After Chen Wuya left, the sea gradually calmed. Bai Zhi stood atop a reef by the shore, watching the floating platform recede into the distance. Her fingers unconsciously rubbed the sword hilt. She neither moved nor spoke, merely stared at the water until that figure vanished completely beyond the horizon.
She turned and headed into the island, her steps heavier than usual.
On the eastern side of Penglai Island lay a broad martial training ground paved with bluestone, with several wooden posts standing around its edges. A few disciples were sparring there. When they saw her arrive, they all stopped and bowed. Bai Zhi nodded in return, her gaze sweeping toward an aged figure at the center of the grounds.
The man had his back to her. Stooped and clad in a gray cloth robe, he leaned on a bamboo staff. When still, he resembled a dead branch of wood, yet when a disciple swung his sword at him, he merely shifted lightly aside and tapped with his staff, sending the disciple staggering back three steps.
"Elder." Bai Zhi stepped forward and cupped her fist in salute.
The old man turned his head. His eyes were cloudy, yet calm. "You've come."
"I want to test your skills."
The elder glanced at her and set his bamboo staff aside. "Fine. But don't expect me to go easy on you."
The words had barely fallen when Bai Zhi drew her sword. Its flash was like lightning, striking straight down the middle. This was the opening form of the Qingfeng Thirteen Forms—fast, precise, ruthless, built to seize the advantage in a single blow.
The elder neither drew a sword nor retreated. He raised his right hand, palm facing outward, and pushed toward the sword tip. The motion was slow, as though he were