Chapter 22: Undercurrents Stir

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The moonlight was bright, and the silver frost covered the ground.

In the next moment, as both sides distanced themselves, the swordsman swung his sword, his figure moving so swiftly it left afterimages as he launched another attack toward Ji Ning. The fierce gleam of his blade reflected an unfamiliar face, eyes revealing a hint of mockery.

Ji Ning tightened her grip on the broom handle, adrenaline surging through her veins. She dared not hesitate for a moment; channeling her strength into her feet, she spun and leapt toward the rooftop, opening her mouth to shout for help.

Yet the swordsman was one step faster.

He flicked his hand, casting a spiritual talisman, then drew his sword and vaulted upward, grabbing Ji Ning by the collar with one hand, taking her and the broom away with him.

Silenced by the talisman, Ji Ning did not surrender passively. She hurled small fireballs and clumps of earth at her captor as if they required no spiritual power. Unfortunately, the power gap was too great—her attacks were all deflected by the swordsman’s sword aura, dissipating into nothing after hitting empty air.

Seeing no intent to kill, Ji Ning stopped struggling and clung tightly to the broom, fearing that if he let go, she would fall from several meters high.

Earlier, she had heard rustling sounds outside the house and, curious, had peeked out—only to get herself into trouble.

She somewhat regretted her curiosity.

After a while, the swordsman brought her to an empty clearing far from the disciples' quarters and then removed the talisman.

Once her voice returned, Ji Ning cautiously tested a few sounds, relieved to find her vocal cords intact, and finally relaxed.

She asked, “Who are you?”

The sword tip shifted with a cold gleam, and the man spoke softly, “Block ten of my moves first, then we’ll talk.”

Considering Ji Ning was only at the Qi Refining stage, he slowed his footwork to half his usual speed and suppressed much of his sword aura’s power.

Ji Ning’s eyes flickered, and she immediately raised the broom to block. However, the broom was no match for the sword; faced with swift, dazzling strikes, her defense grew increasingly strained.

After five moves, the broom’s straw was all neatly cut off, scattering across the ground.

By the seventh move, the wooden handle, about the thickness of her forearm, snapped with a sharp crack—half remained in her hand, while the other half flew off to an unknown place.

Still, the swordsman did not pause; his sword strikes came rapidly. Ji Ning steadied herself, caught the broken handle, and blocked sideways while stepping back a few paces, leaving only a scratch on the blade.

Nine moves, ten moves, eleven moves…

Ji Ning wielded the half wooden handle to parry each strike, avoiding head-on clashes by cleverly redirecting force and shifting her position with nimble footwork.

After the twelfth move, the swordsman stopped, sheathing his sword. His eyes held a hint of admiration as he asked, “Was that really swordsmanship?”

Though he had restrained his power to the mid-Qi Refining stage, not suppressing his spiritual sense and reducing the sword aura’s potency, his mastery of swordsmanship was undeniable—each move was a profound Xuan-level sword technique, with layered offensive sequences. Anyone without formal sword training could withstand at most ten moves by sheer weapon strength.

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Especially someone wielding a wooden broom like Ji Ning.

“I won’t tell you!” Ji Ning said stubbornly, offended after being chased with a sword late at night.

“Oh?” The swordsman raised a brow, disappearing from sight instantly. When he reappeared, the blade was pressed against Ji Ning’s throat. A faint smile curved his lips. “How about now?”

Ji Ning was shocked—she was nowhere near the man’s realm.

“Didn’t you say blocking ten moves was enough? You’re going back on your word,” she retorted stubbornly.

The swordsman chuckled and explained, “I said block ten moves, but never said I wouldn’t kill you.”

“You…” Ji Ning was both angry and helpless. The man’s mood was unpredictable; she dared not act rashly and reluctantly answered.

“It was swordsmanship, indeed.”

The swordsman was patient and asked again, “What sword style?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen others practice it often and picked it up secretly.”

“Really?” The swordsman’s eyes narrowed slightly, doubting her words.

“I’m in this situation, why would I lie to you?” Ji Ning gestured to the sword at her throat, frustrated.

The atmosphere stilled for a few seconds. After the glowing blade slid back into its sheath, Ji Ning finally exhaled in relief.

The swordsmanship was genuine, but the secret learning was false; this style was one Ji Ning had practiced in her past life—an upper Yellow-grade technique called the “Universe Sword Style.”

She had exchanged a year’s worth of contribution points to obtain it.

This sword style was quite popular among outer disciples; many could perform a few moves. The one she used just now was the second and most famous form, with well-measured advances and retreats, a technique that allowed one to dodge and counterattack within a certain radius using sword steps.

But this man was completely unfamiliar with it, definitely not an outer disciple.

“By the way, who exactly are you?”

The swordsman said nothing, turned, and stepped onto his sword, flying away and leaving only his back to Ji Ning.

Only after his figure vanished into the mountain peaks did Ji Ning withdraw her gaze and hasten back.

The night wind blew, and Ji Ning shivered uncontrollably, cursing the man in her heart.

“Achoo! Achoo!”

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She wore only an inner garment; earlier, tension had made her sweat, and now the wind chilled her thin clothes, causing her skin to bristle.

Jogging back, the courtyards she passed were silent, as if no one had noticed what had just transpired.

Only when she lay in the still-warm bed did Ji Ning’s racing heart finally calm.

Sleep eluded her; blinking, she stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

He had abducted her without harm, fought with her while suppressing his strength, and his figure felt somewhat familiar. Yet she had never seen his face before.

The longer she pondered, the clearer the outline of that face became in her mind—unremarkable features, plain and ordinary, but those eyes… she felt she had seen them somewhere.

Where exactly…

At that moment, in a corner of the outer sect.

The tall, burly man who had fought the swordsman earlier staggered over, clutching his abdomen where a sword had pierced him. He roughly tore off his outer robe to bandage the wound, which was untreated and bleeding heavily, soaking through the thick fabric.

In the shadowed corner stood a figure clad entirely in black robes, face hidden behind a black mask, revealing only their eyes, making gender indistinguishable.

Seeing the man’s condition, the black-robed figure understood his failure, casually tossed a porcelain bottle, then vanished around the corner.

The burly man picked up the bottle and, upon opening it, was overjoyed. He immediately poured out the contents and swallowed it.

Seconds later, the bleeding stopped. The man breathed a sigh of relief and bowed several times toward the direction where the black-robed figure had disappeared.

In the distance, two more black-robed figures wearing masks flew slowly on their swords at low altitude, their blades concealed beneath their robes.

“Uncle Senior, he has already been discovered on this trip. Why do you still give him healing pills?” asked a smaller black-robed figure suddenly.

“He won’t talk. Don’t worry,” the other replied calmly.

“No, only the dead can make me feel at ease.” A pair of beautiful eyes gleamed with malice, her tone casual but chilling, causing the companion to feel a sinking dread.

This woman’s temperament was utterly ruthless and vicious, much like that of the senior uncle.

To cross such a person would mean living each day in terror, never finding peace again.

Afterward, the two ceased their conversation and, cloaked in darkness, flew directly toward a destination.