Those mental cultivation phrases and verses swirled together in Song Qianji's mind like a raging river torrent, with rolling silt churning beneath.
He couldn't clearly see or remember a single word.
"Well forgotten! Water has no fixed form, the sword has no set technique. The great river flows east without asking its origin, ten thousand swords are born from the heart—this is the true meaning of the 'River-Crossing Sword'!" Xian Jianchen laughed, "My disciple is indeed a genius. Of course you mediocrities wouldn't understand."
Enemies on the water, shore, and sky grew enraged, their attacks becoming more vicious.
Song Qianji found himself surrounded, the black-canopied boat rocking precariously.
"Set a thousand people sailing with the wind, and all thousand will choose the effortless path of going with the flow. Set a thousand people against wind and current, and they'll devise a thousand different methods. Water has no fixed form, the sword has no set technique. No two waves in a river are identical, just as no two people share the same experiences—thus the mental cultivation of this sword differs for each. Rowing against the current, where winds and waves change unpredictably, only the 'destination shore' and the 'heart that defies heaven' remain constant."
As this thought crystallized in Song Qianji's mind, those phrases submerged in silt became clear again, scattering and rearranging themselves to emerge line by line in his consciousness.
His movements grew increasingly fluid, shifting from two-handed grip to single-handed swings. The great sword heavier than a thousand pounds felt lighter and lighter in his hand, until it became light as a single drop of water.
"Fine sword!" Song Qianji's mind cleared as he shouted sharply.
"Fall back first!" Zhao Taiji cried out.
Before his words faded, water waves gathered with the sword energy of the "River-Crossing Sword," hanging inverted in the air like a waterfall.
Where the sword tip passed, water curtains soared skyward.
Song Qianji slaughtered through all directions.
It was as if he no longer held a sword, but an entire river.
The setting sun spread like blood across the western sky, while the White Dragon River ran red with blood.
The water cascade carried the black-canopied boat charging through the encirclement.
With the River-Crossing Sword clearing the path, the White Dragon River had become Song Qianji's to command.
"Think you can leave? Not so easy!" Zhao Taiji sneered, "Pour!"
Enemies from all sides evaded the unstoppable sword energy, simultaneously deploying hundreds of storage bags.
Bag openings gaped wide, pouring pearl-glinting transparent oil into the river, spreading rapidly across the current.
Song Qianji's nose twitched, catching a faint, cold fragrance.
"Mermaid oil!"
Mermaid oil could burn anything. They had prepared so much oil—they meant to set the entire river ablaze.
"Ignite!" Zhao Taiji roared.
Simultaneously, thousands of cultivators surged from the mountain ridges. Countless burning arrows transformed into streaming fire, tracing brilliant trajectories against the bloody sunset like a massive rainbow bridge, shooting straight toward the black-canopied boat.
The flame arrows carved with runes were swept aside by Song Qianji's sword energy, but more arrows pierced into the river.
The thick layer of mermaid oil covering the river ignited instantly upon touching flame!
Cultivators wearing "Divine Fire Mantles" charged from the mountain ridges toward the small black boat, swarming like dark crows undaunted by the colossal flames.
The river erupted in inferno!
The river surface transformed into a sea of fire.
Fire borrowed wind's force, wind amplified fire's power, rapidly engulfing the entire White Dragon River.
The "River-Crossing Sword" could no longer summon waves or command water. The blade grew heavier and heavier, like the setting sun sinking beyond the horizon.
The battle situation reversed in the blink of an eye.
Zhao Taiji laughed heartily: "Xian Jianchen, two hundred years ago when you stormed Cosmos Palace and shattered Fleeting Water Bridge's sea of clouds, did you ever imagine tonight? When this White Dragon River burns dry beneath my flames, how will you wield your River-Crossing Sword then?"
Huawel Sect held an open secret: whoever mentioned Xian Jianchen's name in Cosmos Palace would "be struck by lightning."
This made the sect leader, peak lords, and elders speak with constrained caution, perpetually walking on eggshells.For over two hundred years, they had received tribute from nearly half the Western Sky Continent, yet within their own sect, they were suppressed by a single sword's aura, unable to lift their heads.
How could they not resent it?
Without vengeance, their inner demons would never be purged.
"How strange. Why does everyone who comes to kill me insist on reminiscing first? Is life usually so dull?" Xian Jianchen remained seated in the boat cabin, sighing and shaking his head as he watched the sea of flames. "So many Spirit Stones—enough to buy an entire city, or at least plenty of fine wine—and you just dump them into the river like skipping stones. What a waste, truly a shame!"
The blood-red sun had completely sunk behind the White Dragon Mountain.
The night sky glowed crimson, illuminated by the raging river fire. Thick, billowing smoke rose, obscuring the starry river above.
Shrimp, crabs, fish, and turtles perished entirely. Water beasts that failed to flee in time were consumed by the blazing flames, emitting piercing, mournful cries.
The stench of charred corpses floating on the river mingled with the eerie cold fragrance of mermaid oil, creating a nauseatingly potent odor.
The arrogant laughter of their enemies, battle cries, and the agonized screams of the wounded filled Song Qianji's ears.
He fought with increasing difficulty.
Xian Jianchen counted aloud, calculating the cost in Spirit Stones this battle would inflict upon the "Righteous Immortal Alliance."
Song Qianji grew furious hearing this: "Aren't you going to draw your sword? We're on the same boat!"
Xian Jianchen replied, "How about holding out a little longer?"
Song Qianji retorted, "If you're so capable, why don't you step up?"
The black-canopied boat was engulfed in flames, with no escape route above or below.
It relied solely on Song Qianji's sword aura for precarious support.
Xian Jianchen laughed heartily, "Catch the sword!"
Without hesitation, Song Qianji reached out and switched swords.
The hilt felt cool to the touch, like holding a handful of crushed ice, offering slight relief from the surrounding heat.
"This sword is named 'Crescent Moon.' As cold as moonlight, it naturally counters fire." Xian Jianchen recited leisurely, "As the verse goes, 'People have sorrows and joys, partings and reunions; the moon has its phases of waxing and waning.' All things, upon reaching their zenith, must turn back to cycle endlessly, just as the full moon must wane. Have you never observed the moon? Its brilliance is fullest when it is almost, but not quite, round."
Song Qianji looked up, "I have seen it."
Tonight, the moon was invisible, the night sky shrouded in layers of firelight and smoke.
"Wielding the 'Crescent Moon Sword,' you must learn to accept imperfection," Xian Jianchen said. "Your master will now impart the heart sutra to you."
Zhao Taiji had retreated to the riverbank, twenty zhang away from the black-canopied boat, and shouted, "Xian Jianchen, it's useless!"
Since his fame at the Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals, Song Qianji had encountered constant marvels, blessed with immense luck. Crowned as a young king, he achieved in a few years what others could scarcely attain in a lifetime.
Having never known true lack, how could he comprehend acceptance?
"He doesn't even know how to write the characters for 'imperfection,' let alone wield your 'Crescent Moon Sword'!" But no sooner had Zhao Taiji spoken than he noticed the battle shift.
With the Crescent Moon Sword in hand, Song Qianji abandoned his previous forceful, sweeping strokes. His swordplay became gentle and fluid, like moonlight spilling over a willow-lined shore.
Xian Jianchen smiled, "I had feared your smooth-sailing life would hinder your grasp of the Crescent Moon's true essence. Yet you've mastered it so swiftly!"
The moonlit sword aura pierced through the fire sea, carrying the black-canopied boat forward.
Song Qianji fought against the wind and current, growing ever more valiant.
Yet the flames burned fiercer, and enemies surged endlessly from both banks, seeming inexhaustible.
Zhao Taiji's face turned ashen with shock and fury, "So what if you've mastered the Crescent Moon Sword? Do you know how many have come for you tonight?"Xian Jianchen said, "You're right, my disciple. Maybe we should just admit defeat. The end of the continent isn't worth going to anyway."
Song Qianji turned, his eyes bloodshot, then suddenly laughed: "Tonight, I'll carve a path through this White Dragon River with bloodshed!"
Zhao Taiji instinctively retreated three steps, unable to meet his gaze: "Wishful thinking! The White Dragon River is already under the sect's control!"
"Spring and Autumn!" Song Qianji raised his hand.
The Spring and Autumn Sword shot forth like lightning.
Zhao Taiji felt overwhelming pressure and hastily drew his sword to defend.
How had Song Qianji's cultivation advanced so rapidly?
If they couldn't eliminate him tonight... in a hundred years, no, perhaps in just ten, another Xian Jianchen would emerge in the world!
At that moment, a third voice suddenly rang out from the shore:
"The White Dragon River was born of heaven and earth—who dares claim ownership?"
With this unexpected, unfamiliar voice, a sudden downpour pattered down.
From the continuous mountain ranges on both banks, countless figures surged forth.
Hundreds of storage bags were summoned, pouring sand into the river.
The silver-glinting sand fell like a curtain, covering the sky.
As the silver sand coated the flames, the fire gradually weakened.
"What is this?" the cultivators of the Immortal Alliance exclaimed in astonishment.
"Not good—it's Water-Calming Sand!"
"Where did so much Water-Calming Sand come from?"
Zhao Taiji, dodging the Spring and Autumn Sword, shouted: "The 'Righteous Immortal Alliance' is here! Who dares act so recklessly?"
Roaring laughter erupted from both banks, like thousands of birds taking flight simultaneously:
"I'm your father!"
"Your ancestor!"
"A strong dragon cannot suppress a local snake! Brothers, break their Divine Fire Shield!"
These people, emerging like mountain spirits and wild monsters, clashed with the Immortal Alliance cultivators.
With most flames extinguished by the Water-Calming Sand, Song Qianji's pressure eased: "Might I ask which path of fellow cultivators you hail from?"
At his question, a rough voice immediately echoed from the mountains: "The Giant Whale Gang, together with the Sand Sea Sect, the twelve fleets of the White Dragon River, and the thirty-six caves of Rogue Cultivators from White Dragon Mountain, have come late to deliver your ship!"
The Immortal Alliance cultivators were shocked, cursing loudly:
"Where did these petty sects come from, seeking their own doom?"
Zhao Taiji was so enraged he nearly fainted. Just listen to these worthless minnows and rotten shrimp—calling them petty sects was flattery; they were merely unranked Rogue Cultivators and riverland gangs. The Huawel Sect wouldn't even send them invitations to celebratory banquets.
Distracted, he lost an arm to the Spring and Autumn Sword, blood gushing like a fountain.
Then Song Qianji spoke: "So it's Gang Leader Yan."
Gang Leader Yan laughed: "Fellow Daoist Song Xun, we owe you more than one life from Blood River Valley. Pity we're low in skill and weak in cultivation—we can only offer our ships to ferry you across this White Dragon River!"
Xian Jianchen watched the swirling silver sand, muttering to himself: "I thought I'd seen everything, but this strange sight is truly new to me."
On both banks of the great river, silver rain filled the sky.
The White Dragon River transformed into a silver Milky Way.
Gang Leader Yan laughed heartily: "Mermaid oil burns on water—it can't be extinguished with water, only Water-Calming Sand can put it out. We who live by the mountains eat from the mountains, and we who live by the water eat from the water. Us minnows making a living on the river have no shortage of this 'Water-Calming Sand'."
Song Qianji understood clearly—these words were meant to bolster their own morale.
Water-Calming Sand was a material for artifact refinement, nurtured by spirit clams at the river bottom, far rarer than pearls.
The minor sects and Rogue Cultivators along the river mostly specialized in dredging for sand, accumulating one or two ounces to sell to major sects in exchange for Spirit Stones.
So much Water-Calming Sand, harvested grain by grain—who knew how much effort it had cost.
Tonight, the various "minnows" of the White Dragon River had given everything they had.Another voice rang out: "King Song, do not trouble yourself. Once we cross this river, fellow cultivators from the Flower Stream Sect, the Great Yan Sect, and other sects await ahead! Do not delay here any longer, make haste!"
Amidst the swirling silver sand and chaotic figures, Song Qianji could only recognize people by their voices: "Captain Lu Zhou, you've come too."
"Ha! King Song still remembers us!"
The cultivators of the Immortal Alliance found it utterly absurd.
Song Qianji's followers and lackeys were supposed to be trapped in Thousand Canals—where had these people come from?
What benefits had Song Qianji given them to make them fight so desperately with their lives on the line?
In terms of cultivation, the Immortal Alliance cultivators were undoubtedly stronger. But tonight, they were weighed down by heavy "Divine Fire Armor," their speed reduced, and caught off guard by the "Stillwater Sand," leaving them thoroughly disheveled.
Seizing the opportunity, the Spring and Autumn Sword soared through the air, cutting down swathes of enemies like wheat under a scythe.
When narrow paths cross, the brave prevail—but the Immortal Alliance had already lost its courage.
Song Qianji gathered his breath, his voice carrying across both banks of the White Dragon River: "My thanks to you all!"
Yan Bangzhu declared: "We came here tonight asking for nothing. Whether we return or not matters not! We have but one request to ask of King Song."
"Speak," said Song Qianji.
"We wish to offer King Song a bowl of White Dragon wine!"
Xian Jianchen snorted: "Hah, he doesn't drink at all..."
"Why not! Bring the wine!" Song Qianji roared.
A wine jar came flying over the burning river.
Xian Jianchen caught the rich aroma and sighed regretfully: "Such fine wine, pity this venerable one cannot drink."
He took out his tea bowl and filled it to the brim for Song Qianji.
Song Qianji threw his head back and drained it in one go.
The liquor was fiercely strong, burning like river flames down his throat through his guts, carrying the taste of scalding blood, cold iron rust, and the bloody wind of the frigid night.
The alcohol burned Song Qianji's eyes bloodshot. He smashed the bowl into the river.
"King Song shall prevail!" Yan Bangzhu laughed heartily.
The White Dragon River was instantly drowned in roaring cheers:
"This battle shall be won!"
"Victory! Victory!"
...
"How strange. This venerable one never knew cultivators could be so righteous without oath-bound constraints? Tonight has been full of peculiarities."
The black-canopied boat stabilized again as Xian Jianchen resumed brewing tea.
The flames died out, the strange fragrance of mermaid oil scattered by the wind, leaving the night sky clear once more.
The soaring battle cries faded behind them as the small boat, nimble as a swimming fish, darted lightly through wind and waves.
Still moving against the current, yet faster than sailing with the flow.
Stars emerged one by one from the clouds.
The river's mist and smoke gradually dispersed.
The light boat had already passed countless mountains.
"It's not about righteousness. It's because they believe a world with me in it is better than one without." After saying this, Song Qianji fell silent for a long moment.
Xian Jianchen was about to scold him for narcissism when he saw him standing unsteadily at the bow, leaning on his sword: "You asked me if I'd ever seen the moon? Look in the water—such a huge moon."
Xian Jianchen stood and pulled him into the cabin.
Song Qianji didn't resist: "Why do I see so many moons? Tell me, why!"
Xian Jianchen laughed in exasperation: "This venerable one can drink a thousand cups without falling, reveling in all wine. How come you get drunk on a single drop?"
"Me? Drunk? Impossible!" Song Qianji shouted.
"The White Dragon wine's aftereffect is ferocious. Who told you to play the hero earlier?" Xian Jianchen sighed, propping a cushion behind him. "Just go to sleep."
Song Qianji stared with bloodshot eyes: "Do you know what I love doing most?"
"Looking at the moon? Scooping up the moon?" Xian Jianchen guessed absently."That's not right." Song Qianji poked the boat plank with a finger. "I like farming. The land is the fairest thing—as long as you treat it well, it will never say 'sorry' to you."
Xian Jianchen chuckled lightly, "Who said 'sorry' to you? This venerable one never apologizes!"
As if he hadn't heard, Song Qianji lay back on the deck, murmuring to himself: "I've done everything to the extreme; I'm tired of killing. I don't want—don't want to walk the same path again."
"Drunken nonsense," Xian Jianchen muttered.
In Hua Wei Floating City, Song Qianji had said these exact words.
But what followed was entirely different.
His voice was too slurred—Xian Jianchen had to lean closer to hear clearly:
"I just want to protect my fields, and the people around me. Even if this time, I still have to hear 'sorry'... I'll accept it. This world isn't good enough, but I still have—still have 108,000 reluctances to leave it. I still want to fight for it, one more time."
Xian Jianchen rose silently and walked alone to the bow.
The night wind whipped his sleeves, fluttering like white butterflies.
Song Qianji closed his eyes, his voice almost inaudible: "Xian Jianchen, are you still keeping things from me? What grudge exists between you and that person? Why did you leave your Lifebound Sword at the continent's edge? Why won't you ever trust anyone..."
"Sleep well."
This time it was Xian Jianchen who steered the boat, while Song Qianji slept in the cabin.
Green mountains stretched along both banks, as countless stars and a lone moon settled upon the White Dragon River.
The small boat drifted like a bamboo leaf through the winding starry river, carrying Song Qianji away from the killing fields, floating on the night breeze into dreams deep within blossoming flowers.
In this vast world, how many had crossed countless mountains and rivers to kill them, and how many had braved fire and flood to save them?
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