It was why he could contend with swordsmen like Lu Wei and Qiu Si on the Sword Platform.
His spear was good, but that sword was too strong.
Pei Ye tried twice more to strike, only to have each attempt dismantled and countered within a single stroke. It skipped so many intervening steps without any apparent reason, as though relying entirely on keen intuition.
And that intuition was never wrong.
Pei Ye watched in silence. Yong Ji grew fiercer as he fought, the massive spearhead and gleaming sword blade sweeping back and forth before his eyes like some dazzling dance.
So fast. So strong. So familiar. So hard to let go.
The old man had indeed wielded his sword this way, even in his youth.
Later, he had lost his Pupil. Eighteen years on, the swordsmanship lingering within it still swept proudly through the Feather-Scale Trial, with no one able to withstand its edge.
But Pei Ye stood lost in thought for so long because he realized he could defeat it now.
After reaching ninth growth, after claiming two sword states, he possessed a keener sword sensibility. He was a swordsman on this very path to begin with; he could not have been more familiar with this leaping manner of sword use that went straight to the result.
It amounts to no more than this, he thought.
Yan Feiqing amounts to no more than this. Yue Muzhou amounts to no more than this.
Yong Ji attacked relentlessly before him, the ringing of iron sounding in his ears. Every sword move in the man's hand belonged to the old man's youth, as though he truly were matching moves with his younger self.
On that rainy night when he walked out of Bright Moon Hall, Pei Ye had thought that it was