounds—
They bore Jiang Ze’s spiritual energy.
Her brows knit in displeasure:
Chu Qingchuan was her chosen Dao companion. With or without the Immortal Venerable’s karma, he was the one most likely to reach the pinnacle.
Jiang Ze had gone too far today.
After a brief pause, she turned toward Ten Thousand Swords Peak.
The Ink Rain Pavilion stood opposite Xu Wanci’s courtyard.
As Jiang Qiuning approached, her gaze inadvertently drifted to the other yard.
At its center, Xu Wanci knelt on one knee, her spirit sword plunged into the ground.
Her robes were stained with blood, her pale cheek marred by a crimson gash. She looked like cracked porcelain—one touch away from shattering.
Jiang Qiuning’s pupils dilated.
In an instant, she was at Xu Wanci’s side, shielding her protectively.
Her voice trembled with dread as she glared at Jiang Ze, seven steps away:
"Uncle."
"Harming Chu Qingchuan is one thing, but how could you—"
"Lay a hand on Xu Wanci?"
