Chapter 45

Behind her loomed the colossal dragon's head, its breath surging with moisture; ahead, the vermilion bird spread its wings like clouds that hung from the sky. The four of them, as small as grains of rice, stood atop a fragile ice raft adrift on the vast expanse of blue waves.

The vermilion bird circled high above, while the water dragon lowered its body, its throat rumbling with a low growl, as if gathering strength for a strike.

Qing Zhouxue's sword tip pointed at the water's surface, freezing every current she could to secure a foothold.

"Water and fire are mutually opposed."

In the brief silence before the storm broke, Qing Zhouxue spoke.

Lin Xunzhen met Qing Zhouxue's eyes, and recalling how the vermilion bird's aura had noticeably diminished after being doused with water, she immediately understood.

This might be why the water dragon had lurked in the depths and refused to show itself once the vermilion bird appeared—perhaps for this very reason.

In that gap, she grabbed Ruan Mingzhu and Bai Su, whispering a few urgent words to them.

The dragon's body finally coiled into its most powerful stance, leaping to the height of a thousand-foot tower before crashing down upon the small sheet of ice.

Water splashed everywhere. The footing cracked in the middle, then vanished into the surging currents.

Qing Zhouxue dove downward, grasped the Qingshuang Sword that came streaking through the water, and burst out riding its blade.

Without hesitation, she flew high into the sky. The vermilion bird above was like a sun; even approaching it, her cheeks burned as if scalded.

Ruan Mingzhu surfaced from the water, coughing violently as if she might expel her lungs. Seeing Qing Zhouxue go after the vermilion bird, and recalling Lin Xunzhen's earlier words, she drove the tip of her blade toward the water dragon.

Lin Xunzhen, holding Bai Su, hid beneath the water, using her Water Spirit Root to stir the currents around Ruan Mingzhu, propelling her forward. With such aid, Ruan Mingzhu moved through the water as agilely as a fish.

The dragon's claws reached out from the deep, but Ruan Mingzhu dodged and drove her long blade clean through the transparent body of the dragon.

The current around her violently churned, coiling into a vortex that seemed intent on swallowing her whole.

"Go!" She vaguely heard Lin Xunzhen shouting. Ruan Mingzhu's long blade was caught in the vortex, sinking deeper and deeper. She had no choice but to release her sword. As her hand let go, her body became lighter, and she swam quickly toward Qing Zhouxue.

A few strands of Qing Zhouxue's hair were singed by sparks, nearly peeling her skin. She flew on her sword, trading passes with the blazing sun-like firebird several times. No matter how she harassed it, this intelligent fire spirit of Zhurong would not risk approaching the waters summoned by Xuanming.

But its fiery feathers fluffed up one by one, as if about to burst, already enraged by Qing Zhouxue's provocation.

The flying sword was nimble, while its massive body proved cumbersome, missing several pecks. As it stirred a wave of fire with its wings, Qing Zhouxue seized another opening and retreated into the distance.

Perhaps creatures born of fire were naturally more irritable and proud, for it let out a long cry, losing its reason at last, and chased after the tail of the flying sword.

Qing Zhouxue spotted Ruan Mingzhu swimming desperately toward her, with the dragon's head rising again behind her, jaws wide open.

Turning back on her swiftly moving sword, she saw the vermilion bird close behind, its scorching heat nearly burning her skin.

She steadied her heart, exchanged a glance with Ruan Mingzhu, lowered her center of gravity, and counted the distance in her mind.

Ten feet, nine feet...

Closer and closer.

As they passed each other, Qing Zhouxue moved with lightning speed, reaching out to snatch Ruan Mingzhu from the water, pulling her onto the sword, and shooting upward.

A blast of hot air surged behind them.

The vermilion bird and the azure dragon, unable to turn in time, collided. The intense flames extinguished as they simultaneously vaporized the dragon's body into white mist.

A thunderous roar shook the heavens.

Qing Zhouxue's sword flight could not fully escape the blast radius. She was thrown by the scalding gust, tumbling down with Ruan Mingzhu.

The temperature of vaporized water and fire could reduce one to ashes in an instant.

Just then, a gentle spiritual energy enveloped them. All the pain, the charred flesh, the rusty taste of water in their lungs—all dissolved the moment they touched that glow.

When they rolled onto the ground, they were completely unharmed.

Bai Su let out a sigh of relief and finally lowered her hands. To precisely wrap them mid-air required focused control; though she had remained motionless, it had drained her considerably.

The surrounding water gradually receded, the sky brightened, and the formation was finally dispelled. They were back in the familiar training grounds.

Exhausted, they collapsed onto the ground, staring at Yun Shuchen—who had somehow found a shaded spot near the training grounds, brought a rattan chair, and was leisurely brewing West Lake Longjing tea.

Ruan Mingzhu rolled her eyes. "I'm dead tired." Then she fell backward, unconcerned with dignity, sprawled out on top of Qing Zhouxue.

Qing Zhouxue felt as if a boulder had landed on her. Her arms were limp; she pushed but couldn't budge her. In the end, Lin Xunzhen, thinking the pose indecent in front of Yun Shuchen, separated them with a water screen and bounced Ruan Mingzhu back to the ground.

Yun Shuchen looked away.

She lowered her gaze to the clear green tea in her hand, suppressing the coldness in her eyes. When she lifted her lashes again, a gentle smile returned to her lips. "Well done."

"Much better than before. Each of you did your part without worrying about who contributed more; you brought out the best in everyone."

"Had you two not been guarding from below, this wouldn't have been so easily accomplished." She nodded slightly at Lin Xunzhen and Bai Su.

She smiled. "Still want to practice?"

"No need."

Qing Zhouxue looked at her. "Master, let's rest for a while."

Usually, whether wrestling in the Sword Pavilion or sparring with Ruan Mingzhu, Qing Zhouxue never once called for a stop. Ruan Mingzhu, though sprawled on the ground unwilling to move, suddenly felt she understood something upon hearing this, and secretly clicked her tongue in her heart.

"Then we'll end here for today." Yun Shuchen downed the last sip of tea and rose to her feet.

After bidding farewell to her junior sisters, Qing Zhouxue walked with Yun Shuchen along the path back to the peak.

"Master, did you feel any discomfort using spiritual energy this time?" Qing Zhouxue started to reach for her hand but, for some reason, hesitated and lowered it.

Yun Shuchen wasn't actually tired. Xuanming and Zhurong had their own consciousness; she had barely controlled the spells this time, only guiding at critical moments.

But she took a few steps forward and gave a noncommittal "Mn." "Perhaps I haven't used such large-scale techniques in many years."

"Next time, Master, please don't go to the trouble of practicing with us."

Qing Zhouxue observed her for a long while, frowning the entire way, though she couldn't quite discern what was wrong.

Yun Shuchen, for her part, waited in silence the whole journey, but never saw her disciple reach out to support her as she used to.

From the corner of her eye, she noted the inch of distance her disciple kept between them—an inch that remained open even after they entered the door.

Just that one sentence? She felt a subtle displeasure.

Once inside, Qing Zhouxue immediately set about bustling, remembering that her master hadn't yet had her medicine today, and began diligently decocting it.

After the fierce battle, Qing Zhouxue's wrist trembled from exertion, and the bowl she carried was unsteady, ripples spreading across its dark brown surface.

Just as she was about to set it down beside Yun Shuchen, her wrist was loosely grasped by another hand.

Yun Shuchen guided her hand, brought the bowl to her lips, and tilted her head back to drink slowly. Having endured bitterness for so many years, she never showed any particular expression when drinking even the bitterest things, only frowning when it was nearly empty.

Qing Zhouxue hadn't expected to feed her the medicine this way today. She held it carefully, fearing she might choke, tilting it only a tiny bit at a time.

Not only was the medicine bitter, but it also carried a hint of acridity.

Qing Zhouxue watched her master frown as she drank, her eyes slightly narrowed, a touch of misty moisture glistening, the corners of her eyes tinged with the faint pink of lotus petal tips.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted downward—the elegant curve of the woman's neck as she tilted her head, moving in small arcs with each swallow, a delicate and alluring sight from above.

As Qing Zhouxue watched, something in her chest beat restlessly.

In a daze, she tilted the bowl a little too much. She heard a soft hum, and Yun Shuchen choked, coughing behind her hand.

"Master?" Qing Zhouxue snapped back to reality, a pang of regret, and set down the bowl, quickly patting her back.

"It's nothing." Yun Shuchen caught her breath, a smile curving her lips, and touched a spot moistened by the medicine. "Bitter."

Qing Zhouxue picked up a candied fruit she had prepared, feeding it to her master. She seemed completely unaware that, no matter how meticulous her care had been before, she had never personally fed her master.

Seeing her docile obedience, Yun Shuchen felt somewhat relieved and said casually, "Mm, you may go."

Qing Zhouxue retired with the bowl holding a little over half its water, and a heart filled with unease.

That night, she sat at her desk, recording the day's events. For once, she had countless words to write, but she dared not dwell on them. If she thought too much, half her mind was on the strands of hair around her master's neck, and the other half on the scenes of shadows entangled in the dark night from the storybooks.

What connection could these two images have—one before her eyes, the other in a book? Qing Zhouxue couldn't quite grasp it.

Vaguely, she felt such a connection was presumptuous and wanton, just like the vulgar storybooks she had torn up at the outer sect—all things that would tarnish her master's image.

A wave of guilt surged, and Qing Zhouxue hastily suppressed her thoughts, wiping them clean from her mind.

She quietly recited the Clearance Sutra several times, then channeled her qi in a full cycle. Only when the faint ripple in her heart had completely settled did she focus and record the practical gains of today's combat, the day's dishes, and the small sparrows she'd seen by the roadside.

Her brush reached the final line.

Qing Zhouxue pressed her lips together.

As if beyond her control, she wrote one character: Her.

No antecedent, no continuation. The brush paused for a long while, ink pooling into a stain, before she drifted down a character with a distracted mind.

Perhaps, no matter how straightforward a young maiden might be, there's a natural subtlety, all condensed into that single, unspoken "her."