Her green robe was half-submerged in the cold pool, her toes lightly touching the ripples. She stood in the water with her eyes closed, letting the moonlight gild the sword's edge into a silver ribbon. When the three-foot-long blade sliced through the water, it didn't create splashes, but rather a solidified sword aura—like the thin ice cracking on a lake in early spring, like a white egret startled from a reed bed in late autumn.