Chapter Thirty-Six: Guidance

Qing Law Hall, Zhangming Pavilion.

Twelve Lan-robed guards stood side by side upon the stone steps outside the hall, their expressions cold and impassive.

Though palace lanterns illuminated the way every ten steps, the entirety of Zhangming Pavilion remained cloaked in gloom and chill.

Xun Ju entered, sweeping his sleeve with no sign of emotion as he surveyed the surroundings before stepping into the hall.

Daochen Master followed closely, always maintaining a distance of three feet behind Xun Ju—no more, no less. His thin and small frame was entirely concealed behind the tall figure before him.

Daochen glanced at Fang Hen, who lay on the verge of death. A flash of venom crossed his eyes as he spat, “That boy’s strikes show no restraint. He regards our Qing Law Hall with utter disregard.”

Xun Ju stood with his hands clasped behind his back, silent.

Daochen, still burning with anger, continued, “He may be the Sect Leader’s disciple, but that is no excuse for such reckless arrogance. Fang Hen is a genius whom our Qing Law Hall has nurtured with care all these years. If he perishes because of this, will our hall not lose a future master of the Upper Three Realms? This matter has gone too far.”

The Four Halls of the Dao Sect had endured for thousands of years thanks to a complete inheritance system. The old, the middle-aged, and the young were all outstanding, ensuring that each generation produced top cultivators.

Yet Shen Yu’s actions during the demonstration at the Four Halls had nearly severed the Qing Law Hall’s line of young successors. How could Daochen possibly swallow such a grievance?

“Two at the Spirit Roaming Realm, and one at the True Cavern Realm.”

For the first time, the usually silent Xun Ju let out a sigh, then said with a touch of self-mockery, “Those two future Upper Three Realms cultivators you speak of couldn’t withstand a single blow from that boy. And what realm is he in? Just the Initiation Realm. Tell me, what might his cultivation become in the future?”

Master Daofan interjected, “That boy relied on the might of a spiritual treasure and used some tricks. How can we say—”

“You’re growing more muddle-headed with age,” Xun Ju interrupted sternly. “All these years, you’ve seen only our Qing Law Hall as a single mountain. Yet on the path of the Great Dao, what matters is reaching the end—no one cares how you arrive.”

Daofan opened his mouth, then lowered his head, his face ashen, not daring to speak further.

“This matter ends here. No need for more words. Disturbing the Sect Leader would do us no good.”

Thinking of this, Xun Ju continued, “Though the Sect Leader has been in seclusion for years—and there are even rumors that his temperament has softened—that is not the case. Shen Yu is someone he values greatly. Provoking him never ends well.”

“Yes.”

The two lapsed into silence once more, the chill within the hall seeming to deepen.

Xun Ju settled himself onto the black Zuo stone chair at the center of the hall. Suddenly, he furrowed his brow and asked, “Junior Brother, how did Yang Kaitai of Sit-forgetting Peak die? Have you found the murderer?”

Daofan hesitated before replying, “We have yet to discover the killer’s identity, but it is highly likely someone from Qianchuan—a person who infiltrated the Dao Sect under a false identity.”

“Hmph, Qianchuan again.”

Xun Ju snorted, his stern face now tinged with a trace of helplessness and disgust.

The Dao Sect stood in the southwest of Linghuang, one of the Nine Great Sacred Grounds, and its main responsibility was to prevent the southern barbarian demon tribes from invading northward.

Qianchuan, however, was a mysterious organization that, for countless years, had relentlessly assassinated young talents from the Nine Sacred Grounds and various Linghuang sects. Their methods were ruthless and decisive—when they struck, they seldom missed. Even the Dao Sect had lost many gifted disciples to their assassins in recent years.

Yet in a century, Xun Ju still did not know where Qianchuan hid within Linghuang, nor where their branches lay elsewhere—only a few clues suggested they might originate from the southern barbarian demon domain.

“These rats deserve to live forever underground,” Xun Ju said harshly. “If the Sect Leader had followed my advice back then—if all Four Halls had acted in unison and summoned the other sacred grounds’ masters—the southern barbarian demon domain would have long since been swept clean. We would not be plagued by so much trouble today.”

Though usually dignified and composed, Xun Ju now exuded a dangerous, unsettling aura, as if the very spiritual energy in the grand hall had been ignited, growing wild and uncontrollable.

The temperature plunged as a fierce wind sent the blue ceremonial curtains whipping. Daochen bowed his head in silence, cold sweat soaking his back.

As one of the heads of the Four Halls and a renowned figure in Linghuang, Xun Ju’s enmity toward the southern barbarian demon domain ran deep.

The reason lay in what happened all those years ago.

None dared speak of it openly, for it was a pain the Four Hall Masters would never forget.

Not even the Sect Leader.

...

Yuan Sage Hall, Feilai Peak had truly become lively.

A new, exquisite residence had been built beyond the bamboo grove, and the spirit herb garden now boasted, alongside the yellow mutt, a snow-white spirit lynx.

At first, Yang Liu was somewhat ill at ease, but she soon grew gentle and cheerful again.

Su Mo, perhaps by nature, was the kind of person who radiated warmth and likability at first sight. Whenever Yang Liu saw him, even if he was doing something simple—watering flowers, chatting, or brewing tea—she felt inexplicably comforted.

As for Shen Yu, he spent each day either napping on a bamboo recliner or gazing at the sea of clouds atop the peak—seasons passing in the same tranquil fashion.

Sometimes, Yang Liu noticed that he wasn’t simply daydreaming, but rather watching the clouds and sky with great attention and focus.

She couldn’t quite understand it, so she simply categorized Senior Brother Shen Yu as an oddity.

Since her last visit to Feilai Peak, Shang Yingluo had begun to come by frequently—now she could be seen each morning, wide-eyed, wandering about, and late into the night, her cheerful shouts could still be heard.

Yu Wenwen, following Shang Yingluo’s example, also often visited Feilai Peak, and the two gradually became well acquainted.

It was well known that this cold, breathtakingly beautiful woman cared little for the Dao and much for the sword. Only after growing familiar did one realize her talent for swordsmanship was truly extraordinary.

One afternoon, the two of them were talking about sword cultivation.

“Since the Sword Immortal founded the sword path thousands of years ago, nearly all who practice swordsmanship now study sword flight, because its lethality is astonishing, and it offers great advantages in speed and range. Thus, the ancient art of wielding the sword by hand has been abandoned.”

“To wield the sword with the mind, or to carry it in the hand—neither is superior. What matters is what suits you best.”

“But surely one method must be stronger.”

“No, it depends on the person.”

“For example, you?”

“Is there a need to ask? When I use sword flight, it is stronger; when I wield the sword, then wielding is stronger.”

Yu Wenwen was speechless, but somehow everything Shen Yu said sounded so reasonable as to brook no refutation. Whenever he spoke of the sword, he was always so certain, always with an answer for every question.

Yu Wenwen was silent a moment, then said with a touch of regret, “It’s said that when the Sword Immortal founded Sword Immortal City, she once cleaved the Celestial River with a single stroke, causing the heavens and earth to tremble, and created a sword technique that could open the Gates of Heaven. Unfortunately, only the first half is preserved in Sword Immortal City.”

Shen Yu was silent for a long time before saying, “Do you wish to learn it?”

Yu Wenwen gazed at the little girl playing with the green luan bird nearby and smiled. “Who among those who practice the sword would not wish to?”

Shen Yu looked at her profile—a face of surpassing beauty, a few locks of hair across her cheek, long lashes shadowing eyes soft as water. When she smiled, her eyebrows curved gently, radiating pure joy.

He gazed at her quietly.

Yu Wenwen asked, “What are you looking at?”

“You.”

Shen Yu replied earnestly, “You are very beautiful.”

Yu Wenwen’s expression remained calm. “Many people have said similar things, but never as directly as you.”

Shen Yu said, “Because they overthink, or fear leaving a bad impression. In other words, they have the desire but not the courage.”

Yu Wenwen blinked. “So, you have both desire and courage?”

Carrying a wooden bucket as she passed, Yang Liu froze at their conversation—surely their relationship was developing a bit too quickly.

...

Autumn had come again, and the weather was turning cool.

Su Mo rarely left his house—lacking cultivation, he could not rely on spiritual power to ward off the cold as Shen Yu and the others could.

One day, Yu Wenwen brought over an ancient scroll from the Crossing Truth Hall.

Shen Yu took it without hesitation and began to read.

Yu Wenwen said nothing, for she knew this man’s pride was immense—he would never stoop to stealing another’s techniques.

After a single perusal, Shen Yu tossed it back to her.

“It’s terrible.”

Yu Wenwen caught it reflexively. “What?”

Shen Yu replied coolly, “This sword flight technique is abysmal. I don’t know why the Crossing Truth Hall even treasures it.”

The Dao Sect sprang from the Daoist tradition and naturally had few who pursued the sword. Yet this sword flight method was considered the best of Cross Truth Hall, perhaps even of the whole sect.

Yu Wenwen bit her lip, awaiting his next words.

Sure enough, Shen Yu casually produced a scroll from behind him, the ink barely dry.

“Read this when you have time.”

“When the Sword Immortal cleaved the Celestial River, she left behind the complete technique. Later, half was seized by foreign tribes, and the other half remained in Sword Immortal City.”

“But what the world does not know is that another person also mastered this sword technique.”

A gentle breeze stirred the bamboo grove into silence.

Yu Wenwen was utterly stunned. “Who is that person?”

Shen Yu pondered a moment. “Someone like you—one who loved the sword but not the Dao.”

...

Yu Wenwen quickly regained her composure, though her gaze at Shen Yu was now complicated.

He seemed not to care, continuing, “Cultivating the sword is like cultivating the Dao; what matters most is comprehension. With your talent, you can grasp the essence of this sword art without need of a master’s guidance.”

“How do you know these things?” Yu Wenwen asked, puzzled.

These were secrets of the Nine Great Sacred Grounds—how could a mere Initiation Realm cultivator know them? And to write out such a world-shaking sword manual so simply—unfathomable. The more profound a technique, the higher the realm and insight required to perceive it; otherwise, it would be as indecipherable as a book without words.

Shen Yu did not answer.

Three thousand years had passed. This sword technique was something he had created out of boredom in the snowy mountains of the Northern Wastes long ago, then gifted to the woman who was then locked in battle with foreign tribes.

If not for Yu Wenwen mentioning her days ago, he might not have remembered it at all—he had written down so many things over the years, only to forget them afterward.

Yu Wenwen looked at Shen Yu and said earnestly, “I will not speak of what happened today.”

Shen Yu replied indifferently, “It doesn’t matter. I merely wish to see, once again, a woman Sword Immortal split the Celestial River with her sword.”