"Absolutely not, focus on your own Dao hearts rather than immitating him!" Sect Leader Bai said with a strict voice, not letting the junior disciples derail.
Lin Ji’an and Jiu Zui were two unique, yet strong lunatics, enough to keep his hands full. If there were some more lunatics were to emerge from the sect... just imagining it made him get chills down his spine!
The Crimson Blade try-hard flushed a brilliant, humiliated purple, his sword wobbling slightly under his feet as he realized he had just been utterly, comprehensively out-flexed by a guy sitting on a giant piece of dried grass.
Elder Viper let out a low, raspy, hissing chuckle.
"Interesting," the Azure Dragon Elder murmured, his yellow eyes glinting with genuine approval. He tapped his staff, his emerald serpent hissing in agreement. "A highly efficient utilization of kinetic displacement. The Squad Leader possesses... priorities. Now then, follow me, disciples. The eastern winds await."
Elder Viper shot forward, a streak of pale green light tearing through the sky.
The rest of the Vanguard Retinue scrambled to follow.
***
Three hours into the flight, the geographic reality of the Azure Empire’s eastern basin made itself apparent.
They had left the cool, crisp, high-altitude peaks of the Celestial Sword Sect behind. They were currently flying over the sprawling, arid expanse of the Scorched Plateaus, the transitional zone before the miasma valleys.
There were no clouds. The mid-day sun beat down upon the flying cultivators with the ruthless, unblinking intensity of an open furnace.
The ambient temperature was hovering around a hundred and ten degrees, exacerbated by the frictionless friction of flying at three hundred miles per hour.
Sword Flight was a majestic art, but it was fundamentally flawed in terms of passenger comfort.
To stand on a narrow blade of steel, a cultivator had to continuously channel Qi into their legs to maintain magnetic adherence to the metal. They had to maintain a rigid, aerodynamic posture to cut through the wind resistance.
They could not deploy large, cooling atmospheric shields without severely draining their flight endurance.
The male prodigies were suffering.
Lu Jianheng’s aristocratic face was flushed a brilliant, unhealthy red, sweat pouring down his forehead, stinging his eyes. His pristine blue robes were plastered to his back.
He refused to wipe his brow, stubbornly maintaining his rigid, hands-behind-the-back peerless genius pose, even though he looked like he was slowly boiling alive.
The Crimson Blade try-hards were panting heavily, their faces sunburned, their leg muscles screaming in agony from the prolonged, static stance.
Even Gu Zhiwei was sweating, his golden holy light dimming slightly in the overwhelming, oppressive heat, occasionally shifting his weight from foot to foot on his broadsword to relieve the cramping.
And then, there was Lin Ji’an.
Ji’an was experiencing the exact opposite of suffering.
Because her massive, twelve-foot palm-leaf fan generated a tremendous amount of drag, she had simply infused the edges with a frictionless Qi-coating, allowing it to slice through the air while maintaining a stable surface area.
The woven nature of the palm fronds actively caught the high-altitude winds, funneling a constant, refreshing, circulating breeze directly over her lounging form.
She was sitting cross-legged in the center of the giant leaf, shaded by a small, conjured parasol made of condensed water vapor.
She had unpacked a small, portable jade cooling box from her spatial ring.
"Zechuan," Ji’an called out lazily, not even opening her eyes.
Shen Zechuan, who was hovering right next to her giant fan on his void-disc, happily drifted closer. He wasn’t sweating, because the abyss didn’t possess a thermal signature, but he was incredibly bored.
"Yes, Uncle Ji’an?" Zechuan asked, leaning over the edge of his disc.
Ji’an reached into her cooling box and pulled out a perfectly chilled, sliced wedge of Frost-Melon, a premium, incredibly juicy spiritual fruit that tasted like sweet cucumber and mint.
She tossed the slice through the air.
Zechuan caught it with both hands, his dark eyes lighting up.
He bit into the freezing, juicy flesh of the melon, letting out a sigh of absolute delight. "This is phenomenal. It is cold and crunchy simultaneously. You are a genius, Ji’an!"
"Eat the rind too, it’s good for your digestion," Ji’an instructed lazily, taking a slice for herself.
She bit into the chilled fruit, the sweet, freezing juice sliding down her throat, counteracting the oppressive heat of the sun. She let out a contented sigh, popping a peeled grape into her mouth for good measure.
She cracked one eye open, looking at the suffering disciples flying alongside her.
She saw the Crimson Blade try-hard who had mocked her earlier. The guy was practically vibrating with muscle fatigue, his face a blistering shade of tomato-red, his lips cracked and dry.
He was staring at the chilled Frost-Melon in Ji’an’s hand with a look of such absolute, desperate, starving envy that it looked painful.
Ji’an chewed her melon slowly. She locked eyes with the sweating, agonizingly uncomfortable swordsman.
She didn’t offer him a slice.
She simply raised an eyebrow, took another loud, incredibly crisp, juicy bite of the freezing fruit, and offered him a slow, toxic, arrogant smirk.
The try-hard let out a small, broken whimper of defeat, looking away, deeply regretting every single life choice that had led him to mock the cook’s aerodynamics.
"Your capacity for petty vengeance is truly boundless, Martial Uncle," a raspy, hissing voice noted from her left flank.
Ji’an turned her head.
Elder Viper, the Azure Dragon guide, had matched his flight speed to hover his glowing green staff right next to her luxury palm-leaf yacht. The old man was looking at her picnic setup with a mixture of professional skepticism and grudging respect.
"It’s not petty vengeance, Elder," Ji’an replied smoothly, sitting up slightly and wiping the melon juice from her chin. "It’s a tactical demonstration of resource management. They prioritize aesthetics over endurance, burning their reserves to look intimidating, while I conserve my core and maintain my hydration. If we are ambushed right now, half of them will cramp up before they can draw their blades."