On No-Sword Peak, there was one man and two women.
It was a scene of blissful harmony.
In the mountains, jade-green trees draped in white swayed like dancing figures. Snowy paths wound through the quiet, winter waters lay still and clear, and the sounds of chirping birds and scurrying rabbits were ever-present.
If someone passed by this place, they might hear faint, indistinct whispers:
"Raise your hand a bit higher."
"Like this?"
"This isn't a good stabbing posture..."
Dan Wuque held her arm high, her body ramrod straight. Her small, fair hand tightly gripped the wooden stick, maintaining a forward-thrusting posture.
But because the movement was too awkward, glistening beads of sweat could be seen on her delicate forehead, trickling down her cheeks and dampening her small suit.
Su Bei gently furrowed his brows. He corrected Dan Wuque's movements according to his memory of the posture of the woman who had once bellowed, "Is this even considered a challenge?"
