The glacial sword intent slammed into Lin Tian like a physical wall.
He braced his feet against the ice, the new jian humming in his hand. The illusion of Feng Jian didn't wait. It moved, a blur of blue light, and its sword came down in a perfect, murderous arc.
Lin Tian didn't try to block it head-on. He adapted. He let his knees buckle, dropping him into a slide across the slick bridge.
The phantom blade whistled over his head, so close he felt the cold sear his scalp. He used the momentum of the slide, twisting, and thrust his jian upward at the illusion's exposed side.
The illusion flickered, reforming a pace away. Its expressionless face showed no surprise, only deeper cold.
"Tricks," it hissed. "The sword's path is straight."
"My path is alive," Lin Tian shot back, pushing himself to his feet.
