I Was Reincarnated As A Sword Spirit

The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson. A faint mist curled through the trees, and the quiet hum of nature filled the air.

Qing'er stood at the edge of a secluded training ground, her white hair flowing behind her like a river of silk. Before her stood Yao Yan, arms crossed, golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the sword—his sword.

"Again," Yao Yan commanded.

Qing'er bit her lip, raising the blade. She stepped forward, focusing all her strength into the swing. The blade cut through the air—swift, precise—yet the moment it struck the wooden training post, it barely left a mark.

Yao Yan sighed.

"Sloppy," he muttered. "Your form is stiff. Your footwork is unsteady. And worst of all—" He flicked her forehead with a single finger.

Qing'er winced, stumbling back.

"—you hesitate."

She glared at him. "Maybe because I've only trained with a sword for a few years? Not everyone is a former Emperor, you know!"

Yao Yan smirked. "Excuses."

"Excuse—!" Qing'er took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

He was annoying. Infuriating. But… he wasn't wrong.

Ever since she had received the sword, she had been training hard, but she still wasn't strong enough to truly fight. Her swordplay was adequate against weaker opponents, but against true cultivators? She would be crushed.

And she knew it.

Yao Yan's expression softened slightly.

"You have potential," he admitted. "But talent alone won't save you. Cultivation is a path of endless struggle. Power comes only to those who seize it."

Qing'er tightened her grip on the sword. She understood that.

She had always dreamed of becoming stronger, of carving her own path in the world. And now… she had an opportunity that no one else did.

She took a deep breath.

"Then teach me."

Yao Yan raised an eyebrow.

"You want my guidance?"

Qing'er met his gaze, determination burning in her violet eyes. "You said I'm your master. Then as my sword spirit, help me become stronger."

For a moment, Yao Yan said nothing. Then—he grinned.

"Good," he said. "Then prepare yourself."

Without warning, he stepped forward—and attacked.

Qing'er barely had time to react. The next thing she knew, his fingers were pressing against her wrist, shifting her grip.

"Too tight," he murmured. "A sword is an extension of your body. If you hold it like a hammer, you'll only slow yourself down."

She adjusted her grip, but before she could process it, Yao Yan's hand was at her back, pushing her forward.

Her footwork faltered.

"Balance," he said. "If you fall before your enemy even attacks, you're already dead."

Qing'er clenched her jaw, trying to regain her footing.

Then—Yao Yan vanished.

Her eyes widened. "Wha—"

A voice whispered behind her.

"Too slow."

She spun around, slashing instinctively, but he was already gone.

A sharp flick against her forehead made her stumble.

"Ow!" She clutched her head, glaring at him. "Was that really necessary?!"

Yao Yan smirked. "Yes."

Qing'er groaned. "I hate you."

"Good," he said cheerfully. "That means the training is working."

She took a deep breath, pushing down her frustration. He was right—every move he made, every correction, it was all meant to sharpen her skills. And if she wanted to be strong… she had to endure it.

She straightened, gripping her sword.

"Again," she said.

Yao Yan's golden eyes gleamed with approval.

This time, she wouldn't fall so easily.