When Gu Xiao answered, a few nearby trainees drifted over to listen. “Disgraceful,” they muttered about the supposed demoness. “But even if she was, she’s had no happy ending. Qiwu Jun shut himself away on the wedding night and never entered the bridal chamber. That woman will probably be left to an empty life…”

　　“Mind your manners while eating!” At that moment Yun Bumei appeared in the dining hall — no one quite noticed when she had arrived — and the chatter died. Everyone retreated to their seats. Yun Bumei was the sole disciple under Qingshan Jun — the only formal disciple among the succession of followers — and carried her teacher’s stern demeanor. She was solemn and forbidding, not a woman to joke with.

　　Rumors fly fast; one version grows into ten and a hundred after a single retelling. No one could agree on who the “demoness” really was or what she looked like. People spun fantasies: seductress, hideous crone, demon spy — anything to fill the void of facts. The consistent theme remained the same: this woman was unscrupulous, shameless, stealing a respected man’s honor. Qiwu Jun’s bride thus became public enemy number one, and meanwhile Qiwu Jun himself turned into the subject of endless gossip.

　　Fuyi had returned because the gossip had reached him. As the youngest disciple who still held the elders’ favor, he was used to doing as he pleased. Seeing the mountain’s honor besmirched by a supposed woman’s plotting, he was determined to confront her. He raced to Lone Egret Peak, found the little white crane, and coerced him to lead the way. Landing on Qingxue Peak, he strode into the crowd of novices and found Ruoshui under a tree.

　　Gu Xiao had just finished sparring and sat down across from Ruoshui. The crowd buzzed as Fuyi singled out the supposed culprit. Fuyi was ready to humiliate — he assumed the woman in red must have been guilty.

　　Ruoshui rose and handed a towel to Gu Xiao. Fuyi approached, his smile ill-intentioned.

　　Gu Xiao had been stunned and nearly defeated, but she’d gained the respect of many onlookers. Fuyi’s challenge came from arrogance, not logic. Yet the field quieted as they prepared.

　　Fuyi brandished a peachwood sword and pressed forward. His strikes were deliberate, each full of lethal intent. Gu Xiao moved to parry, but she was increasingly outmatched. His palm shoved her back, and then the sword rushed in as if to end her. At the last moment, Ruoshui stepped between them.

　　Fuyi had no intention of killing, but he wanted to show his displeasure. “That’s about it?” he sneered.

　　“Cultivation refines character; sparring is for mutual gain. Why choose lethal strikes?” Ruoshui demanded, but Fuyi only replied ice-cold that “she deserved it.”

　　Gu Xiao looked at Ruoshui with a puzzled expression — she hadn’t offended anyone intentionally. She only admitted, “My skill falls short.”