Chapter 221: Guiding Ye Xinglan — Take Hold of My Sword's Hilt!
"Hiss—"
Jiang Chen clutched his lips and cheek. After much coaxing and reasoning, he had finally persuaded Na'er to let him go.
As for why he didn't use Na'er's communicator to contact Xue Di, there were two reasons:
First, she wasn't on his contacts list.
Second—and more importantly—if he dared use Na'er's device to message Xue Di, there'd be an explosion before sunrise.
"Damn it," he muttered, rubbing his face. "I've become everything I once hated!"
He'd never mastered that art called time management.
Of course, the real problem was his lack of strength.
"If only I were invincible," he sighed, "they'd all have to line up to talk to me."
That thought made him nostalgic for the early days—when he first arrived in this world and crushed everything in his path like some higher-dimensional being.
Now, though?
He was surrounded by powerhouses: the soon-to-be goddess Xue Di with her 700,000 years of cultivation, the Silver Dragon King Gu Yue with her peerless intellect, and her other "half," Na'er.
"It's too hard being me."
As the night deepened, moonlight shimmered across the Lingbing Square. Fountains danced, their mist glowing softly, and Jiang Chen strolled past, admiring the lake's glassy surface.
Then he spotted a girl with a golden ponytail crouched by the water's edge, hugging her knees and staring at the reflection.
He had only been admiring the scenery—and, truthfully, in this summer heat, there was plenty of "art" to appreciate—when he saw her suddenly stand up and leap straight into the lake.
Jiang Chen: "???"
What—?
Oh great, tomorrow's headlines would read: 'Douluo University Student Drowns for Love — Bystander Questioned'.
Obviously, it wouldn't be his fault—but fate had a way of pulling bystanders into trouble.
"Just my luck…"
He groaned. "Fine, saving one life earns more karma than building seven temples."
And with that, he jumped in.
The lake water was cool and blue. Beneath the surface floated a blonde girl, motionless, eyes closed—like a fallen angel beneath the current.
Swimming closer, he recognized her face.
"Ye Xinglan?"
He poked her cheek with a finger. Water bubbled into her nose.
Cough!
She shot up like a startled fish, gasping and glaring fire at him.
"Are you insane?!"
"You're the insane one!" he snapped back, climbing to shore. "Who jumps into a lake at midnight? Trying to ruin Douluo University's reputation by drowning yourself?"
"That's absurd!" she coughed, water streaming down her face. "I wasn't… trying to die. I just wanted to sit quietly!"
Jiang Chen blinked. "You call that sitting quietly?"
Then again, true—soul masters didn't really drown.
He heaved himself onto the bank. Ye Xinglan followed, swimming gracefully before pulling herself up as well.
Her golden hair clung wetly to her neck, each droplet catching the faint light. Clear water trailed along her chin like melted crystal, rolling down her porcelain skin.
When she sat down beside him, she looked unearthly—beautiful and broken.
Then, without hesitation, she extended a leg and kicked him lightly.
"Hey… what do you think the meaning of living is?"
Jiang Chen froze, caught off guard, watching her.
Water streamed down her delicate throat, dampening her uniform, outlining every curve of her youthful form.
"Hey! Pervert!" she barked, noticing his gaze.
"Relax," he replied dryly, turning his head away. "First off, I'm not a pervert. Second, it's not my fault—you're too attractive. Third, if I'm such a pervert, why are you keeping me here?"
Still, he stayed. He'd originally planned to go find Xue Di and explain everything, but now…
A lost girl needed saving. He could play hero for one night.
Ye Xinglan shifted backward slightly, uncomfortable with how close they were sitting—their hips nearly touching.
Men. Always shameless.
Yet as one of the people who had beaten her before, and a figure rumored to be impossibly powerful, she had questions only he could answer.
Normally, she would never approach a man to talk about her feelings. But he'd shown up on his own.
Sighing softly, she murmured, "What do you think of my sword?"
She looked up at him, confusion clouding her proud eyes.
"No matter how hard I work," she whispered, "why can't I win? Why are people my age so much stronger than me? Why has the Shrek Academy I vowed to protect become… like this?"
"What even is Shrek anymore?"
Her questions tumbled out one after another.
Jiang Chen said nothing. Then, instead of answering directly, he asked, "Have you heard of the Sword Maniac Douluo?"
"Of course I have," she said immediately.
One of history's most famous names—recorded in the Tang Sect archives and the Tower's Tower of Legends. Every swordsman revered him.
"Sword Maniac Douluo Ji Juechen," Jiang Chen said. "His Martial Soul was nothing more than an ordinary sword. His innate soul power? Level three. He didn't even reach rank ten until he was eight."
"That's impossible!" Ye Xinglan blurted. "They say his Sword Spirit could evolve. No ordinary sword could reach Titled Douluo level!"
"People said the same about Yu Xiaogang," Jiang Chen countered lightly. "They said his Luo Sanpao was the product of a failed awakening, not worth cultivating—yet he influenced generations."
History always exaggerated. Memory turned truth into legend.
On today's Douluo Continent, all ancient knowledge was glorified. They claimed Huo Yuhao's Spirit Eyes were divine rather than human-born, that Tang San's first Spirit was the Blue Silver Emperor, not mere grass.
Reality had long been rewritten by pride.
But Jiang Chen only chuckled softly. "Ji Juechen's sword was ordinary. He was simply extraordinary."
"He's the purest human I've ever met—the one who truly found his own path."
Most trained along predetermined lines: soul ranks, spirits, and cultivation systems.
Ji Juechen had thrown all of that away, forging his own path through sheer will and obsession.
It wasn't soul master cultivation—it was something higher.
It was the Sword Dao.
That, Jiang Chen thought, was what a sword should be.
And you…
He gave Ye Xinglan a quick glance—okay, fine, maybe a longer one. She was still dripping wet, her clothes clinging to her figure.
But no, focus.
"You need to think carefully about the path you've chosen," he said quietly.
"Whether your sword belongs to Shrek—" his lips curved slightly "—or to you."
(END CHAPTER)
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