Chapter 136

With a bang, the door slammed shut.

The dust it kicked up nearly made Qing Zhouxue cough.

Covering her mouth, she glanced at her master. Yun Shuchen stared ahead for a long moment, then let out a soft sigh and said composedly, "When I went down into a certain secret realm many years ago, I encountered this person. We traveled together for a while. Back then, I hadn't yet achieved fasting, so I casually used her sword to cut..."

"A few scallions."

Yun Shuchen frowned. "Who would have thought she'd be so grudging—she chased me with her sword the whole way. Years later, she still remembers me."

Qing Zhouxue's expression froze for a second. For a sword cultivator, having the lingering smell of scallions on one's natal sword was an absolutely disheartening affair.

"A sword is not like other implements; it's more like a other half, of extraordinary significance."

"Is that so?" Yun Shuchen suddenly took the Qingshuang Sword, which struggled symbolically before returning to docile calm.

She looked at Qing Zhouxue and asked softly, "Which is more important—it or me?"

"Both are of equal importance."

"What if you must rank them?"

Qing Zhouxue's forehead broke out in a cold sweat. She answered slowly, "Qingshuang was a gift from my master."

Yun Shuchen was satisfied. She returned the sword and stopped pressing her.

Just then, Qing Zhouxue heard the sword spirit of Qingshuang mutter something in a low voice, too indistinct to catch.

Probably cursing her master.

"Then I'll go in and see her myself." Qing Zhouxue sheathed her sword and stepped forward again. Yun Shuchen had the same intention; she conjured a rattan chair outside and sat down comfortably. The spot was shaded, and tea was already prepared.

"By the way."

Qing Zhouxue turned her head again and found her master had pressed two small purple jars into her hands, tied together with a rope knot. They smelled like wine.

"Bring a gift."

Though the door was shut, entering wasn't difficult. Ji Linjiang closing the door only signaled her unwillingness to see visitors. Qing Zhouxue held the rope in one hand, stepped off the wall like a lightness skill, and flew over.

Before she landed, several sword intents lashed out. Qing Zhouxue blocked with her horizontal sword, but she still couldn't avoid drawing a little blood—a cut on her cheek burned for an instant, then healed silently.

The sword paths before her were entirely different from what she had seen of Taichu Sect's swordsmanship—more fierce and heavy, yet not lacking agility.

A trace of admiration flashed in Qing Zhouxue's eyes.

So the senior was a fire spirit root.

Spirit roots and temperament were somewhat linked—at least most cultivators thought so. Those with fire roots were either passionate and sincere, or fierce and unrestrained, not bound by worldly conventions. As long as one treated them sincerely, they weren't hard to get along with.

As she landed, her robes fluttered, and the jars wobbled, but luckily stayed intact.

This time, Ji Linjiang sat on a tree—an ancient tree thick as five people embracing, quite tall. Qing Zhouxue had to crane her neck to look at her.

"Not bad cultivation base."

The woman leaned against a branch, brows furrowed. "You're her disciple?"

"Yes."

"Then leave." Her tone turned suddenly irritable.

Qing Zhouxue had never given gifts, and she didn't know how to make pleasantries. She simply tossed the jar up. "My master is my master; I am myself. I'm the one who has a request for you, Senior."

The jar swayed with half a measure of wine, its fragrance bitter and clear—truly a rare vintage not seen in a century.

Ji Linjiang hadn't intended to take it, but as the jar brushed past her shoulder, she seemed reluctant to let it shatter, so she hooked it loosely with her hand.

She glanced at it, then stared hard at the figure standing below with proper posture. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "What realm are you at?"

Qing Zhouxue was taken aback; she couldn't quite say. She estimated herself to be around late Nascent Soul to early Spirit Transformation, but for her, such boundaries didn't matter much.

Yun Shuchen had said not to reveal it casually.

So she reported lower: "Late Nascent Soul."

"What's the matter?"

The tree's shadow swayed.

"I want to participate in the Immortal Ascension Assembly."

Ji Linjiang found it odd. "All you need is to register at your own sect—why come to me?"

"It's a long story."

"Then make it short!"

"I killed a person, with many misunderstandings involved. The assembly won't accept those of ill intent. But I don't think I am one of them. Senior, you are nobly upright; I wonder if you could testify on my behalf."

Ji Linjiang listened to her recount the matter for a bit, her interest piqued. She hung the jar on a tree branch, then dropped down from the tree. This time, she didn't plunge into the dirt but landed flat on the ground, stirring a thin layer of dust, yet no pain showed on her face.

When she sat cross-legged, she was still immaculately clean. Ji Linjiang looked at the person before her and deliberately said, "But you've already killed someone—that's a fact. I've only just met you; we're neither family nor friends, and I don't know your background. Why should I vouch for you?"

Qing Zhouxue thought it over. "What you said..."

Ji Linjiang expected to see a hint of embarrassment on her face.

There was none—she remained as indifferent as a still well.

Qing Zhouxue mused for a while, then nodded straightforwardly. "That makes sense."

Ji Linjiang was taken aback, then couldn't help laughing twice. "So does that mean you're giving me these two jars for nothing?"

She was nothing like her master. As expected, an ice-root sword cultivator had no such twists and turns.

Ji Linjiang clearly appreciated this type more. She eyed the Qingshuang Sword again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "This year, I indeed preside. I find you a bit interesting, girl. It's not impossible for me to act as a guarantor."

"Please state your terms."

"Take your Qingshuang and receive three strikes from me." Ji Linjiang said, "I won't go easy. If you can still walk out of here standing, I'll agree to your request. If you die, call your master in to collect your corpse—no need to worry about the assembly."

She chuckled. "Isn't that simpler?"

Three strikes.

Qing Zhouxue assessed in her heart: Senior Ji is of her master's generation, at least two or three major realms above her.

If it were to defeat her, that would be wishful thinking. But if it were only to receive three strikes, she could offset part with her cultivation, and dodge part as well. Though risky, it wasn't impossible.

Moreover, the few sword shadows she casually waved earlier were broad and exquisite. Qing Zhouxue wondered what Ji Linjiang would look like when she struck seriously.

She found herself a little curious.

She steadied herself. "Fine."

No sooner had she answered than a voice came from behind: "Go."

She turned to see Yun Shuchen, who had somehow entered. It was clear the conversation between the two hadn't escaped her ears.

Her master's face was cold. She walked up, grabbed Qing Zhouxue's hand, and said in a low voice, "What 'receive three strikes'? Whatever she says, you listen? There are other ways—think again—"

Before Qing Zhouxue could speak, Ji Linjiang smiled brightly. "I don't vouch for cowards. Scared? Then leave. I'll pretend you never came."

Yun Shuchen's gaze dropped. She saw Qing Zhouxue's expression shift subtly; her eyes strayed to Ji Linjiang's precious sword, then quickly returned to her.

With just that glance, Yun Shuchen guessed her thoughts. She tightened her grip on Qing Zhouxue's hand but didn't let go.

Qing'er likely wanted to take the strikes. Perhaps not all for the assembly.

Qing Zhouxue had few senior sword cultivators she could actually emulate; most she encountered were peers of similar level. This opportunity was once in a blue moon. Since childhood, she'd flip through any ragged sword manual she came across—less out of diligence than genuine interest.

If it had been Hall Master Li joking like this, Yun Shuchen wouldn't worry, for she knew him well and had a good relationship with some mutual interests. He wouldn't dare harm her disciple.

But she wasn't particularly familiar with Ji Linjiang. They had met only once in their youth, and had a small falling-out.

Unpredictable.

Three strikes could be enough to kill her.

Qing Zhouxue looked at her with focused eyes, then gave a faint smile, but her words were not aimed at the present. "Master, I jumped off Yimeng Cliff back then with the determination to die."

But she had already set up a formation that day to ensure no harm would come—how could that compare? Yun Shuchen was about to retort, but realized—Qing Zhouxue didn't know about the formation.

For Qing Zhouxue, both times were life-and-death choices, no different.

Over the years, she had more worries and emotions, but some things hadn't changed. At critical moments, like the cold, hard object in her hand, her blade always pointed forward.

Yun Shuchen had once appreciated this—the girl was quiet and obedient, but at least not timid. Yet back then, Qing Zhouxue was just a strange child she'd picked up for a few years; if she fell, got hurt, or was frightened, to put it callously, she wouldn't hurt too much.

Now, the situation was vastly different.

Qing Zhouxue's wrist was cold. Yun Shuchen clutched it tightly, then felt another hand gently stroke the back of hers.

"Trust me, Master."

The next moment, Qing Zhouxue released her hand and turned to face Ji Linjiang. Knowing her resolve, Yun Shuchen stopped persuading, only casting a deep, cold glance at Ji Linjiang.

In that look, Ji Linjiang understood.

If anything happened to the cold young woman before her, the seemingly gentle yet fierce old woman behind her would slice her into a thousand pieces.

Ji Linjiang had never feared anything in her life. She wasn't intimidated, either. She laughed nonchalantly and said to Qing Zhouxue, "Your master can't stay here. What if she blocks a strike for you at a critical moment?"

Yun Shuchen's expression grew colder. She stood still for a moment, then suddenly flicked her sleeve and left.

Qing Zhouxue listened as the footsteps faded behind her, and tightened her grip on her sword.

At that moment, she drew the frost-misted Qingshuang Sword from its sheath. As it came out, the blade flashed cold light, like the gleam of ten-thousand-year-old ice.

Ji Linjiang showed a hint of admiration, fleeting, quickly vanishing into her eyes. The sword in her own hand seemed an ordinary iron blade, nothing special.

Ji Linjiang seemed dissatisfied, even discarding that sword. Her gaze swept around, spotted something, nodded thoughtfully, and called it to her hand with empty fingers.

A scallion—green and delicate as bamboo at the top, plump and white at the bottom—flew from some corner. She gripped it firmly and twirled a beautiful sword flourish.