Little Pink Starfish

The man opposite Hua Rongyue was clearly a traditional swordsman. Though he wasn’t dressed in the signature white of Ximen Chuixue or Ye Gucheng—in fact, he looked a bit ragged—his temperament was undoubtedly cut from the same cloth.

In contrast, Hua Rongyue seemed rather unorthodox. While she was well-dressed and presentable, nothing about her appearance suggested she was a martial artist. At the moment, she didn’t even exude the slightest hint of murderous aura. With soft, watery eyes and that face of “his,” she looked more like a love-struck young nobleman than a warrior.

Yi Linglong always treated killing as a performance. She would dress in what she believed to be her most beautiful clothes, apply what she deemed the most beautiful makeup, and strike what she thought were the most beautiful poses.

Yet, to others, her appearance was just unsettling—almost horrific. Paired with her flamboyant way of drawing her blade, it came off as nothing but theatrical excess.

At least, that was what Hua Rongyue had always believed—until today.

Now she realized she had been wrong.

No matter how bizarre Yi Linglong’s tastes were, her aesthetic for martial arts was undeniably refined—so much so that it challenged even Hua Rongyue’s own sense of taste.

Yi Linglong never needed anyone’s help in martial arts. Nor did she need anyone’s approval.

Unlike swords, which were the weapons of gentlemen, knives required reckless aggression and an air of dominance to be wielded effectively.

And this type of weapon… suited Yi Linglong perfectly.

Even Yan Sheng and Li Zixin were witnessing this type of scene for the first time. Usually, martial artists would face off with enough killing intent to turn the air into blades. No one had ever seen someone fight the way Hua Rongyue was doing now.

She ignored everything around her, wholly absorbed in her own “performance.” And the more she did so, the harder it was for others to look away.

The “theatricality” Jiang Lianhuan once praised was fully on display. It seemed subtle, yet it quietly exerted an undeniable influence on those who watched.

Hua Rongyue stood behind the swordsman. She had moved so quickly that even the spectators couldn’t see her clearly. The swordsman, outwardly calm as still water, showed no visible reaction—even though Hua Rongyue had seized the initiative, he didn’t seem alarmed at all. That in itself was impressive.

If Hua Rongyue were still in the mood to joke, she might’ve complimented this swordsman in front of her. After all, she was no longer just transmigrated Hua Rongyue—she now carried the presence of Yi Linglong, once the undisputed terror of the Jianghu.

Back then, if anyone dared to draw a sword before Yi Linglong and lived to tell the tale, they could boast about it for ten lifetimes. Their children and grandchildren could carry on the story, and maybe even a hundred years later, people would still remember the name.

—The invincible Yi Linglong.

So as Hua Rongyue looked at the swordsman, a dazed realization struck her—he truly was unafraid, like a calf staring down a tiger.

…Because she could clearly feel that her “roommate” was eyeing him like one would a foolish child.

Having had some pressure lifted thanks to the swordsman’s presence, Hua Rongyue quietly drew an imaginary cross over him in her mind.

But when Hua Rongyue made her first move, a flicker of emotion finally broke through in the swordsman’s eyes. At that moment, he showed a glimmer of youthful vulnerability.

Hua Rongyue’s strike was light—almost effortless.

She felt her blade slice through the air with ease. She had never felt such grace in her movements before. The Wushang blade’s famed lightness and sharpness was fully realized in that instant.

Though Yi Linglong was drawn to the swordsman’s aura, she had clearly held back. Because if she hadn’t, the swordsman would likely be dead already.

What she intended now was merely to “teach him a lesson.”

Even Yan Sheng, watching from the side, was taken aback—because he noticed the swordsman was… nervous. That was a first. Until now, Yan Sheng had believed this man to be unshakable.

Just as no one ever imagined Ximen Chuixue could feel fear, Yan Sheng had assumed the same about this swordsman. And now, he was actually nervous before Hua Rongyue, who carried not a single thread of killing aura? What exactly had transpired between the two of them?

In truth, the swordsman felt an unbearable sense of suffocation. Hua Rongyue stood calmly before him, without even assuming a standard guard posture. In fact, she looked like she was just casually posing—yet he could find no opening at all.

It was like being wrapped in cotton, suffocated by her sheer presence. Her aura consumed the space around him, pressing his existence into something almost intangible.

But… why hadn’t he felt this earlier?

If someone from Yi Linglong’s era had witnessed this scene, they would’ve likely cheered for the swordsman. After all, before Yi Linglong rose to the top of Tianyi Tower, there had never been another killer like her—no one who inspired a tradition of simply turning and fleeing at the mere sight of her.

At one point, Hua Rongyue even turned her eyes and met the swordsman’s gaze. Her phoenix-shaped eyes shimmered with an intensity rarely seen. His, meanwhile, reflected a kind of complicated calm.

Both landed at the same time. Hua Rongyue was completely unharmed. A faint line of blood had appeared on the swordsman’s neck.

It was barely noticeable—no more than a hair’s width—and invisible unless closely examined. But it was at the most fatal location. Had the strike been even slightly deeper, his blood would have spurted like a geyser.

It was the exact same spot where Hua Rongyue had previously wounded others. The only difference was in depth.

Excluding Yi Linglong, and counting only Hua Rongyue herself, this was the seventh person she had struck this way.

The onlookers didn’t even notice what had happened at first, so they were baffled by the swordsman’s stunned expression. Only when they realized did they gasp. Hua Rongyue’s expression had been so casual that it almost made them doubt whether anything had happened at all.

Her blade hadn’t drawn a single drop of blood. The swordsman, though lightly wounded, stood completely frozen—like he’d been immobilized. A drop of blood oozed from the shallow wound with each breath.

Hua Rongyue looked like a dancer who had just finished her final performance. She sheathed her blade with elegance and glanced back with those red-tinted eyes.

“I won’t kill you. You have a good sword.”

Her tone was that of a senior commenting on a junior’s progress.

If Hua Rongyue were to describe it herself, she’d probably say it had a touch of veiled sarcasm.

…Because, frankly, the swordsman looked older than her.

He continued to stand still, stunned, while Yan Sheng—who had barely dared to breathe—finally exhaled. Internally, he was deeply impressed by Hua Rongyue’s strike. It was far more precise than he had imagined.

This was an esteemed guest—he couldn’t be truly harmed. But if they didn’t suppress his arrogance, he wouldn’t let the matter go. Yan Sheng knew his small establishment couldn’t contain such a giant figure.

Yet Hua Rongyue had subdued him with a single strike—powerful, yet gentle. Yan Sheng had feared she might go too far and cause lasting damage, which neither of them could afford.

But this outcome was near-perfect. And her portrayal of Yi Linglong was utterly dazzling.

To be honest, Yan Sheng thought that even if the real Yi Linglong—wherever she was, dead or alive—appeared today, she might not be as impressive as Hua Rongyue had been.

It felt like Hua Rongyue had truly breathed life into Yi Linglong.

Whether this was her own strength or something she had awakened while playing Yi Linglong, Yan Sheng wasn’t sure.

He had always felt that the Six Doors had gotten extremely lucky in recruiting Hua Rongyue. Today only confirmed that belief. Not only had she embodied Yi Linglong flawlessly, but she had also done it with such care and attention.

She often understood his intentions without him even needing to speak, and her adaptability was outstanding. Despite her slightly reserved appearance, Hua Rongyue was far more flexible than most people.

Such intelligence and diligence were rare treasures.

“You win,” the swordsman finally said, after panting for a while. He realized how precise that cut to his neck had been. Killing someone was a skill—but not killing someone was an even more refined one. That blade stroke, hair-thin and perfectly placed in the brief instant they crossed, required immense control and absolute confidence. No ordinary person would dare attempt it.

Hua Rongyue turned away. She realized her heart had calmed—perhaps thanks to the swordsman drawing her roommate’s attention away. She even felt the red tint in her vision begin to fade, which lifted her mood.

After all, without this swordsman, Wu Ci’s provocation alone might have been enough to drive Yi Linglong mad for half a day.

So Hua Rongyue gave the swordsman a gentle smile.

With her red eyes, that rare smile was like a fleeting breeze in the midst of spring—a brief, beautiful moment.