The Immortal Path Is Crowded

Wei Han watched her for a moment, his face an impassive mask.

"The last time, we were reprimanded," he said, his voice as flat and sharp as the edge of his sword. "The rules are clear. Duels between disciples must take place in the combat arena."

Su Qingli, the young woman standing before him, pouted.

"Oh, don’t worry about that, Senior Brother Wei!" she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "Besides, if anyone dares to scold us again, I’ll just tell my grandfather!"

A nearly imperceptible vein pulsed at Wei Han’s temple for a fraction of a second, a tic so slight it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. Even so, his expression remained unchanged, and he simply nodded—a silent concession.

He knew that refusing would only prolong the inevitable. After all, Su Qingli’s persistence was as formidable as her swordsmanship.

At his agreement, the young woman’s eyes lit up like stars.

"One exchange will be enough!" she declared, stepping back several paces to create distance. She unsheathed her sword in a fluid motion that belied its weight, and a vibrant yet delicate energy began to emanate from it.

Wei Han did not move. He did not even draw his own sword. He simply stood there, one hand resting on the hilt, his presence as still and deep as a frozen lake.

"Prepare yourself, Senior Brother Wei!" Su Qingli shouted.

With an energetic cry, she lunged forward. Her body moved in an elegant dance, the blade of her sword tracing arcs of Qi that resembled flower petals blooming in the air. It was evident that her mastery had grown exponentially. The energy condensed at the tip of her blade, threatening to pierce even steel.

Wei Han remained motionless until the sword tip was just a palm’s distance from his chest. In that instant, a faint glint flickered in his eyes.

The sound was dry and absolute.

Su Qingli froze, her eyes widening in shock. The tip of her sword had been stopped not by Wei’s blade, but by two of his fingers, coated in an almost invisible layer of sword intent. No matter how much force she applied, the weapon did not move even a millimeter.

"Your speed has improved," Wei said, his tone as analytical as if he were evaluating a simple dance. "But your power disperses at the final moment. You focus too much on the beauty of the form, not on the purpose of the strike."

He released her blade, and it dipped slightly as the energy surrounding it dissipated. She looked at him, first with frustration, then with renewed determination burning in her eyes. With a huff, she sheathed her sword.

Puffing her cheeks in silent protest, she finally let her frustration spill out.

"That’s not fair!" she complained. "My grandfather has taught me the sword since I was a child. Why… why can’t I even touch your clothes?"

Hearing that, as he slowly lowered the hand that had stopped her strike, Wei Han fell into thought. His gaze, usually empty and distant, turned inward.

To him, something like the concept of the sword was very simple.

After organizing his thoughts, Wei Han looked back at the expectant Su Qingli. After a few seconds, in a rare impulse, he decided to put his understanding into words.

"Your dance is not bad," he began, his voice monotone and deep, surprising her slightly. "I do not know the technique you use, but just by watching you, I can understand its intent. You create a vortex of movements, like flower petals unfolding, to confuse the opponent and conceal the final strike. Each turn is a possibility, a potential threat."

He paused, and his gaze sharpened.

"The problem is that you get lost in those petals. Your intent is divided among all of them. I don’t see the movements; I see the single path they are all trying to conceal. The straight line toward the center of the flower."

As the confusion on Su Qingli’s face did not lessen but instead deepened, Wei Han suppressed a sigh.

"Watch," he said simply.

He stepped forward and, with deliberate slowness, extended two fingers. There was no radiant energy, no overwhelming sword intent—just a simple, direct movement. And yet, to Su Qingli, it felt as though the world had slowed down.

She saw Wei Han’s fingers pass through the “possibilities” of an attack she had not even initiated, following a perfect trajectory that would end exactly at her throat.

It was a movement that ignored any defense or feint she could have imagined; in Wei’s hands, it seemed like the embodiment of efficiency.

Wei withdrew his hand, and the world returned to its normal speed.

Su Qingli stared at him, blinking slowly. Her head tilted slightly to one side, like a puppy trying to understand a strange sound. The demonstration had been so clear… and yet completely incomprehensible. The expression on her face was one of absolute bewilderment.

Seeing her look of pure confusion, Wei Han felt a familiar twinge—the prelude to a headache that only Su Qingli seemed capable of causing. This time, the sigh that escaped his lips was audible, heavy with resignation.

"I’ve explained it to you in different ways many times," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if to push away the irritation. "Why is it so hard for you to understand?"

At the reproach in his voice, Su Qingli’s cheeks flushed a deep red.

Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her fingers nervously played with the hem of her skirt, twisting the fabric. Her right foot traced a small circle in the dirt, as if trying to hide from the conversation.

"It’s just… what you say is too abstract, Senior Brother Wei," she complained in a barely audible murmur, puffing her cheeks again. "It feels like I’m listening to my grandfather giving one of his long lectures about the nature of the Sword Dao. It’s just a bunch of words I don’t understand!"

Seeing the girl’s genuine embarrassment, Wei Han decided to drop the lesson. The path of the sword could not be forced through words.

"Why did you actually come?" he asked, his tone returning to neutral, changing the subject entirely.

At the question, Su Qingli gave a small start, as if a light had suddenly gone on in her head.

"Ah, right!" she exclaimed, her previous gloom replaced by a bright, excited smile. "My grandfather told me to find you! He said you’re going to accompany me on a practice mission. We’re going together!"

Wei raised an eyebrow, a nearly imperceptible gesture.

What is the Supreme Elder thinking? Sending his precious and only granddaughter on a mission like that? the idea was, at the very least, illogical.

However, as quickly as it came, the thought was discarded. He cleared his mind of judgment, and his expression returned to a mask of indifference.

Su Qingli, completely unaware of his fleeting internal deliberation, continued enthusiastically.

"My grandfather said we have to meet tomorrow in the west courtyard, near the core disciples’ residences. We’ll prepare there and then go with the group through the sect’s teleportation formation."

With all the information delivered, the young woman’s excitement seemed ready to overflow. She waved both hands in an energetic farewell.

"See you tomorrow, Senior Brother Wei! I can’t wait for the adventure!"

With that, she turned around and skipped down the path, her high ponytail bouncing with each lively step.

Wei Han watched her in silence until her figure disappeared around the bend. When he was finally alone, he turned to enter his residence. However, just as he was about to cross the threshold, his gaze met someone else’s.

A young man with unusual silver hair and amber eyes stood in front of the adjacent residence, a large black obsidian sword resting on his back. They stared at each other for several seconds, a dense silence hanging between them.

Finally, a faint, amused—almost mocking—smile formed on the silver-haired youth’s lips. Without saying a word, he turned and entered his own residence.

Without giving it further thought, Wei Han resumed his movement and stepped through the gate into his own desolate courtyard.