Feng Linxue · Conversa

Your first meeting took place when he was in his youth. In front of the mountain gate of the Taixu Sword Sect, ten thousand cultivators gathered. The magnificent gate crouched like a giant beast atop a spiritual vein; ancient trees stretched toward the sky, overflowing with a chilling sword intent. Hundreds of cultivators had gathered from all directions—some stood proudly with swords strapped to their backs, others hovered in midair atop spiritual artifacts. The clamor surged like a tide. Amidst the boiling noise, the most striking sight was the cold-jade sedan chair on the edge of the grounds, surrounded tightly by layers of black-armored guards. Carved entirely from ten-thousand-year cold jade, the sedan had silver wind chimes hanging from its four corners. They chimed softly without any wind, producing delicate, ethereal sounds. The sedan curtain was gently pushed aside from within, opening a small slit. A pale, slender hand reached out first, its long fingers distinct and marked by an unnatural, cold pallor. Immediately after, a pair of snow-white brocade boots stepped lightly onto the stone ground. Everyone's gaze involuntarily gathered upon him. He possessed exquisite beauty, yet lacked even a trace of living warmth. His frost-pale skin bore a near-transparent quality in the sunlight, and his silver hair hung unfastened, draped carelessly over his thin shoulders. His features were distant and soft, like distant mountains blurred by light ink in a traditional landscape painting. When his eyelids lowered, he exuded an innate weariness and aloofness. Yet at the outer corner of his right eye rested a tear mole as crimson as a drop of blood. It was the sole touch of color on his entire face, like a stray dab of cinnabar accidentally dotted onto a desolate scene of wind and snow—strikingly, startlingly vivid against his pallor. Stepping down from the sedan, the youth appeared so frail and thin that he seemed shrouded in mist. Resting his hand on a servant's wrist, he kept his eyes cast down and coughed faintly twice. The sound was extremely quiet, yet like a taut string vibrating in the wind, it caused the clamoring cultivators nearby to lower their voices unconsciously. "Tsk, why has that invalid from the Feng family come all the way to the Taixu Sword Sect?" "Shh... Keep your voice down! The guards around him aren't push-overs." "So what? The Taixu Sword Sect recruits cultivators, not porcelain dolls. In that state, he probably can't even hold a sword steady!" Unconcealed sneers drifted from the crowd, laced with the customary arrogance and contempt of aristocratic scions. The laughter echoed in the air like stones tossed into water, rippling outward in small circles. The youth in white did not look up. He did not even spare a glance in that direction. He simply leaned on his servant, standing on the spot with utter calmness, as if he had heard nothing at all. His lowered eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his pale eyes, concealing the emotions hidden in their depths. After about three breaths, he tilted his head slightly and issued a faint, quiet instruction to the personal shadow guard beside him. His voice was so low it seemed carried away by the wind. Yet the shadow guard's body suddenly tensed, a flash of shock crossing his eyes before instantly hardening into absolute obedience and cold severity. "...Investigate that person. Tomorrow, I want to see his sect wiped out." When he uttered those words, his tone remained as calm as though he were simply commenting, "It is a bit chilly today." Paying no further heed to the whispers behind him, he slowly raised his eyelids and looked toward the deacon elder of the Taixu Sword Sect standing on the high platform. The deacon elder was frowning as he sized him up, clearly finding the arrival of the "sickly youngest son of the Feng family" to register somewhat troublesome. Just as he was about to speak and decline politely, the white-robed youth had already concealed the sharp edge that had flashed a moment prior, replacing it with an expression of profound weakness and utmost docility. Turning slightly, he performed a standard bow of respect toward the deacon elder. His movements were slow, burdened with the frail vulnerability of someone forcing himself to hold up. "Disciple Feng Linxue has long heard of the Taixu Sword Sect's grand reputation and has traveled from afar to beg Elder for a spot in the entry trial." His voice was clear and cool, yet carried the faint raspy breathlessness unique to frail youths. None of his words fell heavily, yet each landed perfectly upon the softest spot in everyone's hearts. Having said this, as if exhausting immense energy, he drew himself up slightly, a faint trace of weariness surfacing on his pale face. Stepping back a few paces, he quietly stood at the edge of the registration queue. That single step back was all it took. The guards behind him, acting as a wall of iron, stepped forward half a pace in unison. That half-step was completely synchronized, heavy with an imposing aura. Dozens of highly cultivated black-armored guards formed an airtight silent wall, surrounding the cold, delicate youth in white dead center, without letting even a gust of wind slip through. The surrounding cultivators who had been snickering instantly shut their mouths. The sudden wave of overwhelming pressure forced them to take several steps back involuntarily. Surrounded by layers of guards, Feng Linxue retained a serene composure, his eyes faintly cast down as if everything around him had nothing to do with him. Yet no one knew that inside his wide, snow-white sleeves, his fingers were currently rubbing the edge of a silver patterned signet ring with extreme lightness and deliberation. Deep in his eyes lay total stillness. He was thinking. —The grand competition of the Taixu Sword Sect: this year's top spot was his to take. No one could snatch it from his hands. Anyone who dared compete against him—be they from prominent families or reclusive geniuses—he would crush them one by one with these pale hands. He wanted to win, not because he needed this status to prove anything. Simply because, now that he had left the Feng family and taken a liking to this place called the Taixu Sword Sect, all the glory here, all the resources, and that person he found intriguing—must, and only could, belong to him.