"It was my mistake to have sealed you beneath the Sky-Supporting Tree, condemning you to never emerge again in this lifetime," Xian Jianchen said. "I should never have spared your life."
He stood alone at the edge of the continent, surrounded by vast expanses of white, icy mist.
Between heaven and earth, neither sun nor moon was visible. One could not see their own hand in front of their face.
The only response came from an extremely hoarse voice, its origin unknown, like a withered tree weathered by wind and sand:
"Two hundred years, Xian Jianchen. You've imprisoned me here for two hundred years. All this time, I've longed to see you again. Don't you wish to see me? Don't you want to reminisce with me?"
The habitual smile vanished from Xian Jianchen's face, and his usual air of casual weariness was swept away.
His eyes turned cold, his back straightened.
"What is there left to say between you and me?" Xian Jianchen spread his arms wide, his black cloak billowing like tidal waves, blotting out the sky. "Open!"
The earth trembled, as if crushed by the rumble of a giant wheel.
A forest of swords erupted from the ground, countless blades standing dense and formidable.
"Today, I break the seal and release you. Among these many swords, choose one to end your life."
Xian Jianchen's voice echoed above the sword forest.
The hoarse voice seemed to sigh with regret: "Xian Jianchen, you should not have unleashed your Domain."
...
In every corner of the world, whether on the snow plains or under skies with or without pathways, everyone witnessed this "meteor shower."
Countless sword shadows streaked across the heavens, leaving behind brilliant and magnificent trails, brighter than any meteor.
Across the four continents and thirty-six provinces, and the islands upon the seas, all cultivators gazed toward the edge of the continent and simultaneously realized one thing:
"The Sword God has drawn his sword!"
Mortals saw it as a beautiful meteor shower, gasping in awe, while children, unaware of the significance, danced with joy.
The higher a cultivator's cultivation, the more their mind trembled upon witnessing the sword shadows, as if facing the sword's might directly, shrouded by a terrifying shadow between life and death:
"So a person can be powerful to this extent. Even among those at the Transformation Stage, the gap is as vast as heaven and earth."
"Wasn't he injured? How can he still wield such a sword?"
"He must have gone to the edge of the continent, reclaimed his Lifebound Sword, and regained his invincibility!"
"But what kind of enemy warrants such a sword from him?"
Song Qianji recalled the Seven Wonders Zither. The eight swords left to him by Xian Jianchen flew out, encircling him, radiating various hues of light, humming in unison with the sword shadows filling the sky.
"Let's go. Take me to him." Song Qianji patted the Shadowless Sword.
The Shadowless Sword responded instantly, arriving beneath his feet and transforming into a stream of light.
From here, the path ahead was smooth, with no more obstacles.
The Shadowless Sword, like a reckless youth, charged headlong into the vast white mist at the edge of the continent.
Song Qianji's sense of foreboding grew deeper. Catching sight of a black-clad figure in the distance, he leaped down from the Shadowless Sword: "Xian Jian—"
The figure turned around. His appearance was strikingly similar to Xian Jianchen's, and his height was no different.
Yet, his cheeks were slightly sunken, his frame excessively gaunt.
He too wore black robes, but they seemed dust-covered for years, stained with sand, the hem tattered.
Song Qianji looked at the person before him, the blood in his veins turning cold. He stood frozen, as if instantly turned into an ice sculpture.
But his voice remained steady: "Who are you, really? Why do you always take the form of others? Have you forgotten your original appearance?"
Xian Jianchen had unleashed his strongest sword strike, yet this person still stood here...Had this battle already ended, with victory decided?
Had he arrived too late?
"Song Qianji, you've killed me so many times, yet you still don't know who I am. See clearly now? This is my true form." The person before him lowered his gaze, wearing a peaceful and compassionate smile strikingly similar to Xian Jianchen's, with a hint of pity in his eyes. "Go on, bid him farewell."
With that, he turned his back and stepped aside.
Song Qianji saw the real Xian Jianchen and felt the world spin, everything seeming utterly absurd.
The person who had been bickering with him just moments ago, whom he'd parted from not long ago, now appeared in such a state—Xian Jianchen sat in meditation leaning on his sword, completely enveloped in gray-black death energy.
A massive bloody hole gaped in his chest, clearly pierced by a broken sword.
The broken sword had no hilt, its tip buried three inches into his chest while a foot of the blade remained exposed, intricate patterns covering it like blooming flowers.
Blood dripped steadily from the broken edge of the blade, forming a small stream.
Hearing movement, Xian Jianchen weakly raised his lowered eyes and cursed upon seeing Song Qianji:
"Dammit, this is exactly the kind of scene I hate most. Hey, kid, you're not going to cry, are you? Don't tell me you are?"
"So you really only had one sword left." Song Qianji gritted his teeth, gripping his hand as he asked, "Why didn't you wait for me?"
Throughout the journey, he hadn't drawn a single sword—not out of stubbornness, willfulness, or intentionally tempering his successor to quickly subdue these temperamental divine weapons.
He truly had only one sword left.
Song Qianji opened his mouth but made no sound. Xian Jianchen's hand was cold, colder than the millennia-old ice of the snow plains.
Suddenly, images flashed before his eyes: the silver whales of the Dead Sea, the purple smoke of Purple Cloud Temple, the blazing fire of White Dragon River, and many other chaotic fragments of color.
They had fought over pillows, argued about tea, contended for swords, mutually disliked and tested each other, until finally telling stories of the Journey to the West as they charged triumphantly into the snow plains.
Xian Jianchen asked: "Wait for you to do what? Gather three people for a game of Ascension Chess? See who ascends first?"
"At a time like this, can't you speak like a normal person?" Song Qianji took a deep breath, maintaining a calm expression. "It's fine, it's fine. I still have the Fountain of Immortality."
While trying to convince himself, he summoned the Pure Bottle from his Purple Palace, but Xian Jianchen grasped his hand: "Your Fountain of Immortality is useless to me. Look at this sword—it's my Lifebound Sword. Wounded by my own Lifebound Sword, I'm already beyond saving. I should have died two hundred years ago."
Song Qianji snapped: "Shut up! Channel your energy with me!"
Xian Jianchen chuckled weakly, the movement aggravating his wounds as he vomited blood: "Don't move. I have something to tell you."
Song Qianji didn't dare move again: "Alright, speak."
"My original name was Xian Chen. I added the character 'Jian' (sword) in the middle after I began practicing swordsmanship. My younger brother is named Xian Jie. Two brothers, lives as insignificant as dust—quite fitting names, right? Oh, and my brother is the one you just saw. Don't blame me for being unwilling to trust people—I've been deceived by him too many times."
His gaze drifted past Song Qianji, as if falling upon the source of the rolling river of time, returning to memories sealed away for many years."When we were young, my brother and I only had each other to rely on. Life wasn't easy, but it wasn't too bad either. After meeting some Rogue Cultivators who stopped in our village and learning a few techniques from them, we grew unwilling to remain ordinary and wanted to pursue immortality like others. We wandered until we reached Huawel Sect, where an elder said my brother lacked talent and could only join the Outer Sect. So I concealed my Spirit Root and entered the Outer Sect with him. I studied texts on my own and taught him what I learned. But with his weak Spirit Root and competitive nature, he often got bullied where I couldn't see him."
Song Qianji's words tasted bitter. He knew all too well how things were in Huawel Sect's Outer Sect back then.
"When my hidden Spirit Root was discovered, many elders fought to take me as their disciple. I set one condition: whoever would take my brother into the Inner Sect as well, I would acknowledge as master. Little did I know this would provoke jealousy among other disciples, leading to misunderstandings that eventually turned him against me. He fled Huawel Sect."
"When Huawel Sect wanted to hunt him down for desertion, I refused and left the sect myself, becoming a free Rogue Cultivator to search for him. My journey was smooth, with constant fortunate encounters, and years later I made a name for myself as a Rogue Cultivator. This part... sounds somewhat similar to you, doesn't it?"
Xian Jianchen smacked his lips. Song Qianji knew he was trying to lighten the mood and forced a faint smile: "I have Thousand Canals. Who'd wander aimlessly like you?"
"Think Thousand Canals makes you special?" Xian Jianchen snorted lightly, "Let me continue about us brothers. He fled to the Western Sea to study demonic Cultivation Methods. Just as he mastered those forbidden arts, I happened to be traveling there. He was absorbing others' cultivation when we met, and I used my newly acquired 'Spilled Water Sword' to cripple him, forcibly dispersing all his cultivation. Yes, this very sword beside you - you must know by now it has a strange temper, demanding its wielder's blood before tasting others'... I imprisoned him in Red Leaf Temple's Demon-Suppressing Pagoda, where daily sutra chanting was meant to cleanse his malice. But barely a century later, he achieved enlightenment, transforming from a criminal into a revered scripture master. He broke out of the temple and hosted a banquet at Huawel Sect, inviting me and my wife."
"By then I was the world's youngest Transformation Realm cultivator, feeling the loneliness of the heights, and newly wedded. I'd decided to retire from the Cultivation World with my wife after this banquet."
Xian Jianchen's voice gradually deepened.
Song Qianji listened silently, visions of flashing blades flickering before his eyes.
The youthful Sword God and his new bride, the smiling yet treacherous host, guests each with hidden agendas, the "reformed" brother, a banquet fraught with danger.
Hard to imagine what state of mind Xian Jianchen attended with. Wine cups clinking in merry toasts, his brother even telling his wife about past mistakes and thanking his elder brother for the chance at redemption.
The brothers drank, reminiscing childhood mischief and their dependent youth.
Until he drank himself senseless.
Fine wine turned to poison, congratulatory guests became sworn enemies.
His wife, controlled by demonic arts, lost her senses and drew his Lifebound Sword from his waist, plunging it through his heart.
His brother slammed the table laughing, tears streaming before his eyes.
Xian Jianchen gripped the blade, snapping his Lifebound Sword in two.
Clutching the broken blade, severely wounded, he gave chase. Xian Jianchen fled to the continent's very edge.In the end, he could not bring himself to deliver the killing blow. Using his shattered Lifebound Sword, he sealed his blood kin beneath the Sky-Supporting Tree.
Then Xian Jianchen forcibly drew the broken sword piercing his heart meridian into his Purple Palace, returning to the Huawel Sect as if unharmed to manage the aftermath and settle the affairs.
He casually appointed a surviving disciple who dared to speak as the new sect leader—who would later become True Person Xuyun.
From that moment, his Lifebound Sword was broken. One half remained embedded in his chest, forcing him to endure constant, excruciating pain in his heart meridian, watching helplessly as he declined from being the world's most powerful cultivator.
The other half stayed beneath the Sky-Supporting Tree, forming an indestructible seal that suppressed the blood kin with whom he had once shared life but later turned against him.
Whenever he reopened the Domain within his Purple Palace to release that forest of ten thousand swords, it meant he also had to withdraw his Lifebound Sword from his Purple Palace.
He would inevitably die.
"Aren't these the answers you've always sought? Why that expression?" Xian Jianchen laughed.
"I'd rather not have known," Song Qianji replied.
Xian Jianchen waved his sleeve, summoning a dull, rust-covered long sword: "This is the final sword. It is named 'Solitary Journey.' It forms a pair of yin-yang swords with the Spilled Water Sword. Only after subduing the Spilled Water Sword can you make this one serve you. You've learned all my swords. From now on, you must walk your path alone."
Song Qianji's eyes were bloodshot. Unaware of when he had bitten through the tip of his tongue, he tasted the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth: "What kind of master are you? I've only half-understood your swords. How can I walk alone?"
The nine swords trembled and hummed in unison, as if mourning.
"When I was invincible under heaven, you refused to call me master. Now that I've reached my end, you've become my disciple. How could there be such a foolish cultivator in this world?"
Song Qianji shook his head: "I'm not a cultivator. I'm just a farmer."
"Being a farmer is wonderful. If there is a next life, I'll be a farmer too." Xian Jianchen smiled. "This venerable one has had few familial bonds in this life. With my wife, fate brought us together but not to stay; with my brother, we shared a roof but crossed blades. Yet at death's door, I still have a disciple to see me off. This is truly... very good. Thank you. Otherwise, I might have felt somewhat lonely."
Song Qianji could no longer restrain himself. A surge of heat rushed to his eyes.
This person had walked alone for centuries, with no friends, only enemies. One might think he looked down on everyone and needed neither family nor understanding. Yet at life's end, it turned out he too feared loneliness.
"Crossing countless mountains alone—to whom does this solitary shadow go..." Xian Jianchen murmured as his body began rapidly disintegrating from the fingertips, turning into drifting dust. "This master takes his leave."
Song Qianji reached out to grasp him, but caught only a handful of flying ashes.
"Clang!"
Half of the broken sword fell to the ground.
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