“Naturally, I couldn’t tell you of my prowess in our temple’s arts all this time. But our temple has quite a diverse types of arts and focuses. Much more than other Paths to power. I’m sure you can recall Arhat Disciple Xue Bing Lie’s ice. His mastery lies best in overwhelming groups. He blankets the battlefield with frost, slowing the movements of many, and creating an arena where his allies can dominate with a multitude of different techniques all complimenting each other.”

  Dejiu’s pulse quickened as the air around him grew sharper, colder. Frost crept outward from Jiansu’s feet, delicate and ominous.

  “But, I am not like him. Nor the other Senior Monks—Ah, I guess Warrior Monks because of that demotion.” Jiansu continued his tone deepening, “Cold Rend, a striker technique. The only technique I learned belonging to our Path.”

  Huh? Teacher only knows one technique?

  Dejiu looked at Jiansu with wide eyes, his disbelief palpable. “So you mean to tell me that this was the only technique you ever mastered? At your stage? How old were you again, Teache—”

  KRCK–KRCKK

  Jiansu tapped his ice-laden foot onto the snow. Scary. Sensitive about his age? Yeesh.

  Jiansu smiled faintly, his expression somewhere between nostalgia and self-deprecation. “Yes, Little Dejiu. It is the only technique I’ve ever tried to learn. Not master. I haven’t reached the end with this technique.”

  “I stumbled upon this one in my youth. Back then, I learned enough to get by in my generation, but I happened to advance quite quickly into the Earthly Stage. I didn’t have to undergo a special body reformation or anything, and I was content with that.”

  Body formation? Dejiu wondered. Damn it, Jiansu’s speaking too fast, using too many terms he didn’t know!

  “You undergo a body reformation at the end of the Advanced Stage. Ignore it for now, I’m slightly intrigued by this old man’s story.” Bing Xin snapped.

  “If you’re permitted to choose a technique manual inside the inner sanctum’s library, you will find techniques befitting each stage. Upon my rise to the Earthly Stage, I managed an exemplary deed and was allowed onto the third floor that obviously held techniques for my stage. I found this old striker technique manual stowed away on the back shelf. Ha! I remember that day well — the exalted keeper of our library even questioned my choice. Few in our temple’s history chose to learn it. Even fewer continued to learn it.”

  Bing Xin laughed. Dejiu felt his insides stir and her graceful shadowy form manifested to oversee the teacher and student. In his peripheral, he spotted Bing Xin lying weightlessly on the snow like the phantasmal daimon she is.

  “It’s tediously difficult. Painful. It demands relentless commitment.”

  Bing Xin began to roar in laughter for a reason Dejiu didn’t know.

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  “Now,” Jiansu said. He stepped forward, his feet crunched against the frozen ground as the frost spread like a web, “try defending this fist.”

  Dejiu had no time to think, only react. He moved instinctively, raising his arms in a tight guard. The frigid air around Jiansu’s fist sent chills down his spine, but he braced himself. However, as Jiansu closed in, everything seemed to shift.

  The cold struck first, an unseen force that made Dejiu’s muscles lock up. His arms refused to rise fast enough, his movements delayed by an instant too long. No, not just my body, Dejiu realized, panic mounting. My thoughts are slowing.

  Jiansu’s fist bypassed his attempted guard, grazing Dejiu’s shoulder with what should have been a light tap. Yet the moment it touched him, it felt like a shard of ice embedding itself in his skin, spreading frost deep into his muscles. His entire arm went numb.

  “Kreuek!”

  Dejiu stumbled back and clutched his arm as the chill spread. His teeth chattered, and he could feel the frost not just in his body, but in his mind, dulling his senses. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if every thought he tried to form was caught in a thick layer of ice, struggling to break free but unable to move. His senses dulled, his reactions growing sluggish.

  Jiansu lowered his hands and the frost-like aura receded back. “Yes, the frost spreading at its touch is what you would expect from any ice cultivator. But the mind, Dejiu. That is what’s special about this technique. It affects all. Daimons and cultivators alike. My ice does not scatter—it strikes with purpose. Eventually, this focused frost may freeze the soul itself, silencing all resistance.”

  “That is a good technique. Ah, so funny.” Bing Xin laughed again as Dejiu waited for the striker technique’s effects to wear off.

  And why is it funny? He grumpily thought.

  “Because it’s reminiscent of your Withering Palm. A tad less insidious and potent, but a cruel technique all the same. Ha! To think such a thing was made from your temple little monk.”

  Ah, she’s right. Was it a coincidence? Regardless, this could be a good thing! He could just say he altered his Teacher’s technique according to his prana! Taking inspiration or something — he could say he’s a genius!

  Dejiu smiled to himself. He was a little excited because he was thinking earlier about how he could explain his techniques like Wilted Stem and Withering Palm if he was to reveal them early. But now this opportunity fell into his lap. Ha! His teacher’s the best!

  He met Jiansu’s face again, who stood almost ten paces from him.

  “Thawed yet?” Jiansu asked.

  Dejiu nodded.

  “Good. Now, let's have a quick spar. You don’t have to hold back. Ah, I won’t use this striker technique, it’ll be too much for you.” Jiansu nonchalantly said.

  Did it hurt Dejiu’s ego? A little. At least it was his teacher though.

  Dejiu dashed ahead. Wilted Stem was in full bloom. The temporary explosive burst of strength coupled with the extremely slow increase of his base strength was extraordinary in his opinion.

  He wanted to show his teacher what he was capable of! Except maybe Withering Palm. Perhaps that’s a little too revealing of his uh, not-so-monk-like prana. Although Dejiu did say repeatedly that intent was most indicative of his virtue, come on! Death, blood, and hell element prana?!

  Jiansu returned nimble parries at a distance, never countering him. Dejiu didn’t mind and continued the flurry of blows. The air seemed to crack with each blow as he closed the gap between them.

  “Too direct,” Jiansu remarked casually. “It’ll work against weaker and lower-stage daimons, but what if you face more intelligent ones?”

  Dejiu pivoted and swung a low kick toward Jiansu’s legs, aiming to sweep him off balance. But the kick was intercepted with almost disdainful ease—Jiansu’s foot met his, halting the attack mid-motion. The impact reverberated painfully up Dejiu’s shin. “Gah!” He groaned after he rubbed his leg with a frown.

  “Too predictable.”

  Dejiu exhaled an icy breath and dashed forward again. Feinting with his left and only hand before twisting to unleash a devastating elbow strike with his right. For a split second, he thought he might have caught his teacher off guard. Ah, if Bing Xin wasn’t laughing, she’d be calling him a fool.

  Jiansu’s hand was already there, blocking the blow as though he’d read Dejiu’s mind. “Better,” Jiansu said, a flicker of approval in his tone.

  Then, before Dejiu could react, Jiansu retaliated. His open palm struck Dejiu’s chest—not hard enough to harm him, but enough to send him sliding backward several paces, his feet digging into the snow to keep from falling.

  “Again,” he spat out phlegm… and maybe a little blood.

  “A monk mustn't be so uncouth.” Jiansu chided with a frown.