Chapter 12

When Qing Zhouxue returned to Heyi Peak, she was covered in dust. For some reason, she didn't want Yun Shuchen to see her in such a state, so she headed straight for the bath.

After changing clothes and washing away the dirt and sweat, she felt clean and refreshed. Just as she stepped out with her dirty laundry, she ran into Yun Shuchen.

Yun Shuchen seemed to be on her way to the study, but she paused upon seeing her. Whenever she was under that gaze, Qing Zhouxue unconsciously stepped forward and walked toward her.

"How was your practice today?" Yun Shuchen asked softly.

"Mm," Qing Zhouxue hesitated, then answered, "It was fine."

"What happened to your hand?"

Yun Shuchen noticed the grayish, mud-stained clothes she was holding, and beneath them, a trembling hand.

"A senior apprentice from the Sword Pavilion sparred with me."

Yun Shuchen told her to put the clothes away, saying A Jin would wash them. Qing Zhouxue lowered her sleeve, still not revealing the injury.

"Come here."

She led her to her own bedchamber, took out some medicine bottles from the cabinet, and had Qing Zhouxue sit down. Qing Zhouxue sat straight on the stool while Yun Shuchen rolled up her sleeve.

Upon seeing it, Yun Shuchen found a large bruise on her wrist, stark against her fair skin—quite alarming. Yun Shuchen opened a bottle, and a bitter fragrance wafted out. This wasn't ordinary medicine; it was a powder made from high-grade pills she had obtained from Elder Liu.

Gently sprinkling it on, Yun Shuchen pressed and rubbed her hand, causing Qing Zhouxue to squirm in pain and bite her lower lip. Fortunately, the pain soon subsided, and the bruise faded like snow melting in summer.

"Are there any other injuries?"

Qing Zhouxue moved her wrist, which had fully recovered, and shook her head. Her knees had been scraped, but thanks to her strong self-healing, the wounds had already closed by the time she arrived.

"No more," she said, her eyes curving slightly as she politely added, "Thank you, Elder."

After all these years, she was still as courteous as ever. It seemed this girl just couldn't warm up to people.

But today, she had smiled. Qing Zhouxue rarely smiled; most of the time, her expression was blank, and even when happy, she would only curve her eyes slightly like that.

Quite adorable.

Suddenly charmed, Yun Shuchen asked her, "Which senior apprentice did you spar with?"

"Xiao..." Qing Zhouxue furrowed her brows, forgetting.

Yun Shuchen smiled faintly. "I see. The Sect Leader's senior disciple, isn't it?"

The next day, when Qing Zhouxue went for sword practice, she didn't see the arrogant Senior Disciple Xiao, but instead saw Chen Lianqing, who looked apologetic.

Chen Lianqing asked, "Is your hand okay?"

"Fine," Qing Zhouxue said, rolling up her sleeve to show only a faint mark.

Chen Lianqing sighed in relief. "Good. A sword cultivator's hands are precious. You can be hit anywhere, but never injure your hands. You're still young, your bones not fully hardened. If an old injury lingers, it could impede your progress."

"The Sect Leader was furious after hearing about it yesterday. He scolded Senior Disciple Xiao and confined him to kneel in the back mountain as punishment."

"I never should have entrusted that troublemaker."

Chen Lianqing sighed. "I thought he'd just lie around drinking and sleeping, maybe ignoring you at best. I never expected that when he got drunk, he'd think to spar with you without holding back."

"Is this the level of inner sect sparring?" Qing Zhouxue recalled her helplessness from the previous day and began to calculate how far she could go in four years.

"No," Chen Lianqing reassured her. "Xiao Hong was the champion back then, and he's had years more training than you. Naturally, it's different. The average sparring is far less intense."

Champion.

The Sect Leader's senior disciple was the champion. Did that mean Elder Yun's first disciple also needed to win first place to be worthy? Qing Zhouxue thought, a mysterious pressure building within her.

Life continued quietly. Qing Zhouxue would rise before dawn to practice sword, unshakable in her diligence; while Yun Shuchen, far more leisurely, would sleep in naturally. If the Sect Leader had important matters, she might occasionally attend, otherwise she would tend to her flowers and read in the courtyard, letting the day pass.

Her health remained poor, and she often coughed in cold, damp weather. Disciples from Lingsu Peak also came periodically to deliver medicinal herbs.

Boiling the medicine used to be A Jin's task, but now Qing Zhouxue had fully taken over. She deftly stoked the small stove, fanning the fire when it dimmed.

The resulting dark, bitter decoction would be placed on the table, allowed to cool to a comfortable temperature, before she presented it.

Yun Shuchen would often find the bowl, inconspicuously set on the table, each time she awoke between sleep. Beside it sat a neatly placed candied fruit, done in imitation, as if afraid she might find it too bitter.

Whenever the Elder Yun drank her medicine, she would think: truly a child, assuming everyone fears bitterness.

The doses continued intermittently for four years, and the sword practice never missed a day for all that time. She had grown four years older.

Half a year ago, Qing Zhouxue had easily passed the outer sect written exam. Today marked the ten-year agreement she had been waiting for since she was eight.

That day, heavy snow fell, fluttering in countless strands.

The elders of the inner sect were required to attend the grand competition. Yun Shuchen woke earlier than usual today. She lounged on her bed, shaking off sleep, then glimpsed a slender figure moving outside her window.

Raising her hand, she opened the window a crack.

The white-robed woman was practicing her sword. Her ink-black hair cascaded like a waterfall, her cool brows and eyes seemingly steeped in the wind and snow of Heyi Peak over the years.

With her final flourish, her sleeves billowed, her aura emanating natural grace, as the sword's tip stirred up the falling snow.

The weather was indeed cold.

Yun Shuchen exhaled a puff of white breath.

She watched only briefly before softly closing the window.

By the time Yun Shuchen had dressed and prepared to leave, Qing Zhouxue had already gone. As a participant, she naturally needed to arrive early.

A decade's grand competition; the main peak of Taichu Sect was elaborately decorated. Loose cultivators from all directions and children of cultivation families came seeking a chance.

A teeming crowd of participants gathered. Yun Shuchen took her seat beside Liu Xunqin, her gaze sweeping over the people below before eventually resting on Qing Zhouxue's face.

Qing Zhouxue stood alone, her sword strapped to her back, silent. Beside her was a red-robed woman with striking, deep features, who kept turning to chatter at her with a smile that never quit.

It was Ruan Mingzhu.

Qing Zhouxue hadn't been to the outer sect since she was fourteen, so they hadn't kept in touch. But by chance, fate was strange like that—today, at the grand assembly, they met again.

The exotic girl had grown up, now speaking fluent Chinese and donning Central Plains attire. She seemed exceptionally excited.

"Senior sister, which elder do you want to apprentice under? I've already had my eye on one for a month!"

Qing Zhouxue asked, "Who?"

"Elder Yun."

"...Why?"

"She's really beautiful," Ruan Mingzhu said, gazing at the distant figure on the high seat and giggling. The pretty girl laughed like a lecher, startling those around them.

Qing Zhouxue felt uneasy. After a pause, she gave a very slight nod. "I also want to go to Heyi Peak."

"Ah," Ruan Mingzhu beamed, grabbing her arm. "That's great! Do you think she's nice too?"

"Wait," Qing Zhouxue frowned. "Apprenticing is to learn skills. What does appearance have to do with that?"

Ruan Mingzhu said nonchalantly, "Just looking at my master's pleasing face boosts my cultivation instantly."

"..."

"Well, it's not like we know the dispositions of the peak elders. We just go by first impressions."

Qing Zhouxue thought silently that she knew quite well. Over the years, she had grown familiar with the elders of every peak, feeling almost half a step inside the inner sect.

"I'd love to see her every day. In my homeland, the wind and sand are rough—it's hard to produce beauties as delicate as a willow."

Qing Zhouxue silently thought again that she had already been seeing her for nearly ten years—subtracting the six years of closed-door cultivation, that left four.

"Ah!"

Qing Zhouxue felt a pinch on her arm, but the shrill voice came not from her, but from the excited Ruan Mingzhu, who was gripping her. "She, she, she's looking at me! And smiling at me!"

Qing Zhouxue couldn't help looking up. Yun Shuchen was probably looking at her, the corners of her mouth curling. Their gazes briefly met, then Yun Shuchen looked away, chatting and laughing with the Sect Leader.

A voice drifted lazily through her spiritual sea: "It's about to begin. Good luck."

The first few rounds were simply no challenge. The initial elimination was still among a mixed batch of apprentices, and Qing Zhouxue won easily.

As the matches progressed, it became like swimming against the current, gradually harder. Her opponents were all like her—those who had won several rounds.

A drop of sweat slid from her temple and fell, leaving a dark spot on the ground.

The man before her swung two fists as big as wine jars, smashing open the floor tiles with one punch, sending dust flying.

A little more.

Qing Zhouxue barely dodged a punch that could have broken her spine. She suppressed her racing heart, seeking an opening.

Matches were grouped by cultivation level. Qing Zhouxue cultivated quickly; she had reached the late Foundation Establishment stage, giving her a slight edge.

But her opponent wasn't far behind, and her cultivation advantage couldn't be stretched too wide.

The gap in physique and strength was much larger.

She couldn't attack head-on.

She didn't dare blink, staring fixedly at the man. A faint trace of mockery tugged at his lips, as if he held the victorious upper hand.

In a brief lull, he suddenly lunged, his fist whistling through the air, aiming to force her out of the ring.

Qing Zhouxue had been waiting for that moment. She condensed the air into ice in an instant, stepped on the ice shard, then kicked off the man's rising fist, using the momentum to leap upward.

Her robes fluttered as she flipped swiftly midair, like a white bird tucking its wings. As she swooped down, a cold gleam flashed in her hand, her sword stopping just an inch from the man's back.

A wave of gasps erupted from the crowd as the situation reversed in an instant.

But her opponent was clearly not easy to handle. Though his reaction was a step slow and he took her sword, his spiritual energy surged. Qing Zhouxue couldn't dodge in time, and she spat out a mouthful of blood.