Bitter winds and cold rains came, and autumn gave way to winter.
Jiang Yang watched the needles yellow and flutter down, until snow filled the branches and blanketed the ground in white.
Throughout this forest of pine and cypress on Morning Rain Peak, the young man had left traces of his presence.
"Not bad. You've reached the utmost limit of Sword Qi. With Spirit Oak as well, ordinary Qi Refining cultivators probably won't be a match for you."
Bai Tang stood in the snow with arms folded, wearing a moon-white robe patterned with flowing clouds. The scenery was beautiful, but the figure within it was more beautiful still.
Jiang Yang chuckled and loosened his right hand. The Spirit Sword instantly shrank into a little sword as slender as a chopstick, which he held in his hand.
He loosely gathered his long hair, then casually slipped the little sword through it as a hairpin to hold it in place.
Even after seeing this scene a thousand times, Bai Tang still marveled at the young man's bearing.
A blue-green robe, a single hairpin, a simplicity as clear as water—he wore no other ornaments, yet it was impossible to look away.
Half a year had passed, and the sixteen-year-old Jiang Yang seemed to have grown into his frame further. His features had become increasingly harmonious and handsome, and a sharp, formidable air surrounded him.
"Senior Bai, when do you think I'll be able to achieve Sword Ray?"
Yet Jiang Yang showed little excitement. Once he had tidied his hair, he turned and asked.
He had already gained sufficient understanding of Sword Qi, but he certainly would not settle for that. He wanted to look toward a higher realm.
"With Sword Ray, thunder roars when the sword leaves its sheath, resounding through the clouds.