Chapter 50

After the draw assigned the order, the competition began.

The Liuyun Sect had sent few people, and Qing Zhouxue's group fought their way to the finals, encountering some close calls but managing overall. Eventually, they inevitably faced Gu Ruoshui.

Throughout the previous matches, the elders had all been watching. That senior disciple of the Liuyun Sect barely exerted any effort.

Though she held only a single sword, when she thrust it, one could see the blade's afterimages like a thousand-armed Guanyin.

Qing Zhouxue was also a sword cultivator, and when she looked closely, she saw that the black sword was entwined with a sword spirit, clearly having absorbed many other swords.

She suddenly understood why this woman, despite being a Thunder Spirit Root, had taken a liking to the Qingshuang Sword that radiated chill.

Standing across from Gu Ruoshui, Qing Zhouxue tried to ignore the prickling, stinging sensation like needles all over her body.

"I've heard you're one of the finest sword cultivators in the Taichu Sect," Gu Ruoshui said coolly. "Would you be willing to have a private bout with me, Miss Qing?"

"That wouldn't comply with the competition rules."

"No matter. This isn't an official match, just a friendly spar. We can ask the elders." She turned toward the distant viewing stand.

The elders of the Liuyun Sect said that since this was the Taichu Sect's home ground, such a request should be decided by the Taichu Sect's Sect Leader. The Sect Leader pondered for a moment. Since the Taichu Sect had risen to power through swordsmanship, it would be hard to refuse. He lightly nodded his consent.

"Thank you, Senior," Gu Ruoshui said, turning her gaze back to Qing Zhouxue.

Ruan Mingzhu grabbed Qing Zhouxue's arm and tightened her grip slightly. "This woman is clearly after you, Senior Sister. Be careful."

Qing Zhouxue nodded. She drew the sword at her waist, and a layer of white frost, like mist, spread around her.

As she walked those few steps toward her opponent, the sensation of ants crawling over her skin grew increasingly pronounced. She halted, meeting Gu Ruoshui's gaze, in which a silver bolt of lightning flickered faintly, carrying immense pressure.

Qing Zhouxue stood resolute, her back straight, neither humble nor arrogant. This was for the dignity of the Taichu Sect and the dignity of her master; she must not show any sign of weakness.

But only she knew that a thin layer of sweat had already formed on her palms.

The Sect Leader had been watching them, first sizing up Gu Ruoshui, then focusing on Qing Zhouxue, sensing something was off. "What's wrong? She looks so pale. She couldn't have been injured earlier."

"She's nervous," Yun Shuchen said, having kept her eyes fixed on her own disciple and already sensed the change.

Cultivators had excellent eyesight, and Yun Shuchen could even make out Qing Zhouxue's thumb rubbing against the sword hilt, again and again.

She had watched the girl practice swordsmanship for many years. Qing'er's sword moves were clean and decisive, without any superfluous strokes; she didn't usually have such nervous habits.

She was so eager to smooth over whatever troubled her, as if something was weighing on her mind.

Her disciple had always been unflappable. Even at grand occasions like the inner sect competition, she had shown no sign of fear, remaining as composed as if Mount Tai had crumbled before her.

Why was she nervous now?

Yun Shuchen racked her brain but couldn't figure it out.

On the martial arts field—

In that instant, Gu Ruoshui drew her sword and struck first, thrusting toward her. Due to her spiritual root, the sword's tip tore through the void, leaving a trail of silver lightning.

The moment it touched skin, it would scorch a black patch. Qing Zhouxue dodged those brilliant electric flashes, but the sword wind still grazed her, sending a strand of black hair from her temple drifting down.

It landed on the Qingshuang Sword's blade, froze into a needle, and then vanished completely into the wind.

She had yet to strike, using her sword as a brush and the ground as paper, leaving a thin layer of ice in the gaps between her dodges.

The weather today was too hot, which wasn't to her advantage. So Qing Zhouxue couldn't rush to attack recklessly; she first needed to lower the temperature in the arena. Relying on her extremely agile footwork, she avoided the blade that occasionally grazed past her hair.

Several thrusts missed their mark, and a cold glint flickered in Gu Ruoshui's eyes. She closed them, and when she opened them again, a serpentine bolt of lightning shot from her sword's edge, converging above Qing Zhouxue.

Lightning traveled in an instant, spanning a thousand miles.

But where Qing Zhouxue's sword tip pointed, the very air seemed to stagnate. Seizing that delay, she rolled to the side, leaving a long trail of crackling sounds on the ground.

Just as Gu Ruoshui intended to press the advantage, she took a step and ice spikes erupted from the ground, blocking her path.

Years of training allowed Qing Zhouxue to react swiftly. Before her mind could form a thought, her body had already scrambled up, and with a push of her toes, she seized the perfect moment—just as the ice spikes shattered—to thrust her sword through the broken ice and frost, striking toward Gu Ruoshui's shoulder.

This was a golden opportunity.

She had practiced her swordsmanship for five years; this strike should not have missed.

Amidst the sound of shattering ice, a brilliant light mixed with faint thunderclaps burst forth, momentarily stunning her mind.

In that split second, memories flooded back. She was again the helpless little girl, chased by heavenly thunder seeking her life, her heart pounding wildly as she rolled down the hillside, running desperately, fighting to survive—never knowing when she'd be obliterated in the lightning, perhaps in the very next moment.

Then came the tribulation, when her master wasn't present, and several heavenly thunders struck down all at once. The ground seemed to cave in, and wherever the thunderfire passed, grass and trees turned to ash. She watched helplessly as everything familiar crumbled in an instant, powerless to stop it.

In that moment of distraction, pain exploded in her chest. The black sword pierced through her shoulder, and the force sent her flying, slamming her into the ground, where she spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Junior Sister!" A commotion arose, and Bai Su and Lin Xunzhen rushed to support her, calling her name loudly.

Qing Zhouxue's vision went black, and she lost consciousness.

*

When she woke, her ears were peaceful, and a wisp of medicinal fragrance drifted to her nose.

She thought she was on Lingsu Peak, but she detected a hint of Jiuhe incense mingled with the medicinal scent. Qing Zhouxue relaxed completely. Opening her eyes, she found Yun Shuchen sitting nearby, stirring a bowl of medicine with a spoon.

"Does the wound still pain you?"

Yun Shuchen set the bowl down on the bedside table, then gently parted the clothing over her shoulder. The skin there was charred black, but signs of healing were visible, and it no longer seeped blood.

"I'm fine—" Qing Zhouxue tried to sit up, but the movement pulled at her wound, and pain stole her voice.

A soft sigh reached her ears, and her shoulder was gently eased up.

The edge of the bed dipped.

Yun Shuchen wrapped one arm around her, letting her rest against her shoulder, while the other hand held a small bottle of medicinal powder. She sprinkled the powder over the wound and carefully applied it with her soft fingertip.

Qing Zhouxue leaned against her, breathing in the fragrance from her neck, and felt that being injured like this, held by her, was strangely peaceful. She found it rather comforting.

Drowsiness crept over her, and from outside came the patter of rain, drumming against the bluish-gray eaves.

Just as Qing Zhouxue was relaxing, a sudden clap of thunder roared. She jerked her leg, nearly throwing herself off the bed. Fortunately, Yun Shuchen caught her in time, frowning. "What's wrong?"

Qing Zhouxue, at a loss, clutched at her sleeve, biting her lower lip without a word.

She rarely showed such a fragile expression.

Yun Shuchen had always been perceptive. She had noted the girl's unusual behavior today, and now, with the rumbling thunder and the thunder-attribute girl from earlier, pieces clicked into place in her mind. She soon understood.

"Are you afraid of thunder?"

By the time Yun Shuchen finished applying the powder, the wound had largely healed. She folded the fabric back over the injury but didn't withdraw, allowing her disciple something to lean on.

Qing Zhouxue was still tense, but then she was turned over, and her chin came to rest on Yun Shuchen's shoulder.

A hand gently patted her back, and the woman spoke softly, "You have the red string now; no thunder can strike you. Don't be afraid, Qing'er."

Qing Zhouxue lay against her, momentarily stunned. Since Master had embraced her of her own accord, wasn't she allowed to be a bit less reserved?

She instinctively decided she could. When the next flash of lightning crossed the sky, she couldn't help but wrap her arms around Yun Shuchen's waist, closing her eyes and pressing close as tightly as her heart desired.

She let out a shallow breath. Remembering the day's events, a wave of confusion washed over her, and she didn't know what to say. Fingertips tightened and loosened on her master's robes before she finally spoke three words. "...I'm sorry."

She felt she had let her master down again.

"To have fears and worries is only natural," Yun Shuchen said, not a hint of reproach in her voice, speaking words of wisdom in a soothing tone. "There's no need to dwell on it."

"Natural?" Qing Zhouxue felt she didn't usually experience such feelings so acutely.

"Of course it's natural. In ancient times, humans lived among forests and thickets, roaming to and fro, sleeping in the open and eating wild fare. They lacked the fangs and claws of beasts—while still small and helpless, what do you think kept them alive?"

"Humans... the most intelligent of beings. Perhaps it was their innate wisdom," Qing Zhouxue said after a moment's thought.

"Cleverness isn't something everyone knows how to use, nor is it always available," Yun Shuchen countered. "But the fear of death is engraved in the bone and marrow. It can drive people to strive diligently, to gather firewood and huddle together, to struggle by any means necessary, to carve out a thread of life between heaven and earth."

"And most living beings in this world are like that." Yun Shuchen's hand still rested on her back. "Those who don't fear have long since perished. So it's entirely normal—you needn't feel guilty."

Though her master had taken a roundabout way, Qing Zhouxue later realized the sermon had little to do with her current situation. Yet, hearing it, the dust in her heart was unknowingly wiped clean, and the violent storm and thunder that had filled her ears no longer seemed so terrifying.

Perhaps most importantly, she was holding her now, like a lone boat moored to the shore, unafraid of wind and waves.

Slowly, she set down her burdens, and exhaustion washed over her. Breathing in the familiar scent, she soon drifted off to dreamland.

Yun Shuchen felt the breathing on her shoulder become even and deep, and the girl's arms gradually loosened and fell away.

Truthfully, she could have stopped the rain and silenced the thunder. The hand seal was already formed, but for some reason, after Qing Zhouxue had returned her embrace so willingly, she slowly abandoned the thought.

Because her disciple had grown up and no longer instinctively drew close, the distance between master and disciple had become more pronounced. Yun Shuchen supposed it was due to her own refusals during that period. Her disciple hadn't struggled against it but had simply accepted it.

But when Qing Zhouxue truly accepted it, Yun Shuchen began to regret it. Moreover, as one missed opportunity piled upon another, a sliver of regret that had once been thin now layered repeatedly—until it became three parts melancholy, seven parts anguish, and a full measure of regret.

These moments were precious, like rare treasures—each embrace was one fewer.

Yun Shuchen lowered her eyes and closed them as well, letting her disciple lean against her for a while. She restrained herself from sinking too deep into the feeling, and after a brief moment, she gently eased the girl down, half-carrying her back onto the bed.

She rose and pushed open the door. Two emerald cat eyes met hers, the owner perched on a tree branch, curling its tail.

Yun Shuchen looked up. "Go find Miao Shun. From now on, record everything regarding the Liuyun Sect's movements, down to the smallest detail. What was delivered to me before was too rough—tell her not to bother filtering it."

"Go."

A rustling sound came from the shadows among the leaves, and the cat figure vanished.