Morning mist clung to the pines and cypresses of Reflection Cliff, while the soft clink of iron swords striking blue stone gradually echoed down the steps.
Lin Nan was practicing the third turning of the Technique of Flowing Clouds.
In the morning light, her iron sword twisted out a silver arc, true qi crawling half a foot along the blade before suddenly stalling at her wrist’s turn.
The sword tip struck the edge of the stone table with a sharp “clang,” sending a numbness across the webbing between her thumb and forefinger.
“Why the rush?”
Shu Ying’s bamboo staff lightly tapped the back of her hand. The force was gentle, but it stopped Lin Nan’s movement instantly.
Standing beside her, Shu Ying’s ash-gray Dao robe clung to her slender figure in the morning breeze. Her dark eyes fixed on the ordinary iron sword.
“The true qi must flow smoothly, and the sword intent must twist like wringing a wet cloth. You have to loosen first, then tighten. Otherwise, the sword will shatter.”
Lin Nan took a deep breath and slowed her motion, following Shu Ying’s advice.
The true qi twisted through her meridians, carrying that stubborn demonic aura back to the blade. This time it obeyed, turning along with the sword’s momentum, whipping up a gust of wind that scattered scattered the technique scrolls atop the stone table.
One piece drifted perfectly over the small cat note Shen Yuer had left yesterday, covering the plump round bottom of the little cat drawing.
“Not bad.”
Shu Ying retracted her staff and lightly traced a finger down the sword’s spine, where an old dent marked a previous parry.
“The sword’s former owner was just too impatient, which is why their meridians broke.”
Lin Nan tightened her grip on the hilt.
The Qingyun Sect’s records mentioned that three hundred years ago, a sword cultivator had recklessly tried to fuse demonic energy with sword qi, pushing too far and exploding from within.
Since then, demonic arts had been completely discarded, relegated to dusty bookshelves forgotten by all.
“I know my limits,” she said softly, flipping her wrist. The iron sword traced a smooth circle in the sunlight, flowing like water around stones.
Shu Ying watched her movements carefully, the sword’s shadow reflecting in her dark eyes. Suddenly she asked, “Your teacher never taught you how to wield the sword?”
Lin Nan’s sword stance halted abruptly, her blade nearly stabbing her own foot.
She glanced down at the sword’s shadow on the blue stone and muttered quietly, “I have no teacher.”
“Oh,” Shu Ying’s voice held no emotion. She turned and walked toward the stone table.
“Then all the more reason to go slow. If the foundation’s crooked, it’ll be hard to fix later.”
Suddenly, footsteps pitter-pattered on the stone steps below, accompanied by the rattle of small pebbles.
“Xiao Lin! Elder Xunlin!”
Shen Yuer came running up, carrying a bamboo basket lunchbox, a cocklebur stuck in her hair, cheeks flushed from the rush.
She waved a yellow talisman at Lin Nan excitedly.
“Look! I drew a Wind Talisman!”
The talisman fluttered on its own, edges curling with tiny whirlwinds that caught a few strands of Lin Nan’s loose white hair, twisting gently around her wrist before drifting lightly onto the lunchbox.
“Impressive,” Lin Nan smiled, reaching out to pluck the cocklebur from Shen Yuer’s hair.
When her fingertips touched Shen Yuer’s earlobe, the girl shrank back as if burned, but her eyes sparkled like stars.
Shu Ying stood by the stone table, her gaze dimming as she watched their fingers touch.
Turning toward the stone chamber, her voice drifted through the mist:
“Have ‘Technique of Flowing Clouds’ mastered by noon. Figure out the rest yourself.”
Lin Nan watched Shu Ying’s back disappear into the chamber, then noticed a small celadon jar on the stone table.
Inside was a paste-like substance, with a note tucked beneath:
“Apply to the webbing of the hand to prevent calluses.”
The slender handwriting matched the annotations in the sword manual.
“Elder Xunlin treats you well,” Shen Yuer leaned closer, reaching for the jar, but Lin Nan grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t touch the elder’s things.”
She slipped the jar into her sleeve pouch and ruffled the little girl’s hair.
“Go practice your talismans.”
Shen Yuer blinked and suddenly leaned in near her ear.
“Do you think… she likes you?”
Lin Nan glared and tapped her forehead.
“You’re just a kid, don’t say nonsense.”
“I’m sixteen! Not a kid!” Shen Yuer protested, clutching her forehead but secretly smiling as she pulled out two warm steamed buns from the lunchbox.
“Hurry, eat these before they get cold and hard.”
As the morning sun spread across the stone table, two figures appeared at the foot of Reflection Cliff.
Lin Nan’s iron sword traced arcs in the sunlight, while Shen Yuer sat on the stone steps drawing talismans.
The talisman paper occasionally fluttered from the sword’s wind, only to be gently blown back by her Swift Wind Talisman.
Just after noon, they descended the mountain together.
Passing the Martial Practice Arena, they heard cheers washing over like a tide.
“Wow! Shen Junior Sister’s beast-taming skills are amazing!”
“I heard this Spirit Wolf was specially sent by the Shen Family. It’s a seventh-rank demon beast!”
Lin Nan and Shen Yuer exchanged glances and followed the voices.
In the center of the arena stood Shen Qingmei beside a Blood-Eyed Spirit Wolf.
She wore a brand-new Beast-Taming Peak disciple uniform and smiled smugly.
The spirit wolf stood nearly waist-high, its fangs gleaming coldly. It performed a pounce on command, claws pressing into the blue stone so hard shallow dents appeared.
“Oh? Isn’t this the top student from Reflection Cliff?”
Shen Qingmei’s gaze, sharp as ice, landed on Lin Nan, lingering especially on her ordinary iron sword.
She curled a mocking smile.
“Miss Lin, how’s your rusty iron sword coming along? Don’t tell me you can’t even beat my Spirit Wolf. What a waste of Elder Xunlin’s effort.”
The spirit wolf seemed to understand its owner’s words.
It snapped its head toward Lin Nan with a low, guttural growl. Drool dripped from its fangs, splattering muddy droplets on the ground.
At the mention of Elder Xunlin’s name, murmurs erupted around them.
The Qingyun Sect, standing firm among the six orthodox sects, owed much to a few peerless Supreme Elders.
Elder Xunlin was particularly mysterious. She had no disciples beneath her, and her profound martial skills had never been passed on.
More importantly, she was rumored to live for a millennium without aging, all thanks to her unique mastery.
And yet, such a Supreme Elder actually accepted disciples?
Shen Yuer instinctively hid behind Lin Nan but still shouted loudly,
“Shen Qingmei, don’t bully others! Xiao Lin’s sword skills are excellent!”
“Excellent?” Shen Qingmei laughed as if hearing a joke. She clapped her hands suddenly.
“Spirit Wolf, show them what a real cultivator looks like!”
Before her words faded, the spirit wolf lunged forward, claws scraping the ground and kicking up a foul wind.
Its claws aimed straight for Lin Nan’s face.
The speed was like a streak of gray lightning, causing everyone nearby to hold their breath.
“Watch out!” Shen Yuer’s shout caught in her throat.
Lin Nan stepped forward instead of retreating.
She tapped lightly on the blue stone with her toes, moving like willow catkins in the breeze to narrowly evade the wolf’s claws.
With a swift flick of her wrist, the iron sword blossomed in the morning light, blade swirling.
The tip landed gently on the wolf’s nose no force, but carrying an irresistible sword intent.
“Wuu—”
The wolf recoiled as if scalded, tail tucked between its legs as it retreated behind Shen Qingmei.
Its growls turned into pitiful whimpers, losing all its previous ferocity.
The arena fell completely silent, even the wind seemed to stop.
Shen Qingmei’s face drained white, then flushed a deep liver color.
Her eyes locked on Lin Nan, nails digging into her palm.
“You… you cheated again!”
She couldn’t understand why this kept happening:
Her spirit beast seemed terrified of Lin Nan, always hesitant to approach and aggressive no longer.
The gray Spirit Mouse was understandable only a ninth-rank creature, its aggression mostly dependent on its tamer’s qi.
But this spirit wolf was different, a rare beast handpicked by the Shen Family!
Why did it fear that white-haired girl like a mouse fears a cat?
Lin Nan sheathed her sword smoothly, like water flowing without a trace.
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“You’re asking for death!” Shen Qingmei was furious, finger tracing the Beast Command Formula with lethal intent.
“Spirit Wolf, tear her mouth apart!”
Fueled by her master’s true qi, the wolf lunged again, claws wrapped in a faint yellow glow, clearly aiming to kill.
Just then, a clear voice rang out:
“Condense!”
Shen Yuer stood before Lin Nan, hand forming a seal.
Suddenly, a wall of water materialized, shimmering with clarity.
The water barrier was thin but exceptionally pure, sunlight passing through it cast a rainbow streak on the ground.
“Bang!”
The spirit wolf slammed against the water wall, splashing everywhere, but could not break through.
It was pushed back two steps, shook water droplets from its head, and looked at the barrier with confusion for the first time.
“You dare block me?” Shen Qingmei’s eyes blazed with anger as she stared down Shen Yuer.
“A useless girl who can’t even draw talismans dares to use magic?”
Shen Yuer flushed scarlet, maintaining the water wall with one hand, retorting sharply,
“I’m stronger than a fake like you who only hides behind spirit beasts!”
Lin Nan watched her resolute figure and suddenly felt as if something hit her heart.
She stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Shen Yuer.
Drawing her iron sword again, the tip angled toward the ground, her cyan eyes cold and merciless.
“Shen Qingmei, if you keep this up, don’t blame me for being ruthless.”
Sunlight gleamed on her white hair, reflecting a silvery light.
The iron sword, though ordinary, in her hands radiated an imposing aura that silenced all surrounding disciples.
“You…” Shen Qingmei trembled with fury, but the moment their gazes met, an inexplicable chill ran down her spine.
“That’s enough!”
A voice called from the Martial Practice Arena entrance.
Senior Sister Qiao strode over briskly, surveying the chaotic scene before fixing her gaze on Shen Qingmei.
Her brows furrowed tightly.
“Who told you to fight in the arena? Have you learned nothing from the rules this past month?”
Shen Qingmei opened her mouth to retort but was cut off coldly.
“Punishment: copy the Qingyun Sect Rules a hundred times in the Disciplinary Hall. No meals until finished!”
Afterwards, Qiao’s tone softened as she looked at Lin Nan and Shen Yuer.
“You two, stop lingering here. Go back and cultivate properly.”
Lin Nan nodded and took Shen Yuer’s wrist, turning away without a glance at Shen Qingmei.
Only after they’d walked far did Shen Yuer dare to whisper a laugh.
“Xiao Lin, Senior Sister Qiao’s so openly biased toward us—isn’t that a bit improper?”
Lin Nan looked down at her water-dampened sleeve, then at the faint redness on the webbing of her hand.
A small smile curved her lips.
“So what if she’s biased?”
That was only Senior Sister Qiao speaking up.
If Supreme Elder Shu Ying herself appeared, even the Beast-Taming Peak’s chief would have to admit defeat.
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