"The winner—Li Shuang!"
Ye Zhaozhao stood below the stage, watching as Li Shuang was greeted with thunderous cheers.
She tried to control herself.
But in front of so many people, having her face slapped so publicly by the very "natives" she always looked down upon, she seemed to hear countless mocking voices ringing in her ears.
Everyone was laughing at her, weren't they?Everyone thought she was a clown, didn't they?
At the same time, she realized her cultivation had already fallen back to the early Nascent Soul stage. And now, she had lost even more ground.
If this continued, she would soon regress entirely to the Nascent Soul stage.
According to the system, once she fell back, punishment would come. And Ye Zhaozhao, as the host, knew well that this system was no benevolent master. Its so-called punishments were cruel beyond measure.
No… I absolutely cannot accept that!
Her face twisted, ferocity breaking through her carefully maintained mask.
"Zhaozhao, it's alright, we—" Sheng Yuan began, walking over to comfort her. But the moment he saw her expression—ghastly, almost demonic—he froze.
The words caught in his throat.
By the time he recovered, her face had already softened back into its usual gentle, lovely appearance.
"Big Brother." She forced a fragile smile. "I… I didn't expect that even after I admitted defeat, Senior Sister Li would suddenly draw her sword. I was so frightened."
She looked helpless, as if she had been gravely wronged.
Chang Le'an's heart immediately filled with rage. He glared at Li Shuang, who was already surrounded by Wuqing Peak disciples, and ground out:
"She did it on purpose! Junior Sister, you're far too polite. You don't even argue with her—that only makes her more arrogant!"
Ye Zhaozhao lowered her lashes, showing a pitiful, fragile expression. "I… I was only worried about Long Yan. That's why I conceded early. I didn't expect Senior Sister Li would suddenly attack me."
Hearing her words, Chang Le'an's anger surged even higher, as though he was about to storm forward and confront Li Shuang.
Ye Zhaozhao quickly caught his sleeve, holding him back, forcing him to calm down.
"Junior Sister, the Dragon Roar Sword."
Shen Yue approached quietly, picking up the sword from the stage and handing it back to her. His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
Ye Zhaozhao's heart trembled. She quickly stammered, "Second Brother, I… I didn't mean to drop it. I was just too nervous."
A complex light flashed in Shen Yue's eyes. He said evenly, "As a sword cultivator, you must never drop your sword—under any circumstance."
His voice carried no anger, no blame, yet Ye Zhaozhao flushed in shame. After a long pause, she whispered, "I… I understand. I didn't mean to."
"Also," Shen Yue added, "never burn a sword spirit's essence unless it's truly a matter of life and death. Otherwise, the damage may be permanent."
His heart grew heavy as he spoke.
He remembered his own childhood. Before joining the Sword Sect, he was born into a family of swordsmen. From the moment he could walk, he had carried a blade—first a wooden sword, later a real one, and finally his current Fiery Sun Sword.
Even the broken blades of his youth, he had kept and cherished.
In the mortal world, he had been praised as a sword genius. But once he entered the cultivation world, he learned how shallow that talent truly was.
It was Li Shuang who painstakingly rebuilt his foundation, one step at a time, until he could shine among the new disciples.
Back then, he thought himself her equal—perhaps even her superior in pure sword talent.
But now…
After seeing the blooming ice lotus, he no longer dared to entertain such illusions.
He feared he might never catch up to her in this lifetime. Yet still, he believed himself to be a true sword cultivator.
Because a true sword cultivator never discards their blade, nor treats their sword spirit as a mere tool for convenience.
By that measure… Ye Zhaozhao could hardly even be called a sword cultivator.
"Second Brother, are… are you blaming me?" Ye Zhaozhao's eyes reddened, tears brimming. "I didn't force Long Yan to burn his spirit. He did it on his own!"
"Second Brother, Junior Sister is already upset from losing!" Chang Le'an immediately shielded her, glaring at Shen Yue. "Why are you scolding her now?"
Sheng Yuan rubbed his temples, exasperated. "That's not what Second Brother meant. Enough—the important thing is Long Yan's condition. His spirit is damaged. We should return to Lingxu Peak and stabilize him first."
Shen Yue said nothing more. Chang Le'an glared at him one last time before leading the tearful Ye Zhaozhao away.
Sheng Yuan sighed, casting Shen Yue a helpless glance. "Come on, Second Brother. Let's go too. Staying here will only fuel gossip."
Shen Yue hesitated, glancing one last time at Li Shuang from afar. Then he nodded, his heart heavy.
Meanwhile, the arena remained silent.
The disciples who had just witnessed the match were still overwhelmed by the terrifying vision of the true dragon and the ice lotus blooming on stage.
Meng Yifei had already risen to his feet, unable to contain himself.
Though the phantom lotus had long since vanished, his gaze lingered on the spot where it had blossomed. His eyes gleamed with a hazy light, deep in thought.
Finally, he turned toward Lin Qingling. "This is…"
Lin Qingling remained calm, though a faint relief softened her features. "The Merciless Sword Technique. I gave her the jade slip passed down by our ancestor. Li Shuang… truly is a natural genius. She's already mastered the first move."
"The… Merciless Sword Technique?"
Meng Yifei's lips trembled.
Long ago, the founder of the sect had wielded the Cangmu Sword. With a single strike, a vast forest of pine trees would manifest, embodying the endless vitality of wood-attributed spiritual power.
Later, that understanding evolved into the sect's ultimate—merciless—sword technique.
On the surface, the founder's style and Li Shuang's style bore little resemblance. But there was one common thread:
Each strike reflected their personal understanding of the Dao.
At this level, practicing swordsmanship was no longer about technique. It was about stepping into the Dao itself.
The only sword art capable of reaching that essence was the Merciless Sword Technique.
If Li Shuang had chosen instead to practice the Supreme Forgetfulness Technique, Meng Yifei would have harbored doubts about her path.
But now…
Not only had she chosen correctly—she had already comprehended the first move. Even their ancestor had not reached such insight at her age.
A shiver ran through Meng Yifei.
He had a hunch: once Li Shuang broke through to the Nascent Soul stage, the Sword Sect would truly usher in an era of prosperity.