Chapter 20

Qing Zhouxue went alone to visit Senior Sister Bai Su again. Elder Liu happened to be there as well, and after hearing her intention, gave a slight nod of approval.

"Healers rarely participate in such competitions, but I believe it's worth going." She glanced at Bai Su. "It's up to you."

Senior Sister Bai Su nodded and smiled. "To team up with this year's champion would naturally be an honor. Junior Sister, besides you and me, are there any other candidates?"

"Yes," Qing Zhouxue said, not hiding it. "Ruan Mingzhu is coming too."

Bai Su was taken aback. She turned to look at Liu Xunqin, as if wanting to say something but stopping.

Liu Xunqin took a puff of her pipe, expression indifferent. Her thin lips parted to release a cloud of smoke. "What are you looking at me for?"

"It's not like I'd hold a grudge over some little brat. She is rather noisy, though. If you want to go, go."

With that, Elder Liu left.

Qing Zhouxue remembered something and hurried to catch up. "Senior Uncle Liu."

Liu Xunqin paused and turned to look at her. "Oh, right. Your blood is just ordinary human blood. Nothing special."

"Should I cut again?"

Qing Zhouxue sighed inwardly and sliced open a wound on her arm. At first, there was nothing unusual, but within moments, the wound rippled like the surface of a lake before returning to perfectly smooth skin.

Liu Xunqin stared at that spot, then fell silent. "The healing is faster now. Perhaps it's related to your improved cultivation."

"Odd," she muttered, still deep in thought.

"Senior Uncle Liu," Qing Zhouxue followed her, clearly not asking about herself. "My master's illness has persisted for many years. Is there a cure?"

"Yun Shuchen?" Liu Xunqin snapped back to reality and said flatly, "If she listened to me, she wouldn't be like a sickly cat. Still, it won't kill her. Rest assured."

"What do you mean, she won't listen?"

"She used to be weak and prone to cold. I added a few ingredients to suppress the cold poison, but there are side effects." Liu Xunqin paused. "I suggested she find a cultivation partner—preferably with an Ice Spiritual Root."

Elder Liu glanced at Qing Zhouxue. "Too bad you're her disciple."

"Even if it drags on, it's not a big problem. She just can't stand heat or cold. She needs careful care."

Qing Zhouxue was stunned for a long moment. Then she thought it over—of course, she had no right to interfere with her master's personal life.

So she could only focus on daily care.

From then on, whenever Yun Shuchen coughed, she would receive a concerned look from her disciple, who would then wrap her up snugly and tuck her back into her room, handling her with great care.

Qing Zhouxue instructed A Jin to make the dishes lighter, to avoid irritating her master's delicate throat.

If it was because the room was stuffy, there was no need to worry—her cultivation had advanced enough to keep an entire room pleasantly cool.

Autumn wasn't even over yet, but Qing Zhouxue was already worrying about whether she could lower the temperature of the entire Heyi Peak next summer.

"What's the point of staying cooped up on the peak all day, staring at me?" Yun Shuchen said, slightly helpless, casting a glance at her.

"The sect competition isn't far off. Why not go find your junior sister and practice together?"

Qing Zhouxue only remembered that now. She gave an "Mm," and just as she stepped out, she turned back. "Master."

"It looks like rain. It'll be chilly this evening. Take care not to watch the rain."

The disciple's voice remained calm and even, her expression equally unreadable.

She never said much.

But Yun Shuchen felt that lately, her disciple had been nagging like an old mother, always fussing over food, clothing, shelter, and daily necessities—no youthful vigor at all.

Holding the Biluochun tea her disciple had just poured, she let out a soft sigh.

A rustling sound came from her feet.

"Come out," Yun Shuchen said coldly. "Whose cat are you, anyway? Why do you listen to her and not put chili in the dishes?"

The cat, who had been barely containing its laughter, immediately cowered and said honestly, "Your disciple is right. Avoiding spicy food is indeed good for your health."

Yun Shuchen nudged the cat away with her toe. "Traitor."

Taichu Sect, Martial Arts Arena.

Qing Zhouxue arrived and found Ruan Mingzhu and Bai Su already there.

"I asked the Sect Leader," Bai Su said in her gentle voice. "He said for the preliminaries, five is the maximum, but if we're confident, we can compete with fewer." She looked at the other two. "Should we recruit more?"

"Qing Zhouxue and I are enough," Ruan Mingzhu said dismissively. She gripped her saber and twirled it gracefully in a half-moon arc.

She had only mentioned Qing Zhouxue, a sword cultivator, but not Bai Su—most people thought healers were useless in battle.

Bai Su understood and sighed slightly.

The arena was equipped with formations that could project illusions for combat.

Ruan Mingzhu and Qing Zhouxue defeated many opponents in succession, showing real skill. But Bai Su, watching from the side, couldn't help thinking they were just fighting independently, with no coordination at all.

The flashes of blade and sword were dazzling, but there wasn't a hint of teamwork.

With those two fighting like that, Bai Su had no place to contribute, so she idled nearby. Being gentle-natured, she wasn't annoyed by being left out, only frowned slightly.

When the training session ended, Ruan Mingzhu felt she had fought to her heart's content. She sat down cross-legged, pleased, and asked, "Want to go again?"

The other two seemed uninterested, chatted briefly, and returned to their respective peaks.

The next day went much the same, but after a few rounds, they saw several figures approaching.

"Junior Sister Qing?"

It was Chen Lianqing, the Sect Leader's second disciple.

Qing Zhouxue nodded slightly, then noticed another gaze fixed on her—someone sizing her up.

It was Xiao Hong.

His right hand rested on his sword, while his left still held that trusty wine gourd. Recognizing Qing Zhouxue, he let out an ambiguous snort. "Oh, the little brat's all grown up."

Then he withdrew his gaze and stabbed his sword into the ground. "You beauties have had your matches. Time for us to use the arena."

Ruan Mingzhu found his arrogance irritating—he didn't even look at them properly when he spoke. She rolled her eyes. "First come, first served. I fought hard for this spot. Why should I give it to you?"

"Then there's nothing to talk about," Xiao Hong shrugged. "Draw your sword. You dare to fight?"

Ruan Mingzhu flared up instantly. "Fight, then!"

Bai Su seemed about to intervene, but that fiery figure had already charged, flame-wreathed saber slashing toward the opponent.

Xiao Hong sidestepped, rolling across the ground, then leaped up and landed. He patted the soot off his sleeve. "Since we're going to compete anyway, let's do it by the tournament rules."

"Fine," Qing Zhouxue suddenly spoke up.

"Oh." His gaze fell back on her again, mocking. "You're a grown-up now. Even if you break a leg, you won't go crying to your master, will you? If you did, this senior brother wouldn't dare fight you."

Qing Zhouxue said nothing. She slowly drew the Qingshuang Sword from her waist, a ring of clear frost condensing around it.

Ruan Mingzhu, meanwhile, could no longer contain her fighting spirit. The muscles of her arm bulged as she hoisted the saber one-handed and swung it viciously toward his shoulder.

Xiao Hong stood still, sword hugged to his chest, and spat out half a mouthful of wine.

A burst of flame ignited.

The fire exploded in midair. Ruan Mingzhu hadn't even seen his move before a silver sword came thrusting like a diving dragon toward her abdomen.

At that moment, Ruan Mingzhu was midair, exposing her weaknesses—her neck, her head—above Xiao Hong.

If she dodged his sword, she'd have to abort her own slash.

Ruan Mingzhu gritted her teeth. She overrode her instinct to dodge and brought the saber down with all her might.

But Xiao Hong's sword was light. He redirected it in time, twisting his body away, unwilling to press the exchange.

The distance between them widened again in an instant.

Qing Zhouxue had long experienced this senior brother's monkey-like agility. She wasn't surprised. With the Qingshuang Sword out, she directly cut off Xiao Hong's path.

Ruan Mingzhu wasn't suited to fight such a nimble sword cultivator, but Qing Zhouxue had trained hard these past years, and her speed could rival his.

The moment Qingshuang clashed with the silver sword, a hint of chill seeped into his bones.

Xiao Hong stared at the Qingshuang in surprise. "Fine sword!"

His interest piqued, his swordplay became wild and unpredictable—a storm of blows, so fast they left only afterimages.

Qing Zhouxue had little combat experience. She struggled to keep up, her eyes locked on his blade, her grip numbed by the shock of each impact.

Her wrist ached—the memory of an old injury throbbing.

The hand holding the sword loosened involuntarily.

Ruan Mingzhu pulled her saber from the ground and rushed over to help. Chen Lianqing also drew his sword. The four clashed in a chaotic melee.

But Qing Zhouxue's ice and Ruan Mingzhu's fire suppressed each other, making their attacks clumsy and mutually obstructive. The two senior brothers, both with Metal Spiritual Roots, cut through iron like mud, perfectly synchronized.

The fight ended when Ruan Mingzhu took a stab to the shoulder and was forced out of the arena.

She tapped a few acupoints around the wound to stop the bleeding, looking like she wanted to hoist the saber and charge back in.

But Xiao Hong raised a finger and wagged it at her. "No. We're just here to practice our swords, not play house with you."

Bai Su, supporting Ruan Mingzhu from the side, channeled her warm, jade-like spiritual power into the wound, stitching it closed like fine thread.

Qing Zhouxue fell silent, replaying his sword moves in her mind. For some reason, her parries always lagged a step behind.

Those afterimages—she couldn't see them.

A loud clang snapped her back to reality. She saw Ruan Mingzhu heft her saber and storm off in a huff.

Back at Heyi Peak.

Qing Zhouxue felt unusually troubled. She had lost to Xiao Hong six years ago, and back then it was understandable—she was young, weak, and unskilled.

Now she had lost again. She thought she had honed every move in the "Guiyi" sword manual to perfection, as natural as breathing.

She was also a sword cultivator. She had also trained for years.

Where exactly was the difference?

"What are you thinking?"

A familiar faint fragrance enveloped her, as if all the wind had ceased. Qing Zhouxue's body stiffened. She lowered her eyes and said obediently, "Nothing, Master."

"You seem to have come back earlier today." Yun Shuchen noticed the dust on her disciple's brow, the slightly disheveled hair, and the sword hanging low from exhaustion.

"Did you get into a fight?"

"Just a spar."

"Clearly a loss, then. Victory and defeat are common in battle. Don't dwell on it."

Seeing her disciple stay silent, Yun Shuchen smiled. "Do you feel embarrassed?"

Qing Zhouxue raised her eyes and shook her head.

Yun Shuchen undid her cloak. The air was getting chilly, and Qing Zhouxue hurried to stop her, but Yun Shuchen pressed her hand down.

"Speaking of which, I've never actually guided your martial arts." Yun Shuchen hung the cloak aside, casually tucked her hair back—a gesture of easy grace and charm.

She said unhurriedly, "Spar with me. Let's see where your shortcomings lie, shall we?"