Chapter Seventeen: Ineffective?

Little Mountain practiced earnestly several times, but found it had no effect; there was no sign of any energy in his chest, nor any change in his body. His face was clouded with worry as he looked at Windcloud Rest, unable to help but complain.

He glanced around, took Windcloud Rest out of his pocket, inspected it closely, then dashed inside to compare his movements with those shown. They were exactly the same, not a single mistake. Puzzled, he scratched his head and sighed.

This won’t do. I need to ask Lin Mad—could he have been fooling me? But he didn’t seem the type!

"Little Mountain!"

"Hmm?" Lost in thought, Little Mountain was startled when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He turned his head.

It was Ruoxi, who had quietly approached, giving him quite a scare, now smiling gently at him.

Today, Ruoxi wore a tight-fitting outfit clearly meant for training. The athletic clothes made her look very slender, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail, bright and youthful.

"What’s wrong? Weren’t you practicing with your father?" Little Mountain assumed she had some reason for seeking him out.

Ruoxi glanced around, covering her mouth with one hand and whispered, "My father is taking his midday nap. He always sleeps at this hour! Keep your voice down!"

"Martial artists have keen hearing, don’t they? Even from the east wing, he’d hear us," Little Mountain said, surprised.

"Yes, martial artists have excellent physical senses, far beyond ordinary people. I’m one too!" Ruoxi replied, pride shining in her eyes.

"Hey! You walk so quietly—what else can you do?" Little Mountain asked Ruoxi in all seriousness.

"Want to try a match?" Ruoxi tilted her head, a mischievous challenge in her eyes.

"Let’s try!"

After speaking, Little Mountain’s eyes darted, and both stepped back to set their distance.

"You’ve got a sword?" Little Mountain noticed the hilt poking out behind Ruoxi—a blue hilt.

"And you have nothing?"

"Empty hands—I might get hurt," Little Mountain said, worried.

"What weapon do you want to use?" Ruoxi smiled at him, certain he wouldn’t know how to handle any.

"I…" Little Mountain hesitated, his mind blank, unsure of what to choose.

"You don’t know any weapons, and you want to spar with me? You’re dreaming," Ruoxi laughed.

"Then I’ll just use my fists!" Little Mountain replied helplessly, his tone calm.

"Your fists? Can they withstand my sword?"

"We won’t know until we try!" Ruoxi grinned wickedly.

"You’re using a weapon—shouldn’t I have one too? Are there any more swords?" Little Mountain asked, puzzled.

"Yes, there are wooden swords in the training room! Wait here, I’ll fetch one for you!" Ruoxi remembered the wooden swords her father used for sparring.

"A wooden sword? That’ll do," Little Mountain replied offhandedly. He had no real concept of weapons; if he had to choose, at least a sword seemed easy on the eye.

Soon enough, Ruoxi returned, running cheerfully and handed a wooden sword to Little Mountain.

He looked at the wooden sword in his hand, then at the long sword in Ruoxi’s, momentarily stunned.

"You’re going to fight me with a long sword?" Little Mountain finally managed to ask after a long pause.