Absentminded

Three days after the Closing Assembly, Lin Zhiyue resumed her daily sword lessons.

The frost on the martial arts field had not yet dispersed in the early morning, leaving a thin layer of white frost condensed from the previous night on the blue jade stone surface.

When she arrived, Qi Yan was already standing in the center of the field, holding his silver-white longsword. A few strands of his hair drifted in the morning breeze. He did not turn around when he heard her footsteps, only speaking once she had stood still in front of him.

Jiang Yuezhan had also arrived, standing at the edge of the field with his iron sword hanging at his waist, waiting quietly.

Qi Yan's gaze swept over their faces. When he spoke, his tone was as flat as ever. “Starting today, I will teach you the Tiance Sword Art.”

Lin Zhiyue's fingers tightened slightly around the Azure Scale Sword.

She had heard of the Tiance Sword Art long ago—it was a sword technique that only personal disciples of Tiance Palace were qualified to learn, and countless people in the entire Sanglan Realm could only dream of catching a glimpse of its rubbings.

Everything she had learned before was the absolute basics: starting stances, transition forms, and fundamental skills. Qi Yan had never skipped a single step.

Now that he was presenting the sword art, it meant her foundation was solid enough.

Qi Yan offered no further explanation. Carrying his sword, he walked to the open space in the center of the martial arts field.

As he stood still, his posture sank slightly, and the tip of his sword pointed toward the ground.

His movements were not fast, even a few fractions slower than usual. However, as the tip of his sword sliced through the air, a visible sword glow shot out from the blade's edge, drawing a slender and solid silver arc in midair.

The sword glow struck the blue jade stone floor ten feet away, leaving a faint scratch with edges as clean as tofu sliced by a sharp blade.

He sheathed his sword, and the sword glow dissipated along with it, leaving only the mark on the ground to prove that it had not been an illusion.

This was... sword qi!

Sword qi was the external manifestation of the combination of spiritual energy and sword momentum. No matter how familiar she became with the sword forms, if she could not condense sword qi, her skills would be nothing more than flashy showmanship in real combat.

Only by condensing sword qi could one truly cross the threshold of the Tiance Sword Art.

Qi Yan held his sword horizontally, raising the blade flat in front of the two. “Sword qi relies on condensing spiritual energy at the blade's edge and then releasing it with the momentum. The moment you strike, the spiritual energy must arrive before the tip of the sword, and the sword qi will naturally condense. Today, you will practice your strikes from a standing stance, focusing only on condensing sword qi without worrying about power.”

He withdrew his silver-white longsword, walked to the edge of the field to sit down, and signaled for them to begin.

Lin Zhiyue adjusted her breathing, gripped her Azure Scale Sword tightly, and recalled Qi Yan's movements.

She slowed down her speed and delivered a flat thrust, trying to channel her spiritual energy into the blade at the exact moment of the strike.

The edge of the Azure Scale Sword lit up slightly, but nothing came out. Only a thin layer of frost condensed on the spine of the blade.

She frowned and tried a second strike. This time, her spiritual energy flowed a bit faster, but there was still no glow-like projection leaving the tip of the blade; only the air directly in front of the tip vibrated gently.

A third strike, a fourth, a fifth.

The martial arts field was incredibly quiet, with only the slight rustle of her clothes as she struck and the occasional soft whistle of the sword tip cutting through the air.

Jiang Yuezhan was also practicing, his movements standard and restrained, his focus entirely on the tip of his sword with every strike.

His sword qi also failed to condense for a long time.

By her tenth-odd strike, Lin Zhiyue suddenly remembered a sentence from the fourth form of the 《Thousand Mountains Cold Prism Sword Art》, Cold Mist Thousand Blades: “Spiritual energy is like water, and the blade is like a channel. When the water flows, the channel is formed; where the blade passes, a mark remains.”

She adjusted her approach. No longer deliberately forcing the sword qi out, she focused her attention on the flow rate and volume of her spiritual energy, letting it surge forward naturally within the blade.

When she delivered a flat thrust, the tip of her sword lit up, and an extremely brief, translucent silver glow flashed and vanished just in front of the blade's edge, dissipating barely an inch from the sword.

Sitting on the blue stone, Qi Yan had turned his gaze toward her at some point.

He watched the trace of the dissipating glow, offering no comment.

Lin Zhiyue felt it too—the feeling of that strike was completely different from before.

It was as if the blade had suddenly opened up. It was no longer just her gripping the sword and exerting force; instead, the sword was guiding her spiritual energy outward.

She memorized that feeling, raised her sword, and tried again.

This time, the silver glow extended half an inch further before dissipating, leaving a thread-thin frost mark in the air.

Standing nearby, Jiang Yuezhan noticed the movement at the tip of her sword. His striking speed faltered for a fraction of a second before he lowered his eyes to continue his own practice, the frequency of his iron sword unsheathing speeding up by another fraction.

The frost on the martial arts field slowly dissipated under the sunlight.

Holding her Azure Scale Sword, Lin Zhiyue repeated the same movement over and over. The silver glow at the tip of her sword went from barely visible to gradually taking shape, becoming slightly more solid with each attempt.

Qi Yan sat on the blue stone without interrupting or rushing her. He simply watched quietly, occasionally speaking up to correct Jiang Yuezhan with a brief “Your right shoulder is too high” or “Your wrist is too loose.”

By the time Lin Zhiyue finished her sword practice and went to the dining hall, the busiest peak of midday had already passed.

She carried her tray to a seat by the window. Just as she was about to pick up her chopsticks, she caught sight of a slumped figure walking through the door out of the corner of her eye.

Liu Fengyao was carrying a bowl of rice with two simple dishes she had randomly ordered from the counter. Her eyes were cast down, and her steps were a beat slower than usual.

She walked over to the table next to Lin Zhiyue and sat down, placing her bowl on the table. She twirled her chopsticks in her hand a couple of times but did not eat.

Watching her like this, Lin Zhiyue paused with her chopsticks mid-air.

She recalled that Liu Fengyao had been like this for the past few days—talking less, smiling less. In the past, she would chatter incessantly from start to finish during meals, but lately, she had been eating in silence and leaving immediately afterward.

“Fengyao, what's wrong?” Lin Zhiyue asked in a low voice, moving to sit opposite her with her bowl. “You haven't seemed quite yourself these past couple of days.”

Liu Fengyao's eyes darted away, her lips curling into an unnatural smile. “It's nothing, I just haven't been sleeping well.”

Seeing her evasive manner, Lin Zhiyue's intuition told her it wasn't that simple.

Just as she was about to ask further, two more people entered the dining hall—Cen Xi'er walked in front, with Xiao Yuan following half a step behind her. Carrying their food trays, the two looked around before heading straight toward them and sitting down.