Ji Wangshu smiled and felt he was overthinking things.
How could that be? He’d never met Su Qingyue before today. He figured he was getting dragged down by the two people beside him.
Su Qingyue, still on the field, didn’t see it that way.
Her gaze traveled across the mountains, over the crowd, past the male cultivators in the front rows who were straightening their backs and adjusting their collars, and landed on Ji Wangshu.
She saw him again.
Ever since that brief glimpse in the market town, Ji Wangshu’s rugged features had been deeply etched into Su Qingyue’s mind.
Every night, she’d sit with her legs together, his face surfacing in her thoughts as her slender fingers danced through the air.
Just like the shock Mu Zhiming’s sword had given her, before meeting Ji Wangshu, she’d never known a man could carry himself like this.
He didn’t have to be soft and effeminate. He didn’t have to be short and small. He didn’t have to be affected and pretentious. He could be rugged, tall and straight-backed, speaking his mind plainly.
How did Su Qingyue know all this? Because a while back at the plaza, when Ji Wangshu was instructing others in sword practice, she’d quietly listened in.
The more she heard, the more her heart delighted. She rejoiced that he wasn’t just pleasing to her eye—he was also brilliantly gifted in swordsmanship.
Just from the precision of his guidance, she knew he had to be a master with a blade in hand.
Ji Wangshu: Meow meow meow? You’ve definitely got the wrong person.
And of all places, someone like him lived in Plum Blossom Courtyard.
In the same courtyard as Junior Sister Mu Zhiming.
When Su Qingyue learned of this, she fumed for an entire day. Then she immediately kicked out the dao companion she’d taken earlier, returned to her single state, and devoted herself to sword practice.
Because she now had one more reason to defeat Mu Zhiming.
Thinking of this, Su Qingyue looked at Ji Wangshu again, spring water shimmering in her eyes.
Suddenly, Ji Wangshu felt a burning gaze settle on him.
He instinctively glanced toward Su Qingyue, only to see she’d already withdrawn her gaze, those cold, clear eyes fixed on another opponent before her.
Ji Wangshu shook his head and kept watching Mu Zhiming in the corner.
As he watched, his body tensed unconsciously. His hands gripping his knees tightened, and hot sweat formed in his palms.
At this moment, Mu Zhiming was facing the sword light straight on.
Shua shua shua!
Three streaks of sword light struck toward her—one aimed at her face, one at her chest, and one at her waist.
All three zones sealed tight, spiritual energy covering the blades, leaving her nowhere to retreat.
Mu Zhiming sidestepped, her cloud-pattern embroidered shoes sliding half a step across the stone bricks. The sword light aimed at her face grazed past her shoulder, shearing off a few loose strands of dark hair.
Before she could regain her footing, two ringing clashes sounded.
Two more sword lights flew toward her, striking from tricky angles, cutting in from her blind spots.
Mu Zhiming sensed the direction of the spiritual energy and could only twist her waist to dodge. Her sleeve was sliced open in several small cuts, and fresh blood once again stained her fair skin.
A low stir rippled through the sect viewing area.
“See, I told you.”
“Ugh, even if Fairy Mu can’t see, her reactions are still fast, but she just can’t hold out against so many.”
“Looks like Fairy Mu’s reached her limit. We can start preparing for next tournament…”
Ji Wangshu said nothing. His eyes stayed locked on Mu Zhiming, his heart racing as he saw the dark red stains on her pale skin.
Wood, what are you doing? Wake up.
Where’s that jade water sword intent you slashed at the plum blossom tree before?
Why do you keep backing off? What exactly are you waiting for?
Mu Zhiming, still on the platform, naturally couldn’t hear his thoughts. She was gradually being pushed to the corner, her earth-grade dharma sword still sheathed.
Swoosh swoosh!
Su Qingyue took down two more opponents, yet only a fifth of the spiritual energy in her dantian had been consumed—plenty to last her to the end of the match.
She raised her eyes once more toward Ji Wangshu, only to see him still staring intently at the corner, not giving her a single glance.
She pressed her lips together, and the sword light in her hand grew sharper.
Since she couldn’t win his gaze, she’d make him remember her name with her blade.
Shua!
A sword intent slashed out, the sword light brightening by a notch, and she struck behind her without even looking.
The next instant, a Foundation Establishment female disciple behind Su Qingyue, who had been raising her sword to attack, collapsed to the ground.
Su Qingyue looked toward the corner. It was already the very edge of the platform. One more step back, and she’d fall off and lose by default.
Mu Zhiming stood right there, her water-blue figure streaked with touches of vivid red, looking utterly disheveled.
Su Qingyue frowned slightly at the sight, pondering to herself.
So Junior Sister Mu still hasn’t adjusted to her blindness?
Yesterday was like this. Today is the same.
Su Qingyue sighed softly, shook her head, and withdrew her gaze, turning back to Ji Wangshu.
Half the remaining contestants on the field had also noticed Mu Zhiming, who was fighting while retreating into the corner. Several of them exchanged glances and struck toward that corner.
“Ahh!“
Chen Miao, still on the platform, sensed the direction of their sword lights and cursed inwardly.
Wood, what are you doing? It’s already this kind of moment, and you’re still hiding your strength? Keep this up, and you’ll be heading home for good.
“Clang clang clang!”
She wanted to send a voice transmission to warn her, but her flying sword was barely holding off the two attackers around her. She had no attention to spare.
She could only sigh inwardly and focus on the enemies before her.
In the corner, seven or eight sword blades gleamed with cold light, letting out ringing chimes as spiritual energy gathered at their tips, all striking toward Mu Zhiming.
A gentle breeze blew, swords moved with the wind, and sunlight bathed the field.
The sword light flowed like water, spiritual energy layered on top like countless translucent ribbons, flying out from several female cultivators and sealing every path of retreat around Mu Zhiming.
The spectators in the sect viewing area all turned their heads, eyes widening.
“Jade Water Sword Technique—that’s the real Jade Water Sword Technique.”
Ji Wangshu’s brows knitted tightly at the sight, and he unconsciously broke out in a cold sweat for her.
Mu Zhiming, in the corner, was veiled in black gauze, her expression unreadable. Her right thumb rested on the sword sheath, pushing it up an inch to reveal a sliver of the earth-grade dharma sword.
Before her, the translucent ribbons formed by the Jade Water Sword Technique covered every direction around her, leaving her no way to fall back.
Bang!
Seven or eight streaks of sword light slammed into her spiritual energy shield, carving out gashes. Several female cultivators secretly rejoiced, certain this was their moment.
Just then, Mu Zhiming in the corner suddenly stopped retreating. Her thumb gently brushed along the edge of the sword sheath.
“Time’s about up…”
She spoke hoarsely, her voice so faint that no one but herself could hear it.
Then she looked once more toward the back of the sect viewing area, where that person’s figure stood.
Even across such a distance, she could sense that familiar spiritual energy, now surging violently, as if it were revealing his state of mind.
A faint curve lifted the corner of Mu Zhiming’s mouth.
Shua!
The next instant, her cloud-pattern embroidered shoes lightly tapped against the stone bricks, and her whole body leaped into the air.
The earth-grade dharma sword left its sheath, spiritual energy erupting from her dantian and coating the blade, transforming into a vast, ethereal great sword.
The great sword was formless, hanging high above; the dharma sword was real, hidden beneath it.
Mu Zhiming’s gentle silhouette silently merged with the towering snowy mountain behind her. Her entire being radiated a momentum as vast as a mountain peak, and she slashed downward from above, striking forward!
This was Mu Zhiming’s sword.
This was the third sword of the world.
Not far away, Su Qingyue was locked in combat, but her peripheral vision caught this scene. Her pupils suddenly contracted, her sword slowing by half a beat as she thought to herself:
So Junior Sister Mu really was holding back all along. Then her performance yesterday—was that deliberate too?
Su Qingyue’s chest tightened slightly, and the sword light in her hand suddenly blazed brighter.
If Mu Zhiming could unleash sword intent like that for that man, then why couldn’t she, Su Qingyue, do the same?