The moment the wind died down in the valley, Zhao Yue moved.
He did not give Bai Qingxue any time to adapt to this stalemate.
A cold light flashed in his fathomless eyes. He whipped out his hand from behind his back, his scabbard flying backward like shed snake skin as his ancient longsword unsheathed.
Without any warning, a chillingly cold, ink-black arc of light swept silently along the bluestone ground.
The sword light did not thrust straight ahead. Instead, it slithered like a venomous snake, its sword intent solidifying as it locked precisely onto Bai Qingxue's right wrist, which held the Frost Moon Chant.
Zhao Yue's goal was clear: he wanted to ruin Bai Qingxue's handiest spiritual weapon and break the fingers she relied on to defend herself.
Before the sword edge even arrived, a needle-like sharp pain pricked the skin of Bai Qingxue's wrist, making it go slightly numb.
Yet, Bai Qingxue did not budge in the slightest. Only when the sword light was practically brushing against her sleeve did she slowly raise the flute to her lips.
A short, brief note drifted from the Frost Moon Chant.
It was not a rousing, murderous sound, but rather resembled the soft crack of ice splitting in a land of extreme cold.
With this single note, a visible wave of cold air erupted from the flute's mouthpiece. Just an instant before the sword light struck, it condensed into an ice wall as thin as a cicada's wing before her.
The ice wall was completely translucent, its surface as smooth as a mirror, reflecting cold, fragmented rays under the thin sunlight.
“Clang!”
The sword light crashed heavily against the ice wall, producing the crisp ring of metal striking stone. Cobweb-like cracks instantly spidered across the icy surface, covering nearly the entire wall. However, that thin layer of ice was unexpectedly hard, far exceeding everyone's expectations. It did not shatter, stubbornly blocking that incomparably fierce sword light three feet away.
In the first exchange, the roles of attacker and defender swapped in a mere breath.
Zhao Yue's figure closed in like a specter. His sword momentum shifted, and the tip of his sword deftly bypassed the edge of the ice wall, thrusting straight toward Bai Qingxue's chest.
This strike was fast, precise, and ruthless, coming from a tricky angle. It was clear he had been building up to it for a long time.
Seeing this, Bai Qingxue lightly tapped her toes. Her figure drifted backward half a foot like willow catkins in the wind, avoiding the sword edge with perfect timing.
At the same time, she pulled the Frost Moon Chant away from her lips. The end of the flute traced an imperceptible arc through the air, tapping with absolute precision against the side of Zhao Yue's rapidly thrusting sword blade.
“Ding!”
A clear, resonant metallic hum vibrated through the air. Zhao Yue felt a cold, soft force travel up the blade, making the web between his thumb and index finger go slightly numb, causing his sword momentum to falter.
The shift in techniques happened in the blink of an eye.
Zhao Yue flipped his wrist abruptly. The blade slithered down the end of the flute like a nimble snake, and a flash of cold light slashed toward Bai Qingxue's fair wrist holding the flute. The transition was seamless and incredibly ruthless, clearly intended to force her to drop the instrument.
Bai Qingxue's reaction was also lightning-fast. With a flick of her wrist, she lifted the Frost Moon Chant upward, parrying the blade by a hair's breadth.
The distance between them shrank instantly, so close they could see their own reflections in each other's eyes.
At a distance where they could hear each other breathe, killing intent filled the air.
Bai Qingxue raised the flute to her lips once more. This time, it was no longer a single note, but a rapid, chilly, short melody.
As the flute notes lingered, the cold air surging and spreading along the ground grew several times thicker than before.
The bluestone slabs beneath Zhao Yue's feet rapidly iced over at a visible rate. A thick layer of white frost climbed frantically from the tips of his boots, covering his ankles in the blink of an eye and locking him firmly in place.
The cold air not only froze his body but also attempted to erode his meridians.
Forced into a corner, Zhao Yue frowned slightly. He retreated rapidly, attempting to break free from the icy restraint that clung to him like maggots on a bone.
How could Bai Qingxue let this fleeting opportunity slip by?
Seizing the exact moment when Zhao Yue's old momentum had spent itself and his new strength had yet to form, the sound of her flute suddenly pitched upward, becoming sharp and piercing!
“Crack...”
A thick ice spike erupted from the ground at the sound, rising diagonally like a poised ice spear, thrusting straight toward Zhao Yue's head.
The ice spike was so fast it left only a lingering afterimage.
Zhao Yue's pupils contracted. At the critical moment, he forced his body to twist, leaning his head back until his entire body was almost parallel to the ground.
The ice spike flashed past the tip of his chin, drawing a thin line of blood.
A drop of crimson blood seeped from the wound, but the moment it left his skin, the terrifying cold of the surroundings froze it into a bright red, ice-blue-tinted bead of ice, suspended in midair.
Zhao Yue landed, steady as a rock.
However, he did not attack again immediately. Instead, he slowly raised his hand, brushing his fingertips over the small bloodstain on his jaw. He picked up the icy bead, which still held a trace of body warmth, and studied it in front of his eyes for a moment.
For the first time, a clear ripple of emotion appeared in his fathomless eyes. It was not anger, but rather a solemnity, as if he had met a worthy opponent.
Zhao Yue remained silent for a moment. Finally, he flicked away the icy bead on his fingertip. With a shake of his wrist, his longsword returned to its simple scabbard, letting out a clear, resonant hum.
“The valley is too small. I cannot display my full strength here.”
Zhao Yue's voice remained cold, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. “I will see you in the second round of the ruins.”
With that, he did not spare anyone another glance. Turning around, his ink-black Daoist robe kicked up a gust of cold wind as he walked straight out of the valley.
The disciples of the Northern Underworld Sword Sect followed closely behind. The black figures receded like a tide, leaving behind an icy silence.
Almost at the exact moment Zhao Yue sheathed his sword, Han Muchun let out a soft chuckle and gestured to the Falling Star Pavilion disciples behind her.
The gentle smile on her face remained unchanged, as if the thrilling exchange just now had been nothing more than an insignificant little performance to liven up the atmosphere. “Since two peaks of your noble sect are here, we shall not disturb you further.”
With that, Han Muchun turned gracefully. Leading the people of the Falling Star Pavilion, she quietly retreated to the edge of the valley like moonlight, then vanished behind the trees.
At this moment, only the Xuantian Sect's Tianshu Peak team remained in the valley.
The leading disciple watched Zhao Yue retreat and saw Han Muchun depart, his expression shifting rapidly.
He looked at the brilliant golden token in the center, then at the indifferent Bai Qingxue not far away, a flash of struggle passing through his eyes.
Ultimately, he gritted his teeth, seemingly having made up his mind. Cupping his hands toward Bai Qingxue, he said in a dry voice, “Senior Sister Bai, since this place is now secure, we... will head to the outer perimeter to try our luck.”
With that, he dared not linger any longer. Leading the Tianshu Peak disciples, he hurriedly retreated from the other side of the valley, his footsteps somewhat rushed.
The clamor dispersed, and the valley returned to its vast emptiness.
Bai Qingxue's expression was calm, as if the brief clash just now had never happened.
Bai Qingxue slowly put away the Frost Moon Chant, the jade flute resting warm in her palm as before.
She stepped toward the center of the valley, her frost-white hem brushing against the frozen ground with a soft rustling sound.
Reaching out, she grasped the floating golden token.
A wave of spiritual resonance, far more majestic and powerful than that of the blue tokens, instantly surged from her palm into her meridians. It rushed and circulated, bringing a strange sense of fullness.
This power was completely different from the cold energy of the Frost Moon Chant, yet they harmonized subtly.
Bai Qingxue raised her eyes, her gaze sweeping seemingly inadvertently over the canopy of an ancient tree at the edge of the valley.
The tree shadows swayed, and a single leaf quietly drifted down.
Almost at the exact moment the leaf was about to touch the ground, a slender figure fluttered down from the canopy, her bare feet touching the earth soundlessly.
Ning Qinghan leaned against the rough tree trunk with her arms crossed, her moon-white clothes making her complexion appear even paler.
She tilted her head, her vacant yet spirited eyes staring straight at Bai Qingxue. A faint, knowing smile curved the corners of her lips, and her voice carried its usual laziness along with an almost imperceptible hint of scrutiny:
“How impressive, Immortal Master Bai~”
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