Chapter 20: Saying Goodbye

The next day, at the arena.

The wind stirred the branches, leaves fluttering down as the black and white figures faced each other at the center of the arena.

The Shizun, with his crane-white hair, sat quietly on a nearby meditation cushion, watching.

The final match!

Both Lin Qiyou and Qingmu thought simultaneously.

“Draw your swords.”

At the Shizun’s command, the falling leaves stilled.

“Whoosh—”

The sword was drawn from its sheath, a cold gleam flashing forth, the blade’s shadow slicing through the scene of falling leaves.

“Tap—”

Footsteps echoed; the black and white forms blurred into afterimages, converging at the center like the union of yin and yang.

“Bang!”

The clash of swords, black and white blending, sparks bursting brilliantly.

“Boom!”

A powerful gust scattered in all directions, robes fluttering wildly, leaves flying up to the sky.

The Shizun’s hair and beard were tousled by the wind, and everything around them seemed to recede from the origin point centered on Lin Qiyou and Qingmu.

The Shizun had to stabilize himself with spiritual energy.

“Sizzle—”

It looked like a test of strength, a contest of force.

But for cultivators, this was trivial.

The Shizun guessed they were sizing each other up.

Lin Qiyou knew this was the final match.

Qingmu knew. He knew too.

The Shizun watched the white figure’s lightning-fast attacks, magic bursts launched one after another, sword qi attached to the blade slicing in waves.

The black figure dodged, looking battered and overwhelmed.

The Shizun frowned, sighing inwardly.

“Too slow! Qingmu!”

Lin Qiyou gripped her sword with both hands; magic surged from the hilt to the ground.

The sword tip lifted, causing countless stones mixed with spiritual energy to explode from the earth, shooting toward Qingmu amidst a cloud of dust blocking out the sky.

All is fair in war.

Trickery is also a path in cultivation.

Qingmu’s eyes were blinded by sand, ears blocked by gravel.

He instinctively wanted to slash with a sword qi wave to force back Lin Qiyou’s inevitable advance.

But as he summoned his spiritual energy, a phantom-limb pain struck sharply, nearly making him cry out.

He swung the sword, but no sword qi followed.

A cold gleam flashed; when he saw clearly, Lin Qiyou was already stepping on the tiny stones before him, flipping gracefully like a butterfly, spinning her sword beautifully as she thrust at him.

“Bang!”

Qingmu twisted his sword hilt, blocking Lin Qiyou’s blade, but instantly he felt an irresistible surge of spiritual energy.

That heavy power numbed his hand and arm.

The sword slipped from his grasp.

Lin Qiyou took advantage of the momentum, striking him in the chest with her knee, knocking him down.

Her sword blade pressed across his neck.

“Shing!”

Qingmu’s sword flew out of his hand, stuck in the ground beside him, swaying.

“Huff… huff…”

After only a few exchanges, Qingmu was defeated.

Every move was a flaw.

But now, Lin Qiyou was intoxicated by victory.

She straddled Qingmu’s body, her battle-hardened serious expression melting into disbelief, then wild joy and excitement.

Raising her long sword high, she stood up on Qingmu, playfully stepping over his body.

Since the age of six.

Eleven years. Eleven whole years.

She had always lost to Qingmu when facing him, never once winning.

Though every sparring session showed progress—visible to the naked eye—even then, she still couldn’t win.

Eleven entire years!

How much sweat, how much effort, how many tears had forged this day?

“I won!”

Lin Qiyou hadn’t shouted so loudly in a long time.

Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she glanced at Qingmu on the ground, then at the Shizun sitting on the meditation cushion, before retreating to the side to weep quietly.

“Huff…”

Qingmu seemed unable to think now.

His body ached terribly; pain mingled with numbness stirred restlessly in every pore.

He didn’t even have the strength to sit up.

Ah, he lost…

After so many matches, he had finally lost.

Lin Qiyou… that girl looked so happy.

Watching her cry then laugh, Qingmu couldn’t help but smile sincerely.

This was good enough.

Though this world was false, more likely an illusion.

It was still good.

He only needed to wait for the final spiritual vein transplant, and perhaps Lin Qiyou could carry a part of him forward on the path of immortality in this world?

“Sigh…”

The Shizun watched quietly from the side, unsure of what to say.

What a pity, such a pity.

This Qingmu child…

Though he had mentally prepared from the start, it wasn’t until this day that the Shizun realized he had tacitly accepted one disciple gradually overshadowing another over more than a decade.

Qingmu had never complained since the beginning, not once.

Humans are not heartless; after so long, the Shizun truly regarded this nearly flawless boy as a genuine disciple.

“Sigh…”

With another heavy sigh, the Shizun turned and left the arena.

Lin Qiyou cheered joyfully.

With the Shizun gone, she seemed even more unruly, the usual elegance of the noble daughter utterly gone.

She spun circles in the arena, even teasing Qingmu with a provocative, triumphant remark.

But soon, she regained her composure, realizing her earlier words may have hurt Qingmu.

Cautiously, she approached him and reached out her hand.

“Cough, don’t take what I said earlier to heart, okay?”

“Ugh…”

Qingmu stared at her for a moment, then covered his eyes and began to wail.

Pretending.

But Lin Qiyou believed him.

“Hey! Why are you crying? A grown man crying over one loss? I’ve lost so many times in these eleven years, have I ever cried once?”

“Just kidding!”

Qingmu suddenly grabbed Lin Qiyou’s hand.

“Eh?”

Lin Qiyou lost her balance, falling forward onto Qingmu’s chest.

“You, you tricked me?”

She tapped his chest, then seeing Qingmu staring blankly at the sky, she lay down beside him.

Their shoulders pressed close, heads leaning against each other, both gazing at the blue sky.

A leaf drifted down; Lin Qiyou picked it up from Qingmu’s shoulder to examine it.

“As blue as washed silk.”

Qingmu suddenly said.

“As blue as washed silk?”

Lin Qiyou glanced at the sky, pouted, and said, “There are so many clouds, how can it be as blue as washed silk? Did losing to me make your brain go dumb?”

“No, really, there are no clouds.”

Qingmu said something Lin Qiyou didn’t quite understand.

“Now… I’ve won.

I’m stronger than you.

Do you have anything to say to me?”

“No.”

“Really nothing?”

“Mm.”

“…”

Lin Qiyou looked at Qingmu, a trace of disappointment in her eyes.

But she soon closed them as if accepting it, then reopened them.

“I’ve decided.

Tomorrow, I’ll find a healer and get my spiritual vein fixed quickly!”

Qingmu turned to look at Lin Qiyou for a long while, then finally muttered, “Mm… that’s good… then I won’t have to wait until I’m eighteen. I’m afraid I won’t get the chance…”

“What do you mean?”

Lin Qiyou was a little annoyed, finding Qingmu both cowardly and puzzling.

“Nothing…”

Qingmu closed his eyes, his head tilting slightly toward Lin Qiyou.

“Just… want to say one last thing… goodbye…”

He spoke in a voice only he could hear.