Chapter 21 Sword Cultivator

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Ninth day of the fifth month, on the borderlands of Chu.

Within the Autumn Leaf Mountains, the Silent Valley.

On the eastern cliff face, several clusters of ancient, austere buildings were scattered. This was the foothold of the three great sects.

Disciples stationed here on rotation to guard the valley, as well as those out on missions, usually resided in these quarters.

Within the Council Pavilion, the Hall of Clarity.

All sounds were sealed away by a soundproofing array that circled the room. Wang Xi, his expression cold and detached, fixed his gaze on the spirit talismans and magical implements floating before him.

“I am already at the eighth level of Qi Refinement. To kill a few minor outer disciples from small sects at the fifth level—if you want me to ambush them, so be it… but do I really need these things?”

He raised his eyes, as if sensing contempt, and a flicker of anger showed in his gaze.

Shen Yu frowned slightly. “Of course you don’t, but you know as well as I do—the faster this is over, the more time we have… to make it look like an accident.”

Shen Huai stood silently by Shen Yu’s side.

Shen Yu continued, “I don’t want you to stand alone against two and win a glorious victory. What I want is for you to erase the two sects’ outer disciples with thunderous swiftness and utter silence.”

As casually as brushing away an ant while scratching an itch.

“I could do it without these…” Wang Xi seemed to recall something, his fists clenching, jaw tight.

Why does everyone look down on me? What Zhou Liu can do, I—Wang Xi—can do just as well!

Shen Huai noticed, and sighed softly.

They had entered the sect together, both possessed dual spiritual roots, but now Senior Brother Zhou Liu had reached the ninth level of Qi Refinement and was preparing to break through to its peak. Proud and ambitious youths as they were, no one could accept such a disparity in progress.

That was why Wang Xi had become what he was now—resentful of his master, his peers, and the world’s injustice.

Suddenly, he grew quiet, his eyes regaining their calm, his tone turning frosty.

“I understand.”

Shen Huai wanted to add a few words of caution. “If there are other disciples present—”

“I’ll kill them all, then.” Wang Xi’s voice was devoid of emotion, cutting her off.

To him, the Xuan Yuan Sect was the emperor of the cultivation world in Chu. If they coveted a spiritual vein or a sacred mountain, they simply took it—why bother with subterfuge?

Shen Huai was wiser; her perspective was far clearer than Wang Xi’s. So many dirty bargains between sects—selling out their own disciples for profit—were carried out in just this fashion.

But the Dongyuan Sect was a special case. The process had to be followed, and followed to the letter.

A hum sounded.

A voice transmission talisman: a disciple stood outside to report.

“Elder Shen, the disciples from Dongyuan Sect and Spirit Talisman Sect have arrived.”

“Come, let’s go meet them.”

…

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Song Yan followed Lu Ziye, disembarking from the sect’s flying vessel, the Windcloud Spirit Boat, with the last of the disciples.

As a devout ascetic who rarely participated in any social gatherings, he knew no one here.

It was only just now, aboard the spirit boat, with a senior brother and junior sister chattering away on either side of him, that Song Yan had somehow become acquainted with the two.

Shao Sichao, sixth level of Qi Refinement.

Gu Qingqing, fifth level of Qi Refinement, disciple of Lotus Serenity Peak.

Dongyuan Sect had a peculiarity: female cultivators’ abodes were all arranged on Lotus Serenity Peak within the inner sect, regardless of outer or inner disciple status.

Otherwise, arrangements were the same as for male cultivators.

The other disciple was Tang Lin, whom Song Yan also did not know, though Shao Sichao would occasionally chat with him.

Strangely, the manner and speech of this Senior Brother Shao seemed oddly familiar to Song Yan. He had a vague suspicion that this was the cultivator who had sold forbidden books at the night market that day.

Yet he had no proof.

“Elder Xu, it’s been too long.”

“Heh, same old, same old… But your Spirit Talisman Sect, I hear you’ve recently welcomed several promising seedlings into your ranks…”

Coincidentally, members of Spirit Talisman Sect seemed to have also just arrived at Silent Valley.

On Dongyuan Sect’s side, Elder Xu Ziqing was exchanging pleasantries with Elder Zou from Spirit Talisman Sect, while from afar, Shen Yu approached with Shen Huai and Wang Xi at her side.

The others were unfamiliar, but to Song Yan, the elders and disciples of Xuan Yuan Sect seemed most familiar. They had visited the pill workshop before and even given a lecture.

“Honored elders, apologies for not greeting you sooner,” Xu Ziqing said to Shen Yu, though, for reasons unknown, she did not respond much—only smiled.

Matters for elders were left to the elders; the younger generation followed arrangements in Silent Valley and settled into their own quarters.

Among the three sects, some cultivators knew each other and took the opportunity to reunite.

Some drank and reveled together, or… spent a romantic evening under the moon.

No one came to chat with Song Yan.

Yet solitude had its merits.

Undisturbed, he could finally peruse the “Complete Compendium of Immortal Wonders,” which he had bought at the night market for two spirit stones.

These days, Song Yan had been wholly absorbed in cultivating his divine sense and tempering the so-called “True Source of Sword Dao,” leaving no time for reading.

“Far to the south of the Southern Sea, there lies still more land; on that land, there is the country of Dragon Clan, inhabited by giants a thousand feet tall…”

It was said that in ancient times, to the east of the Ancient Sea was a natural abyss the ancients called the “Return Void.”

Within the Return Void were five immortal mountains, each home to immortals.

The five mountains were carried on the backs of fifteen giant demon turtles, which maintained the distance between them.

But unexpectedly, in the Dragon Clan of the Southern Sea, there was a giant who, with too much time on his hands, fished up six of the turtle demons supporting the mountains. Thus, two immortal mountains sank and disappeared without a trace, leaving only three.

The celestial sovereigns above were furious and turned the Dragon Clan’s country into a place of exile, casting a spell so their bodies would shrink with each generation.

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…

Song Yan was silent.

Giants a thousand feet tall?

But Song Yan was not here to question or fact-check; his divine sense swept on.

Skipping past a few myths and legends, he finally found what he was looking for.

In ancient times, sword cultivators were of a very pure kind.

“A life-bound flying sword could only be attained by refining one’s Dao heart and comprehending sword intent.”

In today’s cultivation world, so-called sword cultivators and their life-bound flying swords were nothing more than those adept at sword techniques for attack and defense, with a favored magical weapon or treasure.

Yet the sword cultivators of old—sword cases, scabbards, sword gourds—everything was for the sole purpose of nurturing that single life-bound flying sword.

Some even forsook all other magical tools, arrays, and talismans; some went to extremes, abandoning even spiritual power and their own bodies, all for the sake of attaining the ultimate sword intent and divine sword techniques.

The great Dao is supremely simple—one sword, one strike, one enemy felled.

Reading this, Song Yan’s heart surged with passion.

But…

“Dao heart…?”

“Sword intent?”

These mysterious concepts seemed to Song Yan to be the sort of extraordinary achievements a talentless mediocrity like himself could never hope to touch in his lifetime.

He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the longing and impulse that rose within him.

At this moment, in the sea of qi within Song Yan’s dantian, a strand of sharp, unparalleled spiritual power quietly hovered.

If he plunged his sense within, he would find that, apart from the surging of spiritual power and blood through his limbs, there was a faint, piercing sound—the ringing of a sword.

“Sword cultivator…”

His quarters were quiet all around. Song Yan closed his eyes, quietly sensing the flow of the so-called “True Source of Sword Dao.”

…

Almost involuntarily, he raised his right palm. The sword energy within his dantian began to break apart, gathering at the tips of his right fingers.

He brought his middle and index finger together—the razor-sharp energy cried out at his fingertips.

A resonant hum—the sword essence began to solidify, and only when he felt a stabbing pain at his fingertips did Song Yan snap out of his trance and hurriedly disperse the sword essence there.

That sharp strand of “spiritual energy” returned to gather once more in his dantian, though it was now a little smaller than before.

“If I were to unleash the sword energy within myself—no matter how much defensive spiritual power I had, it would mean certain death…”

Nearly a month’s worth of concentrated cultivation had produced the power of this single strike.

Its might did not disappoint Song Yan.