Helping Himself

"My name. It's Mei Xianxue, in case you were raised by wolves and missed that little social grace." She cocked her head, voice dripping scorn. "What's the matter, pretty boy? The righteous sects too good to teach you basic courtesy?"

A frown creased Miao Ying's brow. He straightened up, core in hand, and shrugged. "...Miao Ying. And I figured someone smart enough to know what I am would want to be as far away from me as possible."

"Bah! Coward talk." Mei Xianxue scoffed. "Way I see it, a genius of your obvious power and talent is owed respect, demonic sect or whatever. Sides..." 

A sly glint entered her eye. "I'm just a minor disciple. My 'evil' sect doesn't mean much in the grand scheme."

"Is that so? Well, if you say-" Miao Ying suddenly froze, an eerie wind racing up his spine. A faint frisson of danger pricked at his spirit sense.

The mysterious aura washed over them like a chill breeze. 

While Miao Ying merely curled his brows in curiosity, Mei Xianxue visibly shuddered, her hands clenching white-knuckled on her arms. A bead of icy sweat rolled down her face.

Mei Xianxue stood rigid, her breath misting in angry puffs. "Damnit, they really tailed me all the way out to this frozen hellscape," she snarled, her nails biting into her palms hard enough to leave crescent indentations.

Miao Ying, deciding to longue against the nearby cavern wall feeling completely unconcern at the prickling cold sensation, quirked an eyebrow at her outburst. "Got some old flames nipping at your heels?" 

His voice, smooth as aged whiskey and laced with amusement, seemed to dance on the frigid breeze.

Mei Xianxue shot him a withering glare, her eyes twin chips of obsidian. "Spare me the wit, pretty boy. These sorry excuses for cultivators couldn't hold a candle to me on their best day." 

She tossed her head, raven locks cascading over her shoulder in a ripple of silk.

"Oh?" Miao Ying pushed off the cave wall, his movements fluid as quicksilver. "Then why, pray tell, do I feel their killing intent blanketing this forest like a funeral shroud? And why can I see beads of sweat rolling down your face?"

"Tch, what's it to you anyway?" Mei Xianxue bristled, her pride rankled by his nonchalant attitude. "Just scurry on back to whatever holier-than-thou sect spawned you and leave the real cultivators to their business."

But Miao Ying, ever the persistent thorn, simply chuckled. "Hey, indulge my curiosity a moment longer. These hounds baying for your blood, do they hail from a sect of note? Fourth-rate, perhaps? And should they meet an untimely demise here in this frozen barrens, might they have any artifacts of value on their persons?"

Mei Xianxue stilled, her shoulders taut as a bowstring. Slowly, she turned to face him fully, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. "Two claim allegiance to fourth-rate demonic sects. The others, if my instincts haven't dulled, are disciples of fourth-rate righteous sects. Talented pups, to be sure, but hardly worth a Xiantian elder's notice. In the grand scheme of our world, they're little more than slightly more resilient ants scurrying about in the Qi Establishment realm."

Her blunt assessment, while harsh, held the ring of truth. In the merciless world of cultivation, where might made right and the law of the jungle reigned supreme, only the true monsters warranted the protection of the exalted Xiantian masters. 

These elders, having ascended to the lofty Houtian realm and beyond, would only bestir themselves for the sake of once-in-a-generation geniuses - disciples destined to surpass them in the fullness of time.

Miao Ying's eyes glittered with a predatory light. "Is that so? Then I see no reason not to line my pockets with their misfortune." 

His words carried the weight of a judge's gavel, sentencing the hapless cultivators to their doom.

"You-!" Mei Xianxue's eyes widened a fraction, a mix of disbelief and reluctant respect warring in their depths. 

But Miao Ying was already in motion, his fiery robes flaring like phoenix's wings, striding out of the ice cavern, leaving Mei Xianxue gaping in his wake.

In truth, the prospect of expanding his cultivation resources was a siren's call Miao Ying found hard to resist. But more than that, he felt a kinship with this sharp-tongued spitfire who refused to be bound by the chains of etiquette. 

In a world where conformity was the norm, those who dared to walk their own path were rare indeed. Aiding her would be a trifling matter, hardly worth mentioning.

As Miao Ying emerged into the silent forest, the trees standing sentinel in their frosty finery, he could feel the eyes of the hidden experts boring into him from the shadows. There were four of them, each at 5th stage Qi Establishment.

They made no move to reveal themselves, perhaps weighing their options or waiting to see what ploy Mei Xianxue might attempt.

But Miao Ying had no patience for their games. His gaze sharpened, honing in on a particularly innocuous bush like an eagle spotting its prey. 

In that instant, his Qi seed roared to life, a slumbering dragon awakening to unleash its fury. Lightning Qi, golden and blinding, exploded from his body in a maelstrom of crackling energy, interwoven with sword Qi honed to a razor's edge.

The very earth beneath his feet buckled and cracked as Miao Ying launched himself forward, his speed blurring the line between man and lightning. 

His sword, wreathed in a corona of searing plasma, seemed to howl with the voice of a thousand storms as it cleaved the air.

Violent whirlwinds of displaced air ripped through the forest, uprooting trees, shattering boulders, and sending shards of ice spinning like deadly shrapnel. 

The shouts of the ambushing experts were lost in the cacophony, their voices ripped away by the gale.

Three of the four experts, their faces contorted in a rictus of shock and rage, staggered as the wall of force slammed into them like a rampaging bull. 

And the fourth, the one Miao Ying had marked as his first target, could only gape in mute horror as a blinding bolt of golden annihilation filled his vision.

"Searing Sword!" The man screamed, his voice cracking with desperation as he poured every scrap of his Qi into his arms. 

A blade of roaring flames burst to life in his hands, fire Qi cascading along its length in a mesmerizing dance. The power it radiated was staggering, a testament to the man's talent and determination.

But against the heaven-sundering might of Miao Ying's assault, it might as well have been a candle before an inferno. 

With a thunderous report, the fire Qi shattered like glass, the shards drifting away on the icy wind. The man's spirit sword, a low-grade weapon unfit for this caliber of battle, broke into a thousand glittering pieces.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. 

Then, a crimson line bloomed across the man's neck, a grotesque necklace of his own lifeblood. 

A heartbeat later, a geyser erupted from the wound as his head tumbled from his shoulders, his face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

Miao Ying, his sword arm still extended, was already moving. He flickered from view, a wraith cloaked in lightning, only to reappear behind the second expert like a vengeful god. 

Another wet squelch, the sound of a blade parting flesh and shattering bone, and a second headless corpse crumpled to the ground in a spray of arterial red.

"You bastard!" The third expert, his eyes wild with rage and fear, lunged at Miao Ying with a howl. 

His spear, crackling with barely-contained arcs of lightning Qi, sought to impale this demon in human form. 

But against a sword that seemed forged from the fury of the heavens themselves, what chance did he have?

Miao Ying's blade, moving with a speed that defied mortal perception, sheared through the spear like a knife through silk. In the same motion, it painted a second smile beneath the man's chin. 

Blood sprayed in a fine mist, painting the snow crimson.