Who would have thought that Wang Xian, upon hearing her words, would come straight toward Nalan Qiuqiu like a moth flying into a flame...
"Ching!" A sword rang out. The spirit sword in Nalan Qiuqiu's hand passed right through Wang Xian's chest in an instant—or rather, she herself passed through him as if she had collided with Li Huai.
But there was no spray of blood as she'd imagined. It was more like the unity of man and sword, passing through a cloud of mist.
The great general watching from not far away shuddered, his beard trembling.
He wondered whether he could dodge if a sword like that struck his chest.
Sure enough, the late emperor had seen this coming all those years ago when he chose Wang Xian.
If the late emperor hadn't bestowed the title of Prince of Zhennan on Wang Xian, this fellow probably wouldn't have cared in the slightest about the turmoil in the imperial city.
"Damn it!"
By the time Nalan Qiuqiu realized she'd been tricked, it was too late to change her move.
"Ding!" Wang Xian extended a finger in a delicate, flower-pinching gesture and lightly flicked the spine of her sword...
Nalan Qiuqiu felt a jolt in her hand. One side of her body trembled, and she could no longer hold on to the spirit sword. Its dragonlike ring had yet to fade when it shot into the sky.
Like a bolt of lightning, it streaked across the plaza, over the woods, and finally plunged into the vast white lake, disappearing from sight.
Wang Xian still stood five zhang away, his feet not having moved an inch.
Nalan Qiuqiu trembled with rage. A chill shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and her whole body went cold.