Qing'er barely had time to catch her breath before the air grew heavy.
A new presence stepped into the valley.
Unlike the crazed cultivators, this one moved with grace. Controlled. Precise. Dangerous.
The Blood Mist, which had swallowed everything before, parted around him—as if fearing his presence.
Qing'er instinctively gripped her sword tighter.
Yao Yan's golden eyes narrowed. "Finally, something interesting."
The figure came into view—a tall young man, clad in dark robes embroidered with silver flames. His long black hair was tied back, and at his waist hung a jade sword that pulsed with power.
His eyes—cold and sharp—locked onto Qing'er.
"So," he said, voice smooth but indifferent, "you're the one who survived the Blood Mist."
Qing'er steadied herself. "Who are you?"
The man smiled slightly. Not friendly. Not cruel.
"I am Ji Xuan. The second son of the Ji Clan."
Qing'er's heart skipped a beat.
The Ji Clan. One of the most powerful sects in the empire. A family known for their monstrous talent in swordsmanship.
Yao Yan chuckled. "Ah, the Ji Clan. A bunch of sword-obsessed lunatics. You're in for a treat, Qing'er."
Ji Xuan's gaze flickered to Yao Yan, studying him with mild interest. "That sword… it's special."
Then, his eyes returned to Qing'er. Sharp. Measuring.
"Hand it over," he said simply. "That sword does not belong to you."
Qing'er's grip on Yao Yan tightened. Was he serious?
She met his gaze. "Not happening."
Ji Xuan sighed. "I expected as much."
He stepped forward, drawing his jade sword in one smooth motion. The moment the blade left its sheath, the air trembled.
A pressure unlike anything Qing'er had felt before descended upon her.
A true sword master stood before her.
"Then," Ji Xuan said, "I'll take it by force."
And he vanished.