8 We Are Born to Be Rivals

Cui Huai possessed a pair of eyes that were exceptionally bright and clear. While they usually held an air of frankness and spontaneity, they were now brimming with fury.

Fu Qin had spent years cultivating his character and had always disdained bickering with the weak. However, as a phoenix, he was of the fire element and possessed an inherently explosive temper. When truly provoked, he was by no means a magnanimous demon.

With the tip of a blade pressed right before his face, Fu Qin parried with his own sword, though he did not draw it from its sheath. The intricate carvings on the scabbard caught Cui Huai’s blade in their grooves. After a moment of stalemate, Fu Qin suddenly exerted immense strength into his grip, pressing down hard upon Cui Huai’s sword, locking the scabbard’s carvings firmly against her blade.

"I must trouble Junior Sister to assist me in drawing my sword."

With a flick of his wrist, he utilized the force of their resistance to instantly grasp the hilt and pull back, drawing the sharp blade out with a crisp ring. The movement was fluid and natural—a true display of a master’s style.

The now-unsupported scabbard was sent flying, hurtling toward Cui Huai. Had Cui Huai’s seven-colored spiritual roots been even slightly less potent, she might have dodged it, but while her mind conceived countless ways to evade the strike, her body could not keep up. The scabbard slammed heavily into her shoulder.

Cui Huai’s shoulder ached, but to avoid losing her composure, she refrained from rubbing it. Fu Qin had set the stage this way precisely to suppress her with his aura, hadn't he?

Suppressing the soreness, Cui Huai wore a relaxed expression and scoffed, "Third Senior Brother is certainly full of flashy tricks. I only hope it isn't all style and no substance."

"Junior Sister will know once she tries. Just don't come crying and begging for mercy later."

Both were determined to win today’s spar, yet in the exchange just now, both had instinctively held back some of their strength. Had Cui Huai struck with lethal intent, Fu Qin would never have been able to draw his sword. Had Fu Qin struck with lethal intent, the blow to Cui Huai’s shoulder would have resulted in more than just a dull ache.

This "convenient" senior brother and junior sister were merely ordinary cultivators in each other's eyes; while there was resentment, it was not yet a capital offense. Neither realized this silent tacit understanding, only lamenting their own overwhelming strength and noble character. Both had expected to end the fight in two or three moves, yet dozens had passed without a victor. She thrust, he parried. He hacked, she deflected. She slashed, he lifted...

For both Cui Huai and Fu Qin, such a grueling battle was a long-lost experience. Both were secretly horrified.

Cui Huai thought: *I haven't been out in the world for a few hundred years; have the talented juniors of today already reached such mastery in swordsmanship?*

Fu Qin thought: *She possesses not a shred of spiritual power, and while my own strength has declined, my demonic power should still be flowing. To be at a stalemate like this... her swordsmanship must be far superior to mine.*

Although demon cultivators were best at arts and spells, Fu Qin’s swordsmanship was considered top-tier in the Demon Realm. Had the human race truly become this powerful?

Seeing that he could not outmatch her in swordplay, Fu Qin sought to test his junior sister’s foundation. He pressed two fingers against the blade, channeling his remaining flickers of demonic power into the steel.

Seeing his strange gesture, Cui Huai assumed it was a novel sword technique aimed at her, but she was surprised when Fu Qin made no further movement. Then, a sword-ring echoed—or more accurately, the blade in Fu Qin’s hand vibrated, emitting a light chime that sounded remarkably like the cry of a beast.

This technique was called "Phoenix Call," one of the unique arts of the phoenix clan. The world knew that the phoenix’s cry could shatter any illusion, but few knew it could also disrupt the mind, plunging one into past sorrows—an obstacle impassable for those without a firm heart.

Since Cui Huai’s swordsmanship was terrifyingly strong but her aptitude was shockingly poor, he would test her state of mind.

Upon hearing the Phoenix Call, Cui Huai’s soul trembled, and she recalled those old, tattered memories.

She was in a pitch-black dungeon, waiting for that moronic State Preceptor to finish gathering materials to possess her body, ready to erase the existence of a little beggar named Cui Huai.

She saw her fiancé, Ming Xiao, abandoning her in life-threatening danger time and again, while she endured it all for the sake of their alliance of interests.

She saw her Master, Jin Yan, standing on a high platform, sword drawn, asking if she was willing to repay his kindness by giving him her life. If she refused, he would take it himself.

...Did he think this could trap her?

Cui Huai opened her eyes in an instant, plunged her sword into the soft soil, and flicked it upward, sending mud and earth flying toward Fu Qin. Fu Qin, who prized cleanliness, had to raise his sleeves to block the debris. By the time he lowered his hands, Cui Huai’s sword was already pressed against his face.

He sighed softly, "Junior Sister has an excellent state of mind; you are not easily rattled."

Setting aside their grievances, it was rare for Fu Qin to praise anyone. If the little phoenixes in his clan heard such a compliment, they would likely boast about it for years. But Cui Huai, accustomed to all sorts of flattery, merely felt that although this senior brother was full of flaws, at least he wasn't blind.

To her, those past experiences were not without pain; at the time, they had been heart-wrenching. But in that dungeon, she had driven a sharpened shard of iron into the State Preceptor’s chest—that was the first sword of her life. After proving her strength and becoming a pillar of her sect, she had personally executed Ming Xiao, forcing everyone to see clearly that Cui Huai was not someone to be picked and chosen. Her Master had thought he could surpass her, only to be utterly defeated by her in the realm of swordsmanship. He was the one who died, while she, the Lingye Sword Venerable, replaced him as the world’s greatest, revered by all.

She had fought her way out of death traps time and again; why should she be afraid?

There was no need to tell Fu Qin any of this. She merely lifted her chin haughtily, looking down at him through her nostrils. "I never look back."

Fu Qin did not lose heart, maintaining his grace. "Excellent swordsmanship, Junior Sister. In terms of swordplay, I have lost. I am convinced."

The two had fought, and the tense atmosphere had eased significantly. Yet, as they brushed past each other, they both harbored vicious glares—they knew well that the grudge was set, and the matter of the destroyed tree was far from over.

***

After Fu Qin walked away, Cui Huai finally let her guard down and collapsed to the ground, every inch of her body aching.

Given her heaven-defying lack of aptitude, executing those sword moves had taken every ounce of her strength. If Fu Qin hadn't made a foolish mistake at the end by using an illusion that couldn't affect her, the outcome might have been different.

After lying there for a while, Cui Huai climbed up, intending to return to her room to find somewhere else to lie down in secret. If she were seen lying out here, the dignity she had just fought so hard to reclaim would vanish completely.

After walking a few steps, she remembered her only chair and leaned on her sword to go back and retrieve it.

But there was no chair to be found. Aside from the tree stumps slaughtered earlier that day, all that remained were a few scattered wooden slats. Although their spar hadn't directly struck the chair, the sheer force of their sword winds had shattered it to pieces.

In short, Cui Huai had lost her only chair. Rather than mourning, she felt only resentment—Fu Qin, the grudge of the canopy, and the grudge of the chair; she would remember them all!

***

Fu Qin remained unaware of the additional sin added to his tally. He sat with his doors and windows tightly shut, silently mourning his lost paulownia tree.

Once the mourning period ended, he began to write a letter in secret. Having grown up in the Phoenix Valley and rarely venturing out, he had only appeared in the Demon Realm a few times. The valley had constantly praised his aptitude as unparalleled, claiming that the only person in the world who could match him was the Lingye Sword Venerable of the Wuya Sect.

The elders of the Phoenix Valley were always very pragmatic, so he had never doubted his own strength.

But after the battle just now, he was no longer certain. In the letter, he wrote: [Elder, you all say I am one of the strongest in the world. I fear you were just coaxing me. My realm has regressed to the early stage of Qi Refining, and I couldn't even defeat my junior sister, who hasn't even entered the path of cultivation.]