The mission jade slip was delivered in person by Liu Ningshuang.
Bai Qingxue had just finished her morning cultivation in the cold pond. Droplets of un-melted water still clung to the tips of her hair when she pushed open the courtyard door and saw Liu Ningshuang standing beneath the old plum tree.
She held a green jade slip in her hand. Upon seeing Bai Qingxue return, she nodded slightly and handed it over directly without any pleasantries.
“This is the True Lord's instruction. You are to supervise the training of the new disciples.”
Bai Qingxue took the jade slip and swept her spiritual sense through it.
The mission description was brief: from the hour of the Dragon to the hour of the Monkey every day, she was to maintain a presence at the training ground. No instruction was required; she only needed to ensure there were no casualties.
Furthermore, the contribution points offered were indeed high—exactly double that of a typical monitoring mission.
“Can this disciple refuse?”
Liu Ningshuang glanced at her. “You can go ask the Peak Master.”
Hearing this, Bai Qingxue asked no further questions.
She tucked the jade slip into her sleeve and watched Liu Ningshuang's departing figure disappear around the corner of the stone steps. Then, she lowered her head to look at the fingertips that had just held the jade slip.
The mission description still floated in her mind. High contribution points, low intervention, and only requiring her presence.
Looking at it this way, there seemed to be no reason to refuse a mission personally assigned by True Lord Shuanghua.
The next morning, Bai Qingxue appeared at the training ground on time.
The training ground was located on a wide, flat clearing on the eastern side of the mountainside. Several old locust trees grew around it, their sparse branches and leaves casting scattered patches of shade.
Nearly ten disciples had already gathered in the clearing, most of them young people in the early to mid-stage of Qi Refining.
Some were warming up, others were discussing something in low voices, and some stood straight, their gazes sweeping toward the frost-white figure at the edge of the field from time to time.
Bai Qingxue did not look at them.
She walked over to a bluestone at the edge of the training ground and sat down. Brushing away the dust on the stone's surface, she retrieved the Frost Moon Chant from her storage bag and began to wipe it down.
In the center of the field, several disciples exchanged glances.
“She is that Martial Aunt Bai from Xueji Peak, right?”
“I heard she sealed the sea all by herself...”
“Why isn't she saying anything...”
Bai Qingxue ignored their whispers.
She turned the Frost Moon Chant over and continued to wipe it.
The sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves of the old locust trees, breaking into tiny flecks of light on the body of the flute.
Once the training began, the disciples practiced on their own according to their schedule.
They practiced sword techniques, footwork, and basic spiritual power circulation. Occasionally, someone would stop to catch their breath, their gaze drifting involuntarily toward the edge of the field.
Bai Qingxue never looked up. The flute turned slowly between her fingers, occasionally making a very soft sound.
Yet, simply by remaining there in silence, she drew an invisible boundary for everyone present.
No one dared to slack off, and no one dared to draw near.
A few hours later, an accident occurred.
A lean male disciple lost his footing while practicing a set of dodging footwork. His ankle twisted sharply on the bluestone ground, causing him to lose his balance and fall heavily.
He instinctively braced himself with his hands, his elbow striking the stone surface with a dull thud.
The disciples on the field rushed over to gather around him.
Someone knelt to support him. “Are you all right?”
Another shouted, “Don't move, don't move yet! Let's see where you're hurt?”
A few others scrambled to search their storage bags for medicine.
The injured disciple gasped in pain, his lips turning pale on one side. However, he did not make a sound, merely gritting his teeth as he leaned against the other disciple, a layer of fine sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Bai Qingxue remained seated on the bluestone, motionless. The sunlight fell upon her silver-white hair, illuminating her lowered profile until it seemed almost translucent.
Her gaze drifted over the crowd of gathered disciples, then moved away to rest on the distant grayish-green mountain ridge, as if she had seen nothing at all.
After a moment, Bai Qingxue reached into her storage bag. Her fingertips fumbled slightly at the opening before she withdrew a small white porcelain bottle.
Then, she gently tossed the porcelain bottle toward the gathered crowd.
The white porcelain bottle traced a low arc through the air and landed at the feet of the disciple closest to the injured one, rolling half a turn before stopping with its opening pointing upward.
The crowd fell silent. Several disciples looked down at the bottle at their feet, then up at the frost-white figure at the edge of the field, exchanging bewildered glances.
The injured disciple was the first to react.
Supporting himself with his uninjured hand, he slowly sat up, shifted his position, picked up the porcelain bottle, and held it in his palm.
“Th—thank you, Martial Aunt.”
Bai Qingxue did not respond. She drew the Frost Moon Chant from her storage bag once more and began to wipe it down, as if she had done nothing at all.
The afternoon sun filtered through the branches and leaves of the old locust trees, landing on her lowered eyelashes. The small patch of shadow lay quietly beneath her eyes, motionless.
The training continued. However, a subtle shift occurred in the silence among the disciples; the air, which had previously been frozen by her quiet presence, was no longer as tense as before.
Ye Qingyao happened to witness this scene.
Logically speaking, Ye Qingyao of Qingyun Peak should not have appeared on Xueji Peak, yet she did.
And the scroll in Ye Qingyao's hand at this moment was the reason.
After all, it was not unusual for disciples to travel between Qingyun Peak and Xueji Peak to hand over dossiers or resources.
The scroll in Ye Qingyao's hand was a set of archives that the Deacon Hall had asked her to deliver to Xueji Peak on her way the previous night. They had mentioned that training on Xueji Peak had been intense lately, leaving them short-handed, and asked her to make the trip.
As she passed by the training ground, Ye Qingyao naturally spotted the frost-white figure at the edge of the field.
Bai Qingxue sat on the bluestone, her long silver-white hair gleaming softly in the afternoon light. The Frost Moon Chant lay horizontally across her knees, her fingertips resting on the flute holes.
The disciples in the field were practicing at a leisurely pace. Occasionally, a few whispered words would be carried over by the wind, intermittent: “...I really didn't expect her to throw medicine over...”
“She's been sitting here all day without saying a single word...”
“Hurry up and practice. If we fail the cultivation assessment, we're finished...”
Ye Qingyao paused at the edge of the training ground.
Standing beside a low shrub, she chose not to walk over, opting instead to watch quietly from a distance.
Yet, as if sensing something, Bai Qingxue looked up.
Her gaze swept across the training ground, passing through the shifting shadows of robes and sword light of the practicing disciples, and landed beside the low shrub at the edge of the slope.
Ye Qingyao stood in the afternoon light, her pale green robe fluttering gently in the mountain wind. Holding a scroll in her hand, she had a quiet, unobtrusive smile in her eyes.
She did not wave or make a sound, simply standing there, yet her eyes held an indefinable look.
Bai Qingxue looked at Ye Qingyao for a moment.
Then, she gave a tiny nod of her chin—the movement was so subtle that it could have been a nod or simply the wind blowing, making it hard to tell if it was an intentional acknowledgment or a mere coincidence.
Ye Qingyao curled her lips into a smile and nodded in response, then turned and continued down the slope.
Her pale green figure was soon obscured by branches and leaves in the afternoon light, like a leaf carried away by the wind, merging into the distant mountain scenery.
On the training ground, a female disciple finally could not help herself.
She sheathed her sword and stood still, turning to face the frost-white figure at the edge of the field. Her voice carried an inquiring tone that she had clearly hesitated over for a long time before finally speaking up: “Martial Aunt, you come and sit here every day, yet you don't speak or guide us... What exactly are you doing?”
The field fell silent.
Seven or eight gazes landed on Bai Qingxue simultaneously, filled with curiosity, nervousness, and the relief of “finally, someone asked.”
Bai Qingxue looked up. Her gaze moved away from the flute, resting on the face of the questioning female disciple for a brief moment before drifting away.
“Ensuring you do not die here.”
The wind swept down from the mountains, passing through the old locust trees at the edge of the training ground, causing the leaves to rustle for a moment.
The disciples were left speechless by her casual remark, and for a moment, no one spoke.
Bai Qingxue did not explain further. She lowered her head again, pressing her fingertips against the flute holes without making a sound.
The training ground fell silent once more. The disciples silently turned back to continue their practice, the sound of sword wind slicing through the air filling the clearing once again.
Bai Qingxue sat on the bluestone, the Frost Moon Chant resting horizontally across her knees, her silver-white hair rising and falling with the afternoon wind.
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