Chapter Eight: Ferocity

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"Why have you become so much more fierce and domineering lately?" Qiuye asked, buying a clay doll and setting it in front of Qiyue. "Look at her—what a sweet smile she has."

Qiyue retorted angrily, "It's all because of you!"

"Still holding a grudge, I see?"

Back then, in order to help Qiyue master her berserk talent, Qiuye had arranged for their sect members to pretend to be oppressed by outsiders, making sure Qiyue happened to witness it. Each time Qiyue saw a fellow disciple being harmed, she would lose control and go berserk. After several such incidents, she truly grasped her innate ability—to rage without losing her mind. She also discovered that the seemingly grievously wounded disciples were merely smeared with chicken blood.

She had chased Qiuye down in anger and tried to beat her.

Perhaps she truly harbored resentment in her heart, for ever since then, her temper had grown increasingly volatile, to the point that Qiuye sometimes felt she was catching up to Zheng Feixian herself.

"I'm not holding a grudge!" Qiyue said irritably. "You make me stay in this state to better adapt and avoid losing control and going insane. But when I maintain this state, my mood turns bizarrely irritable, and at the slightest provocation, I want to lash out. How could my temper possibly be good?"

Qiuye suddenly understood. "No wonder Master was so hot-tempered in her youth—it was for this very reason."

Qiyue grew more and more agitated as she saw the scantily clad women in the streets. Just then, a man dressed as a martial artist approached them, eager to strike up a conversation.

"You two must be from Zheng Country. I have always admired the heroines of the Feixian Sect. Might I have the honor of making your acquaintance..." As he spoke, Qiuye raised her hand to cover her face, as if she couldn’t bear to watch.

Sure enough, Qiyue swept her sleeve at the man, sending him staggering back.

"You reek of rot. Stay away!"

The man, unprepared for such rudeness, left in embarrassment.

At that moment, a woman's voice rang out behind them. "As expected of Zheng Feixian's disciple—just as fierce and domineering as your master!"

"What do you want?" Qiyue spun around, fury blazing in her eyes, barely able to control her urge to strike.

Qiuye, exasperated, placed a hand on Qiyue's shoulder to calm her. "Qiyue..." Then, turning to see who had spoken, her expression turned cold.

The woman appeared to be in her thirties, still graceful and elegant, dressed in pristine white robes, exuding an air of nobility. At her side stood a young girl, barely twenty, whose features bore a striking resemblance—likely her daughter, though she could easily be mistaken for her younger sister.

"My, my! The Palace Mistress of White, who hid from the world for seven years, dares to show herself in daylight? What brings you to the capital of Chu? Out looking for men again, flaunting your charms?"

"Hmph! I won’t stoop to your level today, girl. We’ll meet soon enough at the Divine Martial Tournament. Pity... Zheng Feixian died too soon."

"If that's such a pity, let me send you to the underworld to accompany my master!" Qiyue’s words were matched by action as she struck like the wind, her palm surging forward. She and the lady exchanged several moves in a flash before Qiuye rushed in to restrain her.

"Why bother with that brazen fox!"

After venting her anger with a brief fight, Qiyue felt much calmer, the fire in her chest subdued.

"Who is this girl? Did Zheng Feixian take on such a young disciple in her later years?" The woman seemed surprised by Qiyue’s strength, scrutinizing her carefully.

"My master’s renown is unmatched. She would never stoop to your level—seducing powerful men just to bear a worthy heir. How many of your own unworthy children have you killed with your own hands these years?"

"Go ahead and boast, Qiuye. We’ll see how you fare when my daughter deals with you at the Divine Martial Tournament."

Qiuye shot a sidelong glance at the quiet young woman. With her spiritual sight, Qiuye could tell her cultivation was ordinary, but suspected that was only because she hadn’t yet revealed her true strength. She dared not take her lightly.

That woman was Bai Ling. In her day, she had founded the White Palace and dominated her region, possessing remarkable martial skill. The White Palace was composed solely of women, and she had once vied with Zheng Feixian for the title of the true heroine of their generation. Eventually, the White Palace was destroyed by the Feixian Sect, and Bai Ling, defeated in a duel with Zheng Feixian, fled with grave injuries. Though she survived, her strength was shattered by Zheng Feixian’s power, and Qiuye doubted she had ever fully recovered.

Bai Ling despised men, yet in order to have an ideal successor, she did not hesitate to use her wiles to seduce martial heroes. Any boy born of such unions was killed at birth. Daughters lacking talent met the same fate. The martial men she bore children with were often blamed for their “mediocre blood” and rarely escaped her wrath.

There was only one man in the world who had been with Bai Ling and survived her vengeance: the Elder of the Northern Spirits. He was also the only man, aside from Zheng Feixian, whom Bai Ling truly hated. She had tried to seduce him, only to be made a fool of and cruelly humiliated. His reason? "You think you’re worthy of being compared to Zheng Feixian?"

Bai Ling could not bear any mention of the Elder of the Northern Spirits, considering it her greatest humiliation apart from her defeat at Zheng Feixian’s hands.

Bai Ling’s return to the martial world could only mean one thing: she sought to wash away her disgrace. Zheng Feixian was gone, but Bai Ling knew the abilities of Feixian Sect’s elders well. If she placed her hopes in this young girl, she must have absolute confidence.

"Palace Mistress, that so-called Martial Exalt is nothing special. Why waste words with her? When the Divine Martial Tournament comes, I’ll make sure to avenge you." The previously silent girl finally spoke—her words wild and provocative.

"Let’s see what you’re capable of," Qiuye said, dragging Qiyue away, afraid she’d lose her temper and start another fight.

They hadn’t gone far when a group of men in deep blue robes approached from the opposite direction. Qiuye’s face darkened the moment she recognized the middle-aged man leading them. "What rotten luck."

She pretended not to see him, but as they passed, the man called out to her, "Qiuye, have you forgotten your old acquaintance?"

"I just ran into Bai Ling, and now it’s Blue Ghost. What a day for bad omens." Qiuye shot him a sideways glance. "So? That brazen fox Bai Ling has a daughter to bring to the tournament—what about you, Blue Ghost? What kind of disciple gives you the confidence to show your face again?"

At this, a burly young man beside Blue Ghost shouted, "Show some respect to the sect leader!"

"Ha! With just a handful of followers, you dare call yourself a sect leader and shout it for all to hear?"

The middle-aged man cautioned his disciple against disrespect. "This is none other than the legendary number one expert in the land, Martial Exalt Qiuye." He continued, "So Bai Ling is back as well, here in the capital of Chu, likely due to a sincere invitation from the Crown Prince of Chu. I truly worry for you, girl—bearing the heavy responsibility of Martial Exalt at such a young age. This year’s Divine Martial Tournament won’t be as quiet as the last!"

"Indeed. If my master were still alive, cowards like you wouldn’t dare show your faces, hiding away for fear of being noticed!"

Qiuye dragged Qiyue off.

Seeing Qiuye’s grim expression, Qiyue couldn’t help but ask, "Are they really so terrifying?"

"If Bai Ling and Blue Ghost had fully recovered their strength, I couldn’t guarantee victory against them," Qiuye admitted, but then added with fearless pride, "But I’m not afraid. Qiyue, I told you before—the burden of upholding our sect’s honor rests on my shoulders, and it’s truly a heavy one. But now that you’re able to take up that burden, I’m no longer afraid of failure. My defeat would only pave the way for your triumph."

"Qiuye! Don’t say that—you will not be defeated." Qiyue, suddenly anxious, added, "You said there’s a good place to train outside the capital, but after wandering all day you still haven’t taken me there?"

"The time hasn’t come. What’s your rush?"

"Is it really that miraculous? Will just two hours of soaking help me break through the barrier to the tenth level?"

"I broke through there, so did Master, and so did Dongxue and many of our late fellow disciples. Master said the hot spring’s waters are of a fiery nature, which helps in cultivating the fierce, dominant techniques of the tenth level."

What troubled Qiuye was not the Divine Martial Tournament, but whether Qiyue could succeed in breaking through the formidable barrier of the tenth level, and what intentions lay behind the King of Chu’s search for so many reclusive masters.

The hot spring Qiuye spoke of was on a mountain thirteen miles outside the capital of Chu, in a place where vegetation was sparse. Once a volcano, it was a wonder that any plants could still grow there after so many years.