Falling Flowers Have Intent (5)

The mist atop Spirit Pool Peak was always more lingering than elsewhere, especially in the early morning. Milky-white fog, like shredded clouds soaked in water, drifted over the bluestone path, over the pines at the cliff's edge, and over Su Miaoxi's tangled thoughts.

At the end of the bluestone path, Su Miaoxi watched the figure practicing swordsmanship not far away. Her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her moon-white skirt, pinching shallow creases into the fabric.

Shen Yuxi had been busy with something lately. He kept himself shut away on Spirit Pool Peak and rarely even set foot on Spirit Sword Peak, where he usually went. Sword light flickered in and out of the mist, sometimes turning into a silver ribbon that split the morning haze with a sharp whistle through the air, fierce and intimidating.

His sword techniques had always been beautiful. Shen Yuxi was actually rather frail, lacking the strength advantage his fellow disciples possessed, and he had never liked clumsy head-on clashes. Thus, he had carved out another path for himself: strike at weaknesses and kill in a single blow.

Those seemingly flashy spins and lifted blades merely concealed the instant of his true attack. The sword forms born from this were naturally agile, yet hid edges tempered in ice.

Su Miaoxi drew a deep breath. The mist carried the fresh scent of grass and trees, while Spirit Pool Peak's distinctive dampness washed over her with a faint chill. Only when she breathed it deep into her lungs did her thoughts, tangled like a mess of hemp, settle a little.

On the way here, she had turned over everything she needed to think through in her heart thousands upon thousands of times—those hesitations, fears, and anxieties over gain and loss ultimately could not overcome the truest longing