Su Rou moved. Her embroidered leather boots kicked up two plumes of white sand as she crossed the distance in half a heartbeat, her silver sword leaving three distinct trails of frost in the mountain air.
"Die with your arrogance, stable boy!" Su Rou hissed, her voice dropping the sweet pretense as she drove her blade directly toward his throat.
He thinks he can mock me, she thought, her eyes flashing with venomous certainty. I spent three years absorbing the highest spirit elixirs from the master vaults. My Frost Lotus Sword has pierced the armor of senior disciples on Ironwood Street. A beggar in rags cannot track an inner ring sword form.
Ye Chen did not raise his arms. He simply shifted his left heel two inches back into the grit, letting the razor tip of the frost blade glide past
