The clash of the two sword intents lasted only a few heartbeats before it erupted with a deafening boom. The force of the explosion sent Jiang Zhaoxia hurtling backward through the air.
He landed on the far bank of the Xi River, skidding backward eight steps before managing to steady himself. His face turned pale, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his right hand, still gripping his sword, trembled uncontrollably.
His eyes stayed fixed on the opposite shore. A cloud of dust rose like a storm, completely shrouding Shen Yue's figure—only his silhouette could be seen through the haze.
The entire mountain valley fell into silence. Every gaze turned toward the Sword God, waiting for the dust to clear.
When the air finally settled, Shen Yue's figure reappeared. His white hair fluttered freely, his robe torn in several places, but his body bore not a single wound. The aura surrounding him, however, was even sharper than before—his sword intent blazed like an invisible flame.
He lowered his gaze toward the sword in his hand. As his eyes fell upon it, a faint crack appeared along the blade, spreading rapidly until it shattered like glass. The broken fragments scattered across the ground in a glittering shower.
When the disciples of Qingxiao Sect saw the Sword God's weapon break, excitement rippled through the crowd.
"Did Elder Jiang win?"
"No, look! The Sword God doesn't seem injured."
"Even if he isn't hurt—without a sword, how can he keep fighting?"
"To witness a duel like this in one lifetime… even death would be without regret."
"Their skills are on a completely different level. The so-called first-rate masters of the martial world can't even compare."
Disciples and visiting pilgrims alike couldn't stop whispering in awe. To them, even if Jiang Zhaoxia merely fought Shen Yue to a draw, it would already be the greatest honor of his life.
After all, Jiang Zhaoxia was more than several decades younger than the Sword God. Even if he lost, it was no shame.
As the last traces of dust cleared from the riverbank, Shen Yue slowly released his grip. The sword hilt fell into the dirt with a soft thud. Then, with a deliberate stomp of his right foot, the ground beneath the hilt caved in, forming a small pit. Extending his palm, he drew upon his inner force—surrounding earth and mud rose and drifted over, covering the remains of his sword.
From start to finish, his eyes never left Jiang Zhaoxia.
Jiang Zhaoxia's bleeding wouldn't stop; crimson dripped steadily from his jaw. Yet his eyes, just as sharp, met Shen Yue's without wavering.
Shen Yue spoke at last. "Your inner strength is the strongest I've ever seen. Your swordsmanship is refined—elegant and precise. Unfortunately, your sword intent isn't mature enough. Still, you've only lost to me. Across the martial world today, you would rank among the very best. Ordinary masters who've entered the Innate Realm wouldn't withstand even one strike from you."
There was no mockery in his voice—only respect.
But Jiang Zhaoxia couldn't suppress the chaotic sword qi raging inside his body. He coughed violently and spat out a mouthful of blood before dropping to one knee.
The truth was, he'd been standing purely through willpower.
Defeat weighed on him like a mountain. He, who had reached the sixth layer of the Nurturing Essence Realm, had never feared anyone. Since attaining this level, he had always believed that no one besides his Senior Brother could best him.
Yet today, he had been utterly crushed.
He could sense it clearly—Shen Yue's internal force was weaker than his own. What defeated him wasn't strength, but the sword itself.
To a man born with the fate of a sword fanatic, that was the one thing he could not accept.
Shen Yue turned his gaze toward the hundreds of onlookers and said calmly, "Does Qingxiao Sect have anyone else who dares fight me? If not, hand over the Emperor Xuan Sword. I have no wish to take it by force."
Arrogant.
That was the only word that echoed through everyone's mind.
The disciples of Qingxiao Sect no longer watched as spectators. Every one of them burned with anger and humiliation.
"Why should you be the one making demands? What happens if you lose?"
A new voice rang out from behind the crowd.
The disciples turned as one, joy lighting their faces.
They quickly stepped aside, clearing a path as Li Qingqiu and Yuan Qi approached through the sea of people.
"Master, teach him a lesson!"
Zhao Zhen pumped his fist excitedly from within the crowd. Beside him, Yuan Li's expression was equally eager.
Su Xiling, Ku Yi, and Ku Er also stood nearby. When they saw Li Qingqiu arrive, relief washed over their faces. None of them wanted to see Qingxiao Sect crushed under the Sword God's heel.
Still, they knew better than anyone—they weren't Shen Yue's equals.
Even if one had stepped into the Innate Realm, what of it?
There are always mountains beyond mountains, heavens beyond heavens.
To most of the martial world, they were the hidden experts—but in front of a true peerless master, they were no different from ordinary mortals.
Only one question remained—
Just how high is the "heaven" where the Sect Master of Qingxiao stands?
Under countless watchful eyes, Li Qingqiu walked forward slowly. Passing by Wu Man'er and Yang Jueding, he stopped beside Jiang Zhaoxia.
Shen Yue's eyes fell upon him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
Another young one.
He had already heard that the newly risen Qingxiao Sect was filled with prodigies barely past their youth. He had thought the rumors exaggerated—but now, seeing them for himself, he realized the tales understated the truth.
Though he kept a calm expression, inwardly, Shen Yue was impressed.
At twenty-one, Jiang Zhaoxia already possessed martial power that rivaled legends. If he survived to fifty, the path of martial arts would surely reach heights never before seen.
But Shen Yue no longer thought of the future.
All he desired now was to lay eyes upon the Emperor Xuan Sword, create a sword art that surpassed all before it, and die without regret.
If only he had met Jiang Zhaoxia ten years earlier—he would have gladly taken him as a disciple.
Under Shen Yue's gaze, Li Qingqiu and Jiang Zhaoxia brushed past each other.
As they did, Li Qingqiu casually flicked out two silver needles. They landed precisely on Jiang Zhaoxia's chest, stabilizing the rampaging sword qi inside his body.
"Senior Brother…"
Jiang Zhaoxia's voice trembled, filled with shame. His face burned; he wished he could crawl into the ground.
"You didn't disgrace Qingxiao Sect," Li Qingqiu said without turning back. "And that so-called Sword God wasn't as composed as he looked."
His calm tone made Shen Yue frown deeply.
When Li Qingqiu finally stopped walking, Shen Yue spoke first. "If I lose," he said solemnly, "I will pass on all that I have learned in this lifetime to Qingxiao Sect. How about that?"
He had roamed the martial world for seventy years and had never bullied the young. He didn't want history to accuse him of doing so now. Of course, he was certain he would not lose.
Li Qingqiu smiled faintly. "If you've already lost, what meaning would your life's teachings have for me?"
His tone was casual, almost friendly, yet the words themselves were more arrogant than Shen Yue's had ever been. The disciples around them felt their blood boil with pride.
Shen Yue snorted coldly. "Empty words are worthless. Then what do you propose?"
"If you lose," Li Qingqiu said, staring straight at him, "you'll join Qingxiao Sect."
His smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unshakable focus. The intensity of his gaze alone made even Shen Yue feel a strange pressure, something he hadn't experienced in decades.
For the first time, the Sword God realized that this young man might truly surpass Jiang Zhaoxia. Still, fear had never been part of his nature. He had faced countless life-and-death duels, and in his heart, he believed that dying in battle was the highest form of honor for a martial artist.
The problem was—he had never met anyone capable of killing him.
"See that?" Li Sijin turned toward Chu Jing with a proud grin. "Even in presence alone, he can't match my Senior Brother!"
Chu Jing nodded slightly. "The Sect Master may be young, but his aura is commanding indeed."
Yet, as he said this, his eyes flickered coldly, a glint of unease passing through them.
"Very well," Shen Yue said flatly, growing impatient. "Show me what you can do."
Li Qingqiu smiled faintly. "Since you're the Sword God, I'll use my sword art to spar with you."
Shen Yue frowned. What did he mean by that? Was this youth not a pure sword cultivator?
Before he could dwell on it, he saw Li Qingqiu lift his right hand.
Instantly, a ripple passed through the onlookers. The disciples and pilgrims of Qingxiao Sect all lowered their heads in surprise, staring at their own swords. Their sheaths were trembling.
Some instinctively grabbed their hilts, while others, realizing what was happening, dared not interfere and simply stared at Li Qingqiu with wide eyes.
Chu Jing turned his head sharply. The sword at his neighbor's side was quivering violently. His brow furrowed.
Shen Yue, however, noticed none of this—his full attention was locked on Li Qingqiu. The young man's hand was raised, but he made no move, no stance. Shen Yue was about to speak when Li Qingqiu suddenly turned his palm.
Clang! Clang! Clang—!
A chorus of blades echoed across the valley, so sharp it pierced the sky.
The glare of countless swords reflected on Shen Yue's face. His pupils shrank in disbelief.
What was he seeing?
From among the hundreds of spectators, sword after sword shot into the air, all flying toward Li Qingqiu and forming up behind him. The blades hovered in midair, their points aimed straight at Shen Yue.
More than two hundred swords floated at Li Qingqiu's command.
Even the Sword God's heart skipped a beat.
He had seen countless techniques in his life, but never this—swords flying freely through the air, untouched by any hand, as if possessed by ghosts.
The crowd gasped as one. Even those Qingxiao disciples who had guessed what might happen were stunned by the sight before them.
Jiang Zhaoxia, still half-kneeling, looked up in awe.
Beside Li Sijin, Chu Jing's face darkened. His eyes fixed on Li Qingqiu, filled with dread.
He could not sense any inner force from Li Qingqiu at all. Could it be… he's not using internal energy to control those swords?
"What… what sword art is this?" Shen Yue's voice trembled as he asked.
Li Qingqiu raised his chin slightly and smiled. "It's a technique I comprehended from another's swordsmanship. So I borrowed his name for it—Ten Thousand Swords Return to One."
"Ten Thousand Swords Return to One…" Shen Yue repeated softly, the name itself carrying boundless mystery.
Jiang Zhaoxia, hearing this, was puzzled. When did Senior Brother meet such a master? How come I never heard of this?
Li Qingqiu's eyes hardened. "Sword God, unleash your strongest strike. You only have one chance."
As soon as he spoke, the two hundred plus swords behind him trembled violently, ringing with a thunderous chorus. Their tips all pointed toward Shen Yue, an invisible wave of killing intent pressing down so hard it made the Sword God's heartbeat quicken.
Shen Yue took a deep breath and raised his own right hand. His greatest weapon was never the sword in his grip—but himself.
"This move is the strongest sword technique I've ever created," he said, his voice firm and resonant. "It's called A Sword That Shakes the World."
The moment he finished, sword qi erupted upward from beneath his feet. His robes billowed wildly, his white hair whipped through the air, and his aura exploded with such force that the Xi River surged upward like a dragon rising to the heavens.
Li Qingqiu's lips curved slightly. With a wave of his hand, the two hundred swords above him unleashed a storm of sword energy, converging on Shen Yue like a sea of blades. The shockwave forced the hundreds of spectators to stumble backward, shielding their faces.
At that same instant, Shen Yue moved. One step—then he leapt high into the air, his body like a divine blade cutting through the wind, his entire being condensed into a single, devastating strike aimed straight at Li Qingqiu.
The ground itself trembled.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh—!
Blades streaked through the air, glowing with lethal qi. One after another, they pierced the sky, converging on Shen Yue. Within a breath, his figure vanished beneath a storm of sword light.
A deafening roar filled the valley as dust and energy exploded outward. Li Qingqiu, commanding more than two hundred swords, had summoned a storm like ten thousand arrows loosed at once.
Before anyone could process what had happened, a figure shot out from the cloud of dust—Shen Yue.
His body hurtled through the air, flung a hundred zhang away. He crashed down hard onto the main road, sliding several more zhang before finally coming to a stop, carving a long trench in the dirt.
When the dust settled, the Sword God lay there, robes torn to shreds. His body trembled uncontrollably, blood streaming from his seven orifices. His once-bright eyes were now dull and lifeless, his mouth open as blood foam spilled out again and again.
The world fell silent.
Even the river stopped roaring.
The Sword God, Shen Yue—had fallen.