The northern wind was like a poisoned blade, slashing at his face, cut after cut.

Ning Wanjian had been kneeling in the snow for a full day and night.

Snow had buried him past the knees; icicles hung from his brows and eyelashes, tinkling softly with every movement. His zhenqi (internal energy) was long exhausted, his lips pressed into a stubborn straight line, purple with cold—yet he refused to utter a single sound.

In his bosom, he clutched half of a cracked jade pendant.

It was the last thing his mother had pressed into his palm on that snowy night when Ning Family Fortress burned to the ground.

“Live on… go to the Northern Mountain, find Bai Ying…”

His mother’s voice still burned in his ears.

“Ning Wanjian, are you truly determined to throw your life away?!”

A sharp cry rang out. A woman in white swept out from behind an ancient tree, stepping across the snow without leaving a trace, and landed before him.

She appeared to be middle-aged, yet those clear, beautiful eyes—set in that sharp, chiseled face—possessed a fierce beauty, like a sword drawn from its sheath.

“Your zhenqi is completely depleted. Kneel any longer, and you’ll freeze to death.” She looked down at him with disdain. “Are you foolish, or simply stupid?”

Ning Wanjian slowly lifted his head. A single word rolled from his throat:

“Elder Bai Ying, I beg you—avenge my family!”

The woman snorted coldly and flicked her sleeve.

“Your Ning family offended the Snowy Domain Dharma King, and your entire clan was exterminated. You’re the only one who slipped through the net. Instead of hiding in some dog hole to survive, you’ve come to my Northern Mountain. What business do I have with your Ning family? Why should I avenge you?!”

“My father said he once saved your life—”

“Silence!”

Bai Ying cut him off sharply, her chest rising and falling.

“Your father did save me once. We loved each other and were to be married. But on our wedding day, your mother took him away from me before all the guests! That has been the shame of my life! That I didn’t kill your entire family is already showing mercy for old times’ sake. You bastard—how dare you mention that day before me?!”

The insults rained down upon him.

Ning Wanjian said nothing, kneeling in the snow and taking it all.

The grievances of the previous generation—he didn’t understand them, nor did he want to.

He only knew that over three hundred members of his family had become charred corpses in a single night. A sea of blood, a deep hatred—without vengeance, he could not live as a human being.

And his enemy, the Snowy Domain Dharma King, was one of the top figures in the demonic path. His own martial arts were meager. To seek vengeance, there was only one person in the world he could turn to: the woman before him.

Go to the Northern Mountain, find Bai Ying.

That had been his father’s final instruction to him before his death.

For those words, let alone kneeling for a day and night, let alone enduring a few insults—even if Bai Ying ran him through with a sword right now, he would accept it.

When Bai Ying had finished cursing and saw that he kept his head bowed like a nail driven into the snow, her elegant brows furrowed slightly.

“Enough. I’m too lazy to bring up the past.” Her tone softened slightly. “Your enemy is a top-tier figure of the demonic path. Even if I wanted to help you, I’m not fully confident of success.”

A glimmer of light flickered in Ning Wanjian’s eyes. “If Elder is afraid, then take me as your disciple. I’ll master martial arts and kill him myself!”

“You dare to provoke me with that trick?”

“I’m not useless!” Ning Wanjian lifted his head. “If Elder firmly refuses to act, then teach me martial arts. When I’ve avenged my family, I’ll serve you like a beast of burden!”

“I have no shortage of beasts of burden, and I don’t want stupid ones like you.”

Ning Wanjian fell silent, still kneeling straight as an arrow.

Snow began to fall again.

After a long while, Bai Ying suddenly laughed softly—a laugh with three parts mockery and three parts coldness.

“Fine. Since you’re so persistent, I’ll give you a chance—a chance to prove you’re useless.”

She waved her right hand.

Two sheets of paper drifted down from mid-air, landing on the snow before Ning Wanjian.

“This… this is…”

“Two leftover pages. The simplest sword technique.” Bai Ying stood with her hands behind her back. “If you can learn it, then come talk to me about other things.”

Ning Wanjian picked up the two pages with trembling hands.

The paper was yellowed, its edges tattered, yet the sword technique illustrations on it brimmed with chilling killing intent.

Could this be… the peerless sword technique of “Northern Forbearance” Bai Ying?

His voice trembled with excitement. “If I master this move, will you take me as your disciple?”

Bai Ying glanced at him sidelong, a cold smile curling at the corner of her lips.

“You? Think you can master it?”

Before the words finished, she had already leaped up, and with a few bounds, vanished into the vast snowy forest.

Ning Wanjian held the two tattered pages, gazing in the direction she had disappeared, and swore fiercely in his heart—

I will seize this chance, even if it kills me.

But he didn’t know that those two light sheets of paper would drag the next half year of his life into a game no one could have foreseen.

The snow stopped.

The ancient trees in the Northern Mountain were covered in snow and frost, like a fairyland.

Ning Wanjian stood in the forest holding a longsword, his expression uglier than the snow.

When he had first gotten the sword manual yesterday, he had been so excited he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

Bai Ying, nicknamed “Northern Forbearance”—in those days, with her Qingfeng sword, she had single-handedly challenged the ten top experts of the Snowy Domain and slaughtered them all. To practice her sword technique, Ning Wanjian almost felt he already had one foot through the door of a peerless master.

But when he actually began practicing, he learned the true meaning of despair.

According to the manual, the very opening stance of this move required conjuring three sword flowers out of thin air.

Three.

He had practiced for half a day and couldn’t even conjure one cleanly, let alone three appearing together, linked end to end.

“Swish—”

After yet another failure, Ning Wanjian could no longer contain the rage in his heart. He reversed his grip and hurled the longsword away.

The sword sank into the snow, its hilt buzzing and trembling.

“This stupid move is impossible to practice!”

“Hahahaha…”

An ethereal laugh drifted from the forest.

Ning Wanjian whirled around. Bai Ying was standing behind him, hands behind her back, watching the show.

“What, you’re so bad at practicing you throw your sword away?” She wore a mocking expression. “Now do you believe you’re useless? If you want to give up, you can roll down the mountain right now.”

“I’m not leaving!” Ning Wanjian lifted his head stubbornly.

“You’ve been practicing this one move for half a day and still can’t get it. What are you lingering here for?”

“My mother said that if you read a book a hundred times, its meaning becomes clear,” Ning Wanjian said, each word deliberate. “If half a day isn’t enough, I’ll practice ten days. If ten days isn’t enough, a hundred days. Someday, I’ll master it!”

“Hmph. Your mother was useless, and the son she bore is useless too!”

“Don’t you insult my mother!”

Slap!

A resounding slap sent Ning Wanjian’s head spinning. He fell back onto his rear in the snow.

His face burned with pain, but he gritted his teeth and forced back the tears welling in his eyes.

He didn’t want to show weakness before Bai Ying.

“Disrespect me again, and I’ll kill you on the spot.” Bai Ying stood over him, her voice cold as ice.

Ning Wanjian climbed up from the snow and glared at her.

He knew he was no match for her. But insulting his mother—he couldn’t back down.

Bai Ying met his gaze and scoffed. “Practice if you want, or get lost if you don’t. Don’t cause trouble in my Northern Mountain—this isn’t Ning Family Fortress. No one will spoil you here.”

With that, she flicked her sleeve and left.

Ning Wanjian stood in the snow, waiting for his anger to slowly subside, then silently walked over, bent down, and picked up his sword.

He had made up his mind.

Whether he was dull-witted or not, no matter how Bai Ying humiliated him—as long as he kept swinging his sword, someday he would understand this move.

Starting today, he would swing it a hundred times first.

If that wasn’t enough, a thousand times.

If that still wasn’t enough, ten thousand times!

Until he understood it, he would never sheath his sword.

One month.

A full month, over ten thousand sword strokes.

The rain and snow stopped and started, stopped and started. Ning Wanjian practiced from dawn until deep into the night. The blisters on his hands broke and reformed, reformed and broke, until finally a thick layer of callus covered them.

He could finally steadily conjure the three sword flowers of the opening stance, and execute the entire move from start to finish in one fluid motion.

That morning, he ran excitedly to the desolate grave—the mysterious “Renli” was hidden behind it.

He knocked three times on the stone tablet and waited respectfully.

Bai Ying came stepping through the snow, glancing at him sidelong. “What, haven’t you gone down the mountain yet?”

“Elder, the sword technique you gave me—I’ve mastered it—”

“Hold on.” Bai Ying raised a hand. “I never taught you any sword technique. You practiced it blindly on your own from the manual. That doesn’t make you a disciple of the Northern Mountain.”

“I understand, this is Elder’s test.” Ning Wanjian grew anxious. “But you said if I mastered this move, you would—”

“I never said any such thing.” Bai Ying smiled coldly. “I only gave you a chance to prove you’re useless. Enough talk. You’ve mastered it? Then show me.”

Ning Wanjian took a deep breath, gripped his sword, and struck.

Opening stance, sword flowers, swift thrust, closing stance.

The sword light flowed, seamless from start to finish, with no trace of stagnation.

He sheathed his sword, exhaled the stale air from his chest, and looked up at Bai Ying, waiting for that long-delayed recognition.

But Bai Ying simply spat out a single word with full disdain:

“That’s it?”

Ning Wanjian’s heart went cold.

“Are you practicing swordplay or grinding a millstone?” Bai Ying curled her lip. “You’re as slow as a snail. I could grab any random passerby, train them for a month, and they’d be faster than you.”

“But I did master it…”

“Pah! Slow sword technique—even if there’s nothing wrong with it, what’s the point? Anyone with a fast sword could take your life with a single strike!”

As the words fell, Bai Ying waved her right hand, and a burst of qi cut through a broken snow-laden branch beside her.

She picked up the broken branch, and her form suddenly rose—

Swish!

Ning Wanjian’s vision blurred. A sharp pain shot through his right arm, and his sword went flying.

When he regained his focus, Bai Ying was already standing behind him, a wooden branch pressed steadily against the back of his heart.

“Did you see it clearly?”

“I… I saw it.”

In that flash of lightning, he had seen it clearly—what Bai Ying had used was precisely that sword technique he had been practicing for a month.

But the same move, in her hands, was as fast as a ghost.

“Do you see the difference between your sword and mine?”

Ning Wanjian nodded bitterly.

Bai Ying tossed the broken branch onto the snow.

“When you’ve practiced this move to my level, then you can say you’ve truly learned it.”

She left.

Ning Wanjian stood where he was, replaying that scene over and over in his mind, a storm raging in his heart.

So the same sword technique, practiced to the extreme, could reach such heights.

He suddenly thought of the night his clan was exterminated—the black-clothed men who had broken through the walls, their sword techniques just as strange and unfathomable.

“If I can reach Elder Bai Ying’s level, then vengeance—there’s hope!”

A burning hope ignited in his heart.

It’s only been ten thousand times so far.

I will swing my sword—one hundred thousand times!

Ning Wanjian made another solemn vow in the snow.

The ice melted, the snow thawed.

The Northern Mountain shed its silver attire, revealing steep cliffs, elegant rocks, and clear springs.

Ning Wanjian had been in these mountains for a full half year.

In these six months, he practiced day and night, rising at dawn and resting only at night. One hundred thousand sword strokes—he had endured them all, one by one.

One hundred thousand repetitions, poured into a single sword technique.

Now he was fully confident that he could, like Bai Ying, execute this move with ghostly speed and unfathomable precision.

Not only that—he had quietly incorporated the ancestral sword techniques of Ning Family Fortress into it, deriving three entirely new variations from within this single move.

In terms of this one move alone, he believed he would not lose to Bai Ying.

In fact, a month ago, at over eighty thousand strokes, he had already achieved all this.

But he had held back from going to find Bai Ying.

He wanted to polish it a little more, so he wouldn’t be met with another round of mockery.

Only when the one hundred thousand strokes were complete did he finally feel confident.

In these six months, one thing had been worn smooth even before his sword technique—his heart.

The fire of that night of extermination, the half jade pendant his mother had pressed into his palm, his father’s final words “find Bai Ying”—all of these churned in his dreams countless times. Every time he was nearly broken by inner demons, he would rise and swing his sword another thousand times.

The sword had become his only hell, and his only salvation.

On the night of the seventy-thousandth stroke, he had a dream. It was that snowy night again—black-clothed men breaking through the walls, fire licking at carved beams, his mother pushing him into a dog hole, the half jade pendant in his palm burning like a branding iron. He woke in a cold sweat, yet the hand gripping his sword was steadier than ever. He suddenly understood: when this sword struck out, it should cut more than just the enemy’s throat—it should also cut away that version of himself who could only kneel in the snow begging for help, waiting to be slaughtered.

From that day on, every sword he swung was fiercer than the last.

That day, he was just about to go find Bai Ying when he saw her approaching directly, longsword in hand.

Ning Wanjian’s heart leapt with joy: Could it be that Elder has calculated I would complete my training today, and has come specially to greet me?

But Bai Ying stopped several zhang away, emanating a chilling killing intent he had never seen before.

Ning Wanjian shuddered and spoke carefully: “Elder Bai Ying, as you instructed, I have practiced that sword technique to perfection.”

“If that’s so—” Bai Ying lifted her sword tip slightly, “draw your sword.”

“Draw my sword?”

“Yes. Attack me with it. If you can beat me with that move, you pass.”

Ning Wanjian gripped his longsword tightly.

But Bai Ying’s sword tip hung toward the ground, her posture completely unguarded and casual—which only made him uneasy.

Elder is being so overconfident, looking down on me? But she has no idea how far I’ve taken this move…

Strangely enough, these past six months—though Bai Ying had mocked him, insulted him, struck him—in Ning Wanjian’s heart, he had long since come to regard her as his master.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

Seeing a broken branch on the ground, he set down his real sword and bent to pick it up.

“Use the real sword!” Bai Ying barked.

“Elder, I fear that crossing blades with real swords might lead to an accident—”

“Accident? From you?” Bai Ying’s tone turned sharply severe. “I use a broken branch, and you use a broken branch—what kind of thing do you take yourself for?”

That contempt instantly ignited the nameless fury Ning Wanjian had been suppressing for half a year.

Fine!

I warned you.

If you get hurt later, don’t blame me!

He picked up his longsword again, focused his mind, calmed his qi, took a deep breath—

drew his sword, and struck!

Sword flowers bloomed, striking swiftly toward Bai Ying.

Just as the Qingfeng blade was about to reach her, Bai Ying—who had been motionless all this time—suddenly raised her sword.

She lightly touched the side of the sword flowers with her tip, and the two blades instantly pressed together.

Ning Wanjian felt his sword grow heavy, and his move immediately became sluggish.

In the next instant, Bai Ying spun, gripping her sword with both hands, and with all her strength brought the blade crashing down against his sword—

Bang!

The tiger’s mouth of his hand shook violently, and Ning Wanjian staggered back three steps.

He desperately tightened his grip on the hilt to keep the sword from flying out of his hand.

But when he steadied himself and looked down—

in his hand was only half a sword.

The longsword had been cleanly severed in the middle. One half in his grip, the other stuck in the snow.

Ning Wanjian stared blankly at the broken sword on the ground. For a moment, the sky fell.

In these six months, he had practiced diligently without a single day of rest.

What had sustained him was nothing but the word vengeance.

But now, all the toil of one hundred thousand sword strokes had been reduced to nothing by a single strike from Bai Ying.

Utter despair.

This setback was completely different from when he had swung a hundred times, or ten thousand times.

Back then, he had still felt there was room for improvement. But now, he could clearly feel his own ceiling—even if he swung two hundred thousand times, three hundred thousand times, he feared there would be no progress at all.

Was he supposed to swing aimlessly a million times?

Ning Wanjian’s knees gave out, and he fell to the ground.

It wasn’t that he had to beat Bai Ying.

He was just afraid—if he couldn’t become her disciple, then this blood feud would be hopeless in this lifetime.

“You… still want vengeance?” Bai Ying asked coldly from beside him.

“I want vengeance…” Ning Wanjian’s voice trembled. “But… there’s no way…”

A smile suddenly bloomed on Bai Ying’s face.

That smile was utterly different from the harshness she had shown for half a year.

“Your vengeance has already been avenged.”

“…What?”

“This sword technique you’ve been practicing,” Bai Ying said each word deliberately, “is the signature move of the Snowy Domain Dharma King—Three Flowers Converge.”

Ning Wanjian was struck as if by lightning.

“What are you saying! What I’ve been practicing is my enemy’s sword technique?!”

“Precisely.”

Bai Ying stood with her hands behind her back, gazing into the depths of the snowy forest.

“The Snowy Domain Dharma King has terrorized the snowy plains with this move. There aren’t eighty or a hundred masters who haven’t fallen to his sword. The reason I hesitated to avenge you before is because—even I wasn’t sure I could break this move of his.”

“Half a year ago, I stole these two pages of the sword manual from the Dharma King, wanting to find its flaws. And then, coincidentally, you showed up at my door.”

She turned back to look at Ning Wanjian, whose face had gone deathly pale.

“So I threw the manual at you to practice on your own. One reason: so you’d stop bothering me. The other: I wanted to use your hand to execute this move over and over, so I could see exactly where its flaws were hidden.”

Ning Wanjian felt as if he had fallen into an icy abyss.

So the blood and tears of these six months, the one hundred thousand sword strokes—he had been nothing but a tool in someone else’s hands.

He had been a living sword manual for her to study and dismantle.

“Boy, you really do have talent for the sword.” Bai Ying’s tone shifted, revealing a hint of sincerity. “With no one to guide you, figuring it all out on your own—you actually mastered the Dharma King’s world-shaking signature move. And I, by watching your one hundred thousand sword strokes, finally found that flaw.”

“Just yesterday, I sought out the Snowy Domain Dharma King—” she shook the sword in her hand, “and used that very same sword-breaking move to shatter his Three Flowers Converge.”

“What! You…”

Bai Ying didn’t answer. With a backhanded strike, she thrust her sword toward an ancient tree beside her.

At the base of the tree, something was sent flying by the sword qi, rolling and tumbling to Ning Wanjian’s feet.

He looked closely—

it was the head of the Snowy Domain Dharma King.

“Ah!” Ning Wanjian cried out in shock, stumbling back two steps and falling onto his rear in the snow.

A blood feud.

The lives of over three hundred people.

The head he had dreamed of personally severing now lay quietly at his feet, eyes wide open, no longer bearing any trace of the demonic giant’s ferocity.

“Your great vengeance is done.” Bai Ying sheathed her sword, her tone returning to that casual indifference. “From now on, you may stay in the Northern Mountain at ease and be my disciple.”

Ning Wanjian felt the world spinning, his mind buzzing.

He suddenly remembered what his father had said before he died—

That Elder Bai Ying, graceful and beautiful, yet with a willful temperament, never playing by the rules.

Which was why, back then, his father had ultimately not married her.

Thinking about it now, his father had been absolutely right.

This woman had toyed with him for half a year, squeezing out one hundred thousand sword strokes from him—yet on that same day, she had avenged his entire blood feud and gained a disciple for free.

Kindness? Hatred? Master? Resentment?

Ning Wanjian knelt in the snow, holding that half jade pendant he had carried with him ever since the night of the massacre, staring at the head of his enemy at his feet. For a moment, he couldn’t tell whether he should cry or laugh.

Snow began to fall again.

It landed on the Dharma King’s head, on the broken sword, and on Ning Wanjian’s open palm—that half of the cold jade pendant.

He slowly clenched his fist and, toward Bai Ying’s retreating back, very, very softly called out:

“…Master.”

Bai Ying’s steps paused. She didn’t turn back, only tossed out a single line:

“Starting tomorrow, two hundred thousand sword strokes.”

Ning Wanjian nearly stumbled.

This master was even harsher than his enemy.

（The End）