You can read ahead up to 15 chapters on my Patreon https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
The legacy of the Magnificent Jasper Faction was a deep well, its waters shimmering with an ancient, cryptic light.
Unlike the Great Library of Mount Shu, where most scrolls were accessible to the common disciple while the true heart of the sect remained locked behind the Sect Leader's seal, the entire archive of Magnificent Jasper lay open to Qin Yi. It was a vast, categorized map of power, and he intended to memorize every inch of it.
"The Secret of the Absolute Zero."
"The Frost-Dance of the Glacial Heavens."
"Nine Heavens Sword-Whistle."
"The True Art of Primordial Essence."
"Xihe's Solar Severance."
"The Tathata Transmutation."
"Sword of the Nine Serene Depths."
The names alone painted a picture of a lineage vastly different from Mount Shu. Where the latter focused on the ethereal weight of sword intent and the finesse of the strike, Magnificent Jasper obsessed over the blade itself. They were masters of the forge; their weapons were born with souls of iron and fire, designed to resonate with secret arts that could shatter the horizon.
Qin Yi immersed himself in the core manuals, etching the characters into his soul. With no immediate threats looming from the outside worlds, be it the shadows of the Shinobi lands or the distant chaos of the Grand Line, he chose the silence of Forget-Worry Valley for a period of deep seclusion.
He had already woven complex sword formations around their sanctuary. These barriers served as both a shroud and a guillotine, ensuring the "Magnificent Qin" remained a ghost to any prying eyes.
From that day on, the four members of the sect vanished into their training.
Time is a fickle thing for a cultivator. Once the mind sinks into the rhythm of the Dao, years can slip by in what feels like a single, long breath.
By the time Qin Yi looked up from his work, realizing he had finally mastered the intricacies of the Jasper sword-casting techniques and their primary combat forms, three years had vanished into the mountain mist.
The group had transformed. While their cultivation stages hadn't leaped forward in raw rank, their lethality had sharpened to a razor's edge. They were no longer just practitioners; they were weapons. The Magnificent Jasper arts relied on heavy, storied blades, relics like the Xihe or the Unfolding Full-Moon Twin-Swords, which, in eras past, had been used to suppress the Demon Realm itself.
Walking out into the sunlight of the valley, Qin Yi felt a shift in his perspective.
Cultivation was not merely a hoarding of energy; it was a grander form of literacy. To understand the world's laws was to possess its power. The more he read the "text" of the universe, the more complete his own existence became.
"Yiyi," Qin Yi said softly one afternoon, breaking An Yi's meditative trance. "I want to go out for a while. Come with me."
For three years, they had lived as a harmonious, respectful couple. Yet, there was a lingering hollow in his chest, a missing piece of the puzzle. His Dao heart remained slightly fractured, preventing him from crossing the threshold into the final, transcendent stage.
"You've mastered the Jasper arts?" An Yi asked, her eyes searching his.
"As much as can be learned from books," Qin Yi replied with a faint smile. "The rest requires a shift in my realm of understanding. Manuals teach you how to move; sutras teach you why the world moves. I need the latter."
An Yi stood, dusting off her robes. "Then I go where you go."
Before departing, Qin Yi left instructions for Li Yuanli and Ning Ya. While continuing their own training, they were to keep an eye out for potential disciples. A sect of four was a family, but it wasn't a power. He wasn't in a rush, however. He knew from his time in the smaller worlds of the Hokage and Pirates that a world could be conquered quickly through force, but this world, the land of Sword and Fairy, was a different beast. It was a crucible for his spirit. To truly rule here, one's reputation had to be carved into the history of the land, much like Mount Shu had done over centuries.
The two departed through the valley gates, rising into the clouds on a single, shared sword flight. They looked every bit the immortal pair, drifting through the heavens hand-in-hand.
Seven days later, they descended toward the outskirts of a bustling city.
"Let's try something different," Qin Yi suggested as they watched the smoke rise from the chimneys below. "Let's live as mortals. No jade, no swords, no spirit."
In the path of the Dao, experiencing the "Dust of the World" was a sacred tradition. Cultivators often became cold and detached; mortals, however, were tethered to the earth by their passions, their grievances, and their love.
"As my husband wishes," An Yi said, her smile warm and genuine.
They traveled for another three months until they reached the capital of a great kingdom. There, they shed their silk for coarse hemp. Qin Yi suppressed the golden light in his eyes, hiding his aura deep within his marrow. An Yi tucked her hair back and donned the simple dress of a country woman, her ethereal beauty masked by the plainness of her garb.
They rented a small patch of farmland and a modest house.
Their days became a cycle of sun and soil. They haggled with local grocers over the price of cabbage; they chatted with neighbors about the weather. They lived the life of a common couple, including the bickering. An Yi, once a terrifying presence in her own right, would now spend an hour nagging Qin Yi for "wasting" a single copper coin on a trinket.
Qin Yi, playing the part of the frustrated husband, would huff and retreat to a local tavern to nurse a cheap ale, grumbling about his "difficult" wife to the other laborers.
To any observer, they were just another pair of ordinary souls drifting through life. The only shadow over their quiet existence was the constant, well-meaning pestering from their neighbors: "When are you two going to have a child?"
It was a question that lingered in the air, a reminder of the one human experience they had yet to bridge.
And so the years began to blur, one season bleeding into the next until nearly a decade had slipped through their fingers.
Nine years had passed in the blink of an eye. They had allowed the world to leave its mark on them; Qin Yi now wore a thin mustache and the relaxed, weathered air of a man in his early thirties. He moved with a lazy maturity, his sharp edges softened by the sun and the soil.
An Yi had transformed as well. The fierce cultivator had been replaced by a graceful, bustling housewife who spent her mornings sweeping the threshold and her afternoons nagging Qin Yi about the rising price of grain or the leaky roof. It seemed as though they had truly forgotten their old lives, sinking so deep into the rhythm of the mundane that their original identities felt like stories told by someone else.
In those nine years, they had become each other's world. They supported one another through lean winters and celebrated the small victories of harvest. They had even managed to save enough to open the "Magnificent Qin Tavern" in the heart of the city. It wasn't the busiest spot in the capital, but it kept them fed and gave them a place to call home. For the first time in his many lives, across the wars of the hidden villages and the chaos of the high seas, Qin Yi was simply happy.
On this particular afternoon, a sharp gust of wind rattled the wooden sign hanging over the door.
The bell chimed as a group of travelers stepped inside. An Yi, who had been bent over her broom, froze. Her eyes locked onto the cut of their clothes, the specific embroidery of their robes.
"Daoists…" she whispered.
They were dressed in the unmistakable vestments of cultivation sects. Instinctively, she turned to look at Qin Yi. He was hunched over the counter, clicking away at an abacus as he balanced the day's accounts. A cold, sinking feeling took root in her chest.
"Landlord! A jar of your best wine!" one of the four Daoists shouted, waving a hand dismissively as they took a seat at a corner table.
At the counter, Qin Yi's fingers stopped moving. He looked up, his gaze landing on the Daoist robes.
His heart gave a violent shudder.
What year was it? Was his life as a Sect Leader just a fever dream? Or was this tavern the dream? Was he the Elder of Mount Shu? The Headmaster of the Magnificent Qin? Or was he simply Chang Yi, a man who sold wine to travelers?
The confusion was a physical weight, but beneath it, a light began to kindle in his eyes, growing brighter with every second. To truly master the Dao, one had to lose oneself in it, and he had fallen deeper than most. He had reached the terrifying realm of Self-Forgetting. But the moment of awakening is like a lightning strike in a clear sky.
Across the room, An Yi watched him. As she saw that familiar, piercing clarity return to his eyes, her whole body trembled. A profound sorrow washed over her. She knew that the game was over. The role-play of husband and wife had reached its final page.
The man who had invited her into this dance, who had played his part with such warmth and relish, was the first to wake up. In the end, she feared she was just a piece on a board he was finally clearing away.
The tavern fell into a suffocating silence. The four Daoists looked around, confused by the sudden tension.
"Hey, Boss! The wine!" one of them snapped, breaking the spell. "We've got a demon to hunt outside the city walls. We're on a clock!"
The shout jolted An Yi. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she moved toward the cellar to fetch a jar, her hands shaking.
At the counter, Qin Yi felt the world shifting. He had walked the path, and he had forgotten the path. In that singular moment of recognition, he had pierced the veil of the Ninth Realm. For a heartbeat, his eyes were as cold and vast as the void, the ultimate state of emotionless, rational clarity.
But then, the frost melted. Qin Yi stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward An Yi.
"Wife, you look tired," he said, his voice soft and resonant. "Let me take that."
An Yi flinched at the sound. Fear and loss clawed at her heart as she turned, the heavy wine jar slipping from her numb fingers.
Qin Yi moved with a fluid, effortless grace, catching the jar inches from the floor with one hand. When she looked up at him, terrified of what she might see, she found only a warm, familiar smile.
"I'm still here," he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers. "Don't be afraid."
The tension snapped. A radiant, tearful smile broke across An Yi's face, and two silent streams of salt water tracked down her cheeks. The depth of her love was laid bare in that look, a bond that had moved beyond mere companionship and into the very marrow of her soul.
Qin Yi squeezed her shoulder gently before carrying the wine to the Daoists' table.
"Forgive the wait, Masters," he said with a hearty laugh. "You are heroes who hunt demons and keep the peace. I, Chang Yi, have nothing but respect for men of your caliber."
He set the jar down with a thud. "This one is on the house."
The Daoists' irritation vanished instantly. They laughed, clapping each other on the back.
"The shopkeeper has a silver tongue! We'll take you up on that, friend."
"Indeed! Slaying monsters is just a day's work, but a free drink makes it much easier."
Qin Yi stayed for a moment, chatting easily with them, his laughter ringing through the small tavern.
"I saw how you caught that jar," one of the priests noted, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Your hands are steady, Shopkeeper. You have the look of a man who's handled a blade."
"In my younger days," Qin Yi replied with a wink. "I followed a wandering teacher for a few months. Never quite forgot the basics. A man's got to stay fit to keep up with his wife, doesn't he?"
The Daoists roared with laughter, giving him a thumbs-up.
Behind them, An Yi stood by the broom, her heart lighter than it had been in years. She understood now. Qin Yi wasn't giving away wine because he cared about the Daoists or their demon hunting.
He was celebrating. He was marking the moment he chose her over the cold clarity of the void. The wine was for them, but the gesture was his vow to her.
That man, she thought, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, never stops making me worry.
(End of Chapter)