The Young Woman with Bloodied Hands
The young woman's hands were unrecognizable, covered in blood and flesh.
Her blade was unsheathed, her sword drawn, yet she had been reduced to the humiliating state of having her weapon seized barehanded by another.
She knew deep down that her opponent, aside from their mastery of this battlefield, also surpassed her in cultivation and strength.
It wasn't just a lack of skill; her cultivation was lacking too.
It felt as though she was teetering on the edge of slaughter.
Unbeknownst to herself, as her gaze swept around, faint distortions appeared in the light around her.
The man before her, seemingly a gentleman who valued reasoning, gently offered advice:
"For now, it's best not to compare yourself to me. Doing so may hinder your martial heart. The path of martial arts requires steady progression. That is what matters most."
His appearance was peculiar—one hand holding the tip of a blade, the other gripping the body of a sword.
With a sudden grin, mimicking her tone, he mockingly said, "Whether you listen or not is your choice. Whether I speak or not, that's mine."
The young woman remained silent for a moment before responding solemnly, "Understood."
The scholar nodded approvingly. She wasn't an arrogant, overbearing girl. That was good. With a flick of his hand, he returned her blade, saying, "Here, your weapon is yours again."
He glanced at the sword in his other hand, feeling a tinge of regret.
"Ah, a young phoenix compared to an old one," he muttered with a sigh.
Inspecting the blade, he remarked, "This sword's quality is remarkable but still falls short of the pinnacle. It can barely bear the weight of two characters, let alone four. With your aptitude, you could easily manage three, if not more."
Letting out a deep sigh, he suddenly waved his arm, shouting, "Seal!"
Two radiant beams shot out from a plaque bearing the inscription "Mighty Qi Reaches the Heavens." With a flourish of his sleeve, he guided the energy into the blade.
The plaque dimmed as if its vitality had been drained, leaving only faint traces of its former power.
The sword returned to its owner's scabbard, now imbued with a fierce energy coursing through its core.
What happened next left even the seasoned scholar Qi Jingchun astonished.
The young woman slowly drew her sword, swung it down, and stabbed it into the ground. Removing her veil, she declared resolutely, "This is not the swordsmanship I seek."
The scholar, taken aback, stared at the abandoned sword, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. He asked, "Do you know who I am?"
The young woman nodded, then shook her head. "I've heard that every sixty years, a sage from one of the Three Teachings comes here to oversee the great formation. This has been happening for millennia. I came out of curiosity. When I saw you, I guessed your identity. Otherwise, I wouldn't have acted as decisively as I did earlier."
Qi Jingchun pressed on, "Do you realize what you just gave up?"
The young woman remained silent.
The sword in its scabbard trembled as if lamenting its abandonment, begging to be reclaimed.
Nearby, a young man peeked over, his gaze full of curiosity.
Despite his vast knowledge, the scholar couldn't fathom the young woman's decision. Reluctantly, he advised, "Miss, you'd better take the sword. The days ahead in this town will be anything but peaceful. It's wise to keep a weapon for protection."
The young woman ignored him, turning to leave without the sword.
Helpless, Qi Jingchun flung the sword onto a high stone pillar in the temple. If someone tried to claim it, it would alert him immediately.
Watching her retreating figure, he murmured, "Strange. Where did this girl come from? She doesn't seem to be a disciple of the local immortal sects."
Back in his study, the scholar sat before a jade tablet inscribed with intricate seal script, each word radiating ancient authority. This small town held profound significance.
Flipping it over, he revealed two characters etched meticulously on the back—bold, elegant, and otherworldly in their power.
Beside it lay a freshly delivered secret letter. Qi Jingchun read it, his eyes reddening slightly.
"Teacher, I am unworthy. I can only stand idly by as you endure this disgrace..."
His gaze turned to the window, his expression unreadable save for a hint of melancholy.
"Qi Jingchun, indebted to my master, living a borrowed life, only awaits death."
Meanwhile, Song Jiuxin casually placed a small, unassuming teapot on a table. The man opposite him, Fu Nanhua, could hardly contain his excitement despite his efforts to appear calm.
The teapot bore the name "Mountain Seal."
Song Jiuxin leaned forward with a sly smile. "How much is this worth?"
Fu Nanhua, the young lord of Old Dragon City, composed himself and answered earnestly, "In the mortal world, it's worthless—maybe a single tael of silver. But if sold through me, it could buy a city."
"How many people?" Song Jiuxin asked.
Fu Nanhua raised three fingers.
"Ah, thirty thousand, then," Song Jiuxin said dismissively, pursing his lips.
Fu Nanhua blinked, then burst into laughter.
He'd thought Song Jiuxin would say three thousand.
Elsewhere, near Apricot Blossom Alley, a simple man squatted by an iron well, eyeing its heavy lock as though contemplating how to remove it.
The black-clad young woman, her face partially veiled, roamed aimlessly through the town, carrying only a sheathed blade and nursing her hastily bandaged fingers.
As she stepped into an unknown alley, a sword shot through the air behind her, buzzing sharply.
Frowning, she didn't even glance back. Through gritted teeth, she growled, "Scram!"
The flying sword hesitated, then darted back to its scabbard as if fleeing in fear.
The young woman was unyielding. The flying sword was obedient.