Ye Qingyao's Sword

When Ye Qingyao arrived, Bai Qingxue was practicing her sword in the courtyard.

Before the final form of the Frost Condensation Sword’s sheathing technique was finished, there was a knock at the courtyard gate.

“Come in,” Bai Qingxue said indifferently.

The door opened, and Ye Qingyao stood at the entrance.

Now, Ye Qingyao wore pale green martial attire, her hair tied up neatly. A short sword hung at her waist; its scabbard was new, dark green, and wrapped with several silver threads.

Ye Qingyao was a bit thinner than she had been during the competition, her jawline more defined, yet she still stood half a head shorter than Bai Qingxue.

“Sister Bai, long time no see,” Ye Qingyao called out. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it lacked the cautious probing of the past.

Bai Qingxue sheathed her sword and looked at her.

After the grand competition, Ye Qingyao had hardly visited Xueji Peak.

Bai Qingxue didn’t ask what had happened, nor did she think to. Life went on as usual—the cold pond, the routine, everything the same.

It wasn’t until today that the two met for the first time since the competition.

This time, Ye Qingyao hadn’t brought anything else; she only brought herself and the sword at her waist.

“Sister Bai, I would like you to look at my sword technique.” When Ye Qingyao said this, her gaze didn’t flicker. She looked straight at Bai Qingxue, as if speaking of something she had prepared for a long time.

Bai Qingxue glanced at her. It had to be said, Ye Qingyao was different from half a year ago.

Not in terms of appearance, but those eyes.

During the competition, Ye Qingyao’s eyes held resentment and timidity, like a suppressed fire that wanted to burn but didn’t dare to.

Now, that fire burned brightly in her eyes, unconcealed.

Hearing this, Bai Qingxue didn’t ask why, nor did she say whether it was good or bad.

She simply drew the Frost Condensation Sword again, walked to the open space in the center of the courtyard, and turned to face Ye Qingyao.

Ye Qingyao was stunned for a moment, then the corners of her mouth curved slightly. She unfastened the short sword from her waist, gripped it, took a deep breath, and walked slowly to stand opposite Bai Qingxue.

Her hand holding the sword was much steadier.

“Come.”

Ye Qingyao didn’t stand on ceremony. Before the words finished, her sword moved.

The first strike went straight for Bai Qingxue’s left shoulder. Bai Qingxue stepped aside to avoid it, her Frost Condensation Sword parrying lightly. The short sword was deflected, but Ye Qingyao didn’t stop; a second strike followed immediately.

Ye Qingyao had grown stronger.

Bai Qingxue retreated half a step. The sword tip swept past her right knee, missing by half an inch.

As Ye Qingyao’s sword constantly approached Bai Qingxue, the distance between them narrowed.

Ye Qingyao was no longer held firmly at arm’s length as she had been during the competition. Instead, she managed to push closer to Bai Qingxue, inch by inch.

Every time Bai Qingxue parried a strike, Ye Qingyao took half a step forward.

Every time Bai Qingxue avoided a strike, Ye Qingyao’s sword lingered at her side for a moment longer.

The distance between them, in this back-and-forth probing, unknowingly closed.

Ye Qingyao’s eyes never left Bai Qingxue’s movements, and her sword momentum intensified.

What Ye Qingyao wanted Bai Qingxue to see was not just her sword, but her intent.

Ye Qingyao didn’t want to be just the person who gave gifts anymore.

Cold Iron Stone, peace knots, lotus seed soup, osmanthus cakes—Bai Qingxue had accepted them, but those things couldn’t earn her gaze.

Ye Qingyao wanted Bai Qingxue to look at her.

So she stopped giving gifts. She tucked those thoughts away and replaced them with a sword.

Every day, in the bamboo forest on the back mountain of Qingyun Peak, Ye Qingyao practiced her sword over and over.

Even if the sword was knocked away, she would simply pick it up.

Even if her wrist throbbed with pain, she would just shake it out and continue.

Even if blisters formed, she would pop them, wrap them in cloth, and grip the sword again.

Ye Qingyao wanted Bai Qingxue to see that she was no longer the person who could only stand at a fork in the road and say “be careful.”

She could also stand opposite Bai Qingxue.

Bai Qingxue parried a few more strikes. The webbing of Ye Qingyao’s hand was rubbed red, and her sword hand began to tremble slightly, but her steps didn’t stop.

During this, there was one strike Bai Qingxue didn’t parry, only turning her body to let it pass. Ye Qingyao’s sword tip brushed against Bai Qingxue’s lapel as it slid by.

Missing the strike didn’t panic Ye Qingyao. After stabilizing herself, she immediately prepared to turn and strike again.

This time, the distance between her and Bai Qingxue was less than an arm’s length.

At this moment, Ye Qingyao was close enough to see the curve of Bai Qingxue’s knuckles as she held the sword, close enough to smell that faint scent of frost and snow on her robes, close enough that her heart beat so fast it didn’t feel like a duel.

However, Bai Qingxue didn’t parry with her sword again. Instead, she reached out and caught the tip of Ye Qingyao’s sword between two fingers.

The short sword stopped in mid-air, unable to advance or retreat an inch.

Ye Qingyao gripped the hilt, panting heavily.

Sweat poured from her temples, sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the courtyard floor.

Her hand was shaking, but she didn’t let go or withdraw the sword. She just stood there, looking at Bai Qingxue across the caught sword tip.

Bai Qingxue looked back at her.

“Sister Bai,” Ye Qingyao’s voice was a bit hoarse, airy from her heavy breathing, but every word was articulated clearly. “Are you watching?”

Bai Qingxue was somewhat confused but still replied, “I am.”

Then, Bai Qingxue released her fingers and sheathed her sword.

Hearing this, the corners of Ye Qingyao’s mouth curved. She lowered her head and began to sheath her short sword.

Her hand was still shaking, and it took several tries to get it in.

Once sheathed, she didn’t look up immediately.

Her fingers remained on the edge of the scabbard, not pulling away.

Ye Qingyao suddenly remembered the day of the grand competition, the sight of Bai Qingxue sheathing her sword and walking away.

She had watched that back for a long time, until her eyes stung, yet she hadn’t chased after her. At the time, she felt she had no right to; she was just one pair of eyes in the crowd, while Bai Qingxue was the light being ushered away by the masses.

But now it was different.

Today, she wasn’t standing in the crowd. She was standing right in front of Sister Bai.

Sister Bai hadn’t turned and left either, hadn’t drifted further away. Sister Bai had stood there the entire time, from the first strike to the last, never leaving her.

Ye Qingyao slowly raised her head.

Bai Qingxue stood opposite her. Her Frost Condensation Sword was sheathed, her expression was normal, and her breathing was steady. Nothing seemed different from half a year ago, except her hair was perhaps a bit whiter.

“This is enough...” Ye Qingyao said to herself in her heart. Her voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Then, Ye Qingyao took a deep breath and tied the short sword back to her waist.

When it was tied, her fingers lingered on the scabbard for a moment longer. In that moment, she thought of nothing, only wanting to make this moment last a bit longer.

“Sister Bai, thank you.”

Without pleasantries, the two gave each other a slight nod, which served as their farewell.

Immediately, Ye Qingyao turned and walked toward the courtyard gate. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling warmly on her shoulders.

But Ye Qingyao didn’t really want the warm sun to dispel the residual chill on her robes.

Only because that was the scent Sister Bai had left on her.

In every moment they had been close, that frost-like chill had brushed past her face, slipped into her collar, and pressed against her skin, turning into a thin layer of frost that slowly enveloped her.

Suddenly, Ye Qingyao lowered her head and sniffed her sleeve.

On her sleeve, there was still a hint of Bai Qingxue’s scent. It was very faint, like the last trace of winter’s chill being swallowed bit by bit by the spring sun.

Ye Qingyao wanted to keep it, but she didn’t know how.

All she could do was clench her sleeve tighter, as if by doing so, those fleeing scents could stay a while longer.

Ye Qingyao wasn’t just loath to let go of that chill.

Even more so, she was loath to let go of those moments of closeness hidden within it.