The flame-like glow around her hands trembled—unstable, volatile—before igniting into a surging inferno.
She lunged.
Her first strike tore through the air, aiming for his shoulder.
The second, a sharp thrust, targeted his chest.
The third—a finishing blow—raced toward his chin.
Fang Lee's body moved on instinct, weaving through the flurry of attacks, his movements fluid yet razor-sharp.
!!
But then—impact.
The moment her palm connected, an unbearable force exploded through his bones.
His muscles screamed in agony as a searing shockwave of Fire Qi burrowed into his flesh, twisting through his meridians like a raging wildfire.
Lian Xue's lips curled into a victorious smile at the sight of his pained expression. Without hesitation, she surged forward, hands wreathed in flickering flames, each strike fueled by unrelenting fury—
Swish! Swish!
But she never got the chance.
"White Crane's Counter."
Fang Lee moved like a shadow, flowing effortlessly between her strikes.
His fingers flicked out with pinpoint precision, tapping the delicate tendons in her wrists.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The momentum of her assault crumbled.
Lian Xue's eyes widened.
He wasn't dodging. He wasn't blocking.
He was controlling her.
Her fourth, fifth, sixth—even her seventh strike—were all twisted away, their force turned back upon her with terrifying grace. Yet she didn't falter.
Every counter, every redirection should have broken her rhythm. But instead, she pressed on—faster, fiercer, more relentless.
Her breath came sharp, her Qi roaring like wildfire. But Fang Lee met each blow with the same unshakable ease, his defenses as fluid as flowing water.
And still—she refused to stop.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed forward, her barrage intensifying with each heartbeat.
Then—
Burning.
A sudden, searing agony erupted across Fang Lee's skin, the lingering heat gnawing into his flesh like embers burrowing through dry wood.
The spot where her palm had landed throbbed, blistered—then ignited.
It wasn't just pain.
It was her Fire Qi—ravenous, insidious—still coursing through him, refusing to fade.
The energy seeped deeper, heat coiling beneath his skin, scorching him from within. The faint scent of charred flesh filled the air.
And for the first time in their clash, Fang Lee's smirk deepened.
"Aren't you a fan of cheap tricks?" he said, voice almost amused, even as he parried each strike with surgical ease. His muscles tensed—White Crane's Counter flaring as it pushed out the poisonous Qi from her palm.
Lian Xue's frustration flared—and so did her flames.
"Fang Lee!!"
Her voice rang out like a battle cry, fury igniting every movement. Flames surged around her palms, each blow charged with raw emotion. But what enraged her more was the sight of the golden Qi swords floating silently behind him—untouched, barely used.
He's still holding back.
Her teeth clenched. Her strikes grew wilder, faster, fueled by the searing truth: Fang Lee wasn't even fighting her seriously.
But the truth was more complex.
He hadn't drawn his Qi swords—not out of arrogance, but because she had closed the distance, trapping him in close quarters. She hadn't given him a single breath. Her stance was solid, honed through blood and repetition. She was in the late stage of Qi Refinement, just like him—and she used that realm well, flooding every gap with hundreds of palm strikes per breath.
Lian Xue's frustration boiled. She wanted him to struggle. She wanted him to bleed.
But Fang Lee remained unreadable, smirk unwavering—as though her rage was nothing more than passing weather.
Her breath quickened. Her chest heaved. The embers of her anger turned white-hot, and in that moment, she abandoned all finesse.
Her fingers curled into a fist, nails biting her palm as fire-attributed Qi surged through her body.
The lanterns trembled.
Their warm glow flickered wildly, as if shrinking from the inferno she was about to unleash.
Then—
Boom!
Flames roared to life around her knuckles, twisting like living beasts. The air shimmered, bending from the sheer heat radiating off her.
"Rising Ember Fist!"
Her voice cracked like thunder, carrying the weight of her fury.
She launched forward, her blazing fist tearing through the air like a meteor, leaving fire in its wake.
Hiss—
Fang Lee's instincts took over. His palm rose to intercept, White Crane's Counter rippling through his arm. He felt confident—after all, he'd advanced the art beyond its original form.
But—
The instant their skin touched, agony shot through him. His palm hissed, the flesh bubbling as her fist seared through his defense.
The acrid stench of scorched flesh rose between them.
Fang Lee clenched his teeth. His nerves screamed—but he did not yield.
Tch.
His jaw tightened. Frustration boiled beneath the pain—but before he could curse his miscalculation—
Boom!
Another flaming strike barreled toward him. Its force could shatter stone, but the timing—off, just barely—created an opening.
Three golden Qi swords materialized in an instant.
Shatter!
Her fist tore through them like brittle glass, scattering energy through the air.
Fang Lee twisted away just in time, stepping back through the broken wall—
But she was already there.
A third strike.
Straight for his skull.
The air shrieked as her flaming fist tore through it, closing in with lethal precision.
Fang Lee's instincts flared.
His hand shot out, catching her wrist in an iron grip.
And then—
Boom!
His fist crashed into her jaw like a war hammer.
His breath hitched—adrenaline mixing with something darker.
A crooked smile pulled at his lips.
For a brief moment, Lian Xue's heart fluttered.
She blinked, dazed. His eyes locked onto hers.
And for the first time in years… she felt it again. That same dizzy warmth from the day they first met.
"Fang Lee~?" she whispered, the name escaping in a tender coo.
Her mind didn't see the man who struck her.
Just a boy in a sunlit garden—
The wind carried the scent of jasmine and warm soil. Bees buzzed lazily between blooming plum blossoms, and the air shimmered faintly with springtime Qi. A five-year-old girl in a flowing peach and white hanfu sat cross-legged in the grass, her brow slightly furrowed in deep concentration as she cultivated. Her small hands rested in her lap, steady and focused.
Then—
A sudden kiss landed on her cheek, featherlight.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Standing before her was a grinning seven-year-old boy with windswept hair, his hands hidden behind his back. Dirt clung to his sleeves, and a few blades of grass stuck out from his tangled sash.
"Lian Xue," he said proudly, revealing a small bundle of wildflowers—tulips, plum blossoms, and even a crooked dandelion. "I picked these for you."
She blinked in surprise. Her cheeks flushed.
He kneeled down and began laying the flowers gently in her lap, one by one, as if it were the most sacred thing in the world.
Her head snapped back to the present, the blow rattling through her skull.
But before she could even recover, Fang Lee twisted her arm sharply. His stance shifted with fluid precision—muscles coiled, balance perfect. He was already moving again, ready to drive her into the floor with bone-shattering force.
Then—
Whoosh!
Lian Xue's body ignited.
Flames erupted outward, her Flame Qi surging beyond control. The heat was instant, overwhelming. Her sleeves, and parts of her clothing, disintegrated in an instant, revealing raw, seared flesh beneath—but it was Fang Lee who bore the true agony.
Fire lashed at his back and hands, the scorching heat sinking deep into his skin, peeling away layers of flesh.
Argh!
Pain flooded his nerves, white-hot and relentless, yet his smile just like his grip refused to break. His fingers tightened like a vice around her wrist, even as the flames licked hungrily at his flesh, eager to consume him whole.
"Ironwood Body!"
A surge of qi erupted within him, flooding his limbs, reinforcing his bones and muscles like tempered steel. His skin hardened, the searing agony dulling to a distant throb—but his grip remained unyielding.
With a final, forceful twist—
Crash!
Lian Xue's body crashed into the wooden floor with a resounding crack, the force of the impact sending tremors through the room. The splintering boards groaned beneath her as dust and embers swirled in the air.
"Ah—!"
A sharp gasp tore from her lips, raw and breathless.
She trembled, her chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. The flames that had once roared around her now sputtered and flickered weakly, their intensity fading as her qi wavered, on the verge of collapse.
Fang Lee exhaled sharply, stepping forward. His gaze remained cold and unwavering as he pressed his foot against her chest, pinning her to the ground with unyielding force.
Swiss!
One of his six remaining qi swords hovered at his side, its golden glow slicing through the dim room, casting jagged shadows that danced across the walls. The flickering light illuminated Lian Xue's face—her furious, tear-streaked expression burning with defiance.
She glared softly at him, her breath ragged, flames still flickering weakly around her trembling form.
"Tell me, did you feel hurt because I slept with another woman?" Fang Lee asked. His words sounded sincere.
Lian Xue lay beneath him, breath ragged, Qi flickering low in her dantian. She trembled—not from pain, but something far heavier.
Her eyes searched his face.
"You really... have to ask?" she whispered, at a loss for words.
Her voice was hoarse. Not the voice of a cultivator, but of a girl—tired, aching, so terribly human.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
"... Why didn't you just let me kill her?" she whispered. "That maid. She touched you. She got in your bed."
Her fists clenched weakly.
"You could've stood aside. I would've done it. I could've killed her. I wanted to."
She breathed shakily.
"You could've pretended she charmed you. Said you were under a spell. I'd have believed it."
Her tears fell freely.
"Wouldn't that have been easier, Fang Lee? If you'd made yourself the victim so I'd hate her instead?"
A pause.
"Instead, you stood up against me."
Her flames flickered one last time—then died.
She looked away.
"Am I really that easy to discard?"
He still said nothing.
No apology. No denial. Not even guilt.
Just silence.
That silence was louder than anything he could've said.
Lian Xue closed her eyes.
"So I wasn't even worth an answer."
She trembled. Not with rage, but a sadness deeper than anger.
"I was going to marry you," she whispered. "We were going to cultivate together, start a family, see the far mountains, name our own peaks. I trained. I bled. I saved everything for that future."
Her nails dug into her palms.
"But now…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I don't want that future anymore."
Her Qi began to stir—not for battle.
Toward her dantian.
Her lungs.
Her heart.
She guided it inward.
Not a blaze.
A burial.
Her spiritual core pulsed softly.
Unraveling.
Every cultivator knew how. No one taught it. But they knew.
She exhaled slowly.
And then—
Warmth.
Not heat.
Not fire.
Warmth.
His hand, calloused and shaking, pressed to her cheek.
And then—
His lips found hers.
Soft. Desperate.
Not proud. Not triumphant.
The kiss of a man clinging to something slipping away.
She didn't react.
But the longer his mouth lingered—trembling, wordless—the more her breath returned.
Her Qi paused.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Fang Lee's brow furrowed—not with smugness or guilt. But fear.
His lips parted, his forehead resting against hers.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.