Ji Yunzhi didn't respond.
He simply stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back, boots landing quietly on the smooth stone.
The courtyard within the Drifting Sword Sect was tranquil yet cold. Stone pines lined the edges. A shallow stream ran beneath a white arch bridge nearby, while sword-shaped mountain peaks in the distance looked like they had been painted with ink and intention.
Peaceful, beautiful, slightly too neat.
Then the wind came.
A sudden gust whipped through the space with a low whistle, dragging a few dry leaves from the nearby trees.
Ji Yunzhi looked up, a slight tilt to his head.
Leaves again?
But more followed.
And more.
Each second added more to the swarm, as if every single plant in the sect had suddenly decided to donate a leaf.
The two disciples moved to the side.
The leaves circled, spun faster, condensed into a growing mass before Ji Yunzhi.
Then with a soft sound like silk being ripped, the spiral burst inward, collapsing.
