Pelting snow sliced the frigid air at the peaks of Snow Valley. Its twin summits appeared gzed with ice, and the bare minimum of shrubbery stuck out like stubbles amidst the whitescape. Below, a river churned, chunks of jagged ice overtaking the brittle branches and dragging them deep under.

  Amidst the blizzard, a yellow sunbrel twinkled. It cut through the snow and revealed a man, who nded on one of Snow Valley’s peaks and staggered back, leaving light footprints.

  The man wore fine, créme-coloured garments, overpping yers of wheat and white wrapping around his body as they fluttered in the storm. His long, buttermilk hair fred, revealing a carved citrine earring hooked onto his right ear. His eyes, one hazelnut brown and the other silvery blue, shook as he set his gaze on the opposite peak.

  “Demon Lord Yuan Xia!”

  Standing tall with a rueful expression, the opponent on the other side of Snow Valley raised his silver longsword and shouted the man’s name.

  Contrary to Yuan Xia’s fitting outfit of créme, this man wore wide, billowing robes in a deep shade of indigo. His outermost yer, made of silk-like brocade, carried embellishments of gold—clusters of osmanthus that traced down his hem and brushed against the snow. His deep blue hair, fastened in a low-bun at the back of his head, appeared neat and unfrazzled. A blue bell hairpiece chimed at the tip of his chignon.

  A pure and upright talent.

  “Righteous Leader Hua ChunMing.” Yuan Xia answered, his voice legato like a nightingale’s song.

  The two stared at each other.

  A moment passed, and the howling wind fell still.

  Then, a smile lifted Yuan Xia’s face.

  Hua ChunMing frowned at the sight, but the corners of his lips tugged upwards in a desperate attempt to resist. But when Yuan Xia curved his eyes, they couldn’t help but raise, flipping his downturned expression into something like a grimace.

  “Who brings an umbrel to a sword fight?” With a low chuckle, Hua ChunMing turned his face away. He raised a hand to his lips, covering his mouth.

  He looked like he was about to cry.

  Only Yuan Xia, situated closest to the man, could see droplets beading at the tips of his shes. He sighed, certain that if this act carried on any longer, Hua ChunMing would break down in tears.

  For a final headcount, Yuan Xia turned his gaze to the bottom of Snow Valley, where a mass of cultivators pushed against each other in attempts to watch the action from up close. A crowd of over a thousand people gathered: Historians funted their scrolls, artists sketched the scene, and bystanders pced bets on which side they believed would win.

  The number of spectators exceeded Yuan Xia’s expectations, and he turned his attention back to his opponent.

  To his surprise, Hua ChunMing’s face had turned red from holding in the tears.

  A brisk ugh escaped the Demon Lord. As Hua ChunMing looked up, Yuan Xia distracted him by exhibiting his weapon of choice: a wide-brimmed parasol of beige. Easter lilies danced across the folds as Yuan Xia showed off, and the parasol resembled a courting bird for the briefest moment.

  “It’s not just an umbrel. It’s a sun-brel,” he corrected Hua ChunMing’s statement, his ughter falling to a whisper. “And you’ve always been a crybaby.”

  Hua ChunMing gred. Yuan Xia beamed.

  But this time, the smile didn’t st.

  “Hua ChunMing.” With a suppressed yet intimate call, Yuan Xia closed his shaking eyes.

  Realizing the look of acceptance on the other’s face, Hua ChunMing’s gre dimmed. His expression settled, but it now contained traces of guilt and shame.

  “It’s time.”

  With a burst of killing intent, the Demon Lord leapt off his peak. He aimed the ferrule of his sunbrel at the Righteous Leader, who parried with a spin of his heel.

  Where Hua ChunMing should have attacked back, he hesitated, leaving a split-second opening for Yuan Xia to take. Twisting his parasol, Yuan Xia jabbed upwards, stabbing straight at Hua ChunMing’s heart.

  This brought the Righteous Leader back to his senses, and he raised his sword to block the onsught. A faint blue light enveloped the sword, rising up with short strikes of lightning that extended to the shaft of Yuan Xia’s sunbrel. The Demon Lord retreated.

  Below, the congregation of righteous cultivators began to murmur. Many pointed at Hua ChunMing’s sword.

  “Heaven’s Lightning.”

  “I never thought I’d see it in person.”

  “You’re quite popur.” Yuan Xia shook out his parasol, and a hint of incredulity entered his eyes when he saw the scorching lines running down its sides.

  Hua ChunMing didn’t respond. Instead, he struggled to pick a facial expression, alternating between intent determination and conscience-stricken desperation. Following its master, the sword in Hua ChunMing’s hands wavered and retracted its lightning bit by bit, earning a fierce scowl from Yuan Xia.

  The Demon Lord ran at the Righteous Leader, tackling him to the ground. His sword flew out of his hands, impaling into a sheet of ice at the edge of the peak, and brought with it a small avanche.

  “Pick up your sword.” Yuan Xia kneeled, encircling the Righteous Leader’s throat with his slender fingers. He didn’t apply any pressure, but rather threatened to, and instead brought his lips to Hua ChunMing’s ear. “This is what you should have prepared for from the moment you became leader of the Orthodox Sects.”

  Hua ChunMing’s eyes widened.

  A blur of indigo streaked past as Hua ChunMing recimed his sword. When he tugged it out, the earth trembled, threatening to fall apart under his feet. Lumps of ice and snow coalesced, dropping down onto the conglomeration of cultivators below.

  Yuan Xia kicked back as he stood, holding his stomach and feigning injury.

  A wave of distressed voices rose from the crowd.

  And in that split instant, where no one was watching the Demon Lord and Righteous Cultivator’s fight, Yuan Xia grabbed Hua ChunMing’s wrist, pulled the hand holding the sharpsword towards himself, and stabbed the thick bde into his chest. Heavy flecks of blood spttered into the white snow, dyeing patches like crimson flowers.

  Hua ChunMing’s eyes widened in realization. The lightning tracing his sword flickered.

  “Yuan—”

  Before he could react, Yuan Xia covered Hua ChunMing’s mouth with his palm, using his remaining strength to push him away. Staggering to the edge of the high valley, Yuan Xia held a hand to the new wound, and blood trickled from the corner of his lips.

  He inhaled, using the loudest of his voice to shout:

  “Righteous Leader Hua ChunMing! In this life and the next, you will forever be my enemy!”

  A cssic line for a cssic vilin—yet moments passed as he made his proud decration, his mellow voice echoing across the ravine.

  Yuan Xia coughed, then coughed again, regurgitating blood. While unpleasant, Yuan Xia found the pain bearable once he realized he’d reached his end.

  As a final statement, the Demon Lord fshed an evil, bewitching smile at Hua ChunMing. Only his eyes were downcast, refusing to directly meet his opponent’s gaze. Strength fading, Yuan Xia ripped the unassuming citrine earring from his ear and tossed it at Hua ChunMing, where it nded just at his feet.

  One of the cultivators below assumed this earring contained a curse.

  “Demonspawn! How dare you try to curse Righteous Leader Hua with such a crude trick!”

  Voices of hatred gradually rose, and the tranquil snowy mountain shuddered with the roars of the horde.

  The valley began to shake.

  Yuan Xia bnched, as if tossing that earring had torn away half of his life. Tilting his head, he looked up towards the Sun, and his eyes trembled. He looked down, but the crimson blood drenching his yellow attire had become nothing more than foggy splotches of overpping shape and colour.

  No one could understand his trepidation.

  But Hua ChunMing’s fingers twitched, and he reached for the figure standing right before him, dyed in an irreversible red….

  The instant Hua ChungMing hesitated, Yuan Xia made up his mind.

  He forced down the shivers tearing up his spine, gred towards his enemy, then kicked the snow under him, hard. With his st remaining consciousness, Yuan Xia tipped backwards off of the peak.

  With a smile, he let the cold winds and rivers engulf him whole.

  Words unsaid lingered in the heavy air as Hua ChunMing fell to his knees, reaching out for a man who’d already disappeared to the waves below.