Walking Through

The two women hurried to catch up with Miao Ying, falling into step beside him as he made his way deeper into the sect grounds. Around them, the air turned subtly sharper, like a divine sword slowly gaining more of its edge by the second. 

As they walked, more phantom swords began to materialize around them, floating blades of shimmering qi that seemed to test the very boundaries of their perception. 

To Miao Ying, they were little more than a nuisance - with each casual flick of his sword, he sliced through the phantoms as easily as a hand parting a beaded curtain, his blade flashing in the sunlight.

For Xue Qingcheng and Jue, however, the phantoms presented a more significant challenge. Though both women were skilled cultivators in their own right, their mastery of the sword paled in comparison to Miao Ying's instinctual grasp of the art. 

They were forced to expend far more effort to dispatch the ghostly blades, their movements lacking the fluid grace and economy of motion that characterized Miao Ying's swordplay.

It was after one particularly intense flurry of phantoms that Xue Qingcheng finally voiced the question burning in her mind. 

"Junior Brother Ming, may I ask how long you've-"

"Just call me Miao Ying," he cut in bluntly. "Your sword determination has earned some measure of respect from me. I care little for titles and status."

Xue Qingcheng's gaze remained level as she appraised Miao Ying, a flicker of intrigue dancing in her eyes like a candle flame. "Brother Miao, I must confess my curiosity - how long have you walked the path of the sword?"

Miao Ying rolled his shoulders in a languid shrug, the motion smooth and fluid as rippling water. 

The unvarnished truth - that he had picked up a blade a scant few days prior - would have rent the very fabric of their reality. Each time his sword cleaved the air, he felt a profound resonance stir within him, as if the way of the blade was etched into his very marrow. But he was no grizzled veteran tempered by decades on the battlefield.

"Mere months, truth be told," he replied, his words casual as a spring breeze. "The sword simply sings in my hands. And you? How long have you danced this dance?"

He pointedly refrained from extending the question to Jue. Her qi, more anemic than even Min Nue's, marked her as beneath his regard. Though aware of the slight, Jue opted for a benevolent smile, ever the picture of grace under scrutiny.

Still, his offhanded remark detonated like a Spirit Art technique, sending seismic reverberations through his companions.

Months? 

The notion alone beggared belief! 

To attain such peerless mastery in a span of time better measured in sunrises than solstices should have been a feat beyond the wildest febrile imaginings - yet the proof stood before them, as stark and undeniable as a mountain peak thrust into the vault of the heavens.

A smile tinged with ruefulness curved Xue Qingcheng's lips as she inclined her head. "The heavens have surely taken a special interest in you, Brother Miao. I have toiled ceaselessly since the day I first set foot on this path, and still, I feel little more than a fumbling child staring up in awe at your splendor."

Miao Ying subjected her to a cutting, insightful stare, his eyes twin jades glittering with cold appraisal. "And from do you hail? I would have taken you for the scion of some noble line, granted every advantage from the moment of your birth."

No judgment colored his tone, merely a stark observation phrased as bluntly as a commander barking orders. In the unforgiving world of cultivation, those lucky enough to be born into powerful clans and sects enjoyed a head start over their peers that could scarcely be quantified. Esoteric techniques, heaven-defying artifacts, the accumulated wisdom of generations - all were theirs for the taking.

Xue Qingcheng's smile took on a wistful cast, her eyes misting over with the haze of memory. "Alas, my origins are far humbler than you suspect. My family is counted among the minor nobility. Once, long ago, an ancestor of mine ascended to the august ranks of the Xiantian, but that was the zenith of our line's glory."

She shook her head, sending midnight tresses cascading down her back in a rippling obsidian waterfall. "No, I knew from the first that if I wished to tread the path of the sword, I would have only my own passion and determination to rely upon. Power would be seized with my own two hands, not handed to me on a gilded platter."

"Is that so..." Miao Ying murmured, his voice distant, almost clinically detached. 

Once, an eternity ago, he might have gazed upon even the lowliest noble house with envy shining in his eyes. Now they seemed scarcely more consequential than the milling ants beneath his feet.

Still, he could respect the indomitable will that had driven Xue Qingcheng to carve her own destiny rather than coasting on the laurels of her bloodline. She had clearly consecrated herself body and soul to her cultivation, tirelessly forging her mind in the crucible of adversity.

"Ah..." Jue piped up tremulously, only to falter as Miao Ying's disinterested gaze flicked her way. 

Quailing beneath the weight of his apathy, she hurriedly rearranged her features into an ingratiating smile as she turned back to Xue Qingcheng. "The heavens themselves must be watching over you, Sister Xue. Boundless glories surely await one of your talents!"

Xue Qingcheng made to offer a gracious reply, but Miao Ying's focus had already shifted, drawn inexorably to the suffocating sword qi saturating the very air. 

With each step deeper into this barren wasteland, the all-pervading pressure grew ever more crushing, until it seemed to congeal into a tangible miasma.

Soon it reached such a fever pitch that even Xue Qingcheng and Jue had no recourse but to unsheathe their spirit swords, wielding them as makeshift bulwarks against the invisible onslaught. 

Miao Ying, for his part, was forced to draw upon more of his Sword Intent, draping it around his body in an intangible aegis.

As he worked against the tide, he found that the exertion opened new vistas in his perception. He could sense the myriad currents of sword qi more keenly than ever before, could feel them whetting themselves against his soul until their very essence threatened to sublime his flesh and blood into a divine blade.

They pressed onward, Miao Ying alone retaining the power to rebuff the phantasmal sword forms that accosted them, his merest sword-fingers reducing the sword phantoms to scattering motes of fading qi. 

Jue and Xue Qingcheng could only trail in his wake, each step a monument to their will.

Though she held her tongue, Xue Qingcheng inwardly clenched her teeth at the yawning disparity in their strength. Uncertainty gnawed at her - had she been deluding herself all this time about her own place in the world?

Her spiral of dark thoughts was interrupted by a new arrival. 

A figure emerged as if from the ether, his every motion speaking to a lifetime of disciplined mastery. His sword-qi alone transcended the combined might of every spirit sword in their sect armory - in his presence, lesser cultivators would sooner cast their blades aside than raise them in futile defiance.

"A Checkpoint Elder!" Xue Qingcheng breathed, her eyes round with wonder. Beside her, Jue shook like a leaf in a gale, scarcely daring to draw breath lest she rouse the titan's ire.

Miao Ying merely narrowed his eyes, taking the elder's measure at a glance. "I presume you are to be our next hurdle?"

Meeting the boy's cool stare, the elder felt the first stirrings of intrigue. He'd marked Xue Qingcheng and Jue as great geniuses, luminaries destined to tower over their generation. And yet they cowered before him, prostrating themselves in the face of his might.

This youngling, though... He returned the elder's gaze without flinching, eyes clear and bright as a glacial spring. Unfathomable, and perhaps even more fearsome for it.

"Just so," the elder said. "A simple trial - keep your blade in hand while withstanding my assault for thirty breaths. I will limit myself to pure swordplay, lest our little game end too swiftly."

"Noted," Miao Ying replied, laconicism embodied. 

In contrast, Xue Qingcheng and Jue looked fit to faint dead away on the spot, their qi roiling in instinctive terror at the mere prospect of trading pointers with the elder.