Yanqing:?! Two powerhouses?!
Jing Yuan didn't rush to explain, but simply gestured with his chin towards Yanqing: "This is Mr. Jingxing. If there's nothing else this afternoon, take him to the West Martial Arts Arena a couple of times."
Yanqing was taken aback. "General, what's wrong...?"
"There are some things I can't teach you, but he can." Jing Yuan picked up his teacup and took a sip. "Go. Sparr with the strong outside, and get a glimpse of the world beyond."
Having said that, Yanqing had no choice but to clasp his hands in agreement.
He had heard the rumors circulating from the Divination Commission a few days ago. The usually diligent Lord Diviner had been leaving work exceptionally quickly lately, and a leisurely guest had brazenly moved into his residence.
Yanqing had heard about it before but put it out of her mind, after all, she dared not gossip about the Lord Diviner's private affairs. But now, the person she had heard the rumors about was right in front of her.
Yanqing was still somewhat curious.
The man in front of me was wearing a slightly wrinkled trench coat and didn't even carry a proper weapon; he had an air of nonchalance about him.
Lord Diviner... what exactly does he see in him?
Adding to the absurd comment the general had just made—"comparable to building another Xianzhou"—the boy's mind was filled with questions that were practically bursting out of his head.
Yanqing clasped his hands in greeting according to etiquette, his back ramrod straight, but his voice betrayed an undisguised competitive spirit. "Yanqing Cloud Knight Lieutenant, greets Master Jingxing."
Jingxing glanced him up and down, then smiled, "You're even more naive than I thought."
Yanqing raised her eyelids and stared at him, retorting stiffly, "Sir doesn't look much older than Yanqing."
Jing Yuan, who was sipping his tea nearby, suddenly coughed.
"It's alright, you're telling the truth." Jingxing didn't take it seriously, tilted his head back to pour the last bit of tea from the bottom of his cup into his mouth, patted his trouser leg, and stood up. "Let's go, buddy."
Yanqing glanced at Jing Yuan sideways, and seeing that his general was looking down and had no intention of stopping him, he pursed his lips, turned around and left.
A leisurely Jing Yuan drifted from behind. "Mr. Jingxing, please show some restraint."
"Don't worry, I know my limits." Jingxing put his hands in his pockets without turning his head.
The two walked through the covered walkway and headed straight for the western side courtyard.
This Martial Arts Arena is where Yanqing usually practices his sword. It's not a big place, and the bluestone slabs are pitted and uneven from being chopped. The cold iron on the weapon racks around the area gleams white in the sunlight.
Upon reaching the center of the arena, Yanqing paused, then nimbly turned around. With a soft click of the mechanism, the three-foot-long sword at his waist slid into his palm, its blade clear as water, reflecting a chilling glint in the sunlight.
Jingxing stopped ten paces away, leaning lazily against a hitching post about half a person's height, making no attempt to strike a pose.
Yanqing frowned. "Sir, why aren't you drawing your weapon?"
"You go first, I'll take a look first." Jingxing shrugged.
These words sounded incredibly arrogant, and the spark in the young swordsman's eyes ignited instantly.
He didn't say another word of advice. With a flick of his wrist, his foot struck the bluestone slab with a crisp sound, and his first move was a thrust that traded injury for injury. This sword strike had no fancy moves or feints; the sword energy condensed into a line of stark white frost, heading straight for Jingxing's right shoulder—so fast that even the sound of the wind was left behind by the tip of the sword.
This was his way of putting pressure on this "gentleman".
However, Jingxing didn't even flinch.
Just as the sword's edge pierced the air and the chilling aura caused his wispy hair to flutter slightly, Jingxing flicked his right finger, which was hanging in his sleeve.
There was no roar of collision, and not even a tremor of light or shadow in the void.
But the tip of the sword that Yanqing had thrust halfway through suddenly veered outward without warning. Yanqing stared wide-eyed at her arm, which was twisted outward by the shock.
The feeling was so eerie it sent chills down his spine. His force was clearly aimed straight at Jingxing's right shoulder, but the attack he delivered just slipped into empty space.
The old force was exhausted, and the new force had not yet arisen. The violent sword force pulled the boy forward, causing him to stumble and leave a white mark on the stone slab beneath his feet. Yanqing reacted extremely quickly, using the momentum to spin around and kneel on one knee. He then plunged the tip of his sword into a crack in the stone, sparks flying as he regained his balance.
My entire right arm was stiff from the shock, and the area between my thumb and forefinger burned with pain.
Jingxing remained leaning against the hitching post, his right hand tucked into his sleeve, not even revealing itself, and not a speck of dust beneath his feet.
The courtyard was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, with only a few sparrows startled by the gust of wind fluttering their wings on the old pine tree.
Yanqing knelt on one knee, staring intently at the scorch mark his longsword had carved into the stone slab, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
He wasn't physically injured, but his mind was completely in turmoil.
What kind of approach was that just now?
"Didn't understand?" Jingxing broke the silence.
Yanqing took a deep breath, stood up, and his longsword clicked softly as it was sheathed. He lowered his head, clasped his hands in a deep bow, almost bending over. "Yanqing's eyesight is poor; I couldn't even detect a trace of your movements, sir."
"That's normal. If you can actually touch him, Jing Yuan should let you take over his job." Jingxing straightened up and casually dusted off the dust from his cuffs.
These ridiculous words left no room for leniency. Yanqing gritted her teeth, and Jing Yuan's earlier words, "Rebuild another Xianzhou," suddenly popped into her mind.
It turns out it wasn't just a joke to fool children.
The young man's pride shattered, and amidst the surging anger in his chest, a thought suddenly popped into his head, "Sir... have you fought against the other members of the Xianzhou before?"
"I've submitted it."
"Who?"
"Yunli, the girl from Zhuming who wields the heavy sword," Jingxing said casually.
Yanqing's eyelids twitched suddenly, and his back tensed instantly. "Miss Yunli, one of Zhuming's 'Flaming Wheel, Eight Leaves'? Has she ever won a single move against you, sir?"
Jingxing recalled the chaotic fight off the Zhuming Outer Sea and smirked, "I barely won."
These words fell lightly, but when they reached Yanqing's ears, they weighed a ton.
He always felt that if he were to face Yunli in the martial arts arena a few years from now, the outcome would be at least a 50/50 chance.
But now, this monster, who can force himself to the ground to find his balance with a casual flick of his wrist, admits that he only narrowly defeated Yunli.
Then what am I?
That thrust, which he was so proud of just now, was probably no different from a three-year-old child stabbing someone with a stick in the eyes of the opponent.
The enormous drop felt like a dull knife, scraping down the boy's sternum—he realized he had long been left behind, so far that he couldn't even see the backs of others.
Jingxing watched as the boy's face turned from white to red, and his knuckles creaked as he gripped the sword sheath. He sighed inwardly.
This unfortunate kid has clearly gotten himself into a rut—when he fought Yunli back then, he was merely a traveler just beginning his journey into Path; how could he compare to her now?
But I didn't lie to him, right?
Jingxing was about to open his mouth to say something to make amends, so as not to make Yanqing too dejected. But before he could speak, he saw the boy opposite him suddenly raise his head.
Those eyes were slightly red from the frustration, but there was no dejection or self-pity in them. Instead, they were like sparks falling into a pile of dry grass, crackling and igniting a fierce and reckless spirit.
"Sir," Yanqing's apple bobbed, his voice hoarse yet frighteningly deep, "Sir, please enlighten me!"
He shifted his feet, his breath instantly becoming completely still, his entire body like a taut bow under a full moon, the tip of his sword emitting a barely perceptible sliver of white frost.
The next instant, the sword light suddenly burst forth, carrying with it the youth's unyielding spirit of not giving up until he hit a brick wall, once again cleaving through the autumn wind in the courtyard.