She jolted awake the moment the sword pierced her heart.
Song Yao sat up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her eyes downcast.
What kind of dream was that?
The tragic end of a villain?
She curled her lips in a faint smirk. After a moment, she rolled out of bed, shaking her head.
It was far too unrealistic.
If they really fought like that, Jiang Jin would have been the first to die by her hand. How could he possibly have survived to the very end?
She washed her face to clear her head, changed into a fresh Daoist robe, and lazily headed out the door.
It was already dark outside, and the aroma of chicken soup drifted through the air.
Candlelight glowed in a room not far away; that was where the aroma was coming from.
Song Yao strolled over leisurely and saw a clay pot resting on a mud stove. Inside, the rich, savory chicken soup was bubbling gently, filling the entire room with its warm, mouthwatering fragrance.
He Yu sat at a wooden table nearby, a volume of an alchemy scripture spread open before him. The candlelight cast a warm, gentle glow over his profile.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up and smiled. “You woke up at the perfect time. Master simmered chicken soup for several hours and said you should have some as soon as you woke.”
As he spoke, he closed the scroll, stood up, and grabbed a porcelain bowl. He ladled out a generous serving of chicken soup, its surface glistening with golden droplets of oil, and handed it to her. He then placed a soft cushion on her stool. “Drink some while it's hot to warm your stomach. I'll go boil some thin noodles for you. Do you want an egg?”
“Yes~”
Song Yao rubbed her eyes as she sat down, holding the bowl. “Where is Master?”
“Still keeping an eye on things in the elixir room.”
He Yu rolled up his sleeves and walked toward the stove. “There isn't actually much to do, but everyone is so tense that they can't bring themselves to idle around. They said it's always better to prepare more.”
Song Yao hummed in agreement.
It was true.
With the outside world in absolute chaos, no one here had the peace of mind to just lie flat and slack off.
However...
What exactly was the backup plan they had left for themselves?
She had a vague guess in her heart, but she couldn't be certain. She lowered her head, blowing on the hot chicken soup as she sipped it slowly.
Before long, He Yu walked over with a steaming bowl of noodles and placed it in front of her.
Steam billowed from the porcelain bowl. The thin noodles were submerged in the rich, thick chicken soup, topped with two perfectly round poached eggs. Beside them lay two tender, glistening chicken drumsticks, garnished with a sprinkle of chopped scallions to enhance the fresh aroma. It smelled incredibly enticing.
He handed her a pair of bamboo chopsticks. “It's very hot, so take your time. Don't rush. I'll head back to the elixir room first.”
After taking a few steps, he turned back, looking a bit worried. “And whatever you do, don't run off. Go straight back to your room to sleep once you're done eating. Master and the senior brothers and sisters upstairs specifically ordered us to keep a close eye on you.”
Clutching her white porcelain spoon, Song Yao grumbled unhappily, “How could I possibly run off? I'm the last person in this world who would wander away.”
He Yu couldn't help but chuckle. “Yes, yes, of course. Just stay here, and I'll cook for you again tomorrow.”
“Okay~”
He Yu didn't linger. He quietly closed the door and left.
The candlelight flickered in the draft, casting a warm glow into her bowl.
Song Yao picked up her chopsticks and took a bite of a drumstick.
The tender, flavorful meat practically melted in her mouth, releasing its rich juices. The warmth traveled down her throat and settled in her stomach, dispelling much of the lingering exhaustion and unease from her nightmare.
By the time she finished the large bowl of noodles and the soup, Song Yao was so stuffed she felt bloated, and her sleepiness had completely vanished.
She stepped outside, intending to take a leisurely stroll to digest her food and see if anyone knew what was happening in the outside world.
Before she had walked very far, she heard synchronized shouting coming from the direction of the training grounds. The voices were deep and powerful, accompanied by the sharp whistling of swords cutting through the air, sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet night.
She followed the sound, climbing up a small dirt slope to look down.
Only a few lanterns lit the training grounds, casting a dim light over a group of young, lower-cultivation disciples.
Each of them stood perfectly straight, their swords rising and falling in perfect unison. Though sweat poured from their brows and their robes were soaked through, not a single one slacked off. They gritted their teeth, striving to execute every single form with absolute precision.
An instructing disciple paced back and forth nearby, occasionally calling out to correct their movements. His expression was solemn, showing no signs of laxity or dejection.
It seemed they weren't just hiding here for safety; they had turned this secret realm into a rear base, cultivating bitterly while recovering, clearly determined not to drag the sect down.
Watching them, Song Yao felt a sudden touch of emotion.
Beiyao Sect and Taiqing Pavilion had strict rules and placed immense weight on hierarchy. Joining them was practically equivalent to signing a lifetime indenture contract—you belonged to the sect in life, and your soul belonged to it in death.
Should conflicts arise between sects, those two could easily order all of their disciples and cultivators to throw away their lives for them.
But their Nine Saints Hall was different. Although they had rules too, they fundamentally respected their disciples' personal choices. If you wanted to cultivate diligently, the sect would provide a path for you to rise. If you didn't, you could happily spend your entire life as an ordinary cultivator.
Their core philosophy was simply to do as one pleased.
Because of this, in times of crisis, Nine Saints Hall would never force its disciples to charge into danger. Consequently, their mobilizing power was somewhat weaker than that of other sects.
But looking at them now, that didn't seem to be the case at all.
Even without any coercive measures, none of these kids had any intention of playing the coward.
Song Yao watched for a moment longer before leaping down the slope. She landed on the stone edge of the training platform, pulling back her Daoist robe as she sat down with one leg bent and the other dangling in the air. “That's not how you practice the sword,” she remarked.
There was a reason these disciples had such low cultivation. Without enlightenment, blindly putting in brute effort like this meant they would probably only grasp the barest surface of the sword even by the time they were several hundred years old.
Hearing her voice, the disciples on the field sheathed their swords in unison and hurriedly turned to bow to her. “Seventh Senior Sister.”
The instructing disciple stepped forward and bowed as well. “What do you mean by that, Seventh Senior Sister?”
“If that's not how you practice the sword, then how should we do it?”
Someone in the back muttered under their breath, “Hasn't Seventh Senior Sister barely practiced the sword herself? She hasn't even attended many of the elders' classes.”
“Yeah, isn't Seventh Senior Sister a pill cultivator?”
“How does a pill cultivator know how to practice the sword?”
“But didn't Ninth Elder say Seventh Senior Sister is extremely talented?”
“Having talent is one thing, but actually practicing is another...”
Although their voices were quiet, every word reached Song Yao's ears.
Not in the least annoyed, she casually reached out and took the sword from a disciple in the front row. With a light flick of her finger against the scabbard, the silver-white blade slipped free, reflecting the candlelight to cast a soft glow beneath her eyes.
The edge of the blade lifted a few stray hairs near her temple. Her delicate yet striking features carried a touch of casual, youthful spirit, making her look so stunning that it was impossible to look away.
“Watch closely. I'm only going to demonstrate this once. It's up to you whether you want to learn it or not.”
Before her voice could fade, she had already swept down from the stone edge.
The sword let out a clear chime, slicing through the night air as her youthful figure soared and darted through the darkness.
It was clearly an introductory sword form that everyone knew, yet in her hands, it was completely transformed.
—The opening stance was as light and agile as a passing breeze, the transitions as fluid and elegant as drifting clouds, and the strikes heavy and clean, without a single wasted movement.
Perhaps to make it easier for them to follow, she broke down every single move clearly. Yet, her movements still carried a wild, untamed energy. Her robes fluttered gracefully, and even the surrounding air seemed to flow along with the trajectory of her sword.
With the final sheathing form, she flicked her wrist, and the sword slid back into the instructing disciple's scabbard with a sharp shink, leaving her standing steadily in the center of the grounds.
Her breathing was perfectly steady, without even a trace of sweat on her brow. When she looked up at them, a casual, amused smile played in her eyes. “Well? Have you learned it?”
Rate on N.U.
