He was merely a disciple of the Spirit Void Stage.
Bai Xianmei, in the Heavenly God Realm and a full five great realms above him. Nevertheless felt a certain pressure from him. The source of this pressure, she knew all too well.
Over a thousand years ago, there had been a man in the Tianyi Sect by the name of Jun Wuwei. Carrying nothing more than an ordinary bamboo sword, he had walked into the Taiyi Sect and taken away Xue Zhenzhen, the Dragon Might Swordmaster.
He had killed no one. The single strike with which he stopped the Taiyi Sect elders had been executed with utter simplicity.
With an unremarkable motion, he had drawn his sword; that stroke pierced the Taiyi Sect’s mountain gate, slew the disciples who had secured the sect’s qualification for ascension, and marked the clear sky above Taiyi with a tiny black speck.
The heavens are vast beyond measure.
That small dot meant nothing in itself, yet it hung above the heads of countless living beings. Yet Jun Wuwei’s sword path was one that could pierce even that.
Some said his swordsmanship was on the verge of perfection.
As to why he had never attained it, perhaps it was for lack of the final sliver of opportunity.
None of the Taiyi elders died that day, yet all of them abandoned the sword path, turning to cultivate other ways instead.
Not a single one dared return to sword cultivation.
In those years, Bai Xianmei had been the acknowledged beauty of the Three Mountains and Five Seas, while Xue Zhenzhen had been all but invisible within the sect.
Had it not been for Jun Wuwei, Bai Xianmei would have been master of the Dragon Might Sword, not Xue Zhenzhen.
But Jun Wuwei was a man of wood, his eyes fixed solely upon cultivation.
Xue Zhenzhen was even more wooden than he, never once softening her expression.
Bai Xianmei could not fathom how such a stiff, unyielding sword cultivator could be Jun Wuwei’s confidante.
A man of such power ought to be matched with a woman gentle as spring water, or fiery as the scarlet peppers that grow on high mountains. Not a cold-blooded cultivation fanatic known for her Asura*-like methods.
(*TN: It refers to a class of beings in Buddhist cosmology, often described as demigods or titans, and also described as powerful beings with a fierce nature, sometimes portrayed as antagonists to the gods.)
In her youth, Bai Xianmei had known the stirrings of girlish affection, but in the end she found the path of Dao and the pursuit of immortality far more engaging.
Alas, without the Dragon Might Sword her advancement stalled at the Illusory God Realm, and she had only ascended to the Heavenly God Realm step by painstaking step, relying on Wendao Pills.
Because she had once been smitten, she knew Jun Wuwei’s sword intimately, and his Dao even better.
After all, that sword had once been levelled at her.
She had never been able to forget it.
When Gu Ruhui appeared holding a sword, his gaze was even more wooden than Jun Wuwei’s had been back then.
He met the pressure of Bai Xianmei’s Heavenly God Realm cultivation head-on, without so much as a twitch, as though it were nothing at all.
But Bai Xianmei knew the agony of being suppressed by a superior Dao realm—pain that seemed to bite into the very marrow. That he could endure it, when they stood five whole realms apart, was astonishing.
“Shixiong.”
He addressed Xue Cuo without turning his head. Twelve or thirteen years old, yet already as tall as a boy of fourteen or fifteen, he stood protectively in front of Xue Cuo.
Before leaving for Qianlong Abyss, the Sword Immortal had casually handed him the bamboo sword.
“Shifu.”
Jun Wuwei, hands clasped behind his back, smiled. “Do as you will. You have already mastered the Twelve Forms of the Heavenly Sword. This is part of your enlightenment.”
Gu Ruhui bowed to receive it. “Yes, Shifu.”
Shimu, bearing the Dragon Might Sword, had her robes drifting like rosy clouds. That spring, a thousand blooms adorned Liuming Peak, and Shifu and Shimu stood side by side upon the clouds.
Shimu cast him a glance and ignored the bamboo sword the Sword Immortal had given him.
A light breeze stirred; she said coolly, “If the weather is fine, go and take tea below Star-Picking Cliff. I have left a single ember. The tea will still be warm.”
Gu Ruhui blinked, then nodded assent.
Sword Immortal, handsome of brow and eye, moved with an easy grace. Reclining upon the clouds, he sipped his wine, one hand propping his head as though lost in meditation. After a moment, he asked Xue Zhenzhen, “Swordmaster, which branch should I take?”
Xue Zhenzhen cut a spray of blossom; Jun Wuwei took it, studied it briefly, pronounced it “Excellent,” and tucked it at his waist.
The two departed upon the clouds.
That day, Gu Ruhui did not practise the sword as usual, but sat thinking for a long time.
He could no longer remember his mortal kin, and when he had grown and avenged himself, it had brought no relief.
In the mortal world, weakness meant death; to be killed was no surprise.
But here, though he was far from strong, Sword Immortal had handed him the foremost sword of the Eastern Lands as if it were nothing.
As Gu Ruhui held the bamboo sword, he was a little dazed.
He sat long upon Star-Picking Cliff before returning to Wendao Palace, where he heard of Xue Cuo’s situation.
The sword follows the heart.
Shifu rarely spoke of Xue Cuo, who loved cultivation even more than Gu Ruhui did, and was more gifted besides.
If Shifu had no interest in a matter, Gu Ruhui seldom cared for it either. He should have been training in earnest, but the conduct of the Bai mother and daughter had stirred new thoughts in him: the immortal realm, like the mortal, was rife with strife between sects and clans.
Not all cultivators were like his Shifu or Shimu.
For one born a mortal, such things were no novelty.
Had he heard that an infant boy could be refined into an elixir of immortality, he would not have been surprised if an emperor had every newborn in the realm slain.
But Xue Cuo had likely never seen the like.
Gu Ruhui had wished to come to the Dao Discussion Platform, so he had come.
The cultivators around had been thoroughly shaken by the day’s events, and were now abuzz: just who was this person?
All eyes turned towards the platform. Bai Luoluo had never suffered such a defeat, such public humiliation!
She heard doubts and scorn from every direction; her Dao heart wavered, and she hurriedly swallowed a Wendao Pill to steady herself.
Bai Xianmei sent her daughter a voice transmission: Calm yourself. Do not be hasty.
Bai Luoluo’s breath came fast; she clenched her fists in mortification, shame and fury warring within her. She could not fathom why she had lost.
Her reputation lay in tatters, and no amount of gritted teeth could restore it.
Xiaofeng, who recognised Gu Ruhui, had himself been soundly beaten by Kong Yun, his face battered and bruised. Limping over, he whispered to Bai Luoluo, “Senior shijie, don’t be afraid! This person is Gu Ruhui, Sword Immortal’s new personal disciple. He’s not on good terms with Xue Cuo. They once made a scene over a spot in the Sutra Pavilion!’
“Not on good terms?”
Bai Luoluo thought: Could he be here to see Xue Cuo disgraced?
Wen Renyi, who had been suffering greatly under Bai Xianmei’s Dao pressure, stepped forward the instant it lifted, pointing directly at her: “Bai-shijie, you lost. Will you admit it or not?”
“Yeah! Or dare you not?”
“There are too many eyes here for you to wriggle out of it!”
Bai Xianmei’s brows drew together in displeasure. These ignorant new disciples were practically begging to be put in their place.
Even with her holding the field, they dared jump out and shout!
Drifting down from the clouds, Bai Xianmei seemed untouched by the years. Her skin was like carved ice, beauty like water and drifting clouds, as though she were fragrant snow incarnate.
She smiled and praised, “Xue Cuo, your talisman drawing skills is indeed profound. Even I have never seen its like.”
Xue Cuo, shielded behind Gu Ruhui, peered out warily. “I don’t take disciples.”
Bai Xianmei’s smile faltered. She was just about to step forward when an arm barred her way.
The boy’s back was lean and solitary. He held a bamboo sword, its edge-keen intent impossible to ignore. “Bai-shibo, do you mean to meddle in a quarrel between the younger generation?”
Bai Xianmei’s lips stiffened as she thought of that dead woman: If you interfere in a squabble between the children, then it’s Heavenly God Realm against Heavenly God Realm.
And who in their right mind would pick a fight with that block of wood?
A flicker of unease passed through Bai Xianmei, swiftly replaced by a flare of anger. She had been in no pleasant humour to begin with, and now a disciple several generations her junior had dared bring it up. Fury surged; her tone turned icy.
“Dear shizhi*, what is the meaning of this? The heavens are vast, the Dao follows its course. The two children are merely trading words, and I am seated on the cloud overseeing matters. Where is this so-called quarrel?”
(*TN: address for one’s fellow disciples’ disciple. “Zhi 侄” is literally “nephew”.)
Her Dao pressure crashed like a sea, leaving the surrounding disciples reeling.
Such was the Heavenly God Realm, even the sort puffed up on pills alone.
By deigning to descend and ‘mediate’ amongst a few juniors, Bai Xianmei had already shown tremendous generosity. That they still refused to yield was nothing short of insolence.
A slap to her face, plain and simple.
Intolerable.
Her eyes blazed with divine light, fixing on Xue Cuo behind Gu Ruhui. “Xue Cuo. I’m asking you. Isn’t that so?”
Wen Renyi and the other disciples flinched beneath the pounding of her voice, eyes bloodshot, veins standing out on their foreheads. Who would have thought that, before the entire audience, a Heavenly God Realm elder would cast aside all pretence and crush others with her realm’s weight?
Rage burned through the crowd. One disciple buckled to his knees under the pressure, but was immediately hauled back up by his companions.
No kneeling.
Kneel to her? Over my dead body!
Xue Cuo had been startled enough by Gu Ruhui’s sudden appearance, when the wave of Dao power hit him, sending his head spinning. Kong Yun, who had been bristling for a fight moments earlier, staggered under the suppression and, with a pop, reverted to a fat, green-plumed bird.
For someone in the Heavenly God Realm, killing them would be easier than crushing an ant!
Within Xue Cuo’s twelve-tier spirit platform, the golden pool rocked, ripples spilling across the surface. One by one, the tightly furled lotus blooms began to open.
His mind snapped back to clarity in an instant. He bit off the words that had almost slipped out, his jaw aching with the urge to leap up, jab a finger at Bai Xianmei’s nose, and snarl: You! You shameless old aunty!
Nothing could hold her back now.
Hands clasped behind her, Bai Xianmei advanced a step at a time. “Have you used some secret technique today? Tell me.”
Xue Cuo’s scalp prickled under the weight of her suppression, yet he puffed out his belly and ground out between his teeth, “The secrets of one’s sect are not for outsiders’ ears. If Aunty truly wish to know, you could always change allegiance, join my Tianyi Sect, and take my mother as your master. Then I’d tell you everything.”
Bai Xianmei’s fury erupted. “You court death!”
She had already offended Xue Zhenzhen. Better to go all in and offend her utterly. So long as she stayed within Taiyi Sect’s gates, there was nothing Xue Zhenzhen could do.
Gu Ruhui lifted his head, still within the range of her Dao suppression.
“Bai-shibo, you’ve gone too far. If Xue Cuo suffers a blow from Dao pressure today, what will happen when Shimu comes for him in future? Is there anywhere in the Three Mountains and Five Seas where shifu and shimu cannot go?”
Colour drained from Bai Xianmei’s face; her lips trembled. She refused to believe that the daughter she had painstakingly cultivated could be any lesser than Xue Zhenzhen’s son. Yet, looking between Gu Ruhui and Xue Cuo, her discomfort only deepened.
And if she did truly earn Xue Zhenzhen’s undying hatred, while standing on the wrong side of reason…
She let out a sharp snort, killing intent surging up only to be choked down again. Her expression was ugly as she forced each word.
“Hmph. Enough. This match was unfair to begin with.”
“Your talisman’s origins are suspect; your victory was based due to unfair advantage.”
“We’ll not compete further.”
With a sudden sweep of her sleeve, Bai Xianmei scooped up the mortified Bai Luoluo, and the two rode the wind away at speed.
The moment she was gone, the air above the Dao Discussion Platform seemed to lighten, and cultivators all around collapsed to the ground with jelly legs.
Kong Yun kicked out with his claws, returning to human form. He hauled Xue Cuo upright, shaking him despite lacking the strength himself. “Would it kill you to hold your tongue? That was the Heavenly God Realm!”
“The gap between realms is like heaven and earth! No wonder they call it half a step to True Immortal!”
“I couldn’t even twitch a finger!”
“That’s right, that’s right. Hurry, someone check my spine, I swear I’ve shrunk!”
“Eh, when has bro ever tall to begin with?”
The chatter turned boisterous again. Wen Renyi and the others nodded along. Then Wen Renyi suddenly murmured, “So this is the Heavenly God Realm. Doesn’t seem so impossible… perhaps I could reach it too.”
A female cultivator cocked an eyebrow over her blade. “Still planning to change your Dao path?”
Wen Renyi glanced at Xue Cuo, fist tightening. “I won’t change. I’ll stick with it to the end.”
Among those who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Xue Cuo, there was a quiet, shared elation.
Mere realm-building ants, yet they had stood before the Heavenly God Realm without retreating a step. They were no loose scattering of sand.
When had the Eastern Lands ever seen such a thing?
And the outcome of today’s contest was plain for all to see. Bai Xianmei’s pride lay trampled; picking it back up would be no easy feat.
Xiaofeng and the other disciples wore equally sour looks. One glance passed to another, then one by one, they slunk away in shame.
Xue Cuo slung an arm over Kong Yun’s shoulder, scanning the crowd, but Gu Ruhui was nowhere to be seen.
—
That night.
Xue Cuo returned to his cave-dwelling to find a figure standing at the door.
The Twelve Heavenly Sword Forms. Each strike carrying its own Dao resonance.
Gu Ruhui completed the final movement, then turned. Xue Cuo emerged from beneath the trees.
“Shixiong.”
Xue Cuo scratched his head, dragging out an “ah” as he wondered, What’s this about?
Mom hadn’t come.
Could it be Dad?
Gu Ruhui approached without haste. “Shixiong, do you know how to draw a sword?”
“Aaa?”
Gu Ruhui paused, then held out his own weapon. “In the mortal realm, if someone bullies you, there’s no need for many words.”
“I can’t use talismans,” he added. “All I can teach you is how to draw a sword.”
