The Sword Immortal shook his head gently. “Xue Cuo has no aptitude for the sword. He and Gu Ruhui are not to be spoken of in the same breath.”
Xue Zhenzhen frowned, shaking her head in firm disagreement. “My father once said I was unfit for cultivation, that I had no chance at longevity. I refused to believe him. Now, I’ve surpassed him in cultivation. Can you refute my Dao?”
Jun Wuwei fell silent. He had offered his view once and, having said his piece, lost interest. Pillowing his arm behind his head, he shut his eyes and dozed beneath the flowering tree.
He had made his stance clear. Xue Zhenzhen did not accept it, but he did not argue.
He was, after all, the Sword Immortal of the Eastern Lands. His silence carried a weight of unspoken disdain. None dared ignore it.
Xue Zhenzhen stood in silence for a moment, then raised a hand and gripped the hilt of Dragon Might Sword.
The abbot from Lingguang Temple pressed his palms together and stepped back at once.
Sword Immortal’s eyes opened. The bamboo sword in his hand gave a soft hum. The two locked eyes, then vanished beneath the blossom tree at the same instant.
A moment later, a dragon’s roar echoed across the skies, shaking loose a flurry of petals from the trees.
Xue Cuo caught the falling petals in his robe and skipped over to the table. Tilting his head, he eyed the monk’s bald head and asked, “Master, could you sweep the ones on the table over to me?”
The Lingguang abbot blinked, murmured an Amitabha, and with a wave of his prayer-bead-strung hand, brushed the scattered petals into Xue Cuo’s robes.
Xue Cuo beamed with delight, entirely carefree.
The silver snake woman tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Little one, your father himself said you’ve no sword talent, you know.”
Xue Cuo turned around. “I don’t want to be a cultivator anyway.”
That caught her off guard. Around them, other Daoists turned to look, curiosity sharpening in their eyes.
The snake woman gave a languid chuckle. “Spoken like a child. A single setback and you give up. What a waste of the Sword Immortal’s bloodline.”
Xue Cuo had already hopped off the steps. But hearing that, he turned back, marched straight over, and stopped in front of her.
He was short and round, with his two red-tied flower-bun pigtails, fair and soft like a sticky rice dumpling. Utterly adorable.
Xue Cuo said, “If you think I’m not worthy, why don’t you call my mother your godmother and cultivate beside my father? I’m lonely. Having a big brother or sister would be nice.”
The silver snake woman flushed scarlet and exploded. “You……..insolent brat!”
Among the assembled cultivators, few had escaped her sharp tongue over the years. Watching her now get teased by a six-year-old, they exchanged subtle glances. There was laughter in their eyes, even if not on their lips.
“Ciru.” The old man in the purple-gold and white jade crown cast her a mild glance. “The selection is about to begin. Best focus.”
Ciru lowered her gaze and murmured in acquiescence. Xue Cuo seized the moment, bundled up his petals and leapt down the stairs, not sparing her another look. Ciru ground her teeth and gave a cold snort.
Xue Cuo dashed off toward the winding stream.
Sitting atop a blossom tree in a daze, Youxia spotted him, then turned to call out to the disciples of the Shujian Pavilion. “Hurry and look! That’s the little shixiong I mentioned. He’s finally out. Eh, what’s he doing?”
Tianyi Sect’s disciples, dressed in their blue and white robes, were lined up as neatly as chess pieces on a board, a sharp contrast to the three thousand others gathered that day.
Xu Youyu, being of common birth, sat to the right with the Shujian disciples. To the left were the Tianyi Pavilion disciples, headed by the direct disciples of the elders.
Hearing Youxia’s shout, Xu Youyu looked down. Their little shixiong had reached the stream, petals still gathered in his robes. Now he was kicking off his shoes.
Xu Youyu’s brows creased. Beside him, a senior disciple of Tianyi Pavilion showed clear surprise, frowning. “That’s hardly appropriate.”
A female disciple of the Pavilion frowned. “Isn’t that Elder Xue’s son? I’ll go teach him some manners!” Transforming into a streak of light, the sword cultivator descended to the stream.
Xue Cuo scattered the petals into the water. What the immortals atop the peak admired as mere picturesque scenery were, in truth, spirit-rich flowers and immortal herbs.
The petals floated downstream, from mountaintop to mid-slope, then down toward the foot of the mountain.
The stream was dense with spiritual energy. Even mortals who drank from it would feel invigorated. Xue Cuo tossed in handful after handful. However, greedy fish darted over, gobbling the petals up in no time.
Outraged, Xue Cuo nearly drew a Thunderbolt Talisman. But the thought of his mother’s expression if she caught him blasting fish at a formal event made him wilt. He quietly tucked the talisman away, placed his hands on his hips, and resolved to catch the fish himself.
“Hey!”
Xue Cuo turned. A female sword cultivator stood behind him. She had a high-bridged nose, thin lips, fiery as a blaze. She kicked his shoes aside, glanced around, and scolded, “Get up this instant! Don’t make Elder Xue and the Sword Immortal lose face.”
Xue Cuo blinked. “Jiejie, who’re you?”
She huffed. “You’re too much. Get up now and we’ll talk.”
She had already entered the Spirit Void Stage, a full four realms higher than Xue Cuo. She was tall and broad, and simply grabbed him by the back of the collar.
Naturally, Xue Cuo was unwilling. He wriggled and pushed, but with such a vast gap in cultivation, he couldn’t break free and was hoisted up like poultry. The female cultivator turned to leave, only to be stopped by a hand.
She turned, startled, and found herself surrounded by the senior disciples of the Shujian Pavilion: Xu Youyu, Lin Youxia, and several others.
Furious, she yanked her arm. “You dare lay a hand on me?!”
Xu Youyu gently pried Xue Cuo from her grasp and set him on the ground. He gave a polite bow. “Qingdai-shijie.”
Qingdai struck Xu Youyu across the face. Behind her, several Tianyi Pavilion disciples descended, surrounding her protectively.
Xue Cuo, still barefoot, looked left, then right and reached out to grab Xu Youyu’s sleeve. Qingdai’s chest rose and fell with anger. She swept her gaze over the Shujian disciples. Clearly, Xu Youyu was trying to curry favour with Elder Xue’s son—and doing it at her expense.
Qingdai sneered. “Xue Cuo is a Tianyi Pavilion disciple. It’s not your place, as commoners, to interfere. Xue Cuo, come here.”
“That’s right, that’s right.”
“You’re Xue Cuo? Come over here. You’ve mistaken. We’re your proper shixiongs and shijies.”
The Shujian disciples, already unhappy with the arrogance of the Pavilion side, stood firm. Those closest to Xu Youyu and stuck with him, refusing to give way.
Xue Cuo stood there in total confusion, wedged between the two factions, entirely forgotten by both.
In the midst of the squabble, Lin Youxia suddenly swept Xue Cuo up in his arms and grinned. “Why not just ask our Xue-shixiong who he wants to follow?”
Xue Cuo shoved at him in fury and leapt to the ground. “I’m not choosing! All of you go away!”
He stormed off a few steps then stomped back, eyes blazing. Still barefoot, he stepped right on Lin Youxia’s foot with great force.
“You pinched my bum!”
Xu Youyu frowned and cast a sharp look at Youxia.
Youxia: “Cough, cough.”
The two groups of disciples glared at each other, then turned away in mutual disdain.
Qingdai let out a cold snort. Xue Cuo had chosen to squander his own path. This rotten wood that could not be carved. Furious, she no longer cared whether his behaviour brought shame or not. With a flick of her sleeve, she soared back to perch among the blossom trees. Xu Youyu, Youxia, and several others from the Shujian Pavilion remained behind.
Xu Youyu approached Xue Cuo. The boy was squatting by the stream, plucking at weeds. When he saw Xu Youyu, he turned away, pointedly showing him his back.
Xu Youyu gave a subtle signal. Youxia slumped forward dejectedly and crouched beside Xue Cuo, scratching his head and tugging at his ear. “Er… little shixiong, don’t be cross. If it helps, I’ll let you pinch me back?”
Xue Cuo was quiet for a beat. Then he slowly turned, stared at Youxia for a moment and sneered. “Pei.”
Youxia: Was that really necessary?
Xu Youyu and the rest of the Shujian disciples were quietly delighted. Youxia was usually smooth-tongued and well-liked compared to the rest of them. Seeing him shut down by a six-year-old had them chuckling under their breath.
Youxia: Hey!
By the time Xue Zhenzhen and Jun Wuwei returned, their breathing was faintly uneven. Xue Zhenzhen was first to sweep aside her robe and sit down.
The Sword Immortal leaned against a low branch, arms folded. “Swordmaster,” he said, “I only said Xue Cuo and Gu Ruhui are incomparable because Xue Cuo could never have lived through Gu Ruhui’s past.”
Xue Zhenzhen nearly replied, Have you ever stopped to consider how Xue Cuo might feel, hearing that? But she held her tongue. Instead, she calmed her sword-heart and said coolly, “Enlighten me.”
Jun Wuwei picked up a fallen blossom. “I encountered him while refining my sword path in the mortal realm. He was the instigator of a sect-wide massacre.”
“No one was able to ascertain background is. His master, his origins are unknown. But his swordplay is formidable.”
Just a few words, delivered in flat tones.
But Xue Zhenzhen heard something behind them: a trace of regret, a hint of admiration. She found it absurd. “He’s just a butcher. A killer. He came to kill and gained fame through slaughter. The sword is the monarch of blades. How can one who revels in blood be worthy of it?”
“And what’s wrong with avenging one’s parents?” Jun Wuwei looked mildly affronted. “He suffered greatly in childhood, swallowed countless humiliations, and finally achieved his vengeance through discipline and cultivation. I can only admire that. Compared to him, Xue Cuo’s realm and heart are far lacking. That is the truth.”
Xue Zhenzhen closed her eyes slightly and no longer argued with the Sword Immortal. This time, it was her silence that answered him.
Down at the foot of the mountain, the struggle was gradually coming into focus.
A thousand disciples had endured storms, lightning, fire tribulations, and tests of obsession and desire. Slowly, step by step, they had climbed to the mountainside. Roughly seven hundred remained. Casualties were in the hundreds.
Then… the mountain gate swung open with a resounding boom.
The disciples who strove to ascend to immortality raised their heads, and before them appeared a white jade stair, half-buried beneath fallen petals. Somewhere above, the cry of cranes echoed faintly.
Leading the ascent was a disciple named Gu Ruhui.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light and, sword in hand, began to climb the steps one step at a time, slowly and steadily.
Behind him rose countless voices, yet Gu Ruhui’s heart was utterly still.
He felt the breeze stir the fine hairs on his sweat-damp face, brushing away fatigue and struggle, pure and profound.
Is this what becoming an immortal feels like?
He surged ahead, walking faster and faster, seemingly tireless. Towering blossom trees came into view. Spirit beasts frolicked freely on the grass. He drenched in blood… and was utterly out of place here.
At the top of the stair stood two figures. As Gu Ruhui drew closer, he saw one was a man standing beneath a flower tree, hands clasped behind his back, face as finely drawn as a painting. A bamboo sword hung at his waist. “Gu Ruhui?”
The man smiled. “I wish to take you as my disciple. Will you accept?”
Beside him stood a woman. Her aura was profound and unreadable. She wore a plain dress and thornwood hairpin, with a broad dragon-carved sword strapped to her back. She frowned at Gu Ruhui, but said nothing.
Gu Ruhui’s legs trembled. His knees ached, and he instinctively began to kneel.
“Careful.” The man was suddenly before him, catching him with one hand.
Gu Ruhui, flustered, found himself looking up at a man as steady and vast as a mountain. The man gave a hearty laugh. “My disciples kneel only to heaven and earth, not to their master.”
Gu Ruhui was dazed.
At that moment, two cultivators in pale blue disciple robes flew in on swords. Riding atop one of them was a little boy of five or six, clutching two fish. Spotting the woman, he promptly leapt down, lowered his head and extended his hand. “Mother.”
He offered the fish. “ Mom, I caught them for you.”
The woman gave him a cold look, took the fish from his hands… and threw them into the grass.
