Yuwen Ci gritted his teeth, fury barely contained, and turned his blade on the attendant.
Clang
A single iron chopstick shot forward, intercepting Frostcleave's deadly arc. A faint mark bloomed on the otherwise flawless blade.
Yuwen Ci spun around. There stood Sun Xuechen, holding the chopstick like a sword, calm and unshaken, as if daring gods and demons alike. Light danced across the chopstick's surface as energy surged through it, sword aura radiating in every direction. The wind howled, whipping Sun's robes like sails in a storm.
Only as he raised Frostcleave to block did Yuwen Ci realize it was that move. Sun Xuechen's signature strike.
A mere span of metal against three feet of cold steel. Four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds.
A so-called divine weapon... was nothing more than desire wrapped in steel. Born of obsession, ruined by obsession.
Only when one lets go of victory, defeat, and pride can one wield the sword with no regrets.
"With that bloodthirsty heart of yours," Sun Xuechen said coldly, "you think you deserve to wield Frostcleave?"
The iron chopstick now moved like an extension of his will his strikes bold and fluid, free of doubt or restraint.
To the one who holds a sword in their heart, anything can become a blade.
The attendant watched, spellbound. He would go on to tell this story a thousand times over in his lifetime.
Moonlight climbed the windowsill. The dust had settled. In one final strike, the chopstick drove straight at Yuwen Ci's wrist. Frostcleave slipped from his grasp, falling into the earth along with the drops of ice.