Chapter 1: The Sword Arrives

Xue Cuo’s parents were renowned sword cultivators across the Eastern Divine Land: the Sword Immortal Jun Wuwei and the Dragon Might Swordmaster, Xue Zhenzhen.

They were both extremely busy.

As a result, Xue Cuo saw his mother, Zhenzhen twelve times a year, and his father, Wuwei twice every four years.

Tonight, once darkness had fallen, Xue Zhenzhen returned to test Xue Cuo’s swordsmanship.

The moon hung bright and lonesome in the sky bereft of stars. Deep within the shadowy Sword Tomb, there was a small formation.

At its centre of the formation sat a boy of five or six, his hair tied so it pointed upwards, fair and chubby, mischievous, and thoroughly adorable. This was Xue Cuo himself.

Xue Cuo’s test was to swing his sword a thousand times.

The trouble was, he had yet to grasp the essence of sword intent. The replica Dragon Might Sword given to him was far too heavy, far too cold, and even taller than himself. Xue Cuo could only manage just four hundred and fifty-five swings before he could no longer lift his shoulder.

Xue Zhenzhen, in her frustration, raised her staff and berated, “Lift it!”

Xue Cuo, panting, muttered, “Fine. But, a gentleman uses his words, not his fists aaa, Mother…”

He summoned all his strength, but the sword seemed rooted to the ground. It didn’t move at all. Xue Zhenzhen fumed and caned him on the backside. “Why can’t you lift it?!”

Xue Cuo yelped, clutching his rear with a tearful pout. “Mother, I’m only six!”

Xue Zhenzhen’s voice was as cold as her demeanour. “When I was six, I’d already reached the Spirit Void Stage. And you’re this hopeless! I think it’s not that you can’t learn, you just don’t want to!”

Before Xue Cuo could defend himself, Xue Zhenzhen seized him by the collar and hauled him off to the Sword Tomb. The place was bleak and pitch-dark, with bones and crumbling graves strewn all over. The strong winds howled.

She flung him onto a mound of dirt. “Deliberate diligently here.”

“Yes.”

As Xue Zhenzhen turned to leave, Xue Cuo scrambled after her on his short little legs. “Mom!”

She glanced back, expression calm. “Are you scared?”

Xue Cuo released his hand, looked around, then forced himself to smile. “No scared aaa! Why would I be scared? But, Mom… is this formation core stable?”

Xue Zhenzhen answered coolly, “You won’t die.”

He let out a sigh of relief and sat back in the centre of the formation. “Then you can go, Mom!”

Her expression relaxed slightly. “Cultivate properly. Strive to make a breakthrough. Don’t think about slacking.”

Xue Cuo nodded so hard his head resembled a bobbing garlic clove. Only then did she leave, leaving Xue Cuo alone in the tomb.

Once sure she was gone, Xue Cuo sighed, wiped the sweat on his brow, and crumbled to the ground. “I’m so tired aaa…”

Fortunately, knowing that his mother would be returning in a few days, Xue Cuo was prepared. He tucked his hands behind his head, pulled out a children’s picture book from his robes, placed a plate of melon seeds beside him, crossed his legs, and eagerly began reading.

The Sword Tomb was one of the sect’s forbidden areas, and not exactly the safest. Disciples occasionally vanished nearby, likely slain by sword spirits.

This place was filled with shadows of the sword mounds. Black ashes slowly began to gather and coalesce, forming a white figure. The figure shifted closed toward the formation, until it eventually materialized into a white-clothed Daoist priest.

He waved at Xue Cuo.

Xue Cuo was scared stiff, the boy narrowed his eyes and looked around the dark cemetery. “Are you talking to me?”

The Daoist priest smiled and took out a few grasshopper toys woven from straw, along with some osmanthus sweets.

Xue Cuo frowned inwardly. Bro, have you considered the possibility that someone emerging from a grave in the dead of night probably isn’t human?

When he saw no response from Xue Cuo, the white-robed Daoist put away the treats and lifted the hem of his robe before sitting down across from him.

Seeing this situation, Xue Cuo fished out several stacks of talisman papers for exorcising evil and stuck them around the formation. The last piece he solemnly stuck right in front of the Daoist priest.

“All evil, begone. All methods don’t infringe.”

The youth in white: ……

As he let out a soft “hng” sound, there was a gentle smile on his face.

Xue Cuo lay on the ground reading his book, but from time to time, he snuck an indifferent peek at him. The white-robed youth used spiritual energy to conjure little animals that danced around him in circles.

Xue Cuo scoffed. “Puny tricks.”

Still, he couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the furry creatures, though his feet remained firmly planted inside the formation circle.

The white-robed man waited. And waited. His expression slowly soured. Eventually, his face turned dark as, he rose to his feet, looking like a resentful youth swindled out of affection and turned to leave.

Xue Cuo hastily set down his book and carried the melon seed plate after him. “Gege*, wanna play a little longer?”

(*TN: For those not familiar, “ge” directly translates to “older brother”. It can also be a term of endearment, to refer to or an address for a male relative, male friend or someone older. Repeating the address like “Gege” is often more affectionate and less formal.)

The young man’s expression twisted. Suddenly, he turned and smiled, beckoning Xue Cuo with a finger.

Xue Cuo hesitated, then inched closer to the wall of light. “Um… were you a shixiong* in Tianyi Sect before you died?”

(*TN: senior brother, upperclassman.)

The smile remained, but in the next instant, a snow-white sword burst out from behind the white-robe youth’s neck. A green-black hand gripped its hilt, and in a flash, the blade sliced off his head.

The headless body remained standing, blood spraying like a fountain.

Xue Cuo, being too close, was splashed on his entire face.

“Waaah!!”

The sword quivered mockingly as the ghostly hand unleashed an array of illusions, slashing wildly. The fierce sword qi triggered a chain reaction. Black ashes swelled throughout the tomb, and dormant blades awoke, replaying hallucinations their wielders had faced in life.

The Sword Tomb howled in misery. The fragile formation cracked under pressure, like it was shattering.

Sword intent surged.

Terrified, Xue Cuo dropped his snacks, grabbed his little wooden sword, and flung talismans as he sprung around.

“Don’t come near, you! I’m not scared of you!”

Suddenly.

A faint, flute-like note rang from the darkness. In an instant, the cacophony of horrifying sounds quieted.

A thousand swords fell silent.

Two strong arms scooped Xue Cuo up from the floor. He clung tight to the figure’s robes, heart still pounding.

Jun Wuwei had consulted the Divination Immortal to track his son’s location, only to discover that Xue Cuo had been dumped by his mother in the Sword Tomb.

This place was meant for disciples in the Spirit Void Stage to attain enlightenment. Xue Cuo had only just formed his foundation…

Recognising Jun Wuwei, Xue Cuo immediately went quiet as a chick.

Due to Jun Wuwei’s yearlong seclusion, both of them had only met a handful of times and weren’t close.

As they left the tomb, Jun Wuwei’s sleeve was tugged and he glanced down.

Xue Cuo mumbled, “Um… I haven’t comprehended anything.”

Jun Wuwei paused. “Do you want to stay?”

Xue Cuo shook his head like a rattle drum.

A streak of light flashed in the distance, chasing a snow-white sword. Clinging to it was the same ghostly, green-black hand, desperately trying to flee.

But it failed. The light lashed it out of the sky and flung it down before Jun Wuwei.

Jun Wuwei threw it a side glance. The light sheathed itself with a cheerful chime.

Xue Cuo cried out, “That evil sword!”

Jun Wuwei looked down. 

The green-black hand quivered as it rose, gripping the snowy blade. Its five fingers bent, leaving thumb and pinkie outstretched like it was smiling.

Despite having only five fingers, it somehow managed to express six parts fawning, four parts flattery.

The sword immortal exuded a commanding presence with his tall and imposing stature. “I give you this Snow Sword as a gift.”

Xue Cuo was thin-skinned and said shyly: “You’re too kind. But since you insist, alright then.”

Snow Sword heard this and erupted in protest, furious that it was being gifted over to a cowardly little brat. It shot into the air, determined to resist.

Jun Wuwei’s own sword gave a crisp chime. A flash of sword qi sliced a boulder within the tomb into hair-thin threads.

The Snow Sword froze.

Then, slowly, it curved its gleaming tip. The green-black hand transformed into a tassel of five gentle fingers, floating down like silk. It fluttered its tassels like flirtatious eyelashes, an unreadable gesture.

Xue Cuo’s eyes went wide.

“Dad… it curved!”