Yun Fuling thought of Shen Mo, and of Qin Shuying’s protective stance that day. With that, she straightened her logic and calmed her mind.
“Peak Master Qin, please see clearly! This is absolutely a frame-up! Our Chaoyun Peak and Jiaoyue Peak have never had any enmity, why would we go to such lengths to harm a mere Foundation Establishment junior disciple? Someone must have stolen our peak’s token, intending to stir up conflict between our two peaks. Their intentions are utterly vile, Peak Master Qin!”
Qin Shuying listened quietly, her gaze lingering on Yun Fuling’s face for a moment. The gaze wasn’t sharp, yet it felt like it could pierce through skin and flesh, seeing directly into the most unsightly calculations within.
“Best if it is so.” Qin Shuying finally spoke again, her voice still flat, yet it sent a chill down Yun Fuling’s spine. “If this seat discovers that this matter has the slightest connection to you, or to Chaoyun Peak—”
She didn’t finish.
But the terrifying pressure that suddenly descended, enveloping the entire plaza—the pressure belonging to a Nascent Soul cultivator—crashed down like an invisible iceberg. It made Yun Fuling’s breath catch, her knees go weak, nearly causing her to kneel on the spot.
The disciples with slightly lower cultivation around them turned even paler, swaying unsteadily.
The pressure was released as quickly as it came.
Qin Shuying’s gaze fell on Yun Fuling’s face, twisted by a forced smile, and she didn’t say another word.
A sword light flashed without the slightest warning.
It was a genuine, condensed, razor-sharp beam of cold light!
Faster than the limit of spiritual sense could capture, colder than anything that could freeze the soul.
The smile on Yun Fuling’s face didn’t even have time to transform into shock before excruciating pain swept over all her senses.
She only saw one of her own arms, along with the fabric of half her shoulder, abruptly leave her body, tracing an arc through the air. Blood sprayed out like splashed ink.
“Ahhh—!!!”
A shrill, piercing scream finally tore from her throat. Yun Fuling staggered back, clutching the severed stump, all color draining from her face, her eyes filled with disbelief, terror, and the contortion of intense pain.
A Nascent Soul cultivator’s physical body was robust; severed limbs could be reattached. But this sudden, unexpected sword strike severed not just an arm, but also her dignity as a Peak Master.
The surrounding Chaoyun Peak disciples were all petrified, standing dumbfounded on the spot. No one dared move, no one dared make a sound.
The plaza was left with only Yun Fuling’s ragged, pained gasps and the faint sound of dripping blood.
Qin Shuying still stood in her original spot, spotless, as if the cold, ruthless sword strike that severed a Nascent Soul cultivator’s arm had nothing to do with her.
She didn’t even glance at the severed arm or the wailing Yun Fuling.
She merely lifted her eyes, her gaze calmly sweeping over the terrified, silent crowd, finally landing back on Yun Fuling’s face, now twisted with pain and fear.
“This time, it was an arm.” Qin Shuying’s voice was clear and icy, each word hammering into everyone’s hearts. “If there is a next time, whether it was you or not—”
She paused slightly, her gaze like solid ice spikes, piercing into the depths of Yun Fuling’s eyes.
“This seat will sever your Nascent Soul.”
As her words fell, sword light flashed again, and she was gone.
Only the chaotic scene on the plaza remained: the deathly pale, swaying Chaoyun Peak disciples, and Yun Fuling lying in a pool of blood, her eyes filled with venomous hatred and extreme fear.
Only after Qin Shuying’s pressure completely dissipated did some disciples snap out of their daze, trembling as they stepped forward to support and treat her.
Yun Fuling gritted her teeth, swallowing a healing elixir.
The flesh at her severed stump began to squirm and regrow, but the intense pain and that bone-deep humiliation gnawed at her heart like poisonous insects.
She stared in the direction Qin Shuying had left, her eyes filled with towering hatred, and a trace of deep-seated fear she herself was unwilling to admit.
The Tianjian Peak Master… Qin Shuying…
She actually, for the sake of a man, didn’t hesitate to thoroughly antagonize an entire peak, even going so far as to strike with lethal intent!
Shen Mo… Su Wan’er…
Fine, very well…
She would remember this grudge!
……
“Shen Mo, the secret realm will open in a few days.”
“At that time, bound by the rules of the realm, even a Deity Transformation mighty figure, once they pass through that gate, can only exert strength at the Foundation Establishment Peak level.”
“Therefore, these next few days, instead of letting your thoughts run wild, put your effort into your sword.”
Qin Shuying’s eyes darkened.
“If something truly happens to her, I will personally teach you how to use the sword in your hand to collect her debts.”
……
The hour of mao had not yet arrived; the sky was not yet light.
Shen Mo already stood at the cliff’s edge, holding a standard-issue iron sword Qin Shuying had given him.
He had changed into black, practical martial attire, making his complexion appear even paler.
At this moment, his eyes were calm, his back straight.
Qin Shuying appeared soundlessly three zhang behind him, her expression still cold and stern, showing neither joy nor anger.
“The Three Forms of Startling Swan, the first form, Pointing Star, emphasizes condensing spiritual power to a single point, erupting instantaneously, like a cold star suddenly appearing.”
Her voice had no inflection, as if merely stating the sword art’s essentials. “Your foundation is shallow, your spiritual power circulation sluggish. When you thrust the sword, your intent is impure, too many distracting thoughts.”
Before her words faded, she pointed with two fingers like a sword, striking through the air.
“Whoosh—!”
A condensed, ice-blue sword qi shot from her fingertip, tearing through space, leaving behind a needle-point-sized, bottomless hole. The edges of the hole were smooth as a mirror, not a single ripple stirred.
“See clearly?” Qin Shuying asked.
Shen Mo nodded, took a deep breath, banished the chaotic thoughts in his mind, recalled the circulation path she had guided with her spiritual power before, mobilized the spiritual power in his dantian, channeled it to the sword tip, and thrust forward rapidly!
The iron sword cut through the air, emitting a faint whistle.
At the sword tip, a faint, almost invisible glimmer of spiritual light flickered once, then extinguished.
The sword qi touched the water surface, only spreading a slightly larger ripple. Compared to Qin Shuying’s “Pointing Star,” it was like firefly light versus the bright moon.
Shen Mo pressed his lips together tightly, didn’t lose heart, withdrew the sword, focused again, and thrust.
Once, twice, ten times, a hundred times…
Qin Shuying no longer spoke, just watched quietly.
Watching him fail again and again, watching fine beads of sweat form on his forehead, watching his arm tremble slightly from overexertion, watching his face grow paler and paler, yet he gritted his teeth throughout, his eyes focused, repeating the tedious and difficult motion over and over.
Dawn began to break, the sky lightening to the color of a fish’s belly.
Shen Mo had already thrust out who knows how many hundreds of strikes. The spiritual power in his body had long been exhausted, sustained solely by sheer willpower.
His arms felt heavy as if filled with lead; every lift was accompanied by muscle-tearing soreness.
But that stubborn light in his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
Once more, focus, gather energy, thrust!
“Sss—”
This time, the glimmer of spiritual light at the sword tip, though still faint, remained stable for one breath before dispersing.
The sword qi sank into the water surface, making a faint sound, like a hot knife cutting through butter, leaving a fingernail-sized hole about an inch deep.
Shen Mo, drained of strength, leaned on the sword, breathing heavily, sweat pouring down like rain, yet his eyes blazed with spirit.
On Qin Shuying’s ice-sealed face, an extremely fleeting ripple of emotion passed.
She walked up to Shen Mo, raised her hand, but not to support him.
Instead, with two fingers, she swiftly tapped several key acupoints on his wrist, shoulder, and dantian.
Pure, icy spiritual power was forcibly injected.
It cleared his meridians, which had become sluggish from over-practice, bringing a stinging yet soothing sensation.
“Fool.” She withdrew her hand, her tone still cold. “When spiritual power is exhausted, you don’t know to regulate your breathing? With damaged meridians, how can you practice sword?”
“…Thank you, Peak Master Qin.”
This “thank you” encompassed last night, and also this morning.
Qin Shuying glanced at him, turned, and walked to a smooth bluestone by the pool, sitting down and patting the spot beside her. “Come, regulate your breathing.”
Shen Mo hesitated for a moment, then walked over, sitting cross-legged slightly farther from her, closing his eyes to circulate his basic cultivation technique.
Guiding the spiritual power within his body to merge with that strand of pure cold energy she had transferred.