Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

Two figures stood amidst a sea of pure white clouds.

A gaunt old swordsman and a towering young woman faced each other, both stepping across the air as if walking on clouds.

One was Han, the other Yao.

The Yao woman’s face was rugged—like the worn grip of a weapon battered by endless battle. But her ash-gray skin brimmed with vitality.

Unlike the old swordsman, her face had firmness and life. There wasn’t even a hint of decline in her skills.

The old swordsman spoke.

“Tiring... You’re far too young.”

Too young.

A way of saying she was far too vigorous for her apparent age.

Even the polearm in her hand spoke of that. A massive crescent moon blade with a long shaft dyed in brilliant red, at the end of which sat an unusually large ferrule that scattered sunlight like a prism.

A weapon forged in a style that blended the brute force emphasis of northern smithing with the elegant casting of Ming artisanship.

Utterly dazzling.