RHRFS 09

Chapter – 09

Little Junior Brother, Is the Sword Dance Beautiful?

Day six.

Today was the sixth day of He Qiu’s cultivation of the sword manual, and also the most crucial day of his training.

In fact, as early as the third watch late last night, He Qiu had already completely comprehended all seventy-seven pages of the *Fine Snow Sword Manual*—sword energy, sword heart, sword intent—he’d grasped everything, understanding it all with profound clarity.

But the problem now was this:

Although He Qiu had grasped the essence of the sword art, his actual cultivation level hadn’t improved significantly at all.

Never mind “one swing of the sword, ten thousand miles of drifting snow.”

Right now, the best He Qiu could manage with a single swing was to chop down a small sapling and leave a patch of icy slush on the ground.

It was… strange.

Because of this harsh reality check, He Qiu had been so frustrated he hadn’t slept well all night.

“That’s not right. Could it be that even the sword manuals in this world exaggerate, and then hide a disclaimer in some obscure corner at the end that says, ‘Descriptions are for reference only; please refer to actual combat results’?”

If that were the case, that would be way too much of a scam.

He Qiu refused to believe it. His intuition told him it was a rare and precious manual. Ever since he was little, his intuition had never been wrong, and he was certain that something had gone amiss.

Clinging to this conviction, He Qiu rose early this morning, picked up his wooden sword, and headed to the training ground.

After a bout of swordplay to warm up, He Qiu fully immersed himself in cultivation mode and began seriously studying the unresolved problems from last night.

Half an hour passed, and He Qiu stopped practicing, crossing his arms in thought as if struck by a sudden realization:

“Right now, there are only two possibilities: either my spiritual meridians are too trash—this is my limit—or I lack actual combat experience, which is why my sword energy comes out weak and useless…”

Rather than doubt his own talent, He Qiu leaned more toward the latter explanation.

He’d been reading books since childhood; perhaps his nature had become too softened and thus couldn’t adapt to the kill-or-be-killed environment of the spiritual cultivation world.

Maybe…

Finding a sparring partner, or going down the mountain to find some random thief to cut down—getting a taste of blood—wouldn’t be a bad idea?

With that thought, He Qiu narrowed his eyes, put away his wooden sword, and began scanning the training ground for a “suitable” target.

Zhou Zheng, Spirit Realm second level, Fire Spirit Meridian…

Can’t beat him.

Liu Neng, Spirit Realm second level, Water Spirit Meridian…

Can’t beat him.

Hu Yue, Spirit Realm third level, Wind Spirit Meridian…

Tsk, these senior inner disciples were all too fierce. He couldn’t afford to provoke any of them.

With his current “connected insider” status, if he recklessly challenged any of them to a spar, wouldn’t that be delivering himself on a silver platter for them to mock—playing right into the hands of those who looked down on him?

Keep looking, see if there are any other weaklings…

As he thought this, He Qiu was about to scan the center of the training ground when a silver-white figure abruptly caught his eye.

A young woman in light casual robes, her silver hair tied into a loose ponytail with silk ribbons. Her pale, flawless arms hung naturally, five fingers gripping a cold spirit sword, her gaze cool and clear as she walked toward the training ground.

The Original Saintess, Spirit Realm seventh level, Twin-Born Spirit Meridian…

Mm, this sparring partner’s not bad. One strike from her and I’ll be on my way to the heavens.

He Qiu silently complained.

Meanwhile, the Saintess herself had barely appeared at the training ground’s entrance when the environment and temperature within began to plummet rapidly. With every step she took, the ice sword in her hand rippled with pale blue spirit patterns, exuding an aura like the arrival of a glacial winter.

*Hiss~*

The disciples felt that familiar chill and shivered involuntarily. Not daring to utter a word, they quickly parted into two rows to make way for the Saintess. Most kept their heads lowered, not even daring to look directly at the Original Saintess’s face.

What wind had blown that reclusive, aloof, and untouchable Ice Mountain Saintess—who typically stayed in seclusion training alone—out here today?

As the sect’s Saintess and a pinnacle genius disciple of the hall-guarding level, An Lingran enjoyed exclusive access to her own Saint Pavilion and Snow Mountain cultivation grounds.

So, barring special circumstances, the sect’s disciples rarely got to see the Original Saintess… especially not at this Central Training Ground, where so many ordinary disciples gathered.

How could a noble Saintess possibly train in the same venue as these common cultivators, breathing the same air?

Thinking this, the disciples swallowed nervously, eagerly anticipating what the Saintess was about to do.

“…”

In the middle of the crowd, An Lingran kept a cold expression, still not speaking a word. Her right hand lightly held the ice sword, its blade skimming close to the ground, leaving a trail of icy frost in its wake.

Her target was clear—an empty space at the deepest part of the training ground.

Along the way, the disciples parted into two lines and watched in proper formation.

Once the Saintess had passed, the disciples in the front rows dared to whisper among themselves.

“Hey, look at the Saintess’s formation—could she be here to cut someone down?”

“No way…”

“Then why do you think she’s carrying a sword with that cold look on her face, heading in such a deliberate direction?”

“Maybe… she just wants to practice her swordsmanship?”

“Are you stupid, or do you think the Saintess is stupid? With that Snow Chant Mountain spiritual paradise at her disposal, why would she come all the way to this rundown plaza to practice?”

“Er… good point.”

As they chatted, several disciples suddenly felt a chill run down their backs, an inexplicable sense of dread creeping in.

Think about it carefully…

What level of person would have to have angered that aloof Saintess to make her disregard sect rules and come all the way to a public place in broad daylight to cut someone down?

Just imagining that kind of inside story was chilling.

But the more uneasy they felt, the more they wanted to follow and see who the Saintess was looking for.

“Hey, in that open space… there seems to be a white-robed young man holding a sword…”

“Isn’t that our new little junior brother, He Qiu?”

“Wait, look—the Saintess seems to be heading straight toward him!”

“She’s probably really going to cut him down!”

At that moment, a bald man rubbed his chin and said in confusion:

“Didn’t she just give him a sword manual a few days ago? Her coming to cut him down today doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe… she’s here to instruct him on swordsmanship?”

Another naive disciple blurted out, only to be met with laughter from the senior brothers around him:

“Don’t joke around. That’s the Original Saintess, you know… Why would she personally—”

“Exactly. Are you out of your mind? Would something that good really happen in this world?”

The situation was getting more and more explosive. The disciples were filled with anticipation, their guesses and speculation piling up one after another.

Not far away, the Saintess and the white-robed youth finally met.

“Lingran Senior Sister?”

Startled by the Saintess’s sword-bearing approach, He Qiu grew wary and spoke in confusion.

Giving a slight nod, An Lingran slowly raised her ice sword, holding it before her eyes for careful examination. She brought her index and middle fingers together and gently traced the patterns along the blade, closing her eyes to quietly perceive the sword’s intent and spirit within.

After a moment, still maintaining her “eyes-closed-in-contemplation” pose, she spoke gently:

“Today, your senior sister has come to demonstrate the *Fine Snow Sword Manual*’s sword dance for you—as well as the layers of sword intent within this manual, and even its deeper esoteric meaning…

“The sword dance will be quick. Only once.”

“He Qiu Junior Brother, watch closely and learn well.”

With that, An Lingran’s internal spiritual power whirled into motion. The ice sword in her hand instantly radiated bone-chilling cold; the icy blue, ethereal blade glinted sharply in the sunlight with each flicker of cold light.

A serene cold visage, flowing sword shadows, accompanied by the song of frost on all sides…

The sword-dancing woman before him, eyes gently closed—each swing, each glance like a fairy sealed in ice for a thousand years, so beautiful and noble that it left one dazed, forgetting worries, forgetting to breathe, forgetting one’s heartbeat.

*Hum hum!*

The ice sword carved through the air. Wherever the blade danced, it left behind a trail of frost, forming several blue-green sword arcs around the dancer. These arcs, paired with the figure of that peerless woman dancing lightly in the snow, was a vision as beautiful as a celestial immortal.

This sword, this scene, this elegant aesthetic—it even surpassed the painted imagery of the Cold Fairy.

The surrounding disciples all stared with frozen expressions, utterly captivated and entranced by the sword dance.

“What a sword…”

“What a dance…”

“What footwork…”

“What body movement…”

Nearby, He Qiu watched the ice fairy senior sister’s dancing with unwavering focus, his heart deeply moved.

His palms itched faintly. Watching An Lingran’s graceful sword dance, He Qiu felt his spiritual meridians surge within him, an irresistible urge to take up his sword and join in the dance.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have an [Ice Sword] of his own—as if he lacked the “qualification” to wield the *Fine Snow Sword Manual*.

*Crack!*

In the vast, desolate sea of spiritual meridians, a pale blue sprout broke through the soil.

In that instant, He Qiu’s eyes flew wide open, the Saintess’s dancing form reflected in his pupils, his entire being trembling with excitement.

As if eager to confirm a guess, He Qiu quietly hid his left hand behind his back and fiercely curled his five fingers into a dragon-claw grip, channeling all the spiritual energy from his entire body into his left shoulder and arm, focusing all his mental power into his palm.

Almost there…

Just a bit more.

He Qiu increased the force in his hand, his five fingers hooked like talons, veins bulging on the back of his hand.

Here it comes!

*Shing—*

A sharp sword intent burst through his bones. In an instant, a ten-inch-long ice spike suddenly pierced through He Qiu’s left palm. The cold emanating from its blade was no less than that of An Lingran’s icy sword.

Hiding his hand behind his back, He Qiu carefully felt the coldness of the ice sword in his palm, waves of shock rippling through his heart.

I see.

I understand!

All the confusion from before was suddenly resolved. He Qiu now felt clear-minded and refreshed, the sword intent within his meridians eager to be unleashed.

And at the same time, An Lingran’s sword dance also came to a graceful stop. Her ice sword returned to its sheath, dissolving into a faint green spirit pattern that faded into the air.

Opening her beautiful eyes, An Lingran looked at He Qiu, her slender brows lifting slightly.

For a brief moment, she seemed to sense a few strands of piercing, bone-chilling sword intent—and moreover, this highly threatening sword intent seemed to emanate from this delicate-looking junior brother before her…

This sword intent, sharp and exposed;

Though raw, it was exceptionally dangerous!

But when An Lingran tried to perceive it more clearly, the sword intent vanished as quickly as it had appeared, as if it had never existed at all.

Could it be…

Staring into He Qiu Junior Brother’s innocent, guileless eyes, An Lingran hesitated, then ultimately dismissed her just-formed suspicion.

How could that sinister, chillingly dangerous sword intent possibly come from this gentle, scholarly, soft-natured junior brother?

Besides, I only taught him the *Fine Snow Sword Manual*, not the higher-tier *Thousand Snow Sword Heart*.

How could he possibly have forged a “Sword Spirit”?

Surely, I was overthinking.

Calming the surge within her spiritual meridians, An Lingran maintained her aloof, ethereal aura and spoke lightly:

“How was the sword dance, He Qiu Junior Brother?”