"Aiya, old man, why are we still coming here? It's already the eighth day of the month, Heavenly Sword Sect stopped letting people in days ago! I'm telling you, we should just turn around and head back."
Twenty miles outside Ten Thousand Swords City, a plump young man in a gold brocade robe gnawed voraciously on a roast chicken leg, juices dripping down his fingers, as he complained to the scruffy old man walking ahead of him.
The old man shot him a fierce glare, his beard bristling and eyes bulging. "And whose fault do you think that is? All the way here, you were either clutching your belly or squatting with a sore backside, delaying us at every step. Now we've missed the time, and we'll have to wait another ten days!"
The plump youth only shrugged, utterly unbothered. "I told you from the start I'm not interested in that so-called sword technique. Even if you dragged that stone tablet right in front of me, I wouldn't give it a single glance."
"You little brat, what do you know?" The old man smacked the back of his head with a thwack, clearly exasperated. "That Heavenly Sword Sect stele hides a great secret. If you can unravel it, the benefits will last you until your next life."
The youth shot him a sideways look, frowning. "If it's that incredible, how is it still in the Heavenly Sword Sect's hands?"
"Heh… You think that stele has stood untouched for so many years by chance? It's because too many people are watching it. No one dares make the first move. In the shadows, who knows how many eyes are staring at it?
Right now, the Heavenly Sword Sect is like a mutt walking a tightrope; it only takes a gust of wind for them to tumble and shatter into pieces.
Even if I don't take the stele, someone else will sooner or later. Who knows? If I take it, I might just save the entire sect from destruction." The old man grinned slyly, his ragged appearance making him look even more wretched.
The plump youth eyed him suspiciously. "Old man, aren't you overestimating yourself? You, stealing the Sword Stele? You'd be chopped into so many pieces they'd have to scrape you off the floor."
The old man bared a mouthful of yellow teeth in a grin. "On my own, I might not manage it. But… with my obedient disciple at my side, even a dragon's lair or a tiger's den, we can storm through together."
Pa!
The youth froze in shock, his eyes going wide. He didn't even notice the half-eaten chicken leg slipping from his grasp to the dirt.
After a long moment, a pig-slaughtering wail tore from his throat:
"No!"
"I'm not going! I'm not going! If you've got a death wish, why drag me along? You've already got one foot in the grave, but I'm still young and handsome with plenty of life left to live.
I'm not going. No matter what you say, I'm not going. You'd have to kill me first!"
"Not going?" The old man's smile turned cold and sinister. He reached out, grabbed the youth by the collar, and hoisted him into the air like a squawking chick.
Pitiful as it was, the plump youth was a Foundation Establishment cultivator, yet at this moment he could do nothing but flail helplessly in midair, eyes brimming with tears.
"Old Song! Old Xu! Save me!"
...
Meanwhile, Song Changsheng remained oblivious to events outside.
For three days, he had sat motionless before the Wordless Stele, the sun rising and setting, stars wheeling overhead like a statue carved from stone.
His consciousness was immersed in the illusory world conjured by the Sword Stele, following the old man's every motion with methodical precision as he refined a Sword Pellet.
The Sword Pellet technique had existed since ancient times, but the process was so complex and the art so old that few in the current age still possessed this unique craft.
In the remote cultivation realm of Great Qi, such an item was almost impossible to find.
That was why Song Changsheng devoted himself with full focus and care.
Before long, he refined his first Sword Pellet. It was only a low-grade one, but pride and satisfaction welled in his chest.
At that moment, the old man turned to look at him, eyes filled with warmth and approval, so much so that Song Changsheng almost felt the man could truly see him.
But after only a glance, the old man turned back to the hall full of people and said, "Next comes the final and most important step: sealing the Sword Intent.
The strength of a Sword Pellet depends entirely on the Sword Intent stored within. Now, watch carefully as I demonstrate."
He pressed his fingers together like a sword and lightly tapped the Sword Pellet coiling at his fingertips.
In that instant, Song Changsheng felt as though a colossal sky-piercing sword flashed through his heart. The Sword Pellet in the old man's hand blazed with dazzling light, releasing a surge of sword qi so intense that the floor at his feet was instantly covered in sword marks.
"What terrifying Sword Intent…" Song Changsheng's heart trembled, awe flooding his gaze.
The damage might have seemed minimal, but only he truly understood what had just happened.
He had the chilling sense that if the old man wished it, he could sever Song Changsheng's Dao Heart with a single stroke.
The Dao Heart was elusive yet undeniably real; there were countless examples in history of cultivators whose unstable Dao Hearts led them into madness or shattered entirely, costing them their cultivation.
But those were always the result of outside influences or inner turmoil.
The old man, however, gave him the feeling that he could simply cut through one's Dao Heart at will, as effortless as a sickle sweeping down a field of wheat.
Such a feat was beyond terrifying. Even the Sword Immortals in the ancient texts were no more awe-inspiring than this.
Then the old man's gentle voice rang out again:
"Now, all of you try it for yourselves."
As soon as the words fell, the cultivators in the great hall who had already refined their Sword Pellets immediately began testing them.
Only Song Changsheng stared at the Sword Pellet in his hand in distress; he had barely practiced any sword techniques at all. Where was he supposed to get the sword, and what was he intent on sealing into it?
Suddenly, he felt a shadow fall over him. Looking up, he saw that the old man had, at some point, appeared right in front of him.
A glance around showed that the once-crowded great hall was now empty; he was the only one left.
The old man stroked his snowy beard, smiling as he said,
"In my life, I've met countless people. Your talent is, at best, middling… but your comprehension is first-class. Truly strange."
The sudden turn of events left Song Changsheng momentarily stunned. A chill crept up his spine. Could this old man just be something conjured by the Sword Stele?
Suppressing his shock and unease, he steadied himself, bowed respectfully, and said,
"Junior greets Senior."
Perhaps sensing his tension, the old man lifted him with one hand and smiled warmly.
"No need to be nervous. I'm nothing more than a projection."
Before Song could respond, the old man continued,
"As it happens, you and I share a bit of fate. I didn't expect to meet you in this way, call it destiny's arrangement."
Song raised his head, puzzled, his mind racing to figure out what "fate" the old man was talking about.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall ever crossing paths with such a powerful figure.
All he could do was bow again and say respectfully,
"This junior is slow-witted. I beg Senior to enlighten me."
The old man gave him a faintly amused look, then reached out and tapped him lightly on the forehead.
In that instant, Song felt as though a jolt of lightning had passed through him. In the depths of his mind lay a secret he had never dared to speak of: the Creation Mystic Canon.
Could this be the "fate" he spoke of?
The old man smiled knowingly.
"You've figured it out? That's right. The Creation Mystic Canon was created by me after I ascended, drawing upon the strengths of a hundred schools of thought. Aside from passing it to a few disappointing disciples, I also made several copies and set them adrift in the boundless sea of stars, seeking someone destined to inherit it.
For years, I heard nothing. I thought something had gone wrong. Who would have thought I'd meet its bearer here, within the legacy of an old friend? Truly, Heaven works in mysterious ways."
But Song Changsheng had only truly heard four words after I ascended.
No wonder the Creation Mystic Canon is so profound… it was crafted by an immortal!
A thrill of excitement surged through him. This was a towering, unimaginably powerful thigh to cling to. Even plucking a single hair from such a figure could be enough to make him invincible.
Then the old man's next words nearly made him faint from joy.
"Although we are not formally master and disciple, in truth, we already share such a bond. Cause and effect must be honored. I can't be stingy. By reason and by feeling, I should prepare a great gift for you."
Song was so overjoyed he nearly lost his balance, quickly bowing and declaring,
"Disciple greets Master!"
The old man nodded kindly, helping him back up, but what he said next froze Song in place, his blazing excitement turning ice cold.
"However, this projection was left at a friend's request, only to teach the method of refining the Sword Pellet.
Now that you've mastered it, I've nothing else I can pass on to you here. Never mind when you ascend, I'll prepare a proper gift for you as your master."
Song stared blankly. Ascend? Elder, you certainly think highly of me.
Still, he bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Master."
He knew well enough that this was only a projection; there were limits to what it could do.
Knowing was one thing, but he still couldn't shake the faint sense of disappointment.
The old man studied him and said,
"Not arrogant, not impatient, your temperament is acceptable.
Since you've called me 'Master,' I won't let the title be for nothing. Take this, and I hope it will serve you well someday."
He extended a finger and lightly tapped Song's brow. Brilliant light flared, and Song's mind swam. When he came to, several glowing spheres were floating in his sea of consciousness, shifting gently.
"Master, what is this?" Song asked, barely able to contain his joy.
Life's ups and downs could hardly be sharper than this. Just when he had given up hope, there was an unexpected windfall. And from an immortal, no less, how could it be anything ordinary?
The old man stroked his beard.
"Don't ask too much. When you leave, inspect them for yourself. Each pellet is sealed with a restriction. Each time you reach a new major realm, a corresponding seal will unlock.
I'm not setting limits to be difficult. Your foundation is too shallow right now; some things, if learned too soon, would do you more harm than good, perhaps even bring death upon you."
"This disciple understands Master's kind intentions," Song said quickly.
The old man nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. Now… wake up."
Before Song could react, the scene shifted again. The great hall was as it had been before, filled with cultivators attempting to seal sword intent into their pellets. The old man still stood by the bronze cauldron, smiling benignly at them.
Realization dawned on Song that it was time for him to leave.
He bowed deeply to the old man, then turned toward the exit.
As one foot crossed the threshold, a warm voice sounded in his ear:
"The true essence of the Sword Dao lies neither in technique nor in method; it springs from the heart and manifests through the spirit.
Train well, and never grow complacent.
I am called Qingtian. If one day you ascend, come and find me."
...
"Born from the heart, manifested through the spirit…"
In front of the Sword Stele, Song Changsheng slowly opened his eyes, murmuring the phrase over and over.
The next moment, a glimmer of understanding flashed in his mind. Everything he had seen earlier merged into one coherent whole. At the very core of his dantian, atop the perfectly balanced Yin-Yang Dao Foundation, a faint vortex suddenly appeared.
Lifting his index finger, he willed it ever so slightly
A trace of sword qi coiled gently around its tip.
"This is… the embryonic form of Sword Intent?"
Just a single hint from that old man had allowed him to fuse all the insights he had gained from studying the many steles, directly comprehending the rudimentary shape of Sword Intent!
The power of an immortal is truly terrifying.
Looking at the stele before him, Song Changsheng's heart was a storm of emotions. In the outside world, it was said this Sword Stele had been left behind by an immortal. He had never believed it before, dismissing it as nothing more than a baseless rumor.
But now, with the undeniable presence of those light clusters in his sea of consciousness, he knew the tales were real.
From the old man's final words, he had already learned the other's name, Qing Tian.
And in the Ziyu Realm, that name could only belong to one man
The one who, in the ancient era when the art of forging was still in its infancy, had created the method of forging Sword Pellets, established a great Dao lineage, and ultimately ascended to the Upper Realm, The Sky-Supporting Sword Immortal.
Perhaps the reason why, after he died in his previous life, the Dao Scripture had carried him into reincarnation in this world… was precisely because of this connection.
And as for the friend of such a being, the master of the Sword Stele could hardly be a simple figure, very likely another Sword Immortal recorded in the history of the Ziyu Realm.
"Truly… you plant flowers with care and they do not bloom, but plant willows by chance and they grow into shade. I had no intention of walking the sword's path, yet ended up stepping into it this way. Well… I suppose I can treat it as a form of cross-disciplinary enlightenment."
With a soft sigh, Song Changsheng stood up and bowed deeply toward the Sword Stele.
Fortunately, everyone around him was still immersed in comprehending the stele and hadn't heard his words; otherwise, they might have risen as one to beat him senseless.
After all, many people spent their entire lives unable to touch even the threshold of Sword Intent, while he had stepped into it with ease and now even had the gall to sound unenthusiastic.
But Song Changsheng wasn't being falsely modest; he truly felt that way. The way of the sword was unlike any other; it demanded that one devote one's entire life to its pursuit.
And he knew himself well; he could never become a sword cultivator like Song Qingxing or Xu Yunhe. For him, the sword was merely another means of attack, nothing more.
"Still… this trip was far from wasted. Not only did I uncover the origins of the Dao Scripture, I also latched onto a thick thigh though one I can only cling to after I ascend.
Oh, right, I still don't know exactly what Master left in my mind. I'll have to find time to check."
With that thought, he glanced over at Song Qingxing and saw that he still hadn't stirred.
After a brief consideration, he beckoned over a disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect.
"May I ask if there is a quiet room available? I have made some small gains and would like to consolidate them."
The disciple, clearly used to such requests, replied without surprise,
"The stele forest will remain open for five more days. Senior, please follow me."
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