Howls and desperate shrieks of wolves echoed from the distance, occasionally interspersed with the mournful cries of Cloud-Treading Steeds.
Zhao Yanran, skating rapidly across the ice, allowed the corner of her lip to lift almost imperceptibly, a spark of vengeful satisfaction glittering in her eyes.
Suddenly changing direction, she sped up a nearby hill. Gazing back towards where she had come, Zhao Yanran saw that the Cloud-Treading Carriage was now fleeing eastward, chased by countless Marsh Wolves.
With a laugh that made her delicate frame tremble like a willow branch, Zhao Yanran immediately knitted her brows again.
The wound in her chest and abdomen was throbbing painfully now, and the toxins within her body remained stubbornly unsuppressed.
She reached up to touch her neck, only to find her hand slick with blood. The small wound, which should have been insignificant, was being resisted by a strange power, making it impossible to staunch the flow even now.
"Indeed, a nascent Sword Intent! To achieve spiritual connection in the Dao of the Sword at only thirteen years old—"
Muttering the words, Zhao Yanran closed her eyes, recalling that single strike that felt as though it had originated from the deepest pits of hell. A wave of agonizing ** shuddered through her entire body.
Unlike when she arrived, the half-demon youth now appeared not remotely amusing, but rather detestable.
She had ultimately faltered. In the face of that transcendent swordsmanship, she no longer possessed the confidence to claim Zong Shou as the vessel for her own nascent soul foundation.
A crack had formed in her spirit. In this entire world, there was finally someone she felt uncertain of defeating.
Rifling through her personal pouch, she saw that her supply of medicine was nearly exhausted.
Zhao Yanran sighed softly, preparing to turn away. The next moment, however, a flicker of thought stayed her steps. She reached into the pouch and pulled out a mirror, roughly a foot square.
She promptly embedded a Fourth-Tier Beast Crystal into the back of the mirror. Once the mirror surface shimmered with a layer of blue spiritual light, Zhao Yanran began to write upon it, using the blood from her own neck as ink.
The script was hurried, a complete mess, utterly lacking the delicate elegance expected of a young woman. Instead, it was imbued with hidden sharpness and a barbaric, dominating energy.
The words themselves carried the same style.
“—Hey! Old hag, is your Taiyuan Sect still short on people? Want another direct disciple?”
As soon as the characters were written, the blood transformed into minute sparks of light that dissipated everywhere. After a moment’s wait, the mirror finally reacted, displaying several lines of text on its surface.
At the very top was a simply drawn portrait of a woman, exquisitely beautiful and cute, currently wearing a furious expression.
“You crazy shrew! Dare call me an old hag again, and I will eat you alive!”
The text vanished completely after a brief moment, followed by another line emerging.
“Our Taiyuan Sect is short on people, you know that perfectly well? But a direct disciple? Are you being benevolent? The one qualified to be a direct disciple of our Taiyuan Sect, which your Seven Spirits Sect chooses to abandon, are you trying to embarrass us by handing them over? Did the sun rise in the west today? I suspect—”
The image of the beautiful woman shifted, showing a face full of suspicion.
Zhao Yanran let out a dismissive ‘Tch,’ and again began writing on the mirror surface with her blood as ink.
“If this fellow weren’t male, and since my Seven Spirits Sect only accepts women, old hag, do you think I’d bother telling you?”
“So he’s male—”
The beautiful portrait’s expression clearly cooled further. “Tell me more. If I’m in a good mood, I’ll consider it. Regardless, you crazy shrew, whenever you come looking for me, it never brings good news. You fail to complete what you start and mess up what you finish! With your taste, anyone you recommend probably won’t be much better. Our Taiyuan Sect’s Taihao Primordial Spirit Sword isn't something just anyone can learn!”
Zhao Yanran’s lips twitched, forcing down the urge to smash the bronze mirror in her hand into pieces.
A moment later, she gave a cold, low laugh, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent.
“Then what about the one who shattered the Mingjian Platform and broke the Minor Luo Tian Sword Formation of the Lingyun Sect?”
“The Minor Luo Tian Sword Formation? Hmm, that’s not bad, but it only has some renown in the East Lin Yun Continent. The Ten Great Sacred Lands, the Nineteen Spirit Mansions—any direct disciple from any of those sects occupying these spiritual territories could break it easily, they simply disdain to do so. Such talent might barely qualify to enter my door—”
“What if this person is only thirteen years old, and used only three hundred and forty-three breaths to do it?”
The mirror surface fell silent for a moment. Zhao Yanran, as if fearing it wasn't enough, continued writing: “What if this person only took two hours to meticulously copy the Twelve Divine Tablet Heavenly Talismans?”
This time, after a long wait, the bronze mirror finally reacted: “Are you joking? Such a figure in the East Lin Yun Continent? Crazy woman, are you sure?”
“I haven’t seen it with my own eyes, but it was Lingyun Long Ruo who spoke it himself!”
“I don’t believe it! If such a person truly existed, the Lingyun Sect would surely fight to reclaim him for their mountain. How could they allow us to interfere?”
“He is a half-demon, possessing the body of dual meridians. Rumor has it there is another hidden affliction within him, preventing him from breaking through to the Wheel Realm!”
The beautiful portrait on the mirror immediately displayed an expression of 'Just as I suspected.' Even the characters forming on the surface seemed tinged with a degree of satisfaction.
“—I knew it! Since he has a dual-meridian body and cannot break through to the Wheel Realm, what use is joining our Taiyuan Sect?”
Zhao Yanran smiled coldly. Once those words disappeared, she wrote again.
“Thirteen years old, spiritual connection in the Dao of the Sword! As a Martial Master, he glimpsed the profound mysteries of Sword Intent. My disciple restrained his Innate True Qi to fight him; on the seventy-sixth strike, he was wounded by the youth’s single sword strike, the injury difficult to heal. Afterward, his fighting spirit vanished completely, and he knew victory was impossible!”
Though the blood script remained forceful and domineering, it somehow carried an ineffable strain of loss and dejection.
The bronze mirror fell silent once more. However, instead of text reappearing, a cold, grave voice resonated, transmitted remotely using the bronze mirror as a conduit.
“Who exactly is this person? Where is he now? Is he currently in the East Lin Yun Continent? Thirteen years old with a spiritual connection to the Sword Dao? Are you trying to deceive me?”
Zhao Yanran had no intention of continuing to write. She put the mirror away, freezing the ground beneath her feet again, and began to slide down the hill.
Then, an exasperated voice was heard: “Crazy shrew, are you going to tell me or not? Believe it or not, I’ll rush to the Seven Spirits Sect right now and accuse you of the crime of disrespecting your elder!”
Zhao Yanran’s expression remained unchanged, only a hint of mockery flickering in her eyes.
“Accuse me if you wish. Since someone said they would consider it, you can wait until they have finished considering. In any case, our Cangsheng Dao isn’t the only sect looking for successor disciples!”
The voice immediately choked off, swiftly turning fawning, the tone obsequious.
“Alright, Yanran, it’s your Martial Aunt who was wrong! How about this, I’ll give you five Fire Soul Pills later, alright? You might not need this medicine right now, but in a while, it will be perfect for attempting to break through to the Returning Yang Realm. Or perhaps I can offer you that nameless sword from our sect—”
The corner of Zhao Yanran’s lip curled slightly, the previous gloom swept clean away.
“Add twenty Fetal Refining Pills and twenty Snow Soul Pills, or don't bother talking!”
“Zhao Yanran, you’re insane!”
The voice jumped a full eight octaves, and the bronze mirror in her pouch vibrated violently. Zhao Yanran disdained to pay it any mind, suddenly accelerating and sliding away into the distance.
At almost the exact same moment, in a pavilion tens of thousands of miles away, a woman appearing to be in her early twenties stood up, lost in a daze.
And on the mirror surface before her, the line Zhao Yanran had drawn was still visible:
“Thirteen years old, spiritual connection in the Dao of the Sword! As a Martial Master, he glimpsed the profound mysteries of Sword Intent. On the seventy-sixth strike, he was wounded by the youth’s single sword strike, the injury difficult to heal. Afterward, his fighting spirit vanished completely, and he knew victory was impossible—”
Subtle shades of astonishment flickered in the clear eyes of the beautiful woman.
“Is there truly such a rare talent in this world? Could this be a blessing from the Heavens upon our Taiyuan Sect?”