Iron swords and steel blades crossed sparks in midair. The billowing waves of sword intent that should have been sweeping and majestic were instead ceaselessly intercepted by a crude kitchen cleaver.

Like the bustling fireworks of a city on New Year’s Eve, no figures could be seen in the night sky — only the dense, hurried scattering of red sparks.

Blade came, sword went; sword went, blade came. Amid the clanging collisions, Qiqian’er felt like letting out a long roar that could carry ninety thousand li.

From Xie Liuhao to Zhou Wujiu to Pang Tu — not counting the one she’d cursed to death — ever since Qiqian’er had taken up this crude martial art, she’d always felt something unreleased, thoroughly constipated. She had never felt her internal energy flow this smoothly and satisfyingly before.

Everything she did felt right; every move fit perfectly.

Her eyes, ears, nose, mouth, skin, and hair all seemed to open fully, wanting release — and each incoming stroke of sword intent arrived at precisely the right position, only to be comfortably knocked away by her cleaver.

She’d only practiced the Thirty-Six Forms of Moon Virtue before but never truly understood what it meant! Things like “moving like a startled rabbit,” “the fox weeps at the rabbit’s death,” “loosing the hawk at the sight of the rabbit,” “the startled ape flees like a rabbit,” “the cunning rabbit has three burrows”… As long as there was movement on the other side, she was like a joyful rabbit romping freely across an endless spring meadow — eating grass when she wanted to eat grass, chasing butterflies when she wanted to chase butterflies, rolling around when she wanted to roll around.

Sending out each strike and receiving each counter felt truly exhilarating — every pore of her body felt nourished.

How to describe this feeling? Ah, it was like the day An’er married, drinking the daughter-red wine from his bride’s dowry, the newlyweds bowing to their parents, and next year a grandson! One mouthful of fine wine going down — first the smooth, mellow aged liquor sliding down the throat, then as the wine’s warmth reached the heart and gut, it slowly radiated outward. Not chaotically, but calculated precisely — accounting for every pore, not one too many or too few — gradually piercing outward point by point, transforming the chill she’d stored inside into ten thousand droplets of cold water expelled from her body, leaving behind only a dizzy, light, cloud-like feeling of complete relief from all ailments.

But Qin Zhuo grew more alarmed the longer they fought. After a hundred exchanges, he finally realized something was wrong — he felt like he was eleven or twelve years old again, suppressed by his father.

His father had always known his weaknesses, known his habits — like in chess, always knowing exactly where his next move would land. His father could beat him without even moving his feet, just one hand, casually sparring with him for an entire morning.

Yes, exactly like that — right now it was the same, as if he were the laborer being used for practice, dragged along as a sparring partner. Qin Zhuo did not appreciate this at all.

Thinking of this, Qin Zhuo withdrew his sword intent and leapt back onto the ancestral hall’s roof, furiously pointing his sword and cursing: “Elm Tree Goddess, don’t take this too far!”

Killing doesn’t require excessive cruelty — if you’re stronger, just kill outright. Why humiliate someone like this?

Qiqian’er stood on the large willow tree, feeling that only half her energy channels had cleared — she hadn’t fully vented yet, and so she felt somewhat greedy, looking at the old man like a red-eyed rabbit, thinking: this old fellow is quite the treasure.

Hearing this old man accuse her of “going too far” — what was “too far,” exactly? This made no sense at all. On a perfectly good Small New Year’s Eve, they’d shown up at her door to bully her, and now they called her the one going too far?

Never mind, never mind! Having lived two lifetimes, Qiqian’er had never known that martial arts could be such a wonderful thing — even sweating felt this exhilarating. In short, utterly satisfying.

For an instant she felt as though ascending to immortality. She thought: no matter what, she couldn’t let this old man leave tonight — they simply had to have a proper, satisfying fight. With that thought, Qiqian’er raised her cleaver and leapt toward the old man again…

Chen Dasheng finished bathing, wrapped his loincloth, opened the bathhouse door, reached a hand out toward where his wife’s voice had come from, groping twice — but found only an empty clothes rack?

Puzzled, he opened the bathhouse door and looked toward the window, seeing only two lonely undergarments hanging on the rack. But where were the new clothes his wife had mentioned? Where was his new outfit lined with fine sable fur?

Chen Dasheng hesitated, then stepped out of the room. Meeting the wind and snow, he shivered, then sneezed hugely and began shivering uncontrollably…

“Wife…? Where’s my clothing? Wife?”

In the night sky, a few faint clanging sounds rang out. Qin Zhuo leapt backward onto a rooftop, staring in shock at the sword in his hand — this sword had been with him over thirty years, had cut down countless souls beneath its edge, and now it had been shattered by a kitchen cleaver?

He raised his head and looked gravely at the Elm Tree Goddess, his heart uneasy, thinking: back when he was a young unknown, even encountering seasoned veterans of the martial world in his youth, he’d never fought such a humiliating battle as this — no matter how he attacked, she skillfully evaded every time. This woman’s skill was unfathomably deep. As for that lot from Yugong Mountain, dying was no loss — given what they’d done, they deserved it — but what kind of monster had actually emerged, startled out from Baiquan Mountain?

Win was win, lose was lose — but he couldn’t bear this humiliation any longer. Qin Zhuo casually tossed away his broken sword hilt and called to his disciple: “Sword!”

His disciple looked at him in shock, full of disbelief. Indeed — he was the sect leader of the Qin Sect, how had things come to this? How had he been pushed into such a corner?

His heart aching, Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter still tumbling in the snow, thinking bitterly: this old man devoted his whole life to martial arts, yet never imagined he’d lose his life in a place like this today.

Thinking this, he turned his head and shouted again: “What are you dawdling for? Didn’t you hear? Sword!!”

Just as he spoke, an elderly, questioning voice came from below the ancestral hall: “Who’s there? Who’s causing a ruckus on the roof in the middle of the night?”

Not good! They’d alerted someone! Without thinking further, Qiqian’er grabbed the nun and fled.

Seeing his daughter snatched away, Qin Zhuo nearly went mad himself. He leapt after them at once… the rest followed…

The old caretaker of the ancestral hall had had a few extra drinks that day. Hearing noise on the roof, he brought out a lantern to look, and just as he raised it, saw a group of blurred shadows leap off the roof and vanish.

People frighten themselves — the old man suddenly remembered this hall had been taken over from someone else’s old ancestral shrine. Could it be that in the dead of night, the family’s ancestors had come seeking revenge?

He opened his mouth to shout about ghosts, but was struck from behind and knocked unconscious.

Fortunately he never turned around to look — for he would have seen a ghastly-white Elm Tree Goddess mask. After leaping away, Qiqian’er remembered that the old man would surely raise an alarm. So she swiftly circled back and knocked him out, then carried him inside and laid him on his bed, closing the door behind her before turning to grab the nun again — Qin Zhuo and the others had only just caught up, which showed how fast her movements were.

Seeing her about to flee again, Qin Zhuo wanted her to release his daughter, but Qiqian’er pressed the cleaver against Qingbuyi’s neck and threatened: “Old man, quiet down! If you alert anyone, I’ll cut her down!”

Everyone fell speechless. They watched this madwoman carry Qingbuyi and leap toward the back mountain. She moved incredibly fast; Qin Zhuo and the others grew more alarmed the more they chased. After pursuing her some distance to an empty spot, the Elm Tree Goddess hung Qingbuyi from a nearby tree branch, turned, and smiled at the breathless, pursuing Qin Zhuo: “Old man, come again!”

Qin Zhuo, without further thought, raised his sword to block. Instantly another flurry of clanging rang out — not loud, but precisely, perfectly timed, without intent to harm yet full of teasing mischief.

The madwoman fought and shouted at the same time: “Old man, three hundred rounds today! You’re not allowed to leave until we finish!”

Qin Zhuo blocked several strikes, gritting his teeth: “Come!”

Only in storytelling and opera do people say “three hundred rounds” — martial arts practitioners in the real world don’t talk like that.

Unfortunately, within just a few more exchanges, this sword too shattered in Qin Zhuo’s hand.

Qin Zhuo stared at the broken hilt in his hand, both shocked and furious, and demanded of Qiqian’er: “Who exactly are you?”

Qiqian’er, taken aback by the question, said: “How strange — who am I? Don’t you already know? The Elm Tree Goddess. You’ve been to my temple, and you’re still asking who I am?”

Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter hanging in the wind, and inwardly resolved to leave. He said: “This old man was rude tonight, intruding upon the goddess’s territory without proper introduction — that was wrong of this old man. How about this: return my daughter to me, and let’s fight to our hearts’ content once more?”

He finished speaking and shot a glance at his disciple beside him.

Right now Qiqian’er only wanted more satisfaction, and hearing there was more fighting to be had, she nodded, climbed back up the tree, grabbed Qingbuyi, and tossed her over, saying: “Sure, sure… oh no! The old man cheated!”

The other side caught the nun and immediately fled. Qiqian’er wanted to chase but heard Qin Zhuo shout loudly: “Don’t hurt my child!!”

That startled her.

Qin Zhuo leapt forward, intending to block her fully, meeting Qiqian’er face to face — expecting a bone-shattering collision — but instead this strange woman before him suddenly gained height in midair, planting a foot on his head to launch herself toward an old pine tree ahead.

There came two thudding impacts. Qin Zhuo was first stomped down to the ground, both shins sinking into the earth, and then Qiqian’er casually kicked the ancient tree, sending it crashing down. Deep in the mountains, the tree fell — the straight old pine crashed directly across the escape path of Qin Zhuo’s disciples. Flocks of night crows startled into flight, and an oppressive pressure descended over the area. Overcome with fear, cold sweat dripped from their foreheads, and no one dared move.

Qiqian’er retrieved Qingbuyi, looked around, found the tallest tree, and hung her up there again. Qingbuyi felt her soul drifting dizzily, flying most exhilaratingly, and even smiled sweetly at Qiqian’er, saying: “Flying, flying…”

Qiqian’er was amused by her, patted her bald head twice in comfort and said: “Don’t be afraid, fly a little longer — once I’ve had a satisfying fight with your father, I’ll let you down!”

Hearing this, Qingbuyi’s eyes instantly welled with tears: “Father is the worst!”

Qiqian’er had no idea what grievance lay between father and daughter. Looking at how anxious he was, he didn’t seem like someone who didn’t love his daughter — yet why was this nun crying and calling her father the worst?

“Elm Tree Goddess, don’t act so despicably! This old man’s skills are inferior, and today I lost my footing on your territory. Having lost, kill me or maim me as you please — just release my daughter, and this old man’s life is yours to take!”

Qin Zhuo pulled his legs free and ran several steps to the base of the tree, calling out loudly.

Something about this struck Qiqian’er as off. How had she suddenly become the despicable one?

She jumped down from the tree, stood facing Qin Zhuo, somewhat annoyed, and retorted: “You old man really don’t understand the rules. I don’t know about other people’s rules, but there’s one rule I do know — within five hundred li of Baiquan Mountain, if you want to draw blood, you have to ask me first. I permit it, then you may fight. I’ve accepted three years of offerings from that family — you’re the one who broke the rule first. How did that make me the despicable one?”

Qin Zhuo, born into a prestigious martial-scholar family, had spent his whole life ignoring rules, unrestrained and wild. Having gone mad for half his life, never had he imagined he’d end up as someone else’s sparring dummy today — and now being lectured about rules on top of it?

There was such a rule? He looked at his disciples, who all nodded vigorously in unison like pestles pounding rice.

He said nothing, mentally combing through everything he knew about the martial world’s various hidden sects and factions, growing more astonished the more he thought — he genuinely couldn’t place her at all.

This Elm Tree Goddess seemed to have simply grown up out of the earth itself. Her presence, her aura, her energy — he could find no thread of information on her whatsoever.

Helplessly, he lowered his stance slightly and asked: “Since it’s come to this, what do you intend?”

Hearing this, Qiqian’er felt a surge of happiness, and raising her cleaver with barely concealed delight, said earnestly: “Nothing in particular! Let’s do that again, just like before.”

She simply wanted to fully release this fighting spirit built up inside her — she had a feeling she might never get another chance like this in her life.

Qin Zhuo had been humiliated terribly — so mortified he even considered death. But hearing his daughter crying so pitifully overhead, repeating “father is the worst” over and over, he felt his heart shatter into pieces of bitterness.

Before, he’d only resented his daughter for not understanding shame, for tarnishing the Qin Sect’s centuries of reputation. But now, thinking back, what did that reputation even matter to him anymore? Lost is lost — he only pitied his unfortunate daughter, who happened to be born as his child… Now that he was surely going to die tonight, to whom could he entrust his daughter and feel at ease?

It was already too late for regrets.

This Elm Tree Goddess truly was despicable — just because he’d offended her on her own territory, she seemed intent on wearing him down to death. Thinking this, Qin Zhuo’s face twisted, and he shouted to his side once more: “Sword… come!”

His young disciple, grief-stricken beyond words, drew his sword while calling out: “Master, Master!”

It had been such a short time — just moments ago they’d been full of confidence, planning to give that alley a proper “thousand-pile snowfall” for Small New Year’s, to avenge their senior sister. Yet within mere breaths, their master had been used as target practice.

What kind of figure was their master, that a woman could kick his head around like a ball?

Qin Zhuo, thoroughly stifled with frustration, turned his head and gave another sharp shout: “Sword, come!!”

Chen Dasheng, wrapped in a thin bathhouse blanket, crouched by the clothes rack under the window, dazed, wondering where his clothes had gone. He called through the door: “Jixiang? Jixiang!!”

She Jixiang had been waiting by the door the whole time. Hearing this, he smiled broadly and hurried in, saying: “Coming, coming! Little young master, something you need?”

Chen Dasheng looked at his weathered old face, pressed his lips together, and pointed at the clothes rack. “Where are my clothes?”

She Jixiang was puzzled too: “Your clothes? Weren’t the tailored ones already sent over?”

Chen Dasheng pointed forcefully at the rack again, twice.

Sure enough, they weren’t there. She Jixiang quickly ordered someone to fetch another set.

Before long, Wuyue came into the courtyard carrying clothes. She Jixiang helped his young master dress. As he dressed, Chen Dasheng asked: “My wife said just now she put my clothes on the rack to warm — but I didn’t hear anyone come in?”

She Jixiang was puzzled too: “Indeed, I was standing right at the door, and I didn’t see anyone enter the courtyard either. Could it be… the Madam took them herself?”

Chen Dasheng was startled at this, and asked Wuyue: “Where is your Madam?”

Wuyue replied: “The Madam said she was going to the kitchen today to personally cook a few of the Master’s favorite dishes…”

Before she could finish, several muffled booming sounds came from the back mountain.

Everyone turned to look in that direction, listening to the continuous rumbling like distant thunder. Then She Jixiang remarked: “Strange weather this year — thunder in this cold?”

On Baiquan Mountain, a row of red pines had been snapped in half by Qin Zhuo’s collisions. Spitting a mouthful of blood after crashing to the ground, he’d already gone half-mad. Having lost count of how many swords he’d broken, he could only sway to his feet and call out again: “Sword!!!”

“Master, there are no more swords.”

Qin Zhuo’s eldest disciple, hand on his empty scabbard, felt utterly despairing.

None left? Just like that, none left?

Qin Zhuo’s mind went blank. He looked around — even the surrounding trees had all been knocked down by his own body — leaving only the solitary large tree where his daughter still hung, still singing up there.

How had it come to this?

The mountain wind howled, and the strange fur on the Elm Tree Goddess’s coat fluttered in the darkness — her masked face looking ever more ghostly. Could this truly be some kind of spirit?

A chill ran through him. Qin Zhuo tossed away his sword hilt and, suppressing the blood rising in his chest, looked at this ghostly woman and said: “This old man has lost. Do with me as you will…”

He raised his head, exposing his wrinkled old neck and throat, adopting a posture of complete submission.

Qiqian’er felt somewhat reluctant to let this old man go. She craned her neck, searching carefully, checking each one in turn — sure enough, every single one had an empty scabbard at their waist.

She even asked, regretful: “Really none left? Why don’t you check again? Just in case there’s still one more?”

No one had ever been humiliated quite like this. The group, seething with shame, said nothing, and following their master’s example, all raised their necks in a posture of resigned submission.

There truly was nothing left to spar with. Qiqian’er took a breath, looked down at the cleaver in her hand with genuine regret, and thinking of the unfinished dishes still cooking back home, said: “Well then, well then, since there’s nothing left, you may all go.”

Her forehead had even broken a light sweat. She felt that the channel that had never flowed smoothly before had finally been completed today — though perhaps she was also a bit tired now?

What? Let them go?

Hearing this, Qin Zhuo and the others were all startled, lifting their heads together to look at Qiqian’er. Finally, one bold soul asked: “Goddess, you’re… letting us go?”

Qiqian’er raised her head, somewhat annoyed: “Well? The sacrificial rites are already over — you think I’m going to keep you around as offerings? Hurry up and go, look how late it is!”

She still had to go home and cook. In this world, nothing was harder than being a woman — you had to attend to everything, and things simply didn’t work without you.

The group fell silent for a moment. Finally someone leapt up the tree, untied Qingbuyi, and carried her down. Seeing that Qiqian’er truly wasn’t stopping them, another disciple went to help support Qin Zhuo.

Qin Zhuo, utterly disheartened, was helped up, then silently bent to pick up a shard of broken sword from the ground, looked around, saw a broken tree stump, and went over to carve something into it.

“Qin Sect forbidden ground… Qin Zhuo.”

Having finished writing, he tossed the sword fragment to the ground, then watched as his disciples gathered up all the remaining broken pieces and piled them beneath the inscription.

Once this was done, Qin Zhuo cupped his hands toward Qiqian’er and said: “Today Qin Zhuo has learned his lesson. From now on, no disciple of the Qin Sect shall ever set foot on Baiquan Mountain again.”

Qiqian’er nodded silently, recalling that Uncle Xin had also once said he wouldn’t enter Baiquan Mountain — this must be some other rule of the martial world she wasn’t aware of.

Seeing Qiqian’er accept this condition, the Qin Sect group finally felt completely at ease. After once more solemnly expressing their thanks, they helped each other stumble away. Qiqian’er followed behind them. By the time they reached the base of the mountain, she finally felt truly exhausted. Following old habit, she tried to draw on the earth’s energy, but found that today even the earth’s power wouldn’t sustain her. Helplessly, she reached out and drew energy from a nearby sturdy tree instead.

Qin Zhuo and his group walked for a while, finally seeing the path down the mountain, and turned together to look back at Baiquan Mountain.

That one glance was all it took — their legs immediately went weak. They watched as a towering pine that reached into the clouds crumbled apart like dust. Then a second tree, a third… Then a mountain wind blew through, and the dust scattered in all directions, some of it dusting onto their faces, terrifying everyone to the core.

Qin Zhuo, arm trembling, reached up and wiped his face — his hand came away covered in fine wood ash.

No one dared move. After a long while, a clear-headed woman’s voice finally asked: “Father, could this Elm Tree Goddess truly be some kind of spirit?”

Qin Zhuo was silent at first, shaking his head. Then, suddenly, shock turned to joy — he whipped around to look at his daughter, and after a long moment, lips trembling, voice shaking, he cried out: “Girl! My girl? You… you’re well again?”

Qingbuyi nodded, her eyes also wide with shock as she looked at the ash filling the sky over the mountain, and said: “It must have been a strange twist of fate — I think I was… frightened back to my senses. The soul-recovering decoction, the point-clearing needles — they only cure a great fright, but for madness born of stubbornness that doesn’t understand shock therapy, there was simply no cure.”

She leapt down from her fellow disciple’s back, first shrugging her shoulders as the rope binding her snapped and fell away, then took a breath and knelt slowly before her father: “Your child deserves ten thousand deaths. Since birth, I’ve been nothing but a source of disappointment to you, and today I’ve caused you this humiliation besides, tarnishing the Qin Sect’s century of reputation. Your child knows death alone cannot atone for this…”

Saying this, Qingbuyi thought back to her various humiliating predicaments at the Great Liang palace, and overwhelmed with shame, raised her head to plead: “Father! Your child was schemed against by someone! I beg your mercy — might you allow your child to first find the true culprit and settle this score, before returning home to accept death?”

Qin Zhuo looked at his daughter, and finally reached out his sleeve to wipe the dust from her face before saying: “I no longer know who is whose disappointment. Go, then. From now on, live as you wish, die as you wish. Since you’ve already left home to become a nun, you’re no longer counted among the Qin Sect. Before, when you were mad, I brought you back out of necessity. Now that you’re lucid again, well… well then…”

His strength gave out, and he collapsed weakly to the ground, then coughed up several more mouthfuls of blood before continuing: “Heh, it’s all karma. This old man, mad his whole life, undefeated in countless duels, never imagined he’d lose in such a confused battle as this. Just like… my whole life — arriving confused, leaving confused. Winning confusedly before, losing even more confusedly now. Forget it! I’ll go home and retire from martial arts for good, withdraw from the martial world completely…”

Qiqian’er, of course, had no idea that she’d just forced a painstakingly cultivated old master of the martial world into retirement. She only felt annoyed that she’d need to replant saplings again come spring, silently cursing how the martial world was full of endless madmen and fools, coming and going without end. Truly, they arrived inexplicably and departed just as inexplicably.

She hurried home and, while still some distance away, already heard her own fool calling out: “Wife! Wife? Open the door — wife?”

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…!

Chen Dasheng knocked at the mill room door for a good while before his wife slowly came to open it, her small face flushed red as she looked at him.

Chen Dasheng, touched, said to Qiqian’er: “Wife, it’s just brothers having a drink together, not elders — there was no need for you to mill flour. Just fix them something simple to eat.”

He reached out and pulled his wife from the mill room, noticing her small hands were damp.

Looking again at the coat his wife wore, he thought: of course, that must be it — his wife, worried the fire’s heat would be too much, had used her own body warmth to warm his clothes for him.

Touched, his eyes even grew misty.

After a long moment, he said, voice trembling: “Wife… you troubled yourself warming my clothes with your own body, just… just heating them a bit would have been enough. I’ve endured far worse before, slept in snow drifts more times than I can count — since when did I become so delicate?”

Qiqian’er let out a long breath, looked at Chen Dasheng with an inscrutable expression, and said: “Ah… what karma. Every family has its one fool.”