On the Immortal Sect Square, Mu Zhiming’s figure merged with the Snow Mountain behind her. She leaped into the air, the sun hanging high above her head.
Her eyes beneath the Black Eye Veil calmly swept over the seven or eight people at the edge of the square. She tightened her grip on the Xuan-rank Sword, and the illusory giant sword above her stirred in response.
The next moment, she swung it naturally.
Her sword movement was so natural.
The giant sword in the air descended with a mighty slash, seeming to carry the weight of the entire Snow Mountain behind her, resonating with the cold wind as it let out a deep, rumbling howl.
At the same time, the Xuan-rank Sword in her hand thrust out lightly, silent and soundless, like snowflakes drifting down to the mortal world.
The giant sword was illusory, taking the slow path; the Dharma Sword was real, taking the fast path.
As the two swords crossed, the transparent ribbons formed by those seven or eight Sword Lights instantly gave way.
After a few exchanges, Mu Zhiming’s Cloud-Pattern Embroidered Shoes lightly tapped the ground.
The giant sword in the air scattered down like accumulated snow falling from a Plum Blossom Tree branch, slowly disappearing. The Xuan-rank Sword was likewise sheathed back into her Sword Sheath.
She continued standing in the corner, standing tall and proud like a Plum Blossom Tree in the dead of winter.
The several female cultivators who had been encircling her moments ago were now all collapsed on the ground, unable to rise again.
All of this happened within the span of a single breath.
Mu Zhiming’s Black Eye Veil once again swept over the people around her. Every person she looked at instinctively took a few steps back, and no one dared to step forward anymore.
She then gave a soft smile, patted the dust off her Water Blue Daoist Robe, paused at the spot of Blood on her fair skin, and turned her gaze toward the Mountain Viewing Stand on the mountainside.
The crowd on the viewing stand was struck speechless with shock.
“So this… this is Fairy Mu’s true strength.”
“Just as a beauty in old age is still a beauty… a blinded Sword Immortal is still a Sword Immortal…”
“So Fairy Mu wasn’t affected by her vision at all? Then why has she been holding back these past two days?”
The discussions among the Loose Cultivators on the viewing stand were endless. The two male cultivators beside Ji Wangshu were also too shocked to speak.
The two exchanged glances, their throats bobbing as they tried to say something but failed. Finally, they could only look toward Ji Wangshu, who sat to their left.
Ji Wangshu was even more shocked than they were.
This was also his first time seeing Mu Zhiming unleash her sword techniques at full strength.
From the few swings of her sword just now, it seemed as though continuous, mournful shrills echoed through the mountains.
He finally understood what Chen Miao had meant earlier about that unparalleled posture.
Most Sword Cultivators followed the Sword Control Style, using Spiritual Energy to manipulate their bonded Flying Sword—the heart at the sword’s tip, the sword following the heart.
Or there was the Sword Riding Style, which applied Spiritual Energy directly to the sword itself, skipping the process of Spiritual Energy manipulation in pursuit of ultimate speed, believing that all things are illusion and that the only thing worth trusting in this world is the three-foot sword in hand.
But Mu Zhiming, a Foundation Establishment Cultivator who had not yet reached Golden Core or Nascent Soul, had already forged her own path of the sword.
The Third Sword of the World.
She directly converted her own Spiritual Energy into a giant sword, pouring all of its power into the giant sword’s edge, following the path of the Heavy Sword Without Edge.
At the same time, she retained a portion of her Spiritual Energy to wield the Xuan-rank Sword, following the method of Point Breaking Surface—where speed alone wins.
In short, the Fast-Slow Sword.
This had already surpassed the imagination of cultivators in this world regarding the way of the sword. No one had ever wielded a sword like this, and no one had ever seen a sword so slow, and yet so fast.
Except for Su Qingyue, who was still on the field.
This was the second time she had seen such a sword.
But this version of Mu Zhiming—one who deliberately held back, planned before acting, and struck later but arrived first—was something she was seeing for the first time as well.
It was also the first time she had seen Junior Sister Mu pay attention to a certain man while wielding her sword, with even a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Just now, everyone on the field had been focused on Mu Zhiming’s sword, but no one noticed that she had cast a distant glance in a certain direction at the end.
Su Qingyue noticed.
Because today, she too had looked at that spot several times.
The next moment, her Sword Light blazed brilliantly as she held the Yellow-rank Dharma Sword horizontally before her.
The several Foundation Establishment female cultivators attacking her felt a surge of joy in their hearts, assuming she had exhausted too much Spiritual Energy. They poured the vast Spiritual Energy from their dantians into their Flying Swords, their sword momentum fierce and imposing.
But they could not get within an inch of the Yellow-rank Dharma Sword.
A strange, peculiar aura radiated from the Yellow-rank Dharma Sword.
The crowd on the viewing stand was stunned once more.
“This is… Sword Intent!”
“Su Qingyue has Sword Intent too?”
“Heavens, this generation of the Immortal Sect has produced two cultivators who comprehended Sword Intent, and both at the Foundation Establishment realm.”
“One Sect, Two Sword Immortals!”
The Sword Intent on the Yellow-rank Dharma Sword was like the Dharma Sword itself—absolutely straight, without a single tremor in the cold wind.
It felt like an ancient pine rooted on the Snow Mountain; only such a thing could give off this sensation.
The sword bore rust spots, held straight and level, and was indestructible—like the roots of a pine tree that had weathered decades of wind and rain, appearing decrepit on the surface, yet in truth, immensely powerful.
The biting wind howled, but it stood unwavering.
After a few breaths, the female cultivators surrounding her collapsed one by one, unable to rise again.
Su Qingyue gave them a faint glance, then swept her gaze toward Ji Wangshu on the viewing stand.
Those sword-shaped brows were still fixed tightly on the Water Blue figure in the arena.
That person… was not her.
She extended her slender jade fingers, sweeping the stray strands of hair from her forehead behind her. She remained silent.
…………
“The matches for today conclude here. Advancing to the finals are Mu Zhiming and Su Qingyue. The finals will be held three days from now. Those who wish to spectate may continue to come.”
A few incense sticks later, the Elder’s voice rang out across the square.
The Loose Cultivators seated around them rose and departed one after another. The male cultivators were also holding the hands of their Dao Companions who had just stepped down from the arena, speaking words of comfort as they dispersed.
“Oh, it’s alright, sweetie. We were just unlucky this time—who could have guessed that both Su Qingyue and Mu Zhiming would have Sword Intent? We’ll come again next time.”
“Don’t cry, sweetie. Let me take out a handkerchief to wipe your tears.”
“Alright, alright. The Flower Festival is in a couple of days anyway. Let’s go to the Flower Festival to clear our minds.”
If only he were blind and deaf, Ji Wangshu mused.
That way, he would never know who said these things.
Sure enough, even after all this time since transmigrating, he still couldn’t adapt to this topsy-turvy relationship dynamic between men and women.
He let out a sigh and walked toward the arena.
By now, most of the people on the arena had dispersed, leaving only a few cultivators without Dao Companions.
For example, Su Qingyue, Mu Zhiming, and… Chen Miao.
Chen Miao: Meow meow meow?
He hadn’t expected that despite Chen Miao’s unremarkable appearance, her sword techniques were actually quite impressive.
Ji Wangshu then looked at Chen Miao and gave her a smile of acknowledgment before glancing toward Mu Zhiming.
To his surprise, the usually solitary Mu Zhiming now had an extra figure standing beside her.
“Huh?”
Ji Wangshu let out a soft sound of surprise and walked toward the two.
“Wooden, I won’t lose this time. Not to you, and not to him either…”
Su Qingyue stood before Mu Zhiming, speaking to her.
Mu Zhiming was already quite tall, over 5 feet 7 inches, yet Su Qingyue was still half a head taller than her.
So when Su Qingyue spoke, there was a rather pronounced sense of looking down from above.
“Him…?” Mu Zhiming tilted her head slightly, speaking stiffly.
“Don’t play dumb!” Su Qingyue’s tone carried a hint of irritation.
She thought to herself: Last time I asked which one Ji Wangshu was, and you wouldn’t tell me. So you were hiding this card all along… but do you really think that when it comes to matters of the heart, I would lose to you too?
Then she thought of the several Dao Companions she had found before—all of them admired by the female cultivators of the sect, and in the end, every single one had fallen at her feet.
“Wooden!”
Just as Su Qingyue’s thoughts were drifting, Ji Wangshu suddenly spoke up and interrupted. She jerked her head up.
Yet she saw that although her beloved was calling out Mu Zhiming’s name, his eyes were fixed on her.
Su Qingyue’s heart trembled under his gaze. A blush spread across her cheeks as her jade fingers hurriedly reached out to tidy her disheveled hair. She pressed her legs together, parted her vermilion lips slightly, and organized her words:
“Young Master Ji, a pleasure to meet you for the first time. My name is Su Qingyue. Please take care of me. I was wondering if you already have a Dao Companion… As it happens, I’m also single…”
Her eyelids lowered, her hand gripping the Dharma Sword fidgeting with small movements. After she finished speaking, she waited for the man before her to respond.
The cold wind blew in gusts. The sword hums had ceased. The setting sun slanted low.
After several breaths, the voice she had hoped for still had not come. Su Qingyue lifted her head and looked toward where Ji Wangshu had been standing.
To her surprise, at some point, Ji Wangshu had already taken Mu Zhiming’s hand and was standing obediently on that Earth-grade Dharma Sword.
The sword broke through the clouds and soared upward, the wind roaring past Su Qingyue’s ears.
Mu Zhiming stood on the Flying Sword, above the clouds.
At this moment, she was higher than Su Qingyue by an immeasurable margin.
She turned her head slightly. The Black Eye Veil fluttered in the wind, revealing her gray-white pupils. She cast a glance toward Su Qingyue, a look of indescribable meaning within her eyes.
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