Above the clouds.
Jun Wuwei wore a snow-white robe, his brows and eyes soft and serene, as if painted by hand.
He reclined casually on the drifting clouds, his expression tranquil and detached. Beside him sat a jar of wine, untouched, as he quietly admired the morning light spilling over the horizon.
He seemed unremarkable at first glance, yet not even the wind dared disturb his peace.
Around Jun Wuwei lingered a subtle Dao rhythm, seemingly simple, yet impossibly deep and hard to comprehend.
That was the most difficult thing of all. To comprehend the Dao requires hardship, absolute focus, and a mind free of distraction.
But Jun Wuwei made it seem effortless. Just gazing at the dawn while sipping wine, he gained new insights into the Way.
This made the white-browed boy beneath him seethe with jealousy. Even as he marvelled at Jun Wuwei’s talent. Born of high lineage and blessed with boundless ability, Jun Wuwei was like a nebula in the sky: brilliant, distant, and utterly out of reach.
Hearing someone call to him, Jun Wuwei gave a lazy grunt of acknowledgment. He lowered his gaze, the Dao rhythm around him vanishing in an instant, then leapt lightly down from the cloud.
“Hmm? White, still not done? I’ve been waiting to take Ruhui to see the Golden Lotus. It only blooms once every thousand years.”
The white-browed youth hurried to explain, “Shixiong, someone is not accepting of Ruhui-shizhi.”
Jun Wuwei turned to Kong Yun and asked casually, “Oh? Were you the one who doesn’t accept?”
Kong Yun suddenly felt every gaze turn toward him. Sword Immortal stood in white robes, neither exuding Dao aura nor pressure. But when a legend is dazzling enough, awe follows naturally.
To question a legend takes courage. To ask for fairness from an immortal takes even more.
But Kong Yun spoke, steady and clear: “Qianbei, I only wish to understand. If I won the skill trial, why am I not allowed into the Sutra Library?”
The white-browed youth cut in coldly: “Kong Yun, don’t be presumptuous.”
Kong Yun gave a cold, mocking smile. He was not tall, and his delicate features were so finely shaped that it was hard to tell if he was boy or girl. But on his face, that beauty took on an icy, dangerous sharpness.
Because he was still young, that danger carried a tinge of proud defiance.
Xue Cuo, about the same age, had softer features like the first bloom of spring, clear and innocent. One was prematurely wise, the other had a taste for justice.
Now, one lifted his slender brows, while the other crossed his arms, childlike and bold. “So what if he’s presumptuous?”
The white-browed youth barked, “Xue Cuo!”
Jun Wuwei stood with hands behind his back. Upon hearing that, he chuckled softly. “Oh? Both of you two think Ruhui took something that belonged to you?”
Kong Yun replied without hesitation, “Yes.”
Jun Wuwei shook his head. He wasn’t angry. His voice was calm, gentle even, tinged with faint pity. “If it wasn’t yours to begin with, no one could have taken it from you. Little Daoist, how do you propose to seek this fairness you desire?”
Kong Yun looked toward Gu Ruhui. Everyone followed his gaze.
Though his face still held the softness of youth, Kong Yun’s expression was composed and unwavering.
“I want to challenge him. If it’s mine, I’ll take it back honourably.”
Gu Ruhui nodded. “All right.”
He stepped forward. The crowd parted automatically, forming a path behind him. They watched the thin, solitary figure advance.
Behind Kong Yun stood Xue Cuo and a few silent disciples who had come over to join him.
Gu Ruhui tilted his chin slightly. “I’ll let you draw first.”
Kong Yun gave a sharp laugh, light and clear. “I’m here to ask for fairness. Who would use unfairness to demand justice? We draw at the same time.”
Gu Ruhui looked mildly surprised, then nodded. “Very well.”
With a crisp “hmph,” Kong Yun unsheathed his Golden Feather Sword in a flash. Gu Ruhui moved at the same instant.
The first thing Kong Yun saw was a hand clad in pale green, the fingers slender and well-defined.
The hand gripped a sword. The thin sleeve fluttered in the wind like ink blooming in water, the dark fabric laced with stark white streaks.
“My sword,” Gu Ruhui said, “is called Si Wuxie*”
(*TN: Thought Without Evil.)
Kong Yun replied, “Mine is Wendao*!”
(*TN: Asking the Way.)
He drew his sword in a sudden arc. It shone like golden light, brilliant with unshakable determination. It had been refined through endless seasons of training, through repeated questioning of his own Dao heart.
A sword forged through countless days and nights, polished to a pure, blinding gleam.
“Genius. Another genius!”
“How can two people at the same cultivation level be this far apart?!”
Some disciples gasped, only for their expressions to pale and twist into bitter smiles.
They had come from small sects, full of pride… only to find themselves reduced to nameless blades of grass among giants.
As for Kong Yun, he was a monster, not even trained in orthodox ways. Yet he grasped cultivation better than they did.
His sword energy was sharp and radiant, as quick and elegant as golden feathers. One slash forward, and Gu Ruhui already frowned slightly.
“What fierce blood essence, and swift blade!”
Kong Yun leapt like a hawk, soaring up in a flash. Within moments, they had exchanged over a dozen strikes.
Gu Ruhui’s sword intent was murky, full of archaic grace. It had many openings, but none easy to exploit.
Could this be the famed Tianyi Sword Style?
Kong Yun wondered silently. Not bad. His own Golden Feather Sword was self-created, inspired by ancient techniques. Compared to the Tianyi Sword instructed by Sword Immortal, it fell short in Dao resonance.
From the side, Xue Cuo sighed to himself. Well done, Kong Xiao Yun. You’ve learned to hide your strength! If you’d used that trick when we fought, I would’ve lost for sure!
Hmph. Still, I’m clever and adorable. If he gets mad again, I’ll just call him “Xiao Yun-gege” in my sweetest voice, he won’t have the heart to hit me.
He raised his little fist, but it didn’t look fierce enough. So he yanked a the little puff of white cloud from overhead, blew on it until it swelled bigger, then stood atop it and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Xiao Yun, Xiao Yun! You’ve got this!”
Kong Yun lost ground, overwhelmed by the crushing might of Gu Ruhui’s Tianyi Sword. But at Xue Cuo’s shout, he instantly sprang back to his feet, slashed fiercely toward the clouds, and yelled over his shoulder: “Shut up!”
Gu Ruhui furrowed his brows, forced back two steps by the golden light. Hovering in midair, sword in hand, he calmly said, “Your swordplay isn’t bad.”
Kong Yun replied coldly, “Are you conceding, then?”
Gu Ruhui didn’t speak. He calmly gripped his sword hilt. “Next, I’ll use the second form. Watch your right.”
Kong Yun snapped, “Stop uttering nonsense!”
Below the clouds, the disciples watching the duel stared with unblinking eyes. One of them muttered in a daze,
“Gu-shixiong’s swordsmanship is good. It even resonates with the Great Dao itself…even if only faintly…”
“That monster’s sword is terrifying too. I’ve only seen our sect’s ancestral Overlord Blade, but that slash of his was even more intense, more ferocious, more murderous.”
Xiaofeng, watching from below, was filled with envy as he looked up at the fight. He turned to the others and called out, “Fellow Daoists! We should lend our voice to support Gu-shixiong! How can a disciple of Wendao Palace lose to a monster?!”
He stood boldly, voice cracking with passion. “Ruhui-shixiong. Victory will be yours!”
His fervour stirred the others, and soon more disciples joined in the chant.
Gu Ruhui, however, paid them no mind. When he said “watch your right,” he meant it. Kong Yun parried each strike, but was gradually being forced back.
The cheers from Gu Ruhui’s side only made it more infuriating!
Kong Yun lashed back with a blade and shouted aloud, “Xue Cuo! Where are you?!”
Xue Cuo, who had worn himself out cheering earlier, was resting on a nearby cloud. Upon hearing his name, he gritted his teeth, rolled up a tired puff of cloud into a makeshift trumpet, and raised a fist. “Xiao Yun aaa! Go, go, go!”
The disciples behind him exchanged glances and thought that they shouldn’t back down now. So they also shouted: “Xiao Yun! Go, go, go!”
Kong Yun frowned at the cries, but their voices carried strength, and with that came a resurgence in his own aura. His blade surged again.
Xue Cuo watched the fight anxiously, itching to throw some talismans and jump in himself.
Gu Ruhui took the brunt of a vicious strike. His footing faltered, just slightly.
Kong Yun seized the moment and slashed downward. His swordwork was wild, fierce, domineering. As a spirit beast, Kong Yun’s blood was strong by nature. A peacock who had cultivated for a hundred years was, by default, more physically powerful than any mortal-born cultivator.
Gu Ruhui’s organs felt scorched from within. The spirit meridians injured by a talisman the night before now felt like they were being twisted by knives.
His pressure waned, his once-luminous sword aura starting to dim.
Kong Yun’s eyes narrowed like blades, and Calle doubt in warning. “Gu Ruhui, got any more moves? If not, you’ve lost.”
Sweat streamed down Gu Ruhui’s forehead, thick as rain. Blood traced the curve of his lips. Yet his eyes shone brightly. Around him, Dao energy surged wildly.
In that unbearable pain and crushing force, Gu Ruhui’s sword Dao managed a breakthrough.
His Dao breakthrough touched resonance with heaven and earth. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to glimpse a long river of time where countless peerless sword cultivators were standing within it.
They all shared their understanding of the Dao. But none could be seen clearly.
“There is still… one more move…”
Gu Ruhui lowered his head. His aura climbed step by step. Kong Yun’s eyes widened in surprise.
Buzz——
The resonance of Gu Ruhui’s sword shook Wen Dao Sword from Kong Yun’s grasp. He stumbled back. What he now faced was Gu Ruhui’s strongest attack.
Kong Yun stood frozen, dazed. His mind drifted. He saw his own sword spinning away… the startled face of the white-browed youth… He saw Gu Ruhui’s Si Wuxie shining like the first light of dawn.
It was the natural Dao.
And such a Dao could not be countered with an ordinary sword. That’s why Wen Dao Sword was thrown from his hand.
“Kong Yun!”
Jon Yun saw a figure surrounded by blazing white talismans rushing forward.
The talismans ignited, revealing a blue image of the Dao image of the Great Loch.
It caught the incoming blow, saving him. But within Kong Yun’s heart, a sudden wave of sorrow rose.
Gu Ruhui retracted his sword. His tone was mild, even. “I didn’t hold back. I thought he could withstand it.”
Xue Cuo stood before Kong Yun. His face was unreadable. Kong Yun remained seated on the ground, stunned. A hand reached out toward him. After a long silence, he took it and stood up. His voice was steady. “I lost.”
Gu Ruhui clasped his hands in return and walked back to stand beside Jun Wuwei.
Jun Wuwei took a lazy sip of wine and stretched. “Let’s go. The lotus is about to bloom.”
Gu Ruhui nodded and followed him. He didn’t take the scripture scroll. It no longer mattered to him.
Kong Yun said nothing. He turned and flew the other way, transforming into a bird midair, soaring off toward Diquan Mountain.
The white-browed youth chuckled and looked at Xue Cuo. “See? Did it really have to come to this? Hurting others and yourself. What’s the point?”
Xue Cuo pressed his lips together. His delicate face, which was usually soft and warm, now held a strange chill. “Shibobo. It was Kong Yun who turned something ugly into something righteous and made it a fair duel. That doesn’t mean it was ever right to begin with.”
“He didn’t lose in character, in heart, in sword, in strength. I laugh at you, Shibobo, for being blind in eyes and heart, and unfit to be called a teacher.”
The white-browed youth’s expression changed. But Xue Cuo didn’t flinch.
His defiance wasn’t for show, wasn’t bluster. It came pure and unshakeable from the marrow of his bones. Xue Cuo wasn’t stubbornly maintaining his face or clamouring for attention. This was what he believed, his discernment.
He looked at the elder—revered by all—and at the fearful fellow disciples all around them.
And suddenly, he felt it was all absurd.
This is the so-called Dao that everyone is striving to cultivate.
What’s the point of cultivating such Dao?
