At first, it was chaos.
Kai Feng stood facing Yin, breathing heavily as beads of sweat traced lines down his forehead. The sword felt alien in his hands—awkward and heavy, utterly unlike the familiar flow of Qi he'd mastered through the Celestial Eclipse Manual. Yet he forced himself into position again, refusing to succumb to frustration.
"Let's start again," Yin instructed sharply. Her voice carried an edge of impatience, though she tried her best to conceal it. "Remember—balance and form first. Speed and power come afterward."
Kai nodded grimly, readying himself. But inwardly he groaned. Yin's obsession with form felt rigid and confining, strangling the spontaneity he relied upon.
Yin moved first, her sword flowing forward like liquid silver. Kai mirrored her motion—awkwardly. Their blades connected briefly in harmony before Kai instinctively pivoted out of the form, aiming to add power and unpredictability.
Immediately, their rhythm collapsed.
Yin stumbled slightly, recovering her footing with visible irritation. "You're breaking the form again," she snapped. "Stick to what we agreed."
Kai bit back a retort, jaw clenching. "The enemy won't let us finish a neat, predictable form, Yin. We must adapt."
She exhaled sharply, visibly struggling to keep her temper. "Predictability isn't weakness if it's executed flawlessly. You're being impulsive, leaving openings that would get us killed."
Kai drew in a sharp breath. "And you're being rigid, predictable enough for the enemy to read every step."
Their eyes locked, tension crackling like lightning between them. Frustration and stubbornness battled silently.
Finally, Yin spoke, voice heavy and edged with urgency. "Listen. If we want to make this work, we must abandon our pride. There's too much at stake to lose ourselves in disagreements."
Kai took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I know. Let's go again."
Yet the second attempt was no better. Nor was the third. Hours melted into each other, days in the strange pocket realm, each clash leaving both of them increasingly frustrated, exhausted, and wary.
After another brutal training session, Yin sank down onto a rock, sword trembling slightly in her hand. Kai collapsed onto the grass nearby, his chest heaving painfully beneath the weight of old injuries.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Eventually, Kai broke it softly. "Maybe we're starting from the wrong point. Coordination isn't just about forms or adaptability, it's about understanding each other."
Yin slowly lifted her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mutual understanding…"
Kai nodded earnestly, sincerity clear in his eyes. "Maybe the reason we keep clashing isn't because of swords or ideals. Maybe it's simply because we don't truly understand each other."
Yin frowned slightly, hesitation flickering in her expression, before reluctantly nodding. "You… might have a point."
Kai leaned back thoughtfully, gazing up at the infinite expanse of sky above. "Then tell me about yourself. Your life before…" His voice softened. "Before you decided you had to kill me."
Yin hesitated, her eyes distant as she spoke softly. "My sect—my family—was massacred by your sect. When Master Shen took me in, I hoped to find acceptance, but instead, I became an outcast. The other disciples mocked me, treated me like a freak. Isolation became my only companion, revenge my sole purpose."
Kai's expression softened, eyes shimmering with quiet empathy. "I understand your pain. The past can feel like chains binding us, impossible to escape."
Yin shot him a sharp, skeptical glance, eyes narrowing defensively. "How could you possibly know? You've never suffered like that."
Kai met her suspicion head-on, his gaze steady yet gentle. "I've known loss. I've experienced betrayal. And I've been investigating your family's tragedy, Yin. It wasn't orchestrated by the Obsidian Peak Sect. Elder Pu confessed to carrying out a personal vendetta before taking her own life. Yet… something about her confession doesn't sit right with me. There's more beneath the surface, hidden truths yet to be uncovered. I fear Elder Pu may have been manipulated, but she took her secrets to the grave."
Yin's eyes widened as her anger dissolved into confusion, uncertainty taking root. Her voice trembled. "What do you mean?"
Kai exhaled slowly, his voice solemn yet determined. "Think about it carefully, why would the Obsidian Peak Sect suddenly massacre your family in such an obvious way, openly inviting suspicion and tarnishing their reputation? Someone wanted us at odds, Yin. Someone else orchestrated this conflict."
Yin stared at him, turmoil evident in her eyes—a struggle between anger, doubt, hope, and fear. She slowly shook her head, hesitant. "I—I don't know. It's difficult to accept…"
Kai leaned closer, his voice gentle but insistent. "You have doubts too. You've always had unanswered questions."
Slowly, reluctantly, Yin nodded, whispering softly, "Maybe…"
Kai smiled reassuringly, warmth illuminating his expression. "I'm not asking you to abandon your vengeance. But let's uncover the truth together and confront those truly responsible. First, though, we must survive long enough to do so."
The next day, their swords clashed yet again, metal ringing discordantly in the tranquil air. Yin struggled fiercely to maintain composure, teeth clenched tightly. "Why do you keep abandoning the forms?" she demanded sharply, her voice shaking with frustration. "Can't you just do as we practiced?"
Kai stepped back, breathing heavily but steadying his voice. "Yin, tell me, why are you so obsessed with perfection?"
She stiffened visibly, startled. "What?"
"The battlefield isn't perfect," Kai said quietly, stepping forward. His voice carried no accusation, only gentle challenge. "Our enemies won't move in perfect harmony with your practiced forms. Life itself is unpredictable. Why must you control every step?"
Yin's face flushed angrily, but beneath the anger was a flicker of pain. "Because imperfection is failure! Mistakes get people killed. I've seen it happen I lived through it!"
Kai's expression softened. "And yet rigidity can be just as deadly. A rigid sword shatters under pressure."
Yin froze. Those words—the Lady of the Sword had whispered something similar to her once. Memories surfaced, clear and cutting.
"A sword that is too rigid will break," the Lady of the Sword had said softly one quiet night. "Only the blade that bends survives."
Yin's shoulders sank slightly, sword lowering. Her expression softened with realization. She had forgotten one important point, perfection alone wasn't strength. Survival required flexibility.
Kai watched silently, sensing the shift in her understanding. Then he spoke softly. "Let's try again. But this time, instead of forcing perfection…trust me. Allow yourself to adapt."
When their swords met again, Kai shifted first. He adjusted, consciously matching Yin's rhythm, respecting her discipline but gently pushing her to accept adaptation. Yin, in turn, cautiously opened her senses, reaching out tentatively to understand his unpredictable flow.
Gradually, something changed.
Where before their forms collided painfully, now their blades slid smoothly, complementing one another. Yin felt herself letting go—relinquishing absolute control, trusting Kai to fill in the gaps. In return, Kai sensed the security Yin's disciplined forms provided, appreciating their hidden strength.
Slowly, through cautious adjustments and gentle compromise, their individual strengths fused seamlessly.
Hours passed unnoticed. Each successful strike or block deepened their connection, forging trust stronger than steel. Yin began anticipating Kai's improvisations instinctively, turning unpredictability into a strategic advantage. Kai flowed comfortably into Yin's disciplined rhythms, his adaptability strengthening her refined patterns.
As they trained, their swords became living extensions of their souls, movements speaking clearer than words. The realm resonated quietly, energy building steadily between them. The holograms of their artifacts shone brighter than ever, reflecting perfect synchronization.
By the end, their movements weren't merely coordinated—they were flawless, fluid, powerful. Yin's rigid perfectionism had softened into flexibility, while Kai's reckless adaptability had tempered into controlled creativity.
Their Dual Swords Harmony Technique had transformed from theoretical exercise into reality—a formidable weapon forged in fire and trust.
Kai finally lowered his sword, breathing steadily, smiling broadly. "We've done it," he whispered with genuine awe. "We've found harmony."
Yin lowered her blade, nodding slowly, a gentle smile gracing her lips.
Yin agreed softly, her eyes glowing with resolve. "Now we're ready."
They stood side by side, facing outward. Whatever waited beyond, whatever darkness and uncertainty they faced, they would confront it together.
A soft hum began to emanate from the holograms of their artifacts—Yin's sword and Kai's celestial book—still floating beside them in the thin air. Their radiant glow pulsed in time with the quiet beat of their hearts, resonating now with a perfect harmony.
Kai turned his head slightly. "Do you feel that?"
Yin nodded slowly, her voice hushed. "Looks like this is it, we are returning to the real world!"
The sky above rippled like disturbed water. The ground beneath their feet began to fade, dissolving into strands of luminous Qi. The wind died, and everything slowed—as if the realm itself exhaled a final breath.
Their vision blurred.
Colors bled at the edges of reality. Light fractured into beams of silver and gold. Their surroundings stretched and warped, then collapsed inward with a soft implosion of soundless energy.
Kai staggered slightly as the world snapped into focus—harsh torchlight, blood, and shattered tiles underfoot. The familiar scent of incense, mingled now with coppery iron, filled his nostrils.
Bodies littered the floor—cultivators and elders alike, groaning, unconscious, or barely clinging to life. Blood smeared across the tiles. Pillars had been cracked. Golden banners hung torn from the ceiling.
Kai's gaze shifted toward the incense sticks marking the passage of time. Only one-third remained unburned. Half an hour—just half an hour had passed. Astonishment surged through him. Wu Ming had inflicted such extensive damage in mere minutes, and amidst the chaos, no one had noticed when he and Yin were swept into the artifacts' hidden realm.
At the center of the carnage lay Master Shen, barely recognizable beneath layers of bruises and blood. One arm twisted grotesquely, broken at a sickening angle. His pristine white robes were shredded, soaked in deep crimson, and his proud features were now swollen beyond recognition, one eye swollen shut, breath rasping painfully.
Kai's eyes moved across the devastation. Experts renowned across the realm lay collapsed and broken. Warriors who had once stood invincible now writhed in agony, clutching their wounds, choking desperately for air. The aura of defeat hung thick and oppressive, a smothering fog that threatened to crush his spirit.
And amid the ruin stood Wu Ming, unscathed and poised at the heart of the devastation.
He was an eerie picture of calm, his twin iron hooks gleaming sinisterly, dripping with fresh blood. Untouched and composed, as though he'd merely engaged in light exercise. His expression remained inscrutable, yet his eyes glittered with chilling amusement.
"I must admit," Wu Ming drawled casually, voice smooth and dangerously soft, "this has been rather disappointing."
Slowly, deliberately, his head turned until his cold gaze settled upon them.
Kai felt Yin move instinctively closer, their auras intertwining seamlessly—balanced, unified, and resolute despite the ruin that surrounded them. They stood together, unwavering beneath Wu Ming's scrutiny.
Wu Ming's lips curled into a slow, razor-edged smile.
"Ah," he murmured with mocking delight, "it appears we have the next two volunteers." His smile widened viciously. "Tell me, are you ready to play?"