Shu Mingye had never felt this weak before. Not even in the days when he had no spiritual energy at all. Back then, he still had his pride. Now there was only pain, sparks crawling through his veins, and the sight of Linyue running straight toward danger.
Of course she didn't hide. Of course she wouldn't leave.
He swore under his breath and forced more spiritual energy out. It burned hotter than anything he had felt. His veins screamed in protest. Every attempt to gather strength sent waves of pain tearing through him.
No. He wasn't stopping now.
The masked man lifted his sword again.
Shu Mingye's fingers locked tight around his hilt, his knuckles pale.
The sword came down. Lightning roared across the battlefield, bright enough to turn night into day. The air snapped and hissed as raw energy lashed out.
"Not now," Shu Mingye growled, his voice low and rough. "You're not getting past me."
Even if it meant every bone in his body breaking, he wasn't letting that masked man take one step closer to Linyue.
Linyue saw the masked man lift his sword again. There was no more time to think. No more time to wait. For the first time in what felt like an age, she called her spiritual weapon. A flash of blue lit the air as lightning sparked and hissed along the blade's edge. Then she moved. Her body shot forward, the air crackling with energy as her boots slammed into the ground between Shu Mingye and the masked man.
The masked man's sword came down.
With a sharp metallic ring, their blades collided.
A burst of blue lightning exploded between them. The sound shook the battlefield as sparks shot out in every direction, scattering across the broken ground. The earth split deeper under their feet, black scorch marks spreading like spiderwebs.
Blue lightning surged around Linyue's blade, alive and wild. It curled up her arms, weaving into her movements as if it had been waiting for this moment.
She stepped forward. The energy pulsed with her, sharp and untamed. Another step. With a single flick of her wrist, she pushed the masked man's blade aside. The movement was clean, fast, and full of force. Before he could adjust, she swung again, her blade cutting through the air in a streak of light.
For the first time since he had appeared, the masked man shifted from his position. He didn't block in the usual way. He didn't even bother to step back. Instead, he leaned just enough for her strike to miss its mark, then turned his blade with an ease that felt too graceful for a battlefield. Their swords met again in midair, lightning cracking against lightning. The sound that followed wasn't just thunder. It was louder, deeper, strong enough to send ripples through the clouds above them.
Linyue's eyes narrowed. She didn't slow down. She moved faster, her feet gliding over the scorched ground. Each swing of her blade sent arcs of blue light shooting outward. The air hummed with energy.
The masked man followed her movements. His steps were smooth, almost lazy, but every motion carried weight. His sword flicked and turned with precision. When their blades met again, the force of it sent waves of wind rushing across the battlefield. Sparks sprayed out, raining down in glowing trails that lit the cracked earth around them.
Shu Mingye stood frozen.
He had seen many battles. He had faced strange powers. But nothing like this.
Linyue. All this time, he had thought she wielded blue flame. That strange energy, bright and cold, had always felt different from his own fire. He remembered watching it flicker and twist, wondering what made it so unnatural. Now he saw it clearly.
It wasn't fire at all. It was lightning.
And her spiritual weapon. He had never seen it before. This was the first time she had called it out. The blade shimmered silver under the broken sky, blue waves dancing softly along the edge. Near the hilt, it curved in smooth lines that felt almost delicate, before narrowing into a slender, elegant point.
His chest tightened.
It was the same. The masked man's sword and hers. They were the same. Only hers was smaller, slimmer, more refined. Like it had been made for a woman's hand.
His thoughts tumbled one over another.
Same lightning spiritual energy. Same weapon.
Linyue had always carried secrets. He had known that from the start, and he never forced her to speak. But what he was seeing now made no sense. What was their connection?
His fists clenched hard enough that his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to move, to step in, to break this apart. But he couldn't. His eyes stayed locked on them. This didn't look like a battle anymore. It looked like a dance.
Linyue and the masked man moved in perfect rhythm. Their blades clashed and turned, each swing setting off bursts of blue lightning that lit up the battlefield. Every step was quick and sharp, every strike clean and controlled. Sparks sprayed between them, and for a moment even the air felt like it had gone still.
They weren't just fighting. They were sparring. The same stances. The same movements. It didn't look like two enemies clashing. It looked like two people performing something they had practiced countless times. There was no pause in their strikes, no surprise in their movement. It was as if each already knew what the other would do.
A sword came down.
A block followed.
A step back, then forward again. Their blades twisted and spun, lightning cracking like drums with every hit.
Linyue—his calm, quiet Pie—was a storm. She moved with a speed and power he had never imagined from her. And she was fighting someone who clearly knew that storm as well as she did.
Shu Mingye's sword was still in his hand, but his fingers felt numb. His breath caught in his throat.
The way they moved was too alike, too smooth. Their blades curved through the air in perfect rhythm, lightning flashing with each clash. This was no accident. No random fight. They knew each other well. Every strike, every step, every block and turn. It was like they had done this before. Linyue showed no hesitation. She wasn't struggling to keep up. Her movements weren't desperate. They were steady, precise, confident.
And the masked man… he wasn't trying to hurt her.
Shu Mingye saw it clearly now. The masked man's blade met hers at perfect angles, with just enough force to stop her but never enough to injure. Sometimes, he even let her strikes connect before sliding away without effort. It felt less like a duel and more like a teacher testing his student. No killing intent. No rush to end it.
His hands tightened around his sword. He didn't know if he should feel relieved or uneasy. Part of him was glad the masked man wasn't trying to hurt her. But another part realized just how little he knew. Who was that man? And who was Linyue?
Linyue's blade sliced through the air again, fast and sharp. Her movements were clean and certain. The masked man caught it with ease, his sword meeting hers in perfect timing. It was effortless. Always effortless.
Their swords clashed, the sound cracking across the battlefield. But it wasn't the noise that shook her. It was her own chest, tight and heavy with each breath.
Linyue knew this person. She knew the way he moved, the steady weight behind his strikes, the way his lightning hummed with each step. This was the version she remembered. The quiet shadow who had taught her how to stand, how to fight, how to survive. The one who never raised his voice, who never missed a step.
She also remembered the other side of him. The side that wasn't calm. The one that struck with anger so sharp it felt like the world would break. The one whose silence could crush her from across a room. That side had terrified her. And that side… didn't care whether she lived or died.
And this one, the one standing here now, wasn't trying to hurt her. Still, she didn't understand. He never came near the wall. He never stepped close enough for anyone to notice him. So why now? Was he waiting for her?
She didn't know. She had never known.
Their blades locked again. Sparks shot out as blue lightning wrapped around silver steel, crackling loud in the still air.
"…Master," she whispered.
The word left her lips before she could stop it. A small sound from a place deep in her chest. A piece of the past breaking through.