Two years of time, for the Star-Gazing Platform, was nothing more than a few more layers of dust on the Stone Steps and a few more stubborn patches of Moss growing between the cracks.
But for Ye Chen, these two years were a cycle of sword and sweat.
The moon rose, the moon fell.
The wind rose, the wind stilled.
He never missed a single monthly sword technique training, nor the monthly duel with the mysterious girl.
Sword light burst forth on the high platform once again, like a silver lotus blooming suddenly in an ink-painted landscape.
The crisp clash of metal echoed in the night sky.
Another exchange of hundreds of moves.
Ye Chen’s figure flickered beneath the moonlight, the sword flowers spun from his blade each containing simple yet profound principles.
His sword technique had shed its clumsiness from two years ago; every move was smooth and refined, tempered a thousand times over, carrying a return-to-original simplicity.
Opposite him, the slender figure in a red and white long dress became even more fierce in her attacks.
Her sword was the snow of Heavenly Mountain, the wind atop a lonely peak—cold, pure, untouched by mortal fire, yet containing a force that could crush all things.
Ye Chen could sense that over these two years, her swordsmanship had also improved.
What was once a skill near perfection now held a trace of… vitality.
No longer purely sword technique, but with occasional sparks of thought within the flow of movement.
“Dang!”
Another fierce clash.
Ye Chen deliberately slowed his flow of spiritual power by a fraction, causing a near-imperceptible pause in his sword movement.
In a duel between masters, victory and defeat hinged on the smallest margins.
She seized that fleeting flaw with precision.
A cold sword light pierced through all his defenses, the tip hovering lightly at his throat.
The icy sword intent dissipated instantly.
The moonlight on the blade reflected in Ye Chen’s eyes.
Yet he laughed, withdrew his sword, and stepped back, cupping his hands.
“Senior Sister’s swordsmanship is peerless—truly extraordinary. My own skill is still lacking by a measure.”
Over the past two years, he had grown accustomed to addressing this mysterious opponent as “Senior Sister.”
The woman—An Yao—merely nodded slightly at his words.
A veil like mist concealed her face, but could not hide the calm in her eyes.
She sheathed her sword slowly, her movements as fluid and natural as flowing water, every detail filled with effortless grace.
“Your progress is fast,” she said, her voice as steady as ever, revealing no emotion.
“That last move, the timing of your transition from defense to attack was well grasped, but your spiritual power surged too quickly—otherwise, I wouldn’t have caught your opening so easily.”
She continued her post-battle review and guidance as always.
To An Yao, this disciple named “Ye Chen” was like a decent whetstone.
At least, that’s what she had thought at first.
When they first met, his potential was surprising, but his technique was rough.
After more than twenty moonlit duels over two years, this stone was being polished, becoming more refined with each session.
This process of personally carving a stubborn stone into a fine blade unexpectedly brought a faint sense of… satisfaction to her heart—a heart usually untouched by interest in anything.
It was a feeling she had never experienced.
Ye Chen listened intently and nodded.
He knew that every deliberate “flaw” he left would be interpreted by her as “lacking skill,” and that every “improvement” would deepen her enjoyment of guidance.
He needed a strong enough sparring partner to force himself to reintegrate the sword principles of his past life into his mortal body.
And this mysterious Senior Sister was undoubtedly the best choice.
As long as she still found it “interesting,” this mutually beneficial practice could continue.
When her instruction ended, An Yao did not leave as she usually did.
Instead, she carried her sword and walked to the edge of the Star-Gazing Platform, sitting down on a stone bench and gazing at the rolling sea of clouds.
“Sit.”
She spoke softly.
Ye Chen was used to this as well.
At some point a few months ago, after each training, this Senior Sister would have him stay and sit quietly with her until dawn.
He casually sat a few steps away on the Stone Steps beside her, maintaining a polite and distant space between them.
With both hands resting on the cold stone railing, he gazed at the moon as it waned and waxed in the sky, while in his mind he replayed every detail of the recent duel, absorbing the essence of sword technique.
In his view, the Senior Sister’s behavior was easy to understand.
To comprehend the world and feel nature was part of cultivation.
Observing the drifting clouds, watching the rise and fall of the sun and moon—these were ways to temper the heart.
A long silence fell between them.
Only the wind on the mountain top whispered in their ears.
An Yao did not know what Ye Chen was thinking.
In fact, she herself could not find a clear answer for why she did this.
Once, to her, the sea of clouds was merely condensed vapor, the bright moon nothing more than a star reflecting light, and sunrise just a normal part of the world’s spiritual cycle.
Their existence was natural—and meaningless.
Apart from the sword, her life was filled with endless emptiness and boredom.
Until that night, a few months ago.
That night, the moon was especially bright.
After an intense duel with “Ye Chen,” she narrowly won.
The sharp intent still lingered on her blade.
Unconsciously, she raised her head and looked at the night sky.
In that instant, the moonlight seemed to merge with the sword light in her eyes.
For the first time, she realized that the hanging moon could be so… clear, so… tranquil.
From that day on, she inexplicably stayed after each practice, observing the clouds, the stars, and the gradual transition of the sky from ink-darkness to pale dawn.
These scenes, once mere lifeless backdrops to her, seemed to gain new color and life simply because of the quiet presence beside her.
She did not know what this feeling was called.
She only knew that when she sat there, listening to the steady breathing of the person beside her, and felt the wordless tranquility between them, the ancient frozen lake within her heart would ripple ever so slightly.
It was a feeling… not unpleasant.
Perhaps even more fulfilling than sword practice alone.
For the first time, she understood what the phrase “peaceful years” meant in the mouths of ordinary people.
An Yao turned her head, her gaze landing softly on Ye Chen’s profile.
The night breeze played with his hair, his eyes calm and focused, fixed on the approaching dawn.
His presence was peculiar.
When silent, he was like an inconspicuous stone blended into the surroundings.
But the moment he held a sword, he shone with a brilliance that dimmed all else.
As she looked at the face outlined by the first light of morning, An Yao’s lips curled unconsciously into a faint smile.
The smile vanished in a heartbeat, as if it had never existed.
“Next month’s first day, same time.”
Leaving behind a cool, clear remark, her figure vanished into the morning wind like a wisp of smoke.
Only a lingering thought remained, etching a shallow mark on the frozen lake of her heart.
This feeling…
Truly, not bad.