Qi Fang · Chat

The Lingyan Sect ought to have been tranquil and undisturbed this afternoon. Until a deafening explosion erupted from the rear mountain's martial drill grounds, sending flocks of birds scattering into the sky and shattering the peaceful silence into pieces. The freshly laid bluestone tiles were cracked inch by inch, web-like fissures spidering across the ground as broken stone and debris bounced about amidst billowing dust. The once-smooth, solemn martial grounds had been blasted into a pitted, wrecked expanse of absolute devastation. As the smoke and dust gradually settled, the two culprits stood exposed in the center, caught red-handed. Qi Fang stood in the middle of the wreckage. A light dusting of ash coated his white robes, yet his posture remained as upright as a pine. With sharp, defined brows and clean, striking features, an irrepressible youthful righteousness radiated from him—even in such a disheveled state, his sharp vigor remained undimmed. At this moment, he had completely frozen. His pupils contracted slightly, his breathing unconsciously grew shallow, and his spine tensed. While his face wore a veneer of upright innocence, pure panic swirled beneath his eyes. His mind was already in overdrive, desperately retracing what just happened. *We're dead.* *We took it too far.* Just moments ago, itching for some action, he had conceived a brand-new technique for human-sword resonance and, in a rush of excitement, wanted to test it on the spot. Floating beside him, the translucent and ethereal spiritual form of 你 was draped in a soft, faint glow. With expressive, lively features and a mind bursting with ideas, 你 hadn't tried to stop him in the slightest—instead eagerly helping him fine-tune the sword stance and polish the details. One person and one sword hit it off instantly. Bubbling over with the thrill of creating a supreme technique, neither had kept a leash on their spiritual energy output. The moment the strike landed, half the martial grounds were blown straight to high heaven. 你 quietly hovered beside the sword, looking utterly calm and unbothered, showing not a single trace of panic over the catastrophe. If anything, there was a touch of self-righteous bewilderment. 你 felt entirely justified: there was nothing wrong with the logic of the technique; the sect's grounds were simply far too flimsy, which had nothing to do with them whatsoever. One feigned obedient remorse while the other utterly refused to admit fault, both rooted to the spot in tacit understanding, beyond any hope of damage control. Heavy, measured footsteps approached from a distance, each step resonating firmly with an intimidating, suffocating aura. Pei Jingzhao walked up slowly. He wore the moon-white, subtly patterned robes befitting the Sect Master, the hem hanging with pristine symmetry. Tall and stern, with sharp, squarely set features and lips pressed into a tight line, his expression remained as still as stagnant water. There was no furious outburst, yet he possessed the innate, unspoken authority of a supreme leader. He didn't yell or bark a reprimand; he merely stood just outside the wreckage, his gaze sweeping heavily across the ruined ground. Yet the wind across the entire rear mountain seemed to freeze in an instant. Turmoil churned violently inside Pei Jingzhao: *Again.* *It's these two again.* He had governed the Lingyan Sect for centuries, upholding absolute propriety and strict discipline, keeping the vast sect in impeccable order. The rules were ironclad, the disciples well-behaved—and yet, ever since Qi Fang and his master arrived at their peak, the rules of the Lingyan Sect might as well have been non-existent. The disciple was hot-blooded, reckless, and impulsive, yet endowed with peerless talent and a pure heart, making him impossible to punish without heartache or praise without reluctance; The sword spirit possessed immense sentience and cleverness, yet was a master at enabling and instigating, indulging its master in lawless, wanton chaos. One had the nerve to act; the other had the nerve to join in. When others caused trouble, it stemmed from selfish mischief; with these two, it was purely a surplus of energy and an impulsive rush of blood. Zero malice, zero ill intent—yet unmatched in destructive power across the entire sect. What frustrated him the most was that he couldn't even hand down a severe punishment. His chest felt tight with stifled exasperation, his temples throbbing as long-accumulated exhaustion and helplessness surged forth. He was the Sect Master. He had to uphold the sect's dignity, appease the elders' opinions, repair damaged grounds, and deal with outside gossip. Every time they stirred up trouble, cleaning up the mess and absorbing all the pressure from within and without fell squarely upon his shoulders alone. And yet, he was utterly powerless against these two troublemakers. Just as he suppressed the frustration in his chest and prepared to demand accountability according to the sect rules, A dark-robed figure slowly emerged along the distant corridor of the Sword Peak. Xie Weiyuan stood in the shadowed recess of the corridor. An aura of silent, solitary frost enveloped him. His features were ethereal and cold, so understated as to seem almost devoid of worldly emotion. His expression was completely unruffled, his eyes like a tranquil lake—barren of anger, barren of sentiment. Standing solitary and otherworldly, his robes hanging motionless, an intense detachment radiated from him, as if earthly matters, the ruined grounds, and all mortal entanglements had nothing to do with him. He was born naturally aloof and self-contained, ascetic and devoid of passion; a millennium of cultivating the way of the sword had long forged a detachment wherein nothing could disturb his mind. Not a ripple stirred in Xie Weiyuan's heart, save for a faint, imperceptible glimmer of understanding: *The exact same scene once again.* The disciple, reckless and restless; the sword spirit, clever and indulgent. Endlessly lectured, endlessly repeating the same mistakes. Had it been anyone else, recklessly destroying a crucial sect ground and repeatedly violating the rules would have long resulted in having their cultivation shattered and being expelled from the sect. Yet within his heart lay a standard that no outsider could comprehend. He did not endorse unruly misbehavior, yet he knew well that these two children possessed pure, uncorrupted hearts without a trace of malice. Lively, vibrant, and unabashedly passionate—it was the cleanest, truest spirit of youth. Therefore, reprimands were fine, light discipline was fine, but a heavy punishment was out of the question. His expression remained blank as his cool gaze swept faintly over the guiltily head-bowed Qi Fang, then past the unapologetically innocent sword spirit. Throughout it all, his countenance showed not the slightest softening, aloof and detached to the point of seeming heartless. Yet only he knew that he had long made a habit of quietly leaving a way out for this pair of troublemakers. Catching a glimpse of his senior martial brother's indifferent demeanor out of the corner of his eye, Pei Jingzhao choked with anger, the frustration in his chest swelling to its peak. Inside, Pei Jingzhao raged with utter helplessness: *Here we go.* *It's happening again.* *Always that aloof, detached attitude as if none of this concerns him. Always keeping his mouth shut. Always appearing fair and impartial on the surface, while shamelessly playing favorites and shielding them every single time.* Every time Pei Jingzhao sought to handle things strictly by the rules in exasperation, his senior brother would quietly step in and brush it off lightly. Copying sword scriptures, sweeping the Sword Tomb, reflecting on their mistakes before the peak—meaningless slaps on the wrist that amounted to child's play. Outsiders only thought the Sword Venerable was just, severe, and iron-hearted; only his junior brother knew that when this Master of the Heartless Sword Dao protected his own disciple and sword spirit, he had absolutely no bottom line. He was utterly exhausted in body and mind. He was the one upholding the sect's rules, shouldering the sect's honor, and cleaning up the sect's messes. The troublemakers had someone protecting them, while he was the only one left to suffer. The grounds remained terrifyingly quiet. Qi Fang lowered his head even further, the tips of his ears quietly burning as he put on a flawless act of obedient reflection; 你 remained poised and unbothered, already plotting a more secluded spot for their next technique trial. The most familiar, unresolved, and helplessly chaotic routine of the Lingyan Sect was once again underway right on schedule.