In a blink of an eye, just as the sleeve sword was about to impale Ye Beizhi’s face, a white ribbon unfurled in midair.0

Ding—0

A crisp chime sounded.0

The sleeve sword was knocked aside, its tip still trembling. The stranger in front of the bed took a step back, easing the recoil from their strike being deflected. When they looked up again, they noticed that Ye Beizhi was no longer lying in bed. In that moment, he had somehow shifted into a cross-legged sitting position, the bloodstained, military-issue blade now resting across his knees.0

Ye Beizhi lowered his head, his gaze fixed on his blade, his impassive expression betrayed no joy or sorrow.0

Wordlessly, the stranger shifted their numb wrist and thrust their sword straight at Ye Beizhi's heart.0

In an instant, Ye Beizhi pressed off the bed as he leapt up, causing the sleeve sword to miss its mark yet again. In a smooth...0