[Young Master Xian]—❈—74:: The Royal Banquet [IV]

Xiuying

In the face of overwhelming power, even the greatest skill and the strongest spirit is trash.

This was common knowledge among cultivators, and while it was a truth that Xiuying was fortunate enough to not have had to experience personally, it was one that she took to heart all the same.

This was why, when Qigang had asked her to train him, what felt now almost like a lifetime ago, she hadn't bothered trying to teach him any fancy martial arts, because at the end of the day, what mattered to cultivators with the kind of power he wielded, was combat experience.

To be fair, Qigang didn’t have much of that. Besides his spars with her, the only proper fight he’d been in was his clash against his evil copy back in that hidden realm.

Princess Qiling, on the other hand, was not only someone who had trained, sparred, and competed officially for over a decade now, she was also someone whose cultivation method, the Path of The War Goddess, essentially made her an unparalleled combat genius.

According to Ru, that fourteen-year-old had the combat instinct of a century old warrior of a thousand battles. And worse, her power excelled at duels.

In the matter of skill and experience, the princess stood far above Qigang like heaven above earth, but as Xiuying knew, in the face of overwhelming power, even the greatest skill is trash.

Xiuying wouldn’t quite go so far as to call the gap between her Young Master’s cultivation and the princess’ overwhelming, but the gap was there, and it was clear.

 As they clashed again, qi exploding high up into the sky, Xiuying saw the shadow of the attention and excitement she felt mirrored on many faces in the assembled crowd.

She grinned to herself. Good, let them marvel at her Young Master’s power.

—❈—

816th Princess, Feng Qiling

Genius. Prodigy. Marvel. There were few variations to the name that she hadn’t been called.

Once, her mother even called her ‘the family’s hope.’

She had been called these names since before she was born. Since when, six months into gestation in her mother’s womb, she had Ignited her cultivation and started on the path to heaven before even taking her first real breath.

It was a rare thing that: a child stepping into the first phase of cultivation before being born, and she was told that a celebration that lasted one week had been held across The Capital.

Feng Qiling knew she was talented.

Not because of these names people called her, but because of the accomplishments of her own hands.

A cultivator is a being that stands head and shoulders above mortals. They are superior in every way.

Feng Qiling was born a cultivator.

For her, childhood memories were not murky, vague splotches of colour and faces. As an infant, she was not uncoordinated in body and mind, a stupid, smelly thing that cried and soiled itself.

She could speak at two months old. Walk a few weeks after. By the time she was four, she was sparring kids four times her age and winning.

On her eleventh birthday, her divine ancestor, Her Divine Majesty Feng Lingxian, gave her the Path of The War Goddess cultivation method manual. Feng Qiling had been in the fifth layer of Ignition phase well over five years by then, and the only reason why The Empress had waited so long to give her a manual, was because entering Weaving phase before the onset of puberty caused deleterious effects.

Head and shoulders above mortals Feng Qiling may be, but there were some rules that even she had to follow.

Growing up the way she did, it was impossible for Qiling to not see how much politics affected everything in her and her family’s lives.

Who she could talk to, how she could talk to them, what she could talk to them about... every aspect of life was measured, practiced... curated almost, in a way that someone like her with the intelligence of an adult but the wisdom of a child couldn’t help but see for the dreadfully artificial charade it was.

The only time when this veneer of civility, this sham was set aside for honest truth, was during combat.

Among cultivators, two things matter above all others: lineage, and talent.

No one who sparred with Feng Qiling would ever hold back because they were afraid to cause offense.

No one who had the opportunity to fight the ‘royal genius’ would not give everything in the hopes of proving their talent greater than hers, or at least, equal to it.

Theirs was not a society that punished talent. They couldn’t afford to. Not with the enemies watching with hungry eyes from beyond their borders.

Ergo, in combat there was no pretentious politeness. There were no fake smiles and obsequious bowing. In combat, there was honesty.

In combat, there was purity of self and intentions.

Needless to say, Feng Qiling loved combat, and it was this love along with an overly generous dose of politics that had brought her to this position she was currently in.

Before now, Qiling had heard whispers from the older members of her family who occupied themselves with such matters, about the potential problem that the infamous Xian Qi posed to the continuity of Feng rule.

It wasn’t something they’d worried about too much before now, because the woman, for all her personal power, really only had one heir worth anything. But then, against all odds, Xian Qigang had happened, and her divine ancestor, Feng Lingxian, scared old woman that she was, had made some stupid, eager moves and embarrassed herself against a child who was less than an ant before her might.

Their family had lost great face from that singular event, and they’d decided that the solution was to throw her at the problem; lure the Seventh Young Master Xian into a public spar, where she could knock him around and remind everyone who may have forgotten that the Feng family still reigned supreme.

Qiling had not questioned the wisdom of the plan. She worried herself not over such things, leaving those who put themselves in charge of such matters to handle them.

Besides, she enjoyed combat, and she was curious to experience the power of one who’d tasted enlightenment at the level that Xian Qigang apparently had.

Now faced with that power, however, Feng Qiling was beginning to wonder for the first time, if perhaps the plan hadn't been overly optimistic.

She did not fear that she would lose, but it was rather obvious now that Xian Qigang would not suffer the sweeping defeat that they’d anticipated.

It wasn't because the Seventh Young Master Xian was a good fighter. Far from it. He was so laughably bad at it, that the wild flailing he called punching was sad to witness.

No, the problems with Xian Qigang were that his cultivation had a potency that no noble rank still in Foundation Realm had any business sporting, and, worst of all, the bastard just… wouldn’t… die.

His forms were sloppy, but when she took advantage of it and ran her sword through his chest, deliberately nicking his heart in a way that should have left him needing immediate medical attention, he simply kicked her with the force of an erupting volcano, and went right back to being fine.

When she took advantage of his awful fighting skills and proceeded to slice off his fists whenever he tried to punch her, he’d stopped for a moment, thought about it, then wrapped his fists in the flames of his cultivation, doubling his reach, shielding himself, and making his blows even more punishing all at once.

He was so strong, and so durable. Every hit he landed on her pushed her divine harness to limits it barely saw, the costly Technique sucking down her qi as it weathered the attacks.

In fact, his strength was so great that it damaged his own body. His hits had so much power behind them that his bones broke and his flesh ripped as he landed them. Without his incredible regeneration, his power would rend his own body to shreds.

Feng Qiling pushed herself to match him. Straining body and spirit too near their breaking points. She gave everything, threw everything at him.

Her qi reserves were sinking fast; the early signs of physical fatigue were beginning to creep in.

This wasn't just burning the candle at both ends, this was something worse, because even as she gave everything to match him, the weight of that accursed Technique of his crushed down on her.

Weight of The Emperor’s Will

It hung like a proclamation of the universe, weighing on every fibre of her being, it’s power so absolute it pulled even on her qi. The very air in her lungs felt heavy, hot.

The floor of the courtyard, made of high-end sage rank materials was warping, breaking. With every second this fight carried on, standing became harder, breathing became heavier, even the simple act of commanding her own qi became a greater task.

Fighting Xian Qigang was like facing a natural disaster; wild, untamed, but so powerful that the mere act of standing before him was a feat beyond most. He was mighty, he was terrifying, he seemed unstoppable… and Feng Qiling revelled in the challenge.

Divine Charge of The War Goddess

Fuelled by the movement technique, Qiling zoomed towards Qigang.

Under normal conditions, that technique would have made her already prodigious speed comparable to teleportation, but these weren’t normal conditions. In these conditions, the technique boosted her speed just enough to enable her to dash in—her divine blade taking on the form of a wicked dagger—and strike at Xian Qigang’s throat.

The blade pierced through his jugular to come out the other end, the motion a little sluggish thanks to the toughness of his physique.

He punched her, his fist wrapped in a miniature sun that burned almost as hot as the real thing. But that was okay, because as his blow sent her flying, her dagger ripped out through the side of his neck, leaving a gaping, and for most Foundation Realm cultivators, lethal wound.

It wouldn’t kill him, she knew. It wouldn’t even slow him down. But it hurt him, and that was the only plan she had now; to push his regeneration beyond its breaking point.

Qiling somersaulted in midair and landed on her feet some twenty paces away. Xian Qigang’s neck was already healed.

“You know, it almost looks like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said suddenly.

She noticed that the pressure of his Technique eased on her as he spoke. As though he didn’t want the unfair advantage of technically attacking her while they weren’t actively fighting.

Qiling wasn’t too proud to appreciate the gesture, but she was proud enough to be pleased with herself that her back did not straighten when the Technique lifted.

It proved to her what she already knew, that she hadn’t bowed under the weight in the first place.

“In the words of the great General Mao Yun, ‘a good battle can temper the spirit, soothe the soul, and gladden the heart,’” she said.

Xian Qigang raised an eyebrow at her. “Uh-huh. Right,” he said like he didn’t believe the words one bit. “General Mao Yun, huh? People keep bringing her up to me. Maybe it’s time I find a book on her.”

“You should,” Qiling said. “I have some recommendations, if you’re interested.”

“You do? That’s good. I’ll like to hear them,” he said. “Maybe we can do that when we’re done beating each other up.”

Qiling nodded acknowledgement.

She began to settle back into a combat stance, but then Xian Qigang said, “Maybe we should just call this a tie.”

It was Qiling’s turn to blink at him. “What?”

“Maybe we should call it a tie,” Xian Qigang said. “I mean, I can’t hurt you because of that cool armour of yours, and you can’t hurt me because of my healing, so let’s just call it a tie and go home. We’ve been doing this for what now? Twenty minutes? It feels like twenty minutes.

“It’s getting tedious. My outfit is ruined, I can see my body parts on the ground... Right now I just want a long bath and my bed. So, how about we call this a tie and just go home?”

Feng Qiling watched Xian Qigang, who seemed a little surprised by his own small rant, but willing to stand by it all the same.

“I don’t want a draw,” she said. “I want to win.”

Xian Qigang sighed. “You can’t possibly be that confident in your victory,” he said. “That cool armour of yours is guzzling down your Qi by the second.”

“So are your Techniques,” she said.

It was true. All that incredible power came with incredible cost. It was, in fact, a testament to how terrifying this creature called Xian Qigang was that he could throw around so much qi for so long and still not be down half his reserves.

“So what are you proposing?” he asked. “That we grind away at each other in a battle of attrition that could last hours?”

Feng Qiling personally had no issues with a battle of attrition, but she knew that her divine ancestor would.

Empress Feng Lingxian wanted a clear, overwhelming victory, and while the chance for that was already long gone, a win by the skin of her teeth after hours of drawn-out battle was even less welcome in her eyes.

Of them all however, the biggest problem with a battle of attrition was that, if she went that way, she was fairly certain that Xian Qigang would win.

That left her a single option.

“One last bout,” she said. “With everything we have. Nothing held back.”

Xian Qigang gave her a suspicious stare. “Let me guess,” he said, “you have some sort of powerful technique you’ve been training in secret that you’re going to unleash now, even though you know it will come with a great cost that might harm you.”

Qiling’s eyes widened. How could he know that? She’d gone to great lengths to keep it secret.

Xian Qigang sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking a little like a young father with rowdy children.

The expression infuriated Qiling deeply, and she found herself with a strong desire to punch his face.

“You know what?” Xian Qigang asked after a moment. “Okay. This gets me home quicker.”

His qi exploded out of him at an intensity almost matching what he’d shown throughout their spar, and Qiling’s cultivation rose to meet it.

“One final clash,” he said, as though stating the rules. “All out. You ready?”

Feng Qiling closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath, settling her mind into the special meditative state that she still needed to connect to the universe.

Her divine blade transformed, taking on the form of a simple, straight sword, and she held it in both hands before her, like an offering to the world.

The world responded, reaching out to the sword in ways that Qiling wasn’t sure she would ever understand.

But she didn’t have to understand it, she simply needed to know how to wield it.

The sword didn’t change. It didn’t get bigger, or longer, or brighter, or darker, or even sharper. This was because the power that Qiling now wielded had nothing to do with the sword.

The sword wasn't the source of the power. It wasn't even a conduit for it; that was Qiling. The sword, or rather its edge, was simply where Qiling had decided to focus the power, because when an amateur wanted to command the universal concept of cutting, it helped to have a keen edge as a focal point.

Qiling opened her eyes and almost jumped as she found Xian Qigang standing before her.

The swell of his qi had ebbed, and all of his focus was on the edge of the sword she still held out, even though the power on it was one that was imperceptible to anyone who couldn’t themselves wield it.

“What is this?” he asked, running a finger across the sword’s edge.

The finger didn’t touch the sword, it hung at least a hair’s breadth away from it, but it came as no surprise to Qiling when the finger split open and severed cleanly in three places.

Oddly, Xian Qigang didn’t seem to notice, either that his finger had been chopped up by the edge of a sword he hadn't touched, or that the wound wasn't healing.

His tone was slow and wondrous, and his expression somewhat slack. He looked drugged. Or, perhaps, entranced.

“How can you sense it and not know it?” Qiling asked, confused.

“I think I know it,” he said. “I think I’ve seen it somewhere be… oh.” He looked up at the night sky, causing Qiling to look up too. There was nothing there besides stars and a crescent moon.

Qigang raised his left hand, the one without a bleeding finger. “You just can’t see it all the time because—” and then he gently swiped his hand to the left.

It was a simple, meaningless gesture, one that should have done nothing besides perhaps move an insignificant amount of wind.

Instead, the gesture stripped away two layers of reality and Feng Qiling saw a depth of the universe that was centuries beyond her.

Her mind broke, her cultivation followed, then, after a moment, both reformed.

The resulting eruption of her qi as she advanced into Sprouting phase and attained congruence, sent Xian Qigang flying back and left a crater a hundred paces wide on the courtyard of The Hall of Impending Equilibrium.