The Thousand-Layer Schemes of the Sickly Beautiful Master - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

At that moment, Qing Zhuxue couldn’t resist touching the stream of water. Yun Shuchen was shaping it into a bird. The moment her hand touched it, it froze into an ice sculpture.

The ice sculpture fell and shattered into pieces.

Qing Zhuxue stared at the broken bird on the ground, a hint of regret in her eyes.

Yun Shuchen snapped her fingers, and the ice fragments melted quickly, as if boiled in hot water. The cold water seeped into the ground. She looked up at the sky and frowned. “What’s that?”

Two shadows circled in the sky, not landing. Qing-nezhu Qing also noticed them. They were two majestic golden eagles.

They belonged to Ruan Mingzhu.

That foreign girl who attended outer sect classes with her had shown her the two golden eagle chicks before. She had bought them from a cage at the market.

She said they were pitiful and shouldn’t be kept in cages. People in the Central Plains didn’t know how to raise eagles.

Later, she raised the two eagles to be quite tame. They could deliver messages and hunt small rabbits with ease.

“They’re looking for you,” Yun Shuchen sighed. “I’ll step back. They might come down.”

Elder Yun left gracefully.

Sure enough, the eagles’ wild instincts sensed Yun Shuchen as a threat, so they wouldn’t land. Once she left, one eagle landed on Qing Zhuxue’s arm, the other on a tree branch.

Qing Zhuxue lifted her arm. It was heavy. A letter was tied to the eagle’s leg. She opened it and saw Ruan Mingzhu’s unsteady handwriting.

It was much better than a few years ago when she couldn’t write at all.

[Qing Zhuxue, you haven’t come lately, but it’s good you didn’t. It’s been boring. He’s started reviewing old material.]

[Where do you live? I’ll come visit sometime.]

Qing Zhuxue wrote a reply, saying she couldn’t come.

Crane Feather Peak was in the inner sect and was Elder Yun’s residence. Though she was staying there, she wasn’t bold enough to bring friends over to play. She knew Yun Shuchen liked peace.

She glanced at Yun Shuchen, who was trimming extra branches from a bonsai, looking calm and serene.

Qing Zhuxue finished her letter at the courtyard’s stone table. The two eagles suddenly took flight again.

Yun Shuchen walked over, glanced at the fleeing eagles, and sat across from her. “I just remembered something about you. We should discuss it.”

Qing Zhuxue put down her pen and sat up straighter.

“The Sect Leader was right the other day. Your single spirit root suits the Sword Sect’s way of breaking all techniques with one sword. He invited you to learn swordsmanship. Are you interested?”

“Do you want me to learn, Elder?” she asked after a pause.

“It’s your path. Learn or not, it’s up to you.”

“But during the inner sect competition, you’ll need real skills. Learning some swordsmanship won’t hurt. You could try it. If you don’t like it, you can stop.”

She spoke so reasonably.

Qing Zhuxue nodded, having no objections. She rarely disagreed with Elder Yun.

The next day, she stepped into the Sword Pavilion for the first time. It wasn’t far from the Sect Leader’s Hall, both on the main peak.

Unlike the sparsely populated Crane Feather Peak, this place had more people. Compared to the chaotic outer sect, it felt quieter.

Several young men were practicing swordplay, their moves swift and graceful. One of them spotted Qing Zhuxue, flipped sideways, and landed in front of her, his sword tip touching the ground.

“You’re the girl the Master said would come to learn swordsmanship, right?”

Qing Zhuxue stared at his gleaming sword and said, “Hmm.”

“I’m the Sect Leader’s second disciple, Chen Lianqing. The Master is busy with sect affairs, but he told me this morning you’d come. I’ll teach you the basics.”

Chen Lianqing handed her a wooden sword and took one himself, avoiding his silver sword to prevent injury.

“This is the first sword of ‘The Unity’, called Light Cloud Emerging. The Master says this single thrust reveals a sword cultivator’s skill, eight or nine times out of ten.”

“The sword is sharp, but you can’t thrust too hard, or you’ll lose balance. It’s like a wisp of smoke drifting from a cave—moving forward with both strength and softness.”

Qing Zhuxue pursed her lips, gripped the wooden sword, and thrust forward. Chen Lianqing’s sword swiftly knocked hers aside.

She stumbled a few steps, steadying herself with the sword tip on the ground.

He frowned. “Your stance isn’t steady. Practice horse stance every day.”

A loud laugh came from afar. The tree shadows shook, and a beige wine jug dangled from a branch, swaying like a fishing lure.

A drunken young sword cultivator leaned against the tree trunk, looking down at Qing Zhuxue with a blade of grass in his mouth. “Ha, the peerless genius the Sect Leader kept raving about? What a letdown.”

“Shut up, Senior Brother!” Chen Lianqing frowned. “Go drink and sleep.”

He scolded his senior brother with the air of a master.

“Hey,” the drunk didn’t mind. He pulled up the jug, tilted it, and a drop nearly hit Qing Zhuxue’s head. He chuckled. “Empty.”

Chen Lianqing quickly pulled Qing Zhuxue away, as if avoiding bad luck. “Ignore that drunkard from now on.”

She practiced “Light Cloud Emerging” all morning, her form neat and proper. She kept her center low, her stance much steadier than before.

Chen Lianqing was fairly satisfied.

For the next few days, she went to the Sword Pavilion on time to learn. The Sect Leader taught her when he had time, but since these were basic skills, Chen Lianqing handled most of the teaching.

One day, she waited at the usual spot, but it wasn’t Chen Lianqing who came. A somewhat unfamiliar face appeared.

He looked at her with droopy eyelids, seeming tired, and smirked. “Little beauty, you’ve been training with that guy for days. Any progress?”

It was the senior brother who’d been sleeping in the tree that day, now standing on the ground, still looking half-drunk.

Qing Zhuxue frowned, but he explained, “Chen Lianqing’s on outer sect duty today. You might need a new teacher. Like me—your friendly Senior Brother Xiao Hong.”

“What’s with that look? I’ve got a few more years of skill than that guy.”

“Come on, little beauty, show me the sword moves you’ve learned.” He sat cross-legged, sipping from his wine jug.

Qing Zhuxue nodded and performed the beginner’s sword set of ‘The Unity’. Perhaps the founder made it short for beginners, only seven moves, unlike the lengthy thirty-six or forty-eight move sets.

As for why it was called ‘The Unity’, she only understood years later. All sword techniques, no matter how varied, came from a few basic moves. The ultimate path was simplicity, converging into one.

She finished the seven moves, slightly sweaty but not too tired.

Xiao Hong stood up. “Think you did well?”

Qing Zhuxue thought for a moment. “It should be correct.”

“Heh,” he scoffed. “No mistakes, sure. But little beauty, this might sound harsh—your moves are just fancy footwork. You’d be better off dancing. You haven’t taken a master yet, right? You’ll get crushed in the inner sect competition.”

“Your master,” Qing Zhuxue said, eyes lowered, “the Sect Leader, didn’t he teach you the same way?”

“No mistake there,” Xiao Hong grinned. “But that old man’s swordsmanship is top-notch. Doesn’t mean he’s great at teaching.”

His bold words bordered on insulting the Sect Leader, likely fueled by too much wine.

Qing Zhuxue stood with her sword. “What should I do then?”

Xiao Hong tossed her a real sword. “No wooden swords. Too dainty. Afraid the blade will ruin your pretty face?”

He drew his spirit sword and pointed at her. “I’ll give you ten moves, no cultivation power. Fight me. If you beat me, you’re good enough.”

Qing Zhuxue nodded, saluted with her sword, and thrust at him. Xiao Hong counted aloud, dodging nimbly like a monkey. At ten, he spun, drew his sword, and clashed with hers, the sound ringing out.

Qing Zhuxue stumbled back, her hand numb from the impact.

At nearly eighteen, Xiao Hong was about four years older, almost a grown man. Even holding back, his strength far surpassed hers.

Her sword moves were precise, her memory sharp, even more standard than his.

But against absolute strength, technique was useless.

When he thrust again, she could only dodge. Finally, he tossed his sword aside and fought with the scabbard.

Qing Zhuxue rolled on the ground, seized an opening, and stood. The scabbard’s wind whooshed above her head, feeling dangerous. She blocked with her sword, but the force was too strong. Her wrist went numb, the scabbard hit her hard, and she dropped her sword.

In just a few moves, the fight was over.

She knelt, clutching her right hand, trembling in pain, her white clothes covered in dust.

Xiao Hong crossed his arms. “In a real fight, your hand would be gone.”

Bored, he took a sip from his jug, found it empty, and pulled her up. “Remember how you got beat. Next time, you won’t. Now go back to Elder Yun and cry.”