Zhang Hanxiao, the top mission-taker of Qingyun Sect, was naturally strong.
Despite his penchant for gambling and brothels, his talent was undeniable—under thirty and already in the mid-stage Foundation Establishment realm.
Among Chixiao Peak's younger generation, he was only slightly older than Mu Baishuang and Li Qingran. Though not quite as advanced as Lu Changtian, he had always outshone Li Qingran. Back when she was still in Chixiao Peak, he used to drag her out to be his personal sparring dummy—and she never once managed to beat him.
Both of them cultivated the "Minor Formless Sword Technique," Chixiao Peak's signature style.
Zhang Hanxiao had reached mastery in the sword art, while Li Qingran, having entered the peak late, made much slower progress—barely achieving minor accomplishment in three years. Her master, Qingxuan Daoist, spent more time in seclusion than actually teaching, and her lack of talent in swordplay didn't help.
Facing an opponent who was superior in swordsmanship, cultivation, and experience, Li Qingran would be lying if she claimed to feel no pressure.
Yet her hand remained steady.
Gripping her Su Xian Sword.
"I heard from Senior Brother that you reached Qi Refining perfection despite your damaged dantian? Such determination—pity you didn't show it back when you were still in Chixiao Peak. All you did was slack off. Now you want to try hard? Too late."
Zhang Hanxiao instinctively reached for his sword—only to come up empty.
Oh, right.
He had given his usual flying sword to Mu Baishuang.
Now, all he had was a low-grade magical sword he normally used to chop vegetables—and even then, found too dull.
He pursed his lips, reluctant, but still drew it.
"It'll be enough to deal with you," he muttered.
"I'm mid-stage Foundation Establishment. If I challenge you at full strength, it wouldn't be fair. I'll suppress my cultivation to match your Qi Refining perfection level."
He raised his chin arrogantly and pointed his sword at her.
Not far away, Qingxuan Daoist's lips twitched.
His face turned even darker.
What an idiot.
Li Qingran's dantian was still damaged. She didn't even have a spiritual root. Even matching her realm was still bullying. If he really wanted fairness, he should've suppressed to Qi Refining fifth or sixth level.
How did I ever accept this disgraceful pig into Chixiao Peak?
Wu Duantian, the Sect Master, knew Qingxuan Daoist well. That old man was obsessed with dignity and appearances. Judging by his expression now, Wu estimated that once today was over, Zhang Hanxiao was probably heading to the Cliff of Reflection for half a year.
Li Qingran ignored Zhang's taunts.
Her sword was already drawn.
Lightning-fast. Elegant as a startled swan.
She darted toward him with incredible speed.
"Sister, your first form, Frighten the Branches, still lacks refinement!"
Zhang laughed as he leapt into the air, slashing downward.
Three overlapping sword shadows converged on her—
It was the Minor Formless Sword's most vicious opener:
"Lone Swan Shadow."
In the past, this move had crushed her again and again.
But today… it felt different.
Zhang's swordplay, though refined, suddenly seemed slow to her eyes.
Why?
Then she realized:
It was the absolute-grade dantian.
Such a rare treasure—revered even in ancient times—
How could it not bring change?
In the blink of thought, she found the real sword among the fakes.
Their blades clashed with a metallic ring.
Zhang's smug face froze.
He had aimed directly at her known weakness—using his best opener.
Yet it failed.
A piece of sword clattered to the ground.
Zhang looked down in disbelief.
His sword was broken—cleanly sliced.
That battered low-grade weapon had shattered in a single strike.
He turned to look at Li Qingran.
She stood tall, her sword glinting with a chilly sheen.
The blade was deep black, the hilt moon-pale, the crimson tassel dancing in the wind.
That was not her original sword.
"That sword's no common item," murmured Wu Duantian, narrowing his eyes.
"I'd say it's at least a top-grade magical weapon. That cold aura—rare even among top-grades. If nurtured properly, it could soon awaken spirit-intelligence. At that point, it'll be a spirit weapon."
Qingxuan Daoist ground his teeth.
He had already felt Zhang's act was disgraceful, now seeing his sword broken, it was even worse.
And if Zhang actually lost to Li Qingran…
What a disaster.
Yes, the sword wasn't "fair"—but weapons were part of a cultivator's strength.
Yet that sword clearly exceeded the norm.
Such high-grade swords were common enough for Nascent Soul cultivators.
But for a Qi Refining or even Foundation Establishment disciple,
they were priceless treasures.
Who was this mysterious backer?
Why was he so generous?
Was a top-grade magical weapon just spare change to him?
Qingxuan's thoughts were a tangled mess. Meanwhile, the duel on the plaza had reached a turning point.
Zhang had lost his sword and dared not go head-to-head.
A longer blade gave Li Qingran reach advantage, and her superior weapon compensated for her weaknesses in technique.
Zhang tried to drain her spiritual energy by defending—but the longer it dragged on, the more his energy was depleting.
"Impossible… she should've run out of energy by now!"
Watching her fight with undiminished vigor, Zhang's mental state wavered.
And that moment of distraction—was all it took.
Li Qingran's eyes turned icy.
She changed from a cautious rhythm to a ferocious assault.
Her robes fluttered, light as butterfly wings.
The Ninth Form of the Minor Formless Sword—Tree Shadows in the Wind.
A flick of her wrist sent her sword scattering into countless afterimages—like sunlight piercing a dense canopy.
Every flickering gleam targeted a vital point.
She felt it then—how she'd changed.
This ninth form had once been unattainable for her.
But now it flowed naturally.
The absolute-grade dantian hadn't just deepened her energy reserves—
It had enhanced her comprehension.
A warm flush prickled behind her eyes.
That pill—how precious must it have been?
Yet the mysterious senior had given it to her without hesitation,
just to restore her dantian.
Maybe… even he could've used it himself.
But he gave it to her.
Just to help her stand again.
"Senior… I won't let you down."
"Li Qingran! Don't push your luck!"
Zhang Hanxiao was already in tatters—dodging with difficulty, his fury boiling over.
He roared and dropped his suppression, fully unleashing mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivation.
But—
Her sword had already arrived.
A shimmering blade.
Golden fragments in the air.
A sharp scream echoed across the square.
Zhang's body was flung backward, crashing across the ground in a spray of dust.
His chest and limbs bore dozens of deep cuts, blood gushing freely.
Three paces away—
Li Qingran sheathed her sword.
Head held high.
Unshaken.