Gu Qingxi savored the last wonton. True flavor. No more synth-paste rations. No more radioactive water. Just... life.
She paid the stall owner, asking about horses. "Only the Li family has them," he pointed toward town, eyeing her slender frame. "But they're pricey for a lone girl..."
His concern vaporized mid-sentence.
WHOOSH!
Two figures tore across the sky—swords screaming through clouds.
"RUN! HE'S A DEMONIC CULTIVATOR!" The trailing swordsman roared. Young. Handsome. Gripping a blade wider than his shoulders.
Panic erupted. Patrons scattered like leaves.
The fleeing cultivator—sallow, bleeding—locked onto Gu Qingxi. Perfect. A "weak" mortal. Beautiful. A hostage and a prize. He dove, skeletal hand outstretched.
"Girl, MOVE!" The swordsman couldn't strike—not with her in range.
"Gwaaah! Run, runt! He's BONE-ROTTEN but still Foundation Establishment!" The Patriarch wailed. Why does she attract wounded predators like flies to—
Wait.
Last time this happened... Yuan became wall decor.
Calmly, Gu Qingxi flicked her wrist.
A fan of talismans unfurled—black paper swallows taking flight.
They swarmed the demonic cultivator as she stepped back. Safe distance.
The attacker sneered. Pathetic qi fluctuations. Paper cuts. He swung his rusty blade—
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion lifted carts. Roasted meat stalls became shrapnel.
Through the smoke:
The demonic cultivator: Twisted like broken puppetry. One arm bent backward. A leg pointed the wrong way.
The handsome swordsman: Mouth agape. Staring at the carnage... then at the "delicate" girl.
"So... that's swordflight," Gu Qingxi mused, eyeing his giant blade. TV never captured the wind-shear.
"Impressive steel," the Patriarch approved. "Two-handed monstrosity! Haven't seen that since the Ironblood Dynasty."
"Are you harmed?" The swordsman approached, voice tight with residual adrenaline.
"No." Her assessment was clinical:
Blue-white sect robes → Azure Sky colors?
Clear eyes → No deception yet.
Jawline sharp enough to cut paper → Annoyingly symmetrical.
Behind him—
The crippled demonic cultivator lunged, good arm swinging his sword in a final, venomous arc!
Gu Qingxi's fingers twitched toward a talisman—
—but the giant blade was faster.
SHIIING-CRUNCH!
The swordsman pivoted, his monumental sword cleaving downward like a falling oak.
The demonic cultivator split clean from collar to hip.
No theatrics. No wasted motion. Just efficient butchery.
He wiped gore off his blade, sheathing it with a thunk. "My apologies. I am Zhuo Jingfeng, inner disciple of Azure Sky Sect. That... trash... escaped my containment." He bowed stiffly.
"Gu Qingxi." She nudged a smoking talisman fragment with her boot. "Traveler."
"Traveler?!" The Patriarch snorted. "More like walking cataclysm!"
Zhuo Jingfeng surveyed the obliterated stall. "Your talisman craft is... formidable. Unorthodox, but devastating." He hesitated. "Are you bound for the Southern Provinces? My sect seeks aid cleansing a haunted mine. Talisman masters are rare."
Gu Qingxi tilted her head. A mine? Resources? Shelter?
"Which direction?"
"West. Three days by swordflight."
She glanced at the Li family stables. Horses are overrated.
"Lead the way."
Zhuo Jingfeng blinked. No haggling? No fear?
As they rose above the ruined stall, villagers peeked from behind barrels. The vendor gaped at the girl who'd eaten six bowls of noodles... now soaring beside a celestial swordsman.
Definitely not fragile, he decided, salvaging a miraculously intact dumpling pot.