After Being Certified by the Immortal Lord on the Path of Ruthlessness - Chapter 43

By the time Ye Qingge returned, the sword had already begun to take shape.

 

Jiang Mianhao was drenched in sweat, swinging the hammer as instructed by the blacksmith.

 

“Aren’t you tired, young lady?” the blacksmith asked, noticing her increasingly pale complexion. “Should I take over?”

 

Jiang Mianhao shook her head. “I’m not tired, Master. I want to do it myself.”

 

“So, it’s not just that she has feelings for you, is it?” the blacksmith added with a gossipy grin.

 

Jiang Mianhao flushed red at his words, stammering and unable to respond, yet she dared not stop her movements.

 

Her stamina was clearly limited, and large beads of sweat dripped down as she hammered the iron. Still, despite her exhaustion, she persisted, working diligently and earnestly.

 

“The thinner you forge it, the lighter the sword will be,” the blacksmith said, holding back his curiosity as he noticed her blush. He stood to the side, offering guidance. “It’s a bit crooked. Pull it inward a little.”

 

Jiang Mianhao quickly agreed and adjusted the piece of iron in her hands.

 

Her movements were clumsy but earnest, and she steadily refined her technique under the blacksmith’s guidance.

 

“Take a break,” Ling Lan said, emerging after inspecting the sword designs inside.

 

Seeing Jiang Mianhao’s intense focus, she felt a pang of reluctance. “The blacksmith could finish it himself. Why are you so insistent on doing it?”

 

Jiang Mianhao shook her head, her hands still moving. “It’s not the same. Lu Jiu has done so much for me. I want to do something for her in return.”

 

Though the girl was clearly exhausted, she spoke with unwavering sincerity.

 

Ling Lan watched the sweat dripping from her brow and her flushed face. She opened her mouth to ask:

 

Do you like Lu Jiu that much?

 

But in the end, the words only swirled in her heart before fading away.

 

The blacksmith finally seemed satisfied. “Alright,” he said, “you can stop hammering now.”

The girl, already completely drained of energy, let the hammer slip from her hands.

 

It landed with a dull thud right beside her feet.

 

“Lu Jiu!” Jiang Mianhao didn’t even pause to catch her breath. Her eyes darted toward the figure standing in the distance, and her weary heart suddenly felt reinvigorated.

 

Ye Qingge hummed in acknowledgment and walked over, carrying something in her hands.

 

“Perfect timing,” the blacksmith chuckled, picking up the hammer Jiang Mianhao had dropped. “Your sweetheart brought you some food.”

 

Jiang Mianhao, already flushed, turned even redder at his teasing.

 

The blacksmith took the molten iron from the fire and began shaping it.

 

As the other woman approached, Jiang Mianhao waved her hand without hesitation.

A flash of green light extinguished the fiercely burning brazier.

 

“Aren’t you tired, Lu Jiu?” Jiang Mianhao rubbed her hands together and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

 

She nervously tidied her appearance.

 

Ye Qingge glanced at the girl’s dirt-streaked face with a hint of disdain, yet still reached out gently to wipe away the sweat.

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Ye Qingge said, handing over the bowl of ice jelly she was holding. “The blacksmith could’ve handled it. Why did you insist on doing it yourself?”

 

Her movements were tender, and Jiang Mianhao’s heart softened little by little. Blushing, she shook her head.

 

Ling Lan stood to the side, watching their intimate exchange, feeling as if the sight grated on her eyes.

 

Stiffly, she said, “Mianhao, Lu Jiu, I’m heading back first.”

 

“Aren’t you going to eat something? You haven’t had dinner,” Jiang Mianhao said, taking the bag from Lu Jiu’s hands.

 

Only then did she realize that Lu Jiu had bought only one portion.

 

“No need. You two eat,” Ling Lan replied, gripping her wooden sword. “Come back early once you’re done here.”

 

With that, Ling Lan turned and disappeared into the night without looking back.

Jiang Mianhao wanted to say something more, but as she watched the retreating figure, she could only raise her voice and call out, “Be careful on your way!”

 

Watching Ling Lan disappear into the distance, Ye Qingge curled her lips into a faint smile.

 

She knew she had already succeeded halfway. This little grass’s heart was entirely hers.

 

Jiang Mianhao had no idea what the other woman was thinking. Staring at the bowl of ice jelly in surprise, she asked, “It’s so late, but the ice jelly shop is still open?”

 

In response, Ye Qingge only hummed softly in acknowledgment.

 

By the time they obtained the sword, dawn was beginning to break.

 

The blade, entirely silver-white, gleamed with a cold light. There were no totems or markings on the hilt. Only a small, hand-drawn blade of grass.

 

It was something Jiang Mianhao had meticulously etched, stroke by stroke.

 

“This sword shall be named Goodnight,” Ye Qingge said, lifting it to test its weight. The blade was light and sharp.

 

Though it couldn’t compare to Frost, it was still far better than fighting barehanded.

 

Hearing the name, Jiang Mianhao asked softly, “Does Lu Jiu like this sword?”

 

“This sword was made by your own hands for me. Of course I like it,” Ye Qingge replied, gazing into her eyes.

 

The blacksmith, who had worked through the night, was sore and exhausted. Watching the two lost in each other’s gaze, he couldn’t help but interject, “Since the sword feels right in your hand, and was made by your beloved, why not give it a proper test?”

 

Though it was a well-meaning suggestion, Ye Qingge ignored it, unwilling to pay it any mind.

 

But—

 

Jiang Mianhao was also looking at her, eyes filled with hopeful, pleading light.

 

“Do you want to see?” Ye Qingge asked.

 

Jiang Mianhao nodded gently and whispered, “Is that okay? The master said if there’s anything wrong, it can still be fixed.”

 

The words of refusal lingered on Ye Qingge’s lips, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them. At last, she nodded in agreement.

 

Her swordsmanship could, without exaggeration, be called the best in the world.

 

Even the Wuji Mystic Master who had once fought the former Heavenly Emperor on the battlefield had been defeated by her.

 

The young woman tied her long hair high, stepped back with the sword in hand, and began.

 

The silver-white hilt, wrapped in python skin, fit comfortably in her grasp. It complemented her slender, pale wrist perfectly.

 

Though her movements appeared casual, every gesture flowed in flawless harmony with her form.

 

The sharp blade sliced through the silent night, its silver gleam like moonlight made solid.

 

The swordswoman and her weapon became one. The sword moved faster and faster, coiling around her like a soaring dragon. In her hands, the once-ordinary blade seemed to come alive, dancing and swirling with a life of its own.

 

Jiang Mianhao watched, utterly mesmerized.

 

The person before her seldom smiled, even while wielding a sword.

 

A frosty intensity gathered between her brows, exuding an aura that kept others at a distance—a dignified, commanding presence that needed no anger to assert itself.

 

With a graceful flourish of the blade, the swordswoman paused briefly, then drew the sword back and thrust it forward in a clean, decisive slash.

 

As the blade shot straight toward her, Jiang Mianhao felt no fear.

 

The blacksmith standing nearby held his breath, his heart lodged in his throat.

 

But in the next instant, the girl in green was pulled into an embrace.

 

Jiang Mianhao fell against a warm chest. The person behind her freed one hand to wrap around her waist, while the other continued to move with unbroken precision, the sword’s rhythm never faltering.

 

“Do you want to learn?” Ye Qingge whispered by her ear. “I see desire in your eyes.”

 

Before Jiang Mianhao could answer, she was drawn forward, her hands guided along the hilt.

 

She knew nothing of swordsmanship, and could only entrust herself completely to Lu Jiu.

 

Allowing the person behind her to hold her waist, she moved in sync with their steps.

 

In her ears was the sound of the sword slicing through the long night, while her senses were filled with the faint fragrance of Lu Jiu’s scent.

 

The two were pressed so close together it felt as if they shared a single heartbeat.

 

Wherever the sword passed, a cool breeze followed.

 

At some point, the dark and silent sky had begun to lighten.

 

With the final stroke, the blade seemed to cut through the last remnant of darkness, and dawn broke along the horizon.

 

As the sword withdrew, its keen edge came to rest against her throat.

 

If Jiang Mianhao leaned forward even slightly, her neck would have been completely severed.

 

Anyone else would have been terrified, screaming without restraint.

But Jiang Mianhao was not afraid. Even with the sword resting against her neck, she did not so much as blink.

 

Ye Qingge’s hand paused for a heartbeat before she finally lowered the blade.

 

Releasing the person in her embrace, Ye Qingge let out a soft chuckle. “Do you trust me that much? If you had moved even a fraction closer, your neck would have been gone.”

 

Jiang Mianhao, however, only smiled brightly and hummed. “This sword was forged to protect me. How could you possibly harm me?”

 

The blacksmith, watching the two of them, couldn’t help but sigh in admiration. “The bond between you two is truly remarkable! Trusting each other and moving in perfect harmony. This sword has found its rightful owner!”

 

At his flattery, Ye Qingge’s expression did not change. She simply raised her hand and sheathed the sword.

 

In that moment, she had truly felt the urge to kill.

 

If the blade had shifted even a little more, this emotional tribulation would have been severed by her own hand.

 

But for some reason, that slight shift never happened.

 

This little blade of grass before her had stayed up almost the entire night for this sword, and Ye Qingge couldn’t help but feel a twinge of reluctance.

 

“Let’s go back,” Ye Qingge said, gripping the sword as she looked toward the horizon. “It’s time to set off for Mount Hua.”

 

At the mention of Mount Hua, the exhausted Jiang Mianhao brightened instantly. “Mount Hua, Mount Hua! To find Lanlan’s sword!”

 

Ye Qingge gave a faint hum and strode forward.

 

“Goodbye, Master!” Jiang Mianhao called, waving to the blacksmith before hurrying to catch up.

 

The sky was now fully bright, and the places where firecrackers had been set off the previous night were marked by piles of black ash.

 

Jiang Mianhao took two quick steps to walk beside Lu Jiu, then cautiously reached out her hand.

 

Feeling a warmth brush the back of her hand, Ye Qingge looked down.

 

On the young girl’s fair skin were a few small burn marks. Remnants of the iron sparks that had fallen during the night’s forging.

 

Ye Qingge struggled internally for a moment but ultimately did not pull away.

She allowed Jiang Mianhao to hold her hand.

 

After returning and announcing their departure, Ling Lan raised no objections.

 

They quickly packed their belongings and stood waiting by the door.

 

Jiang Mianhao finished organizing her things, carrying a fish-shaped lantern that had long since gone out.

 

“Is everything packed?” Ye Qingge asked, glancing at the person still inspecting the room.

 

After double-checking, Jiang Mianhao nodded. “Everything’s packed!”

 

“Good.” Ye Qingge rose to her feet and said, “Let’s go, then.”

 

The emotional tribulation remained unresolved, and Ye Qingge’s spiritual and physical strength were deteriorating by the day.

 

When she stood up earlier, she had stumbled slightly but quickly steadied herself.

 

However, no matter how swift her movement, the person beside her had noticed.

 

An arm wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly in support.

 

Jiang Mianhao’s brows were knit with concern. “Did you expend too much energy while practicing with the sword? Should we rest a bit longer before leaving?”

 

Ye Qingge shook her head, yet her thoughts were quickly drowned by the tide of Jiang Mianhao’s emotions.

 

Pity? Heartache?

 

Ye Qingge began to wonder if her senses were deceiving her.

 

Since birth, she had been the Divine Maiden—standing above all but one, revered by everyone.

 

Some admired her, some envied her, while others were jealous or sought to flatter her.

 

But pity and heartache, these were emotions Ye Qingge had never experienced before.

 

Or rather, it was the first time someone had ever felt pity and heartache for her.

 

And the one showing such concern was a mere blade of grass, fragile in strength, appearance, and cultivation alike.

Why would it pity her?

 

A faint, mocking smile tugged at Ye Qingge’s lips as she thought about how naive this little blade of grass before her was.

 

She stood above all but one. So why would she ever need anyone’s pity?