Chapter 137

Qing Zhouxue's first reaction wasn't amusement, but solemnity.

Only those who had reached a certain level of cultivation could turn petals and leaves into swords.

She wasn't there yet.

What's more, Senior Ji had a Fire Spirit Root; this thing would burn black and soften under fire. That she dared to use it as a sword proved she was confident in her fire control.

The scallion turned slowly in her hand, then stopped, pointing right at Qing Zhouxue's face.

In that moment, a fierce wind rose.

Her white robes, which had hung still, billowed out behind her.

Within Qing Zhouxue's pitch-black eyes, a crimson flame flickered.

Years of practice made her instinctively take a defensive stance. The Qingshuang Sword first condensed a thin layer of ice, which thickened, forming a barrier before her.

But when that scorching sword intent swept over, the ice melted in an instant. Had it not left a puddle on the ground, it would have been as if it had never existed.

She shifted just in time, and the sword pierced through her shoulder.

Qing Zhouxue let out a muffled groan. Her hand trembled, going numb.

A burning smell reached her nose.

Ji Linjiang set the scallion down, glancing at the increasingly gloomy sky. Dark clouds gathered, threatening to soak her small plot.

Ah, the little sword cultivator's master was warning her.

But she didn't care—after all, the one who agreed to take these three strikes was the disciple herself.

The green-and-white object was gripped again. This time, Ji Linjiang's thrust wasn't aimed at her, but at the ground beneath her feet. A black line of scorched earth darted like a snake, and Qing Zhouxue couldn't dodge in time. She pointed the Qingshuang Sword down, lifting her body half into the air, swaying for a moment before she steadied herself with surprising speed.

Was she only going to dodge?

Just as Ji Linjiang felt disdain, the unexpected happened.

When the line of sparks blazed up, Qing Zhouxue, still half-floating, made a sudden slash at the sky. A thick sheet of frost formed on the ground, but of course it melted away at once. Yet in that fleeting moment, her sword left afterimages, as if countless blades were waving, layers of frost continuously reappearing.

This was one of her inspirations from four years of seclusion.

The combination of Flowing Cloud and Drifting Snow with Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Paths. The former served as the starting move, while the latter was a fierce manifestation of multiple sword intents. One was her own creation; the other came from a remnant sword manual left by a predecessor—but it allowed her to instantly lay down a thick layer of ice, overcoming the previous flaw of taking too long.

A single layer of ice couldn't melt fire, but with countless layers stacking densely and surging forward in succession, the sparks were extinguished before they could fully ignite.

Ji Linjiang was a bit taken aback. A white figure suddenly appeared before her, a flash of cold light trailing behind.

Thousands of snowflakes surged up, dazzling her vision.

The second sword technique Qing Zhouxue had crafted back then served not only defensively but could also blind the opponent.

The scallion in Ji Linjiang's hand was brimming with spiritual power, and she raised it to block, just barely meeting the Qingshuang Sword.

The rebound sent Qing Zhouxue flying backward. She hovered in midair for a moment, then landed lightly.

"Not bad."

Ji Linjiang raised an eyebrow at her.

"Your stance carries traces of Shenshan Shu, and the Qingshuang Sword in your hand was also used by him. What's your connection to the Sword Immortal?"

Qing Zhouxue was baffled for a moment. "I don't know any Sword Immortal. Apart from the Unified Sword Method taught by the Taichu Sect, I've only studied a remnant manual. I haven't even mastered the first move yet—it's given me plenty to ponder."

"Back then, the Sword Immortal never took disciples. I lamented that all his unique skills were lost, never imagining they'd come alive in you."

Ji Linjiang's gaze softened. With a wave of her hand, the scallion turned to ash.

Out of respect, she finally grew serious, drawing her natal sword. That long blade was pure black, as if surrounded by dancing sparks.

"This is the last strike."

* * *

Yun Shuchen stood outside, hands clasped behind her back, her expression increasingly displeased.

After an unknown time, a blaze burst from within, like a grand firework exploding.

Her heart clenched. In an instant, she teleported inside, her gaze fixed on the brightest part of the flames.

After the dust and ashes cleared,

two figures emerged from within. Yun Shuchen's heart pounded wildly, until she saw the white-clad girl standing in her usual glory—only then did she let out a faint sigh of relief.

Qing Zhouxue was at a disadvantage, coughing up a mouthful of blood. Her body swayed, but she didn't fall. Standing amidst a sea of flames, none of it touched her.

Three strikes had passed.

Ji Linjiang had started to take a liking to the talented young girl, feeling that winning through sheer cultivation suppression was boring. She could only regret that this girl's swordplay was exquisite, yet she was so young, unable to fight her to the fullest.

So she simply suppressed her cultivation by three realms, continuing to thrust at Qing Zhouxue without pause.

The black sword and silver sword clashed, sparks and broken snow complementing each other.

One attacked with fierce ease, the other's sword intent was calm and centered.

As the fight dragged on, it no longer seemed a contest, but rather a tacit and coordinated dance.

With a sharp clang, Ji Linjiang sheathed her long sword. She looked down at Qing Zhouxue from above, frowning as she asked, "That last strike—how did you manage to block it?"

Qing Zhouxue thought for a long time, silent.

When the gentle breeze once again lifted her hair, she didn't speak of technique, nor of cultivation.

"My conscience is clear."

The strike against the Xu Family descendant—she had never regretted it, nor had she ever regretted trusting Yun Shuchen.

The Immortal Ascension Assembly was also a test of the heart. The path of the sword was long, and every one of her strikes had been justified; naturally, she wouldn't hesitate or waver.

Ji Linjiang smiled. "Good. Three strikes have passed. At this Immortal Ascension Assembly, no one will stop you from entering."

Whether one's heart was righteous—for a sword cultivator, it could be seen in every move, and even more so in one's sword intent.

"Thank you, Sen—" The word 'Senior' hadn't even left her mouth when another trickle of blood seeped from the corner of Qing Zhouxue's lips. Yun Shuchen steadied her, casting a glance at Ji Linjiang. Her gaze seemed to speak volumes, but she held back because this woman still had to preside over the Immortal Ascension Assembly, and Qing Zhouxue still had to participate.

Ji Linjiang waved her hand, then turned and leaped up into a tree, where she reclined.

* * *

The two returned to the stream where they had come. Qing Zhouxue's steps were still a little unsteady, and blood again seeped from the corner of her mouth.

"Rest for a moment."

Yun Shuchen helped her sit down, casually wiping away the red trace at the corner of her mouth. The wound on Qing Zhouxue's shoulder healed quickly, but the blood that had already flowed had inevitably soaked that area.

When she withdrew her hand, it was stained with faint specks of red.

"Does it hurt?"

Yun Shuchen peeled away her layers of clothing bit by bit, until the last layer, where she grew more gentle, carefully tearing it away. Fortunately, it hadn't been long, so the fabric hadn't yet stuck stubbornly to the wound.

Qing Zhouxue let out a slight breath and relaxed, leaning against her master. "A little."

Yun Shuchen's hand, holding the medicine pill, halted for a moment, then withdrew. Her voice turned cold. "It's good to feel pain. Might teach you a lesson."

Qing Zhouxue simply said, "...I was confident."

Her instincts had always been reliable.

Yun Shuchen ignored her, clutching the medicine bottle tightly. Until her sleeve was tugged, and a plea came: "Master."

She lowered her gaze. Qing Zhouxue, leaning against her, had called out, then quietly closed her eyes.

She didn't move.

Qing Zhouxue lightly responded.

Yun Shuchen stared at her profile, then pinched her cheek with two fingers, leaving a red mark. Qing Zhouxue's brow furrowed slightly, then quickly relaxed, lifting her eyes to look at her.

They were alone now. Her clothes had been pulled open, her dark hair loose, revealing one delicate half of her body.

Yun Shuchen teased her face, but she made no sound, accepting it quietly.

Her master's fingertips suddenly moved downward, tracing her neck's line. She shivered, her vision darkened, and the woman pressed down, touching lips to hers, slowly brushing against them.

Her chin was lifted, her neck forced to stretch upward.

"Beautiful."

What was beautiful? Qing Zhouxue's breath tightened. She felt that soft warmth cover her lips, and then softly lick over the blood. This kiss wasn't gentle; it seemed tinged with chagrin, and at the end, she even nipped hard.

A stinging pain came at her mouth, as if the skin had broken again.

A fingertip pressed onto the spot, smearing the bead of blood evenly. Qing Zhouxue's head was tilted up a little more, her mouth forced open.

She stared at her master in a daze. Yun Shuchen stood before her, blocking the light, making the sky barely visible.

The finger that had been pressed upon her lips slid inside a little. It moved with gentle, repeated grinding and curling.

Qing Zhouxue was forced to take her finger into her mouth.

Her master's beautiful face, stained with blood at the lips, seemed as if painted with cinnabar. Under such an uncomfortable position, Qing Zhouxue's brow subtly furrowed, instinctively wanting to turn her head away, but held in place by Yun Shuchen's grip on her chin.

Yun Shuchen herself didn't know what she was doing. She looked down at her for a long moment, then let out a sigh, shifting her gaze away and finally releasing her.

Qing Zhouxue's throat was uncomfortable, and she coughed a few times, a thin layer of tears welling in her eyes.

Her face suddenly felt cold again—Yun Shuchen, with an expression of disgust, wiped her hand on her disciple's face.

Then she opened the medicine bottle, poured out the powder, and applied it to Qing Zhouxue's wound. It was only then that her movements truly became gentle.

But while applying the medicine, a gaze followed her like a shadow, never letting go.

"Why is Master angry with me?"

After Yun Shuchen sprinkled the last of the medicine, she heard Qing Zhouxue ask this.

Ever since she was very young, Qing Zhouxue had always observed Yun Shuchen with intense focus. Subtle expressions, every smile, frown, anger, and pout—all were captured in her eyes. She would memorize them, store them away like Liu Xunqin organizing herbs, and then contemplate them to know what her master was feeling.

When Yun Shuchen raised her head again, the broken skin on her lips had already healed quickly, and the wounds on her body were almost fully recovered.

She glanced at Qing Zhouxue. "I told you—you must cherish your life."

With that, Yun Shuchen grabbed the half of the garment that had been removed, now stained with blood and dirt. She frowned. "It's stained like this, and torn in a few places. A cleansing spell won't clean it in an instant. Since we're alone here, change into a fresh set of clothes first."

A moment of silence.

"Master, I didn't bring any."

Yun Shuchen had just risen, brushing off her sleeves, and paused at the words. Helplessly, she said, "What did I tell you before we came down the mountain? Didn't I tell you to pack?"

"At that time, you said to keep things simple, just bring the essentials."

Qing Zhouxue hugged the Qingshuang Sword to her chest and gave a light cough: "So I only brought this."