Chapter 18: Sparring to Vent Frustration

The house before her was slightly different from her own.

Zora looked around. Just a few hundred meters from the clearing outside the house lay a pool of water, clear and cool. Under the night sky, it was as thick as ink, with only the edges of the waves shimmering like fish scales, floating and pushing forward. This was a spectacle unseen in mortal settlements; the lake was not governed by natural laws but was bound in place, spreading exactly to the edge of the bluestone pavement’s soil—not a fraction more, not a fraction less.

She couldn't remember the scenery along the way; while riding the white crane, she had assumed it was just one of the many mountains and waters passed in transit, only to have it land here.

Zora reached out and pushed the crane's head away. "You went the wrong way. Let's go again."

As she spoke, she sat back onto the white crane. The crane flapped its wings once and remained still.

Zora: "?"

The youth and his crane finally arrived. The moment the crane's claws touched the ground, his robes fluttered slightly as he landed gracefully. The medicine had nearly eliminated the spiritual power ravaging his wounds, reducing it to ordinary pain. The injuries of an ordinary person naturally couldn't hinder him; he had long been accustomed to endurance.

"You rode the wrong crane. This one is yours," Vane said, looking at the girl on the crane’s back. The timid crane beside him immediately spread its wings and flew toward Zora like a chick returning to its nest.

"I see."

Zora hopped down. she didn't quite understand how the crane had failed to recognize its owner. Although the movement triggered a wave of pain throughout her body, she, like him, didn't believe such injuries could cause any real inconvenience.

As Zora walked toward her own crane, her hem was suddenly caught firmly by a sharp beak. In the bird's eyes was a display of extreme emotion and reluctance, practically screaming two words: —

Don't go!

Zora's own crane instantly bristled, diving forward with a cry to pick a fight. The other crane was forced to release its hold on the clothes, and the two became a tangled mess of feathers. Vane took a timely step back to avoid the flailing cranes. Zora also stepped back and watched the two white masses fiercely pecking and scratching at each other, white feathers flying everywhere in the heat of battle.

Animals were perceptive. If only Vane were present, they wouldn't dare make a sound. But with Zora there, their strong instincts allowed them to distinguish who the real boss was, making them a bit more insolent.

Zora: "Is this your house?" Vane: "Yes." Zora: "How long are the birds going to fight?"

She referred to the white cranes simply as "birds." Vane paused before saying, "It might take a while. Trying to separate them would likely result in being pecked by mistake." He hesitated for a few heartbeats before adding, "You can rest inside for a moment."

Zora: "Let's go." Vane: "..."

Not that it's a surprise,

Vane thought, following behind her.

Zora had no concept of being a guest, let alone in her servant's room. She sat down as soon as she entered and flipped over an inverted teacup. Vane followed closely, unhurriedly picking up the teapot to pour her a cup of water, then lit a candle and placed it under the lampshade.

Zora took a sip; it was tea, so bitter she furrowed her brow. The two faced each other in silence; neither was the type to seek out conversation. Soon, Zora grew weary. When Vane returned after swapping the bitter tea for fresh water, he found her asleep at the table.

The candlelight was dim and gentle, making even the wound at the corner of her mouth look pitiful. Her cheek was pressed against her arm, bunched up slightly—exactly as she had slept on the table at the inn in Brookside Town.

The teapot was placed on the table without making the slightest sound. Vane stood by her side, his long lashes casting shadows over his eyes. His dark pupils flickered as if he were thinking of nothing at all. —He was discarding all thoughts, unsure if he would harbor ideas of violating the covenant in such a moment, so he suppressed himself immediately. He had been doing this for some time and likely would continue to do so.

Then, he blinked, and his expression returned to normal. The youth finally moved, gently shaking Zora's shoulder to wake her. Her body was so exhausted that even the pain failed to rouse her instantly. Vane stood quietly for a moment, then picked her up to place her on his bed, setting her sword on the table.

The girl lay limp on the neat bedding, and the youth leaned down to remove her shoes. He felt no dissatisfaction, nor even a ripple of emotion; he had no thoughts at all. Unless she used her soles to grind him into the dirt, he wouldn't feel the humiliation a slave should feel, forcing him to violate the covenant. His bottom line was retreating further and further under the master-servant relationship established at the start.

Zora woke up groggily, pulled from sleep by the persistent stinging of her injuries. She realized she was in a soft bed and caught a glimpse of the top of Vane's head as he leaned over. He seemed to be helping her with her shoes. As soon as her shoes were off, her ankle slipped from his light grip. She naturally rolled over, burrowed into the covers, and prepared to go back to sleep.

She said sleepily, "...You can go sleep in my house." Since it was safe enough here.

Vane didn't respond. He heard her breathing become steady; she likely wouldn't be able to process his words in her sleep anyway. The youth extinguished the candle and walked out.

The cranes had stopped fighting, each occupying a side amidst a field of feathers. One was self-pityingly preening its plucked patches, while both glared at each other with fierce vigilance. The moment Vane arrived, both cranes ducked their necks, pretending to peck at grass and moving further and further away.

Even among the same species, every animal had subtle differences. Vane gave them a single glance and grabbed Zora's crane. "Take me to her residence." The crane fluttered a bit but reluctantly let him mount and flew off.

Once in Zora's room, he didn't uncover the bedding to lie down; in fact, he hadn't considered sleeping in her room at all. He simply took the books needed for tomorrow from the drawer—today they had used the sect rulebook, which had been left at the Bamboo Resonance Courtyard, and Xu Tan had mentioned using a different book tomorrow. Since he would definitely be the one fetching the books in the morning anyway, he might as well prepare them tonight.

He rode the crane back and spread out his own bedding on the floor by the bed. He was already familiar with the sound of Zora's breathing, so there was no initial discomfort. However, after falling asleep, he was woken by the pain in his body.

His dark eyes snapped open, his brow furrowed with a look of infinite malice. It was as if a thick, black fluid were flowing in his gaze, his face fierce. The night always managed to draw out the truth from the depths. The laughter and mockery of the day—clearly full of holes yet leaving him powerless to resist due to spiritual power—the soles of boots on his head, the sneering eyes, the ugly mouths spitting venom; all of it flooded back alongside scenes from the Demon Realm.

They were no different; it was just that the Immortal Cultivation Realm habitually used a layer of fig-leaf. The youth's fingers curled, digging into the bedding until his palms felt a slight pain from the pressure of his fingertips. He had been kicked in the stomach a dozen times; it felt as if his organs had been displaced, and now waves of dull pain throbbed.

...

For some reason, Zora dreamed of the day's events. She was beaten to the ground again, unable to rise, her strength drained away as she was left to be slaughtered. In the Arena of her original world, such a situation always ended in death, but not here. In her world, even if you were beaten, if you could successfully counter-attack, the outcome was killing the opponent on the spot; there was no such thing as nursing a grudge to settle another day.

Therefore, anger, resentment, and shame were unnecessary; the source of these emotions was cut off before they could even form—either you had already killed the opponent, or you were already in the underworld. Furthermore, she was more dull than the average person; in the Arena, she was even more devoid of self.

Zora had practiced for a while after dismissal, unaware of her own resentment, thinking it was just practice. Only now did she belatedly feel her heart burning like fire. She had to do something; she had to say something. Her bones ached with an itch more unbearable than the injury, urging her to do something to alleviate this sudden, fresh feeling of frustration.

...

She opened her eyes and stared at the wall by the bed. After a pause, she called the Oracle in her mind. The Oracle woke to find her on the bed and the villain on the floor. Having seen much of the world by now, it said calmly: [What's up?]

Zora: "My mood... doesn't feel very good." The Oracle translated: [Oh, bad mood... WAIT, WHAT??]

Given this Host's style of just doing things when she was unhappy, she actually needed to consult it? It couldn't help but adopt a tone of absolute seriousness. [Bu... but I don't have a psychological counseling module? How about this—] The Oracle pulled out a questionnaire. [I have a professional psychological consultation form! Fill this out first so we can treat the symptoms!]

Zora looked at the questionnaire that suddenly appeared in her mind, filled with dense text, and immediately lost the desire to talk. She grew even more unhappy: "No. I don't want to do it. Go to sleep." The Oracle: [...]

Silence returned to her ears. Suddenly, there was a slight movement from the floor beside the bed. Zora sat up.

Vane should have noticed her waking, but perhaps because his mind was filled with thick, dark shadows and hindered by the dull pain, he didn't realize it immediately. The moment he moved his arm, the person on the bed sat up. Vane looked over, meeting Zora's gaze.

Zora: "You're not sleeping." Vane composed his thoughts: "Neither are you." Zora: "I woke up midway." Vane: "Me too." Zora: "I'm in a bad mood." "..." Vane froze, unsure of her meaning. After a few heartbeats, he asked like a normal person, "Why?" "Because," Zora thought for a moment, "I lost today. And I didn't die."

She didn't mention the opponent using spiritual power or violating the rules; she didn't care about that. She just felt unhappy about being beaten. And not dying was the condition that allowed this feeling to exist.

"..." This ambiguous and strange sentence forced Vane to clear some space in his malice-filled head to think. After sorting it out, he realized her true meaning. "I feel the same," he said calmly. "A lack of skill doesn't mean a lack of anger." He used a milder word; anger could no longer describe what was inside someone like him. "So what do you want to do?"

Vane sat up as well, looking up at her. Having adapted to the dark, he could see her face; she still wore that expressionless look, simply staring at him. Perhaps because his previous thoughts had been so intense, or perhaps because of the nature she had shown since they met—neither demonic cruelty nor the over-pursuit of kindness found in the immortal world—or perhaps, simply because her eyes truly held not a single emotion he detested. Neither malice nor kindness was present.

She seemed merely curious. He answered from his heart: "Death by a thousand cuts. A fate worse than death."

Zora nodded to show she heard him. Vane stared at her and asked, "And you?" Zora: "Hit them back."

Just as she would kill someone who tried to kill her, if someone tried to hit her, she would naturally hit them back... probably harder. She didn't have any complex thoughts at the moment; she couldn't even imagine fancy methods like stealing treasures, framing others, or luring people into traps to lose everything.

Vane was about to say more, but Zora continued, "I'm still in a bad mood." Vane paused, falling into the same line of thought as the Oracle: "..." "How did you solve it before?" "..."

It was not yet dawn. The sky was pitch black; the first light of day waited beneath the water's surface. On the ground outside a cottage at Crowbend Pool, two figures stood opposite each other. One held a spear, the other a sword. The spiritual weapons emitted faint wisps of Qi into the world.

The solution was fighting and killing, but that certainly wasn't appropriate now. Vane said, "Sparring to vent." So, they consumed their healing pills and stood in the courtyard, looking at each other.

Zora: "Do you remember? The moves the opponent used." Vane: "Of course."

There was no one in the sect who used a spear; no one practiced the basic spear techniques. The outer disciples chosen for the spar had learned them temporarily just for the occasion. Although they knew the basic moves, they were insulting in their execution, laughing at every exaggerated movement as if in mockery. Clearly full of holes, yet the moves were impossible for him to counter because of spiritual power. In those moments, his world-shaking killing intent had been swallowed along with his blood.

Vane had tied his high ponytail fresh. He looked at her, at her sword that lacked any battle-lust or killing intent. "Do you remember?" Zora recalled: "I do." "As long as I only practice feeding you moves and don't actually harbor a desire to harm you, it won't violate the covenant?" "Correct."

Otherwise, why would there be sparring servants? Sparring with a master and simply wanting to defeat them was an act that benefited the master’s interests within the bounds of their fate. It was just like sparring between teachers and students or peers—it was for practice and learning. Of course, if a servant killed their master or harbored dark killing intent during practice, causing irreversible harm, the servant would surely die.

Vane took a deep breath, controlling all his thoughts and restraining the darkness. Once the healing pills took effect and the pain eased, the spearhead flashed in the night, the red tassels moving with the wind.

Chime!

River Snow blocked Mystic Dust, sending out a series of vibrations. Her eyes were behind the blade, meeting his dark pupils. The stray hairs on their foreheads fluttered slightly.

Vane: "First move." The second spear move followed immediately. Her sword rose; after blocking the spearhead, she pivoted. The blade turned, and the spear shaft slid against the sword’s surface as the strike missed. The weapons scraped together with a crisp chime, sending out a spray of white sparks.

Though the disciples' moves had been weak and exaggerated, when Vane executed them from memory, they were exceptionally sharp, clean, and tightly linked. The youth in black martial attire with his long spear was like a swift swallow or a sharp blade; the early form of his ferocity was already visible.

Zora blocked each one in her own way. The two drew close and then apart. Amidst the clashing of weapons, the sword and spearhead occasionally scraped, creating brief bursts of sparks in the dark night. After the final move, both retreated several paces and stopped, yet their gazes remained locked, watching every movement of the other.

"My turn." Zora recalled the basic sword techniques the other man had used—not aimed at a single fatal blow, but rather at gradually wearing down resistance. Vane raised his spear to block; the sword struck the shaft with a resonating clang.

The girl’s posture was like a shard of ice—no wasted movements. Every strike was essential, piercing straight into the snow and stirring up flakes. After a round of basic sword techniques, both broke into individual moves, matching strike for strike.

He stared at her eyes, which were always behind the blade, sometimes far and sometimes near. "Feeling better?" Zora stepped on the spear shaft, flipped over, and pulled her pinned sword free. The sword carved a circle in the air and lunged toward him. She looked at Vane behind the red tassels of his spear and said honestly, "Decent."

Their movements continued, growing more proficient. Their conversation increased as well. Zora: "How long until you can cut those people into a thousand pieces?" Vane blocked a strike: "Not within the sect, certainly. But there are gentler ways. We must act with restraint here; you too, it’s best not to be caught." "As for how long... soon."

The spearhead and sword tip became entangled, suddenly pressing against the ground as neither gave way. Zora said, "Oh." Vane’s dark eyes reflected the girl’s silhouette as her robes fluttered. He said, "With Dual-Element Roots, even if you’re at the Qi Condensation stage for less than a year, your foundation will be extremely solid. The fastest, like Lord Wanghua, reach Foundation Establishment in a year and have a smooth path afterward. With your temperament, you will surely surpass them."

And as for him—his temperament was not at all upright. He didn't know where he was going, or how far he could go. "Then who do you want to surpass?" Zora thought for a moment; the sect didn't seem to have anyone who used a spear. "You're already number one. Congratulations."

"..." He was speechless for a moment. Several moves passed; this was a match without any killing intent, merely a satisfying practice session. In Zora’s presence, he had no dark thoughts; his mind was rarely this clear. For a moment, the youth couldn't help but follow her question with his thoughts.

As Zora spun and flew up, stepping on his suspended spear to point her sword at his opening, she heard him say: "I want... to reach a level of strength even higher than Lord Wanghua."

He didn't say "number one in the world," as he knew he couldn't say such things to his master, but the thought slipped out as it crossed his mind. The following moves and their near-equal strength prevented the normally meticulous youth from being as careful as usual; he had merely added a slight layer of disguise. He caught the sword in time to cover his opening.

Zora blinked. She didn't even hear the natural-sounding correction Vane added once he realized his slip of the tongue. She was just thinking that the world-destroying villain would definitely end up stronger than Lord Wanghua, but he couldn't break free of her control, otherwise what would happen to her mission?

Vane didn't know if his correction had worked. Another clash followed, and both stopped for a moment. Her eyes still held no battle-lust or killing intent—pure and bright. Her sword techniques could take lives, yet she herself looked so harmless and innocent.

In their shared gaze, her voice reached his ears. "Then I'll have you as my most loyal servant," she said with absolute sincerity, her eyes no different from usual. "Unchanged for centuries."

The outbreak of evil would happen within those centuries.

Vane froze completely. His wrist was struck by the back of the blade, and the long spear suddenly clattered to the ground. Zora didn't notice the reason for his daze; in her eyes, they were just exchanging wishes, much like choosing different foods at the dining hall. She looked at the spear on the ground and said with a hint of happiness, "I won."

Both were panting slightly, their faces flushed. Hearing this, he lowered his eyes to avoid her gaze and leaned over to pick up the spear, his movements a bit slow.

The dawn was just breaking. Zora’s mood had improved significantly. She paid him no mind and went inside to catch some more sleep before class.

Vane stared at the bright spearhead. Before he could resolve the unprecedented verbal slip-up, a new series of questions arrived. ...Such an answer was usually reserved for famous figures or truly powerful cultivators, or at the very least a specific cultivation level. What right did someone like him have to be someone’s "wish"? Was she trying to be wary of him, or... did she really want him as her servant for all those years—just like now, letting him live, never thinking of killing him halfway? Even though they both had Dual-Element Roots, did she never think of cutting off his path to immortality? It would be so easy.

A thousand complicated thoughts swirled. The youth frowned deeply, pursing his lips as he stood in the quiet courtyard. After an unknown amount of time, the white crane outside woke up and flapped its wings. Vane suddenly snapped back to reality.

She definitely didn't think that far ahead.

Surely.

...Absolutely.

He looked up at the sky. Instead of going inside, he went to the backyard to check the laundry he had found time to wash. On the line, the girl's light blue dress was clear in the morning light, swaying gently. As Vane released his grip on the spear, he realized his knuckles were white; he had been gripping it so hard that the shaft and his fingertips had left deep indentations in his palm.