The whip in Du Xiaoyan's hand danced like a crimson dragon—fluid, ferocious, and ever-changing. Though only a whip, in her grasp it morphed into spear, staff, rope, and blade. With a flick, it thrust forth a barrage of ghostly lances; with a swing, it cleaved through air like a mighty cudgel. At times it coiled with the finesse of a strangling rope, and at others it sliced through space like twin sabers falling from the heavens.
The howling wind of her whip filled every inch within a sixty-foot radius. Stone tiles shattered, courtyards crumbled, and even sturdy walls were reduced to rubble beneath the fury of her strikes.
Qin Nier, for all her martial skill, was not trained in the whip. She had grabbed a riding crop purely out of convenience, and now found herself locked in a duel far beyond her depth.
She hadn't expected Du Xiaoyan to be such a master of the whip. In this arena, even three of her would not be enough to match one Du Xiaoyan.
At first, Qin Nier fought from horseback. But it wasn't long before she was forced to leap down, relying on her qinggong to weave through the rain of whip shadows. For every one strike she returned, she had to fend off nine.
The battle raged for the time it took an incense stick to burn. Both women began to tire, and Du Xiaoyan's long weapon grew unwieldy with exhaustion. Her aim faltered, her control weakened.
Just then, Qin Nier made her move. Slipping under the belly of her steed, she used the horse as cover to launch a surprise attack.
Without hesitation, Du Xiaoyan lashed out—not at Qin Nier, but at the horse.
A shriek split the air as the black stallion was sliced clean in half by the whip. Blood and entrails burst forth, showering down toward Qin Nier's face. She rolled away in panic, dodging the worst of it, but could not avoid being splattered.
Rage boiled in her chest. Humiliation and fury fused into bloodlust. She dropped her riding crop and surged forward, arms like flowing silk, palms striking out in a haze of purple light, each shimmering shadow exuding a strange, sweet scent.
From the edge of the battlefield, a woman in white—the cousin of Qin Nier, Lianzhu Luo'er—cried out, her face ashen:"Poisoned Silken Hands! Nier, are you trying to kill her!?"
"She tried to kill me first!" Qin Nier snapped, eyes burning. "If that whip had hit me, I'd already be dead!"
Seeing the deadly technique aimed at her, Du Xiaoyan dared not hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, seven loops formed along her whip and shot toward Qin Nier's neck.
But Qin Nier's new footwork was eerie, almost otherworldly. She danced through the attack like water flowing around rocks, like clouds gliding past mountaintops.
What on earth could catch a drifting cloud? Or bind the flow of a river?
Certainly not Du Xiaoyan.
In two heartbeats, Qin Nier was upon her. Too close. Du Xiaoyan's long whip was useless at this range. She shut her eyes, bracing for death.
Just as Qin Nier's poisoned hands reached for her throat——a sudden, surreal gust swept through the battlefield.
No, not one gust—seven.
Seven streams of force, each bearing a different essence: flame, frost, thunder, wind, rigidity, softness, and stillness. Together, they twisted into a single vortex that pulled at Qin Nier with terrifying power. She stumbled back several steps just to regain her balance, her deadly strike falling short.
Startled, she looked up—
A massive hand, growing ever larger, descended from the heavens, cloaked in those same seven forces. The world vanished beneath its shadow. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
A hand to shade the heavens.
No cloud, no stream, could escape such a hand.
Qin Nier was trapped.
And Lianzhu Luo'er… could only stare.
The hand belonged to a boy. A boy she loathed with every fiber of her being, dreamed of strangling in her sleep—yet couldn't stop dreaming of at all.
He wore a pale blue robe, sleeves and hem fluttering in the wind. His long hair whipped skyward in the gale, and his face—usually marred by a lewd smirk—was now solemn, resolute.
His eyes burned with fire, yet chilled like winter frost.Two extremes, perfectly fused.
Gone was the frivolous youth. In his place stood a man cloaked in majesty and danger, like a fallen star or a rising storm. As he descended with his heaven-shading palm, a god of judgment, even Luo'er's heart quivered.
This… this was what a real man looked like. This was a hero.
But why, she screamed inside—why had this man once used such base, filthy tricks to defile her innocence? Why had it been him? Why had it been… Qin Ren?
A thousand thoughts crashed through her mind—but not a second had passed.
Qin Ren's palm fell.
Qin Nier screamed in despair, throwing every last ounce of her strength into a desperate counterattack.
Luo'er moved.
She would not let her cousin die—not by this man's hand. No matter how much she hated him, she couldn't just watch.
With a cry like steel breaking, her divine sword leapt from its sheath. Luo'er soared like a lotus flower blooming across the sky, fusing with her blade into a streak of blinding white light.
The Ninth Heaven Sword Art, strongest technique—"Grasp the Moon Above the Ninth Heaven!"
Qin Ren saw her coming. And he smiled.
A knowing, tragic smile.
With his other hand, he sent out the only offensive move he'd ever mastered:
Heaven-Shading Hand.
She would pierce the sky? He would block the heavens. Let her see if her sword could shatter his palm.
Qin Nier's poisoned hand was about to collide with Qin Ren's.
She knew it was over. Her poison would not work on him. Her strength was a drop against his ocean.
She shut her eyes, ready for death.
Luo'er, too, saw the truth—her sword could not pierce that palm. The swirling vortex within it devoured her sword-light, pulling her blade straight into its heart.
She would die.
But she would not retreat. Better to die here than continue dreaming of him, craving his touch, wasting away for a man who had broken her.
She plunged her sword forward, tears in her eyes, gaze locked on Qin Ren.
He smiled still.
And then—
He withdrew.
Just as Qin Nier's palm was about to strike, his heaven-shading hand vanished. Her blow landed cleanly on his chest.
BOOM!
At the same time, he pulled away from Luo'er's path. Her sword drove into his shoulder, blood spraying into the air.
Qin Ren flew.
Spinning, bleeding, crashing to the ground. Pale as death, blood pouring from his lips.
It had all happened in an instant. Too fast for thought.
Du Xiaoyan screamed and ran forward to catch him.
But another figure beat her there—Qiao Wei. He barreled in from the side, crashing into Du Xiaoyan and catching Qin Ren before he hit the ground. The force knocked Qiao Wei back several steps before he collapsed to the earth, cradling his master.
Tears streamed down his face.
"Third Young Master! Why… why would you do this!?" he sobbed. "You wanted to save Miss Xiaoyan, I get it—but not at this cost! Why suffer so, just to redeem yourself?!"
Du Xiaoyan stumbled to his side, tears streaking her face, reaching out to touch Qin Ren—
Qiao Wei slapped her hand away.
"Get back!" he roared. "If it weren't for you, would he be like this?! You think they could've touched him if he fought for real? He pulled his punches for you! You selfish fools—you don't deserve his mercy!"
He wept, lifting Qin Ren onto his back, staggering toward help.
Qin Nier and Luo'er stood frozen, staring at the blood on the ground.
"He… the little lecher… the Qin brat…" Qin Nier muttered, her voice hollow. "He let us hit him. He didn't want to hurt us… He really was… trying to atone?"
Luo'er said nothing. Her hand covered her mouth, her body trembling. Slowly, hesitantly, she took a step toward the boy bleeding in Qiao Wei's arms.
Qin Nier followed, dazed, whispering words she herself no longer understood.
Their steps were slow. Heavy. Unsteady.
Like the beginning of an awakening.