"My heavens! Am I seeing things, or did the Sect Master just descend from the sky?"
"What kind of lightness skill is that?"
"That divine eagle was real—it's even bigger than the stone statue at the foot of the mountain!"
"Even if he jumped down from its back, from that height… how deep must his cultivation be to land unharmed?"
"As expected of the Sect Master. His mastery of lightness alone is already unmatched."
Amid the cries of astonishment, all eyes turned toward the man standing calmly atop the sword hilt—Li Qingqiu.
Shen Yue's expression remained calm, but his heart couldn't settle.
He, too, was shaken to the core. He simply couldn't comprehend how Li Qingqiu had done it.
'Could this be the ability granted by reaching the higher layers of the Supreme Purity and Primordial Harmony Sutra?'
Though he didn't understand, he couldn't help but feel a deep yearning for such power.
He raised his right hand, extending two fingers. Sword qi condensed at his fingertips, forming a sharp blade of energy. The moment he moved, silence fell across the Martial Debate Platform.
Every disciple held their breath. Even the nobles chatting with Zhang Yuchun fell quiet. All eyes turned toward the stage—waiting for the clash between two peerless masters to begin.
A duel between Li Qingqiu and Shen Yue—just the thought of it could stir the entire martial world.
Then Shen Yue noticed something strange.
The Tianhong Sword under Li Qingqiu's feet didn't actually touch the platform. It hovered there—about two centimeters above the surface.
That tiny gap sent another wave of disbelief through him.
He hadn't even exchanged a blow with Li Qingqiu, and already, he felt he'd lost.
Li Qingqiu stepped forward, landing lightly on the platform. He turned his wrist and gripped the Tianhong Sword in reverse, pointing it toward Shen Yue.
"One move to decide the winner. How about it?"
Shen Yue raised his sword-shaped qi, as if holding an invisible blade brimming with killing intent.
"Just what I was hoping for."
As soon as he spoke, countless strands of sword qi formed around him. In less than three breaths, over one hundred sword shadows materialized in the air, all pointing toward Li Qingqiu.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some even rubbed their eyes, unable to believe what they were seeing.
The fifty disciples of the Sword Sect straightened with excitement, eyes wide and blazing.
Xu Ning's gaze deepened as she watched Shen Yue's technique—Ten Thousand Swords Return to One. The sight astonished her.
She could feel it: each sword shadow wasn't just a form—it carried a distinct will. They were like real blades, suspended in the air, brimming with intent.
Such mastery—she had to admit she couldn't do it.
Xue Jin, too, felt humbled. A burning passion for the sword reignited in his heart.
Zhao Zhen furrowed his brows slightly, raising his hand and tracing faint sword movements in the air, quietly replaying the strikes in his mind.
Li Sifeng's hand unconsciously went to the Emperor Xuan Sword at his waist. He could feel the sword spirit within trembling with excitement, which made him uneasy. He knew well—had he not obtained the Emperor Xuan Sword first, the person most suited to it would've been Shen Yue.
Li Qingqiu, seeing Shen Yue's Ten Thousand Swords Return to One, looked mildly surprised.
He said with calm admiration, "As expected of the Sword God. Your comprehension of the Sword Dao truly ranks first under heaven."
"To defeat you—that is what it means to be first under heaven."
Shen Yue's voice was firm, his expression grave. Sword intent burst from him in full force, whipping up violent gusts of wind that sent the surrounding disciples staggering backward in waves.
"Come, then."
Li Qingqiu's eyes sharpened, his calm expression turning cold. The sheer intensity of his gaze made Shen Yue's heart tremble—as if his sword technique had been laid bare before it even began.
Shen Yue didn't waste words. He struck.
Hundreds of sword shadows tore through the air, thunder roaring within their momentum. The combined force was so overwhelming that even the disciples in the front rows felt suffocated.
Li Qingqiu moved.
In the blink of an eye—he vanished.
Then, a flash of sword light ripped through Shen Yue's storm of blades, shredding them apart in an instant.
Shen Yue's white hair lifted in the wind. He blinked—and when his eyes reopened, he froze.
The tip of the Tianhong Sword hovered less than three centimeters from his nose.
Silence.
Everyone stared, eyes wide, breath held.
Those standing behind Shen Yue looked past him—and saw the trees of the distant mountain swaying violently. The direction of their motion was the exact line of Li Qingqiu's strike—at least two hundred zhang away.
Xu Ning narrowed her eyes. Behind Li Qingqiu, traces of lightning still crackled across the platform—beneath them, faint footprints scorched into the surface.
Heavenly Thunder Step!
Her heart clenched. To think the Heavenly Thunder Step could reach such a level! She knew the technique herself, but since mastering the basics, she'd never pushed further. Compared to her master's, her own understanding was worlds apart.
Li Qingqiu's gaze locked onto Shen Yue.
"There is only one truth in all martial arts—speed is unbreakable."
Shen Yue's pupils dilated, and a flicker of realization crossed his face.
The words reached everyone watching—even the disciples in the farthest forests heard them clearly. None thought anything amiss. They were too awed by Li Qingqiu's strength.
One strike. One sword. The Sword God's technique, completely undone.
From that distance, had this been a real fight, the Sword God would already be dead.
"Speed is unbreakable…"
Shen Yue murmured the words to himself. Enlightenment dawned.
His sword had once been fast. But once no one could match his speed, he'd stopped valuing it—seeking instead to refine his qi, his power, and the profundity of form.
Yet in doing so, he had forgotten the essence of the sword itself.
Could such a man still call himself the Sword God?
Li Qingqiu withdrew his sword, sliding the Tianhong Sword back into its scabbard.
He turned, facing the countless disciples below. As his gaze swept across them, every heart quickened, every breath seemed to falter.
"The martial path of Qingxiao Sect—how is it different from the rest?"
His tone was calm, not loud, yet every word resonated clearly in the ears of those present.
"I have pondered this question for a long time, and I have found my answer. I hope that one day, each of you will find your own."
He paused. The mountain wind grew still.
"Now, the world is in chaos. Evil runs rampant. Many of you have asked, 'If good never loses to evil, when will righteousness triumph?'"
At those words, the disciples' breathing grew heavy. Even the visitors among the crowd sensed that something momentous was coming.
Was Qingxiao Sect preparing to descend the mountain once more?
Zhang Yuchun, Zhu Yan, Zhang Yu, and the other elders frowned slightly—but none dared interrupt.
Li Qingqiu's eyes swept the horizon.
"The great calamity has come. Every man and woman bears a duty to resist it. Qingxiao Sect is no exception."
"Even if the Emperor's demonic power has reached its peak, even if his army of magic soldiers numbers in the tens of thousands—we must not give in to fear."
He paused again, his voice soft but resolute.
"But you are all still young. I cannot bear to see you thrown into such danger."
"The future belongs to you. One day, this world will rest upon your shoulders. But for now, I'll carry it alone. I will go to Zhenyang myself, slay the Demon Emperor, and wipe out the demonic soldiers. As for you—keep training, keep building our sect, and prepare for the calamity to come."
As his words fell, the Tianhong Sword flew from its scabbard. Its radiant light gleamed across everyone's faces. Before the crowd's stunned gaze, the sword circled rapidly around Li Qingqiu, forming a whirl of sword qi that lifted him slowly off the ground.
When the elders of Qingxiao Sect realized what was happening, their faces changed.
"Senior brother! You mustn't!"
"Master!"
"Sect Master, what are you doing?!"
"The Qingxiao Sect should advance and retreat together—please reconsider, Sect Master!"
One by one, the elders leapt onto the Martial Debate Platform, voices full of urgency.
Shen Yue listened, his expression complicated. He finally understood—the true strength of Li Qingqiu wasn't just in his martial arts, but in his heart.
Now rising nearly one zhang above the platform, Li Qingqiu's face remained calm and composed.
"This time, I may not bring peace to the world," he said softly, "but the Son of Heaven will die."
"At the latest, I will return within three days."
With that, Li Qingqiu raised his head sharply. The Tianhong Sword at his side shot upward, trailing a powerful surge of sword qi that carried him straight into the sky. In the blink of an eye, both man and sword vanished into the clouds.
Moments later, the disciples and guests of Qingxiao Sect saw a massive black eagle soaring high above the heavens, beating its wings as it disappeared toward the distant horizon.
Boom!
The area around the Martial Debate Platform erupted with noise. Some shouted in excitement, some in fear, others in deep worry.
But above all, Li Qingqiu's words—"But the Son of Heaven will die"—shook every heart present.
What kind of confidence was that?
Zhang Yu looked toward the far sky and murmured with deep admiration, "Truly… a Sword Immortal."
It wasn't just Li Qingqiu's fearless resolve that left them in awe—his power was simply beyond understanding. Even the True Disciples couldn't comprehend what kind of martial art he had used.
To go to Zhenyang City, slay the Emperor, and return within three days—was that even possible?
Yet none of the gathered noble families dared to doubt him. Instead, their hearts filled with hope and excitement. Just that single scene—Li Qingqiu ascending like an immortal into the sky—was enough to make anyone believe in him completely.
"Sis, am I dreaming? Did you see that? The Sect Master actually flew away—flew! Quick, hit me to check!"
Cheng San, standing beside Cheng Xiu, was so excited he began jumping up and down.
Cheng Xiu didn't reply. She just stared blankly at the fading sky. She wasn't the only one. Dozens of disciples stood frozen in disbelief, their eyes following the path where their Sect Master had vanished.
In that moment, more and more disciples began to believe in a long-standing rumor within the sect—
That the Qingxiao Sect did not cultivate mere martial arts… but immortal arts.
——
As dusk settled, the fading sunlight streamed through the windows of the Qianwu Hall. At the center of the grand hall stood a massive bronze cauldron. Within it sat a man cross-legged in meditation—Zhao Zhi.
Steam rolled out from the cauldron's mouth, and Zhao Zhi's bare upper body glowed bright red from the heat. His brows were tightly furrowed, his face twisted in pain. Above his head, a faint ghostly shadow flickered in and out of sight.
In front of the cauldron stood Grand Guardian Xuan Gong and a white-robed Daoist draped in a black cloak—Daoist Master Jiang, the Immortal Master of the court. His hair was snow-white, his face weathered with age, about fifty or sixty years old. In his hand was a horsetail whisk, and at his waist hung a gourd.
"How much longer will this take?" Xuan Gong asked, his voice low and grim.
Immortal Master Jiang's expression was calm, his gaze fixed on Zhao Zhi within the cauldron.
"He can leave the cauldron at any time," Jiang said. "But his primordial spirit has been damaged. It's best he recuperate longer. Otherwise, he risks falling into madness."
"His primordial spirit?" Xuan Gong's brow furrowed.
Immortal Master Jiang sighed. "I've long heard that Fengxia Mountain practices ancient and obscure arts. I didn't expect it to be true. If you hadn't intervened when you did, Your Majesty would have perished at that man's hands."
The memory made Xuan Gong's heart tighten. The Daoist Baishu's methods were unlike anything he had ever seen—terrifying and unearthly.
He suddenly felt the world was far more complicated than he'd believed.
Just understanding Qingxiao Sect was already beyond him. And now, there was Fengxia Mountain as well.
Could he really restore the Great Wei Dynasty?
While that doubt gnawed at him, a Martial Enforcement Guard rushed into the hall. He knelt beside Xuan Gong and held up a letter pierced through by an arrow shaft.
Xuan Gong took the letter. "Where did this come from?"
"It was shot in from outside the city," the guard said.
"Outside the city?"
Xuan Gong frowned, quickly unrolling the letter. His pupils shook violently as he read, and his hand trembled—not clear whether from rage or something else.
Immortal Master Jiang noticed his reaction. "What's the matter?" he asked.
Xuan Gong's voice dropped low. "The Sect Master of Qingxiao Sect, Li Qingqiu, has come. He declares that at dawn tomorrow, he will break into Zhenyang City alone and slay the Emperor. Anyone who stands in his way… will die."
For a moment, Immortal Master Jiang was stunned—then he threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the hall.
"What arrogance!" he sneered. "To invade Zhenyang alone and speak of killing the Emperor? I must see whether this madman truly dares to come!"
Xuan Gong drew in a deep breath. "Immortal Master, remain here with His Majesty. I will make the necessary preparations."
Without another word, he turned and strode from the hall, crushing the letter into ash between his fingers. The guard who had delivered it hurried after him.
Immortal Master Jiang looked back toward Zhao Zhi in the cauldron and smirked. "Your Majesty, did you hear that? Someone intends to kill you—the very Qingxiao Sect Master you wished to destroy."
He didn't notice the faint movement above him.
At the top of one of the great pillars, half-hidden in shadow, a small boy emerged from the darkness—only his upper body visible. His eyes were cold and sinister as he stared down at Immortal Master Jiang in silence.