Yedi suddenly leaned backward at a sharp angle, his body tilting past forty-five degrees. The hard shield sliced through the air just before his eyes, sending his bangs fluttering wildly. Its lower edge tore through the fabric of his trousers at both knees.
As Yedi seemed about to collapse, he abandoned his balance entirely, swinging his sword diagonally toward Qingruo.
Qingruo had already released her shield the moment she realized Yedi had dodged her strike by a hair’s breadth. She gripped her sword with both hands and countered with a powerful upward slash.
CLANG!
Steel flashed. Sparks scattered like stars.
Yedi’s move defied all logic, yet Qingruo’s reaction was astonishingly swift and precise—though her counter lacked full force.
Yedi let himself slide backward several paces along the ground to absorb the impact, while Qingruo was shoved back meters by the collision.
Around them, students from every grade gasped in awe.
*Not good!*
The sun was sinking fast. Trouble loomed.
He had to attack. No more delays.
Before fully rising, Yedi rolled toward Qingruo, then sprang up mid-roll and thrust his sword forward—a strike of blinding speed.
Shieldless, Qingruo parried with both hands on her hilt, then spun, her long leg sweeping out in a kick.
Yedi pushed off the ground with one palm, flipping sideways to evade her foot.
Still kneeling on one knee, he gripped his sword with both hands and swung horizontally. Simultaneously, Qingruo pivoted and brought her blade down in a vertical slash.
CLANG!!
Steel clashed again.
Kneeling gave Yedi leverage to block Qingruo’s strike, but the force rattled his slender arms. His frame had never been robust—even after becoming a woman, his resilience hadn’t weakened; if anything, her body’s natural resilience had strengthened it slightly.
This exchange ended in a stalemate.
"Teacher," Qingruo pressed her blade against his, closing the distance between them. A fragrance drifted from her—warm, floral, intoxicating—making those near her breathe deeper without realizing it. It carried the scent of spring blossoms, intensified by exertion, layered with unfulfilled longing. A chaste rose of breathtaking beauty—an impossible contradiction.
But Yedi had no time for such thoughts. Time was running out!
"Qingruo, what exactly is this bottleneck you mentioned?"
"If I could define it, would I need to ask you, Teacher?"
CRACK!
Their swords vibrated, forcing them apart.
Only a sliver of sun remained above the valley ridge—no wider than a fingernail. No time left!
*Risky, but this duel must end now!* Yedi resolved.
He abruptly retreated, snatching up Qingruo’s discarded shield.
"Teacher?" Qingruo’s cheeks flushed with wounded pride. Yedi mastered all weapons but revered offense above all; his defense was always counterattack. He never used shields. Was this truly meant to humiliate her?
Her chest rose and fell visibly. Yet her gentle nature warred with her resolve: *No. This isn’t like Teacher. He must have a reason. I must always honor him, no matter what.*
Yedi advanced inexplicably, shield raised, shifting positions to control their angles.
The students watched, baffled. Was Teacher demonstrating shield techniques?
Suddenly, Yedi hurled the shield at Qingruo. Though "weak" was relative among Empire elites, the spinning shield flew with fierce momentum.
Instinctively, Qingruo raised her sword to deflect it.
*Wrong!*
She stepped forward instead, meeting the shield’s trajectory. At the last instant, she eased her swing, letting the blade glide along the shield’s curve. Using its momentum, she spun her body—hips and legs coiling like a spring—and unleashed a devastating slash toward the space behind the shield.
The final ray of sunlight caught Qingruo’s profile. Had she simply deflected the shield, that sliver of sun would have blinded her. And there—exactly where her sword fell—stood Yedi.
As a teacher, he should have felt pride in that moment.
Outmatched in strength, unaccustomed to his own swordplay, Yedi had gambled under time’s pressure.
And Qingruo had seen through it.
He abandoned his futile lunge, waiting for Qingruo’s victorious strike to end the match. (Of course, both would halt before contact.)
But…
CRACK!
Qingruo’s sword—poised to strike downward—swung wide. It slammed into the earth, kicking up dust.
"Teacher…"
In that instant, Yedi saw something unspoken in her eyes. Something only he could read.
Humiliation flared in him. Yet he adjusted his stance, driving his knee into the ground as he thrust upward at Qingruo. Simultaneously, she drew back her sword for a diagonal downward slash.
Both blades stopped an inch from their targets.
The students fell utterly silent.
It looked like a draw.
"N-no contest…" Hans, a towering senior, shook his head in disbelief.
"For the first time… Senior Qingruo actually matched the legendary hero Teacher Yedi! A draw! She’s incredible…" A bespectacled boy’s voice cracked with emotion.
Around them, admiration swelled.
*Senior Qingruo is amazing! Teacher Yedi is still so strong!*
Their duel had surpassed imagination—utterly beyond reach.
A true clash of Imperial swordsmanship at its peak!
Nearly every student believed this.
Yet… Yedi felt only profound loss. Kneeling before Qingruo, he remained motionless for a long time.
He knew the truth. He had lost.
No excuses. This match was his defeat.
That final swing—Qingruo had deliberately missed. At her skill level, such a mistake was impossible. Their last exchange had been mere theater.
A silent understanding.
Qingruo, perhaps as shocked by her own victory, had spared his dignity. She’d chosen a draw to protect her teacher’s honor.
She was far more perceptive than he’d realized.
Despite every disadvantage… Yedi had lost.
To a woman.
The very woman he secretly loved—now that he’d lost the right to love anyone.
"It’s late," Yedi said stiffly. "Class ends here. Everyone return to your quarters… Qingruo, you performed exceptionally."
He forced the words out. Qingruo’s mercy had preserved his reputation; the students still gazed at him with reverence.
But the truth…
The legendary hero they revered would soon become a small woman when the sun set.
What dignity remained? Even victory over Qingruo meant nothing now.
He’d long since lost his dignity.
Because the real him—Yedi—no longer existed in this world. Only Tiyi remained.
"Teacher…" Qingruo watched his solitary figure against the chilly night wind. An ache tightened her chest.
A hero past his prime.
Bathed in the last warmth of dusk, Yedi walked silently up the mountain path, leaving the training ground behind.
