A lone woman stood, white robes and moon-white skin unstained with blood even as it splattered all around her. Her nine tails, unsullied and pure white, swept on the ground, and her hair, the same colour, rested in a neat braid on her back. Silver-tipped furred ears never twitched. She flitted across the battlefield like she was performing on a stage, never touching the corpses at her feet as she cut down more to join their ranks.

The sound of her spear parries against the soldier's swords resonated in the hollowness of the spacious cave, of which various red ropes hung from. Snow fell deceptively gently outside even as it was trampled by the hordes and hordes of soldiers set on killing her.

If so many of the soldiers were here already, her former sect should arrive soon. She fixated on the entrance to this cave she'd claimed as hers so long ago. Ai Mingxia was ready for them. Her eyes never strayed, even as she nimbly dodged every strike sent at her and returned the blow with ten times the strength.

Throughout the years, the people of Zhidong had many a tale about her. At first, she was the disgraced, useless heiress that couldn't cultivate, a pampered brat only set to sit still and look pretty. Then she became a murderer, an exile, a blight on their country's existence. Perhaps they were right back then. And after that? She cycled through stories easily as clothing. The divine damsel come to save them all, the fallen leader, the bitter vanquished, the haunting spirit, the sullied ghost.

And yet, ever since she had returned to her country, everybody agreed: even if she could not cultivate, she was a terror on the battlefield.

She thrust her spear Hongmei through yet another unskilled general. Using the spear was easy as breathing, and Hongmei had accompanied her for centuries now.  It was one of the most powerful spears in history, honed by hundreds of years of bloodshed by one of the strongest warriors to ever spill on the snow.

To hold it was the last semblance of home Ai Mingxia could find.

Ai Mingxia swung at the next group, movements fluid and unceasing. Duck. Block up. Parry left. Ai Mingxia's style of fighting was often compared to a storm. But she always made sure to be centred, not a hair out of place, not any more power than needed. Impeccable control, no openings to be exploited, no power wasted; she was the eye.

Every one of the soldiers that stood before her, eager to slay White Snow Seeking Scarlet once and for all, crumpled like paper before her. The excitement in their eyes faded to dread as they realised that numbers didn't help, that strategy didn't help, that nothing would ever, ever help.

She was getting ahead of herself. The rope on Hongmei, Yeyang, was untarnished still and dyed even redder over the years. It swayed almost serenely even as the spear it was tied to struck and slashed and parried. Ai Mingxia found it unnecessary to ask for Yeyang nor her knife, Tianhui, yet, but it was nice to know that they were there. Her illusions and foxfire were even less necessary, not to speak of her inner power.

Tianhui, in terms of spiritual power, was the strongest of her three weapons. Many a powerful cultivator's blood had been spilt by it, but that was unimportant. Tianhui had killed gods.

But though Ai Mingxia wielded both the knife and the spear with unimaginable prowess, she felt more at ease with Hongmei. The moves had been drilled into more than her muscles; no, they had been carved into her once driftwood bones.

And to use such a powerful dagger on these poor, weakling soldiers? Ai Mingxia showed no mercy, but she did not wish them to suffer in their last moments. She would not wish such a fate on these soldiers that had simply made one wrong choice. To trust, to believe.

The Ai Sect would never care for them.

Just as she thought that, the regal melody of a flute sounded. Ai Mingxia narrowed her eyes. How pretentious, how prideful, to announce their appearance to their enemy.

The Ai Sect had come at long last. And their long-disowned daughter was ready for her long-awaited bloodbath. She had long sworn that if she was ever going to die, then she was dragging them into her grave with her.

Snow fell outside. Footsteps sounded. The melody kept on playing, choral, ceremonial, completely void of emotion.

And just as Ai Mingxia sensed the rest of the sect were about to enter, she almost smiled. The soldiers had stopped rushing in, due to the appearance of the Ai sect, and there were but a few left.

With a gentle flick of her wrist, she called upon Yeyang. It swiftly untied itself from Hongmei and gave a refined twirl. First, the binding red ropes around Ai Mingxia's body came untied. She almost revelled in the burning sensation that spread over her.

Then the ropes on the walls came crashing down.

No, to call it crashing would be senseless; Yeyang did not crash. Crashing is the word to describe the senseless if powerful charging of a bear, and Yeyang did not do that. The ropes descended in a way that was both harsh and poised, and with a fatal swoop, fleetly killed the rest of the soldiers.

Ai Mingxia tore her gaze away from the entrance for a split second, regarding all the bodies on the ground with a wan gaze. It was a pity. They had all been so full of vitality. Like him. It was a true shame that the Ai Sect had chosen to not come help them until it was truly too late for them.

She swept her gaze back to the entrance just in time to meet her face.

Ai Fengge, clad in her signature bamboo-green robes, eyes deceptively tender, black hair untouched by the sun flowing behind her. Her skin was like porcelain, though red blood still ran underneath. The very picture of elegance and beauty. To any humble outsider, she looked almost like a goddess.

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Ai Mingxia's traitor sister met her gaze with a steely glare, contempt in her gaze.

Look at them now. A well-esteemed eternally-blossoming leader of a powerful sect that had achieved a long life for her skill and prowess. Her disgraced sister that was now the leader of nothing but corpses. Completely unable to cultivate and only alive because of her spirit blood.

Look at them now. A poison-flower leader of a viper den sect that had only won the war because of her exiled sister's efforts. Her sister that had given away her own humanity for her land only to be cast out on it.

Ai Mingxia span Hongmei with one hand and pulled out Tianhui with the other. Yeyang was binding her no more and instead shivered with anticipation in the frigid air. No mercy. This was a grudge that had spanned centuries. And today, it was coming to an end.

Ai Fengge smirked as she tucked the flute into her gaudy green robes, unsheathed her sword and pulled out her fan. The rest of the cultivators behind her chuckled, thinking them safe from Ai Mingxia's wrath. Foolish.

"Hello, dear sister," Ai Mingxia greeted, practised tones of politeness in her silver voice.

And then she struck.

Feet so light on the ground and so fast she could not be seen, the only indicator she had even moved was the frigid ice now left in the wake of her footsteps. By the time Ai Fengge noticed, Tianhui was at her throat.

The rest of the sect yelled in outrage, preparing to rush forward. But before they could make a move, Yeyang, faster than the speed of light, pinned them all to the ground. Ai Mingxia could deal with them later.

Her tails and hair glowed with an otherworldly luminance, and the other cultivators on the ground couldn't help but shiver. If just one of her weapons could hold them all down with ease, then…? But surely Ai Fengge could defeat her: after all, she had saved the lands while Ai Mingxia couldn't. Ai Mingxia was just a sullied spirit, a spiteful reject.

And she snatched Ai Fengge's beloved flute, Bai Hua, from right under her nose.

Ai Fengge's eyes bulged the same way their fathers' always did. "You filthy wench!"

Her sister almost didn't hear her, admiring the flute with an almost distracted air as she pressed Tianhui in deeper. Sanguine blood leaked out, slowly and surely. The world seemed to slow down as a drop fell to the ground and she spoke, "I didn't fall to temptation, I rose to it." And when did a monster stop being a monster? When you begin loving it. Go, sweet bird, my darling xian. Map out the world with your inks twilit.

"Quoting moth — quoting that cursed bitch doesn't make you sound smart," Ai Fengge growled, pulling the fan in her hand up quick as a blink. The flower-patterned fan's handiwork was truly amazing: intricate array-laced paper and razor-sharp edges.

Ai Mingxia dodged easily, her touch frigid. Yet the fire in her was burning hotter and hotter by the second. She span the flute in the air, threw it to the ground, and stepped on it with all her might. Before it splintered into jewelled pieces, it first iced over with merciless hoarfrost.

Ai Fengge called out in agony, "Baihua! You monster!" She charged forwards, fan in one hand, sword in other. Her swordwork was good, as to be expected. Wind was woven into her footsteps to elevate her swiftness and buffet Ai Mingxia.

Yet it was not good enough.

Ai Mingxia moved faster than even she could register, the flames in her burning with an unfathomable intensity. The white-haired divine damsel concluded: it was too easy.

It was clear to even the cultivators brainwashed into believing their Sect Leader was unstoppable. Ai Fengge was easily outmatched.

Ai Mingxia's movements were perfect. Her domineering dance of death never touched the carpet of corpses as it left trails of ice on the ground. Her foxfire swallowed Ai Fengge's occasional flames.

Ai Fengge moved faster than a flurry of biting winter wind and her strength was comparable to a squalling storm. Her fleet blows caused the cave to tremble. And yet, Ai Mingxia dodged every slash like clockwork.

She slashed Tianhui repeatedly into Ai Fengge's stomach and limbs, but never into her heart or throat: death by a thousand cuts. Ai Fengge was already beginning to choke as she tried desperately to clutch back any semblance of victory. Yet even with all her near-perfect grasp on her various arts, it was not enough.

The remaining cultivators struggled in Yeyang's hold. Pitiful. They were all supposedly the best of the best, yet not one of them could think of the ways to escape? Despite Ai Mingxia's best efforts, Yeyang had a few weaknesses. It was why Ai Mingxia was careful to lead her fight with Ai Fengge further and further from the rest of the crowd.

Even though now Ai Fengge used the arts of miracles, and her sister had technique honed by centuries of unforgiving slaughter... Ai Mingxia found it similar to the few spars they had held as children.

They had been so young back then, untainted and so loving that their idea of cruelty was using their shadows to scare minnows. Such strangers to themselves they barely existed. Little creatures hale and free, sword and spear dull and juvenile. Weapons that would never hurt anybody.

Look at them now. Ai Mingxia dreamt only for a grave, narrow and deep, where nobody could ever see her again, and her wrath grew teeth ever-sharpened by the emptiness. Ai Fengge stood with endless power and wealth behind her, yet the flowers that grew within her seethed with poison.

Back then, they wore matching vividly-coloured robes.

Now, though Ai Mingxia's robes stayed pure white, Ai Fengge's light verdant were being dyed crimson. White Snow Seeking Scarlet indeed. Ai Mingxia eyed her sister's sanguine blood and thought of her own milky white.

She twirled Tianhui in her iced-over-vein hands; a flourish she usually wouldn't do. The thousandth cut. Tianhui cut right through Ai Fengge's left wrist.

Ai Fengge yelled in agony, and crumpled to the ground. It had been far easier than Ai Mingxia had prepared for. She stared at the rest of the cultivators coldly. After this, the rest of the sects would officially be after her head.

Perhaps it was better this way. More people to drag down with her.

… No. There was a reason she hadn't chosen to do so in the first place. And it would be too late anyways. Heaven would claim her before the cultivators did; of course they would. For all the cultivators went around calling themselves immortals, they were only human.

Ai Mingxia tightened her grip on Hongmei, and allowed Yeyang to let go. The cultivators were taken aback for a few seconds before pulling themselves up and unsheathing their own swords. Ai Mingxia felt neither fear nor admiration at this.

She closed her eyes. She had lived a long life of hundreds of years. Too many regrets hung thick and heavy over her heart. Despite how the cultivators regarded her, she was another fool stumbling blind.

Tianhui in hand.

…

Nobody was good enough to kill her except herself. She hadn't thought they'd be so weak. This was better than the fate that was coming for her: she had defied destiny, again and again, and this was her last act.

Exerting every last bit of her strength, she let out broad swaths of her fox-fire. The cultivators tried their best to block it with the normal techniques used to fight against flame, but the fox-fire permeated easily. It scorched each one of them to the bone. Ai Mingxia had never done that before.

One howled for her family. Another wailed for his wife. Most screamed for themselves, and themselves alone. Ai Mingxia could not blame them.

She'd been like them once, burnt by fox-fire.

Writhing in their agony, nobody saw the exhausted White Snow Seeking Scarlet look back at her holy knife.

Faster than lighting, she drove the bloodied knife through her left wrist in a vertical, clean, cut. The pain didn't register.

Soon it would be two sisters laying dead on the ground, near-identical wounds.

Falling, falling.

If only…

In the last few seconds before Ai Mingxia died, she could've sworn her white, almost incandescent hair turned black again.