This chapter includes visual illustration and cinematic scene.
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Five hundred years later...
Kunwu Realm. Jiudi Star Domain. Shiyuan Star. Jinyao Continent. Benji Kingdom. Tianxing Mountain Range.
Sunlight stretched ten thousand li. Clouds churned like a rolling sea, and the pine-gale roared. The mountains coiled like dragons at rest, a thousand peaks standing shoulder to shoulder, while golden banners snapped and cracked in the wind beyond. The gates of Zhongheng Sword School stood wide open, crimson silk lined the ground, the stone steps had been scrubbed to a mirror shine, and even the mountain breeze that swept through carried the frenzied intensity of oil cast upon a roaring fire.
Today was the Sect Leader Succession Ceremony of Zhongheng Sword School.
Before the gate, a sea of people surged — Blade School, Fist Hall, Escort Bureau, and scions of noble families, all arrived bearing lavish gifts. Gilded presentation cases were stacked into small mountains; pearls and jade ornaments caught the sunlight and scattered brilliance in every direction. More than ten disciples of Zhongheng Sword School, clad in plain robes, stood in two rows flanking the gate, their bearing haughty as they received each gift and announced the donor's name in turn.
Suddenly, one of the Gate-Guarding Disciples erupted in fury, "Get out of my sight! You dare bring such vulgar trash to attach yourself to Zhongheng Sword School? Do you take this place for a common market stall?"
A disciple beside him flipped open a gift register and gave a cold snort. "Take a good look at what you've brought. Not one of the first three items has a shred of originality — they're not fit to put the new Sect Master in a Mood Blast, and they haven't a single spark of Ultra-Igniting Radiance. Bringing such worthless junk to a grand ceremony — do you expect us to answer for your embarrassment?"
A murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd.
At the foot of the steps, an elderly man knelt on both knees. His robes were worn and threadbare. He held a wooden casket in both hands, his entire body trembling. "This is the most precious Ancestral Relic of our Sun family — it carries a spirit, preserved for a hundred years... I beg your indulgence, sirs..."
The rebuking disciple kicked him over without a second thought, sneering down at him. "Do you not understand plain speech? If we let every man who turns up with broken rubbish like this gain an audience with the Sect Master, what would that make us? Today the finest figures from every school have assembled here. A gift with no originality, no dazzling splendor, no Ultra-Igniting Radiance — how could such a thing be fit to pass through our gate?"
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The old man collapsed into the dust, his forehead pressed to the ground, his lips trembling with desperate, broken murmurs.
At that very moment...
A strange wind rose above the gate.
The air turned abruptly cold. Dust and crimson silk were swept aloft; the banners thrashed and billowed backward. The sunlight seemed to dim for an instant, and a chill crept up every spine.
A cold, unhurried voice drifted down from above, "Mood Blast. Ultra-Igniting Radiance. Originality. Tell me — if your Sect Master no longer has his life, will he still be so particular?"
The voice was not loud, yet it reached every ear with the clarity of an ice blade pressed to the bone.
Every head turned upward.
Someone cried out, startled, "An Immortal!"
Several people were already folding into deep bows, mouths shaping the words, "Immortal Elder."
Then another voice shrieked, "No — that is no immortal crane! That is a Demon Beast!"
The clouds split open. A massive black shape spiraled downward. Its wings spread wide, blotting out half the sky; each beat sent a resonant hum— rolling out like thunder. The awe that had just bloomed across every face froze solid, then curdled into terror.
"Run —!"
"Flee for your lives!"
The area before the gate erupted into chaos. Gift cases tumbled and shattered, jade ornaments burst apart, and cries rose and fell in waves. The splendid scene of golden banners and assembled guests dissolved in an instant into scrambling, panicked disorder.
And within that strange wind, the cold presence drew ever closer.
The more than ten disciples of Zhongheng Sword School stood rooted to the spot, slack-jawed.
The one who had kicked the old man recovered his wits first. He seized a fellow disciple by the sleeve and hissed urgently, "Go at once and report to the Sect Master! There is..."
The words died in his throat.
The disciple he had grabbed went rigid without warning, as though seized by an invisible giant hand. He was lifted clean off the ground, limbs dangling in the air.
Then came a sound from the air — crack—
Clean. Precise.
The sound of bones snapping reverberated before the gate, sending a scalp-numbing shiver through the crowd. The disciple let out a muffled grunt. He had no time to cry out before his breath ceased entirely. The next instant — thud— he dropped and crumpled onto the stone steps, still as a stone.
Silence fell at the gate.
From above, the cold voice said evenly, "This gift — does it have originality?"
The tone carried a faint note of mockery.
The remaining disciples had gone white as ash. Every trace of their earlier arrogance had vanished. Several turned to flee, only to find their bodies locked in place as though the air around them had solidified into iron walls. Their fingers trembled, but they could not move. The next moment, an invisible force lifted them from the ground and raised them slowly into the air, suspending them above the heads of the crowd below.
The voice came again, "And now — would you call this a Mood Blast?"
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Several disciples worked their throats convulsively, cold sweat streaming down their foreheads. "Immortal Elder, spare us! We meant no offense... why must it come to this..."
The figure above grew colder still. "You serve that old crow Shui Xingxiao — that makes you enemies of Lin."
Someone choked out, "You... you are an enemy of the Hundred-Water Swordsman..."
The words had barely left the speaker's lips.
The figure raised a hand.
More than ten fireballs condensed from nothing — crimson as blood, spinning slowly, emitting a low, resonant thrum. These were not the wild, flaring flames of common fire arts. They were solidified into pearl-like spheres, light-piercing and dense, as churning waves of heat rolled off them.
Then —
The fireballs launched as one. Red radiance blazed across the sky.
The flames clung to cloth and flesh, devouring robes and forms in a single breath. The cries rising in the disciples' throats were forced back down by scorching pressure before they could escape. Fire enveloped each body; breath ceased within a single heartbeat. The flames drew inward, leaving only a handful of scattered crimson sparks drifting through the air.
Not one of them managed even a scream. Charred remnants fell and became ash.
The figure above looked down at those few flickering points of light, voice perfectly flat, "Ultra-Igniting Radiance. There it is."
Before the gate, a dead silence reigned.
The old man who had been kicked over still sat dazed in the dust, eyes unfocused. The fire before him had not yet died; the ringing in his ears had not yet faded. He did not know whether to feel dread or relief.
The figure above shifted his feet lightly, his voice unhurried, "Xiaofei — move. Let us go and deliver a truly Mood-Blasting, genuinely original gift to the Sect Master of Zhongheng Sword School."
The great beast beneath his feet seemed to understand. Its massive wings swept downward.
Hum—!
The resonance surged. The wind bent the pine forest flat. Dust and gift cases were sent spinning. The black shape streaked over the gate and vanished into the inner mountain.
Before the gate, only Scorch Mark and silence remained. And that hum— echoed on and on above the Tianxing Mountain Range, long after the shadow had gone.
The next day.
Benji Kingdom. Li Prefecture. Bili Cloud Sword Gate.
Buildings had collapsed. Halls lay in ruin. The dust had not yet settled. Broken beams jutted from the earth at angles; shattered roof tiles blanketed the stone steps like fallen rain. Where blue-green pines had once graced the grounds and Sword Qi had crackled through the air, now only Scorch Mark and fissures remained. Seen from a distance, three enormous spiraling winds still churned in the sky — azure light coiling within them, furious energy churning like dragons overturning the sea. The wind tore through the air with a sound like splitting silk, accompanied by a low, reverberant roar, hurling broken bricks and shattered timber, peeling the walls that had not yet fallen apart away, inch by agonizing inch.
Wherever the spiraling winds passed, the earth was as if hammered again and again by colossal fists — bluestone fractured and overturned, trees were ripped out by their roots. The disciples of the Gate scattered and fled in all directions, but the howling gale made it impossible to stand firm. One drew his sword and charged into the wind; barely had his blade's light flared when the vortex caught him and flung him more than ten zhang through the air, tumbling like a leaf. Another retreated into a hall, thinking thick walls might offer shelter — only to see azure light descend like a blade from the roof above, the ridge beam shattering, dust cascading in every direction.
Boom—!
The mountain gate let out a tremendous sound. Three streams of azure light struck it at almost the same instant; the tearing roar set the entire valley ringing. Formation Inscription had once flickered across the gate's surface — .yet as the azure light pressed down, they vanished like thin ice meeting a searing flame, dimming into nothingness in a heartbeat. The next moment, the gate burst apart. Shattered stone flew. A great gaping hole was torn through the entrance, and not one shred of its protection remained.
Half an hour.
Only half an hour.
Bili Cloud Sword Gate was rubble.
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Then came Lai Prefecture — the Kuaishou Gang — and it was no different. That organization did not endure even a quarter of an hour. Within three days, three of Benji Kingdom's greatest martial sects vanished from the world in succession. Their names still existed; their gates stood empty.
The news spread like wildfire. Every street and alley buzzed with talk. Teahouses overflowed with patrons; the wine houses had not a spare seat. A storyteller struck his table and raised his voice.
"Whoosh—! Whoosh—! Whoosh!"
He snapped his folding fan three times in quick succession, his cadence quickening, "Three streams of azure light descended from the heavens and in a flash became three enormous whirlwinds — their sound like splitting silk, deafening to the ear. The mountain gate was smashed apart on the spot. Boom— Boom— the echoes shook the valley. Shattered stone flew everywhere. The Gate's most formidable fighters never even had the chance to draw their swords!"
Those listening drew sharp breaths.
Someone could not hold back, "Tell us about the Immortal's mount!"
"I heard it was a Ferocious Beast that can fly?"
"Yes, yes — go on!"
The storyteller smoothed his beard and smiled, lowering his voice, though his eyes glittered with excitement, "Ah, that mount — truly a sight the world has seldom seen. Its body stretched a full zhang, the size of a mule or horse. Its head was enormous. On either side of it sat an eye as wide as a well-mouth... Fangs protruded from around its maw—their grain etched in ominous, savage patterns, as if forged from cold steel. Its legs were covered in Adamantine, needle-stiff bristles, trailing cold air wherever it flew. At its back, a pair of transparent wings trembled lightly; when they beat, the hum— bored straight into the mind."
The audience instinctively hunched their shoulders.
The storyteller pressed on, "If one had not witnessed it with their own eyes, no one would believe such a thing. Yet for those who did see those two great eyes — just one glance was enough to scatter seven parts of any mortal's courage. The beast's manner of flight was uncanny, its angles treacherous, its presence cold and oppressive. Within two or three breaths, it could rout dozens of the martial world's finest. Before a blade could even find its momentum, the fighter wielding it had already been swept away by the wind. Some had not yet grasped what was happening before they had lost all footing."
Gasps ran through the crowd.
The storyteller slapped the table; the teacups rattled. "Those three whirlwinds were summoned by the Immortal upon the beast's back! Heaven's wind for blades, ground stone for sand — a mountain gate before that figure was no sturdier than paper!"
A wave of agitation swept the teahouse.
Some broke into cold sweats; others muttered under their breath. Those enormous eyes, that hum— in the storyteller's telling, they seemed to sound at every listener's ear.
The martial world felt fear for the first time.
Then from within the crowd, someone spoke up, "But why — why has this Immortal destroyed three great sects in a row?"
The storyteller paused, an uncomfortable look crossing his face. "That... this old fellow truly does not know. Grievances in the jianghu have always been shrouded in fog."
Someone nearby dropped their voice, "I have heard it has something to do with Benji Kingdom's foremost martial figure — the Hundred-Water Swordsman, Shui Xingxiao."
The moment those words fell, another person scoffed, "What — did the Hundred-Water Swordsman steal the Immortal's wife?"
At once, a voice beside him cautioned, "Brother, watch your tongue! Words breed disaster. What if word reached that one's ears — would you not be bringing ruin upon yourself?"
The one who had joked went pale, mouth opening and closing, unable to produce a sound.
Someone else sighed, "Hongshu Gate in Central Prefecture also follows Shui Xingxiao's lead. I wonder..."
The crowd exchanged glances. Heads shook all around.
The storyteller let out a long breath, his voice dropping low, "The jianghu churns and turns. Who stands in the light today, and who lies in the dust tomorrow — it is impossible to say. Perhaps... this storm is not yet over."
The teahouse fell unusually quiet. Outside, the wind swept past — and beneath it, faint and distant, something like a hum— seemed to drift in.
——(To be continued)