The sky above Sky-Splitting Peak was a canvas torn in two — one half bathed in serene sunlight, the other shrouded by drifting storm clouds. Such skies were common here, where the will of swords lingered in the very air, sharp enough to rend heaven and earth.
Within his newly assigned courtyard, Xu Tian sat cross-legged beneath the moonlit pines. His breathing was steady, each exhale like the drawing of a blade, each inhale like its sheathing. Yet though his posture was that of calm cultivation, his mind was not at ease.
The duel with Bai Heng replayed endlessly in his thoughts.
His technique had been nothing extraordinary — merely a defense, a waiting strike, the kind of swordplay drilled into every disciple. But when his blade had turned aside Heng's final thrust, he had felt it: a thread snapping. Not a thread of steel, not even of flesh, but something invisible, something vast. Bai Heng's momentum had collapsed, his confidence bled away as if Heaven itself had abandoned him.
Xu Tian opened his eyes. Moonlight spilled across the floor, silver as blade-light.
The sharpest sword cuts what cannot be seen…
His own words during the comprehension test echoed back at him. Had his father walked this same path? Was this the fragment of Dao his bloodline carried?
A knock sounded upon his courtyard gate.
"Tian-ge," came a hushed voice.
He rose and slid the door open. Standing there was Zhou Wei, a fellow new disciple he had met during the trials. Thin, scholarly, with timid eyes that darted like sparrows, Wei had clung to Xu Tian after the examinations, drawn by the calm aura Tian exuded.
"What is it?" Xu Tian asked softly.
Wei glanced around before stepping inside. "They are speaking of you, everywhere in the outer disciple quarters. Some say you are the sect's brightest seedling. Others…" He hesitated. "Others say you carry a curse. That Bai Heng's sudden misfortune is no coincidence."
Xu Tian's gaze remained steady. "And you? What do you believe?"
Wei shifted uneasily. "I believe you stood firm when most would falter. That is enough for me."
Tian smiled faintly. "Then do not trouble yourself with whispers."
But in his heart, he knew whispers had power. Whispers grew into rumors, rumors into suspicions, suspicions into knives in the dark.
The next morning, the new disciples gathered upon the Outer Sword Platform, a vast terrace overlooking the cliffs. Mist rolled between the peaks, veiling the world below.
Here, the sect's Outer Elders gave their first teachings.
Elder Ming, a stern man whose voice cracked like thunder, stood before them. His gaze swept the disciples like a blade. "A sword cultivator must walk two paths: the Edge and the Heart. A sharp edge without a steady heart is nothing but a butcher's knife. A firm heart without a keen edge is but a rusted relic. To walk the sword path is to balance the two."
His words stirred nods and murmurs. Xu Tian listened intently, memorizing each syllable.
But even as Elder Ming lectured, Tian felt another gaze upon him — cold, piercing. He turned slightly.
High above, upon the Viewing Pavilion, an elder sat in shadow. Robes of midnight silk, eyes like hawks. Though distance veiled him from the crowd, Xu Tian felt that gaze lock onto his soul like a hook. The same elder who had watched him during the trials.
The Supreme Elder.
Xu Tian lowered his eyes, feigning ignorance, though his heart tightened.
That evening, after the lecture, disciples were sent to their first training assignment: sword stances beneath the Waterfall of Ten Thousand Blades.
The waterfall thundered like an army of swords clashing, its spray sharp as needles. Beneath its crushing torrent, each disciple was to practice holding a stance — a trial of endurance and will.
Bai Heng, still bitter from his defeat, smirked at Xu Tian as they took their places. "Let us see if you can endure, fallen elder's son."
The water pounded like hammers upon Tian's shoulders, yet he rooted himself firmly, his stance steady. Each droplet that struck him felt like a sword edge, slicing skin, piercing flesh. Pain seared through him, yet beneath the agony he felt… resonance.
The roar of the waterfall became the roar of destiny. He felt invisible lines streaming around him, threads of chance and fortune weaving through every drop. And as he gritted his teeth, he felt his blood stir again.
Sever them, a whisper urged. Cut them, as your father once did.
For a heartbeat, Xu Tian's eyes gleamed with a light no mortal should carry. The spray around him bent unnaturally, water shearing apart as though cleaved by an unseen blade.
Gasps rose from nearby disciples. Even Bai Heng faltered.
But Xu Tian quickly closed his eyes, steadying his breath, forcing the phenomenon to cease. When he opened them again, he was merely another youth enduring the torrent, pale but determined.
Only Elder Ming, watching from the cliffside, had seen the truth. His expression darkened, but he said nothing.
That night, Xu Tian returned to his courtyard to find Lady Xue waiting. She had come quietly, against sect rules, limping under the moonlight.
"Tian'er," she whispered, voice urgent. "Be careful. The Supreme Elder has taken interest in you."
Xu Tian bowed respectfully. "Mother, I expected no less. But why? Was he not Father's comrade?"
Her eyes clouded with sorrow. "Comrade? Perhaps once. But in the end, he was the hand that delivered your father to death."
Xu Tian's breath stilled. Though he had suspected betrayal, hearing it spoken aloud was like a blade piercing his chest.
"Do not let him see your true path," Lady Xue warned. "Hide it. Sheath your edge until the day it must strike."
Xu Tian lowered his gaze, fists tightening within his sleeves. Hide? He had shone too brightly already. Whispers spread like wildfire. Fate itself had stirred at his blade.
But his voice was calm when he replied: "I will remember, Mother."
Far away, in a shadowed hall deep within the sect, the Supreme Elder sat alone before a dim lantern.
He closed his eyes. In his mind's eye, he saw Xu Jian, the Sky-Cleaving Blade, raising his sword against destiny. He remembered the duel, the blood, the whisper of fate cut short. He remembered burying the truth.
And now, he saw the son.
"The heavens warned us once. And yet the boy dares walk the same path."
The elder's hand tightened around his prayer beads until they cracked. His whisper was cold, carrying through the empty chamber like a blade sliding free of its sheath:
"Then like the father… the son must die."