All things possess spirit.

As Zhang Ling was about to answer, a hand suddenly reached out and pressed the sword back into its scabbard. Following the hand, he saw it was Qin Yi. Qin Yi spoke in an unhurried tone, “That’s enough.”

With a casual wave, Qin Yi summoned a camellia blossom from the tree, letting it whirl in his palm. Instantly, true energy surged within him, and the flower exploded into fragments. Yet with another flick of his wrist, the shattered petals reassembled, the camellia whole again in his hand. Zhang Ling watched in rapt astonishment. Yang Xiao’s martial skill was formidable, but not to the point of commanding objects and restoring them at will.

Yang Xiao glanced at his sleeve and discovered several fresh slashes—clearly the handiwork of Qin Yi’s flying blossom. This caused Zhang Ling to doubt; with such skill, even if Yang Xiao and Lin Rui joined forces, they might not prove a match. Yang Xiao exclaimed in admiration, “Master Qin, your abilities are indeed extraordinary. To control objects with your palm—it is truly an eye-opener.”

Qin Yi shook his head, replying, “All things possess spirit and may become weapons. Even the finest sword is no match for the finger of a true master.”

Cradling his short sword, Zhang Ling murmured, “All things possess spirit...”

A sudden tremor passed through him; his face shone as if lit by the morning sun. After thanking Qin Yi, he unexpectedly ran off.

Yang Xiao and Lin Rui, though understanding Qin Yi’s words, felt nothing as profound as Zhang Ling, merely reflecting that their own knowledge was lacking. When they had first entered the Hundred Flowers Manor, a casual bout of sparring had destroyed several blossoming trees. Qin Yi, enraged, had taken up a zither in his left hand and plucked its strings with his right, sending forth bursts of sword-like brilliance brimming with murderous intent.

Yang Xiao and Lin Rui drew their swords to defend themselves, the zither’s resonance clashing endlessly with their spiritual blades. At that moment, the spring wind howled, petals fell in waves, and Qin Yi’s killing intent intensified.

“Silent Strings, Pale Moon’s End!” Qin Yi cried. This time, the zither’s strings were struck fiercely, yet no sound issued forth. In that instant, it seemed the entire manor was swept up, and a bolt of killing intent, as if thunder on a clear day, crashed down upon Yang Xiao and Lin Rui.

Fear seized Lin Rui’s heart; her sword quivered in her grasp. Thinking her end had come, she closed her eyes. Yet when the onslaught subsided, she found herself utterly unharmed. Looking up, she saw Yang Xiao, raising the Golden Flower sword, had miraculously blocked the deathblow. But as she hurried to his side, he coughed blood and collapsed, fainting on the spot.

Witnessing this, Qin Yi, who had exerted all his strength, withdrew his zither and spared the pair, allowing them to remain and even tending to Yang Xiao’s wounds himself. He merely required them to compensate the manor for any further damages. Realizing he bore them no intent to kill, and enchanted by the idyllic paradise of the manor, both Yang Xiao and Lin Rui chose to stay.

Yet even after half a year, Lin Rui and Yang Xiao still held Qin Yi’s martial prowess in awe. After speaking, Qin Yi stood silent, lost in thought. Suddenly, Yang Xiao called out, “Master Qin!”

Seeing Qin Yi still lost in thought, Yang Xiao asked, “Master Qin, is there anything else? If not, we’ll be on our way.”

Just as the two turned to leave, Qin Yi seemed to return from a trance and called after them. He produced a slip of paper and handed it to them. Yang Xiao took it and saw a list of every flower and tree he had destroyed over the past three days with his careless swordplay. Puzzled, he said, “Master Qin, didn’t we agree that since I’m teaching Zhang Ling swordsmanship, the matter of the ruined flowers would be overlooked?”

Qin Yi’s expression remained calm, his tone cold yet measured as he replied, “Teaching swordsmanship is its own matter. When did I ever say you could destroy my manor at will?”

Yang Xiao could only sigh, but took no offense. The Golden Silver Gate lacked for nothing except money, and he cheerfully produced a pouch of silver, offering it with both hands. Qin Yi, however, refused it. “At the rate you cut down trees, the ones I plant will never grow fast enough to replace them. Soon the manor will be bare.”

Then, as if conjured from nowhere, Qin Yi tossed Yang Xiao a hoe. “For every tree you felled, plant a new one—exactly as many as you destroyed. Miss even one, and you’ll bear the consequences.”

Qin Yi let out a cold chuckle. Though masked, the chill in his voice was palpable. Yang Xiao glanced at Lin Rui, forcing a smile, but Lin Rui only shot him a glare and walked off, calling, “Clean up your own mess.”

A few words later, the four had dispersed. Ordinarily, Yang Xiao and Lin Rui would have sparred before leaving things unsettled. The next morning, as dawn broke crisp and clear and dewdrops slid from flower leaves, carrying the faintest fragrance, a figure approached—Zhang Ling.

He had come looking for Yang Xiao to test his sword. To the west of the manor, what was once a barren patch of earth now boasted several fresh saplings. The damp soil showed they had just been planted, their leaves tender and green.

A middle-aged man, sleeves rolled up and hoe in hand, was at work planting saplings—though his movements were somewhat clumsy. Sensing someone’s presence, he looked up to find Zhang Ling standing before him.

Recognizing Yang Xiao, Zhang Ling’s heart lifted with an inexplicable delight. With a teasing smile, he called, “Well, if it isn’t the renowned Master Yang! What brings you here, planting trees?”

“You brat, get over here and help! After all I’ve done teaching you swordplay, you have the nerve to mock me?” Yang Xiao grumbled.

Instinctively, Zhang Ling stepped back, shaking his head with a laugh. “Elder, one should not repay a kindness by forcing another to act. You made the mistake—you should be the one to fix it. Besides, it was Qin Yi who asked you to teach me swordsmanship. I never begged you.”

Yang Xiao tossed aside his hoe and took a step forward. “You cheeky boy, daring to talk back to me like this?”

This time, Zhang Ling stood his ground, replying in a clear voice, “I had an insight yesterday and wish to test myself against you, Elder.”

A gentle breeze stirred, lifting their hair. Yang Xiao was surprised. Previously, he had always forced Zhang Ling into practice, but today the boy had come of his own accord, seemingly eager for a beating—just as well, for Yang Xiao was itching to vent his frustrations. Without even reaching for a sword, he balled his fist and lunged, but Zhang Ling dodged nimbly aside.

The wind of his fist mingled with the natural breeze. Yang Xiao’s technique was a complete jumble, more a wild flurry than structured martial art. Even so, Zhang Ling, who had once been utterly helpless against his swordplay, now managed to fend him off.

As he parried, Zhang Ling taunted, “Elder, perhaps you should stick to the sword. Your fists are even worse than mine.”

At those words, Yang Xiao’s attack suddenly quickened. Zhang Ling shifted to defense, retreating step by step as Yang Xiao rooted himself, drew back a mighty fist, and unleashed a powerful blow. Zhang Ling hastily raised his arms in defense.

The strike landed with force. Though he managed to shield himself, Zhang Ling was still sent flying, crashing into an apricot tree and scattering blossoms and leaves—not exactly a natural scene of beauty.

As Yang Xiao finished his punch, he darted toward his Golden Flower sword lying nearby. Grasping the hilt, Zhang Ling realized his taunts had had no effect on Yang Xiao’s thick-skinned temperament. With a resigned sigh, he drew his sword and leapt, slicing through the air like a serpent—swift and seamless—bearing down upon Yang Xiao.