The two green swords crossed the platform in less than half a second. They curved in from opposite sides, one coming in level and the other rising. Both were aimed at Pei Jing’s wrists.
Elder Feng was already smiling. He expected both hands to be on the floor before Pei Jing could draw his cleaver.
Pei Jing held his ground. Under fourfold gravity, a step back would have been too slow anyway. His Mind-Eye picked out two thin threads of divine sense running from Feng’s brow to the blades. After five days of practice, he could see where each sword was going. Feng was guiding his own bonded blades along the platform. The storm had ignored those threads. It had struck Liang when he reached into the orbit and tried to claim one of Xiao’s swords. Feng’s blades would be safe only as long as they stayed clear of the orbit.
He drew the forty-pound Cloud-Splitter Cleaver. Its blade barely cleared the sheath before he brought it up. A straight blow against either flying sword might break the cleaver and would leave him open to the second. He turned his wrist and offered the rounded spine of the cleaver instead.
