He was destined for the sword, even adding "Jian" to his name, until the silver dust vanished, leaving only a broken blade behind.
"Damn it, Xian Jianchen, you left without a care, leaving this mess for me to clean up," Song Qianji muttered, blinking as two tears unexpectedly fell.
It must have been the sandstorm stinging his eyes.
He picked up the broken sword. The intricate patterns on the blade, washed repeatedly with blood, grew increasingly vivid, like crimson blossoms slowly unfurling, lush and vibrant—resembling the flowers Xian Jianchen often pinned to his lapel.
He couldn't help but wonder how magnificent this sword must have been two centuries ago, when it was whole and radiant.
Does ultimate strength inevitably lead to destruction? Does extreme beauty inevitably shatter?
What was Xian Jianchen thinking when they played chess with Chess Devil and Calligrapher Sage? Was he already observing his own demise from the sidelines?
Song Qianji sheathed the broken sword and stood up, bumping into something solid behind him.
Cold, rough-textured, faintly damp—it felt like a living wall, the very surface Xian Jianchen had leaned against moments before.
Suddenly, he realized what it was—
The trunk of the Sky-Supporting Tree.
It wasn't Xian Jianchen who had been emanating an aura of death all along, but the Sky-Supporting Tree itself.
The tree's deep crimson hue, combined with its colossal size, made it impossible to discern its full form through the thick fog. The crown supporting the heavens and its dense foliage remained invisible, leaving only the impossibly broad trunk—a copper wall stretching skyward.
"So this is the continent's end. This is the Sky-Supporting Tree," Song Qianji thought.
Across two lifetimes, he had raced toward this place—the shore he never reached in his previous life. Through countless starry nights on his journey, he had often imagined what the edge of the continent would look like.
But there were no vibrant blossoms in riotous colors, no chorus of birdsong beneath auspicious clouds. Standing beneath the tree and gazing upward, he felt no excitement—only his own profound insignificance, like an ant at a giant's feet.
The canopy was so vast it blocked all light from sun, moon, and stars, leaving this place perpetually shrouded in mist and bitter cold.
Song Qianji didn't understand why he was always running desperately, always striving for some distant, nearly unattainable place.
Even granted a second chance at the Three Lives Stone, he still had to flee to Sacrifice Cliff and leap down, or race the sun across the Dead Sea astride a silver crane.
Perhaps this was why he preferred "the earth"—maybe he cherished the feeling of working the land with his own hands, of standing on solid ground.
The earth embraces all things without discrimination.
The sky may be magnificent, but it's no place to dwell long. During his time in the "Heaven Beyond Heavens," surrounded by vast emptiness while overlooking mountains and rivers, he ultimately held nothing tangible in his hands.
Just like this very moment. This place contained nothing.
Only a vermilion wall separating heaven and earth. Two sworn enemies destined to fight to the death.
Countless thoughts flashed through Song Qianji's mind—all in the time it took to pick up the sword and turn around.
Ten steps forward, and he saw that person through the white mist.
After a journey of farewells, constantly gaining and losing, he had finally arrived here, standing face to face with the instigator of it all.
If he could win this final battle, he would never have to run again.
Xian Jianchen was rapidly regenerating—hollow cheeks filling with color, ashen hair restoring to jet black, skeletal frame now covered with well-proportioned muscle. An aura of formidable confidence and oppressive power radiated from him.
Looking at him, Song Qianji could easily imagine what Xian Jianchen must have looked like in his youth.Xian Jie said leisurely, "He told you some things about the past, didn't he? In his story, he must be the righteous and affectionate good brother, while I'm the sinister, cunning, utterly wicked demonic heretic, am I right?"
"I don't want to hear your story, nor do I wish to speak with you. I came here to kill you."
Shadowless, Spring and Autumn, Resting Blade, River-Crossing, Waning Moon, Evil Slayer, Truth-Breaking, Spilt Water, and Lone Journey—nine swords gleamed with brilliant radiance, swirling around Song Qianji like beasts poised to strike.
Carrying sharp blades, the intent to kill arises naturally.
With the world's sharpest swords in his possession, his killing intent had reached its peak.
Song Qianji waved his sleeve, and the nine swords shot forth like nine dragons emerging from the sea, stirring fierce winds at the continent's edge.
Xian Jie stood calmly, his sleeves fluttering gently. "In Blood River Valley, I played a game of chess with you. Do you remember?"
"That game was won by me," Song Qianji said.
As the words fell, the nine swords were halted mid-air by countless crimson vines.
These vines broke through the frozen earth, sprouting densely from underground, swaying like seaweed. Even through the thick fog, their sight was enough to make one's scalp crawl.
On the snow plains, Song Qianji had used the Fountain of Immortality to draw out the roots of the Sky-Supporting Tree, causing withered, shriveled roots to struggle desperately across the land.
But here at the continent's edge, these roots were unnaturally vibrant in color, robust and full. Controlled by Xian Jie, they lashed out at Song Qianji like whips and sharp blades.
Song Qianji had no choice but to command his swords to slash through, carving a path forward.
Streaks of crimson shadows flew, warm sap splattering on him, sticky as blood yet exuding a sickly sweet scent.
Within the vine forest that blotted out the sky, Song Qianji's figure flickered in and out of view. The nine swords moved like scythes harvesting wheat, cutting down swathes of vines wherever they passed.
Sword light danced wildly, crimson shadows loomed, and the shrill wind howled like desperate cries.
The vines interlaced to form a throne, slowly lifting Xian Jie high into the air.
Like an exalted deity, he looked down upon Song Qianji through the dense fog. "You may win every game, but you cannot defy destiny."
Song Qianji couldn't hear him at all.
The mournful cries of the nine treasured swords drowned out all other sounds in his ears.
The original master's demise had driven them into a frenzy, thirsting for a great battle to taste blood.
The more Song Qianji fought, the more ferocious he became, feeling each sword as familiar as his own Lifebound Sword.
As the Sky-Supporting Tree's roots were severed, sap splattered across the sky, releasing dense Spirit Qi that filled heaven and earth. This Spirit Qi continuously poured into his body like rainwater filling a pond.
With the "Spring Night's Joyful Rain" Cultivation Method in motion, golden light of luck nourishing him, and the Fountain of Immortality safeguarding his path, his cultivation realm grew at an astonishing rate.
Step by step, Song Qianji advanced toward the aerial throne. He had never experienced such a smooth-flowing battle—no pain from injuries, no guilt from harming others, only the exhilaration of fierce combat.
What cultivator wouldn't enjoy such a fight?
Everything was strangely favorable. His swords felt perfectly suited, his enemy dodged and fled, soon to fall beneath his blade.
"Come down!" Song Qianji shouted.
The Spring and Autumn Sword shattered the throne with one strike, while the River-Crossing Sword's energy formed a long river, blocking countless vines.
Xian Jie fell downward, trapped within a cage formed by six swords, with no escape above or below.
Song Qianji held the Lone Journey Sword, its tip pointed directly at his enemy's throat.
But he stopped.
"Aren't you going to kill me?" Xian Jie asked.
The swords buzzed with discontent, urging him on.
"You deliberately let me increase my cultivation," Song Qianji said. "Why?"Who would deliver provisions to the enemy during a great war?
The edge of the continent was a place severed from yin and yang, shielded by the Sky-Supporting Tree, where no Thunder Tribulation descended.
His cultivation surged without restraint, breaking through the Transformation Stage and reaching its limit.
"Song Qianji, undefeated in a hundred battles, has become invincible with these nine swords. How could I possibly defeat you?" Xian Jie, wounded and pinned by the Solitary Sword at his vital point, wore the smile of a victor.
Song Qianji seemed to sense something, his heart stirred as he abruptly looked up.
In an instant, countless vines retreated underground, and a fierce wind swept through, dispersing the thick fog to reveal the brilliant starry sky above.
In the night sky, the stars slowly rotated, countless beams of starlight falling upon Song Qianji, forming a powerful gravitational force that pulled him toward the heavens.
Song Qianji's robes billowed in the gale as he summoned Spirit Qi to resist the immense force descending from above.
"But I can send you away." Xian Jie spread his arms, his gaze blazing with a startling, mad intensity. "How does it feel to have your cultivation surge uncontrollably? How does it feel to hold absolute power? Xu Yun, He Qingqing, and everyone else in this world—who could resist such strength?!"
Song Qianji gritted his teeth, staggering a step as he leaned on his sword for support.
Silver starlight converged upon him, illuminating his entire body in a silvery glow.
A force weighing thousands of pounds tugged at him, intent on sending him straight into the azure sky.
Xian Jie laughed wildly: "Your power has exceeded the limits. The very essence of this world is rejecting you. Go, ascend to the heavens. The affairs of this mortal realm no longer concern you."
Without breaking the limits, one could not reach the strongest foes; yet breaking the limits forced one to "ascend."
There was simply no way to resolve this dilemma.
Struggling against the stellar gravity, Song Qianji forcibly diverted a sliver of his focus to control the Solitary Sword: "Before I leave, I will surely kill you."
Xian Jie shook his head: "That person opened the Sword Forest Domain, capable of leveling the entire snow plain. Do you think he holds any sentimentality, unwilling to kill me? He cannot kill me—he dares not kill me!"
The Solitary Sword was inches away, yet he refused to retreat even a step: "The seed of the Sky-Supporting Tree? Hah, do you even know what it truly is?"
"Thwack!"
The Solitary Sword pierced his chest. He cried out in pain, tearing open his robes.
Song Qianji stared in shock.
Xian Jie’s chest was torn open, revealing a gaping cavity.
Hollow and gruesome, with crimson bones exposed—devoid of a heart.
"For two hundred years, I was suppressed beneath the Sky-Supporting Tree. That place was dark and cold, the seal unbreakable. So I devised a desperate plan—to scatter my flesh and blood, merging my will with the Sky-Supporting Tree. A century later, the tree bore fruit, which became my new body. The seed you obtained was my heart. I live and die with the ancient tree, and the new tree shall be born from me. Do you dare kill me?"
He stepped forward, closing in on Song Qianji, staring directly into his eyes: "Can you kill me?"
"Ah!" The stellar gravity contorted Song Qianji’s face. His vision blurred, leaving only the blinding silver starlight.
The blood-red seed of the Sky-Supporting Tree emerged, flying toward Xian Jie.
"What cultivators seek is nothing but ascension beyond this world, to live among the stars for eternity. You should thank me." Xian Jie’s laughter echoed.
The eight swords lost control, their formation collapsing abruptly. The Solitary Sword in Song Qianji’s hand gradually slipped from his grasp.
Had he truly lost?
Was it fate that he could not overcome, destined for this world to be destroyed? The lands he had cultivated, the flowers and plants he had nurtured—were they all fated to turn to nothingness?The outcome of the Journey to the West was the master and disciples attaining divinity and Buddhahood, seated on lotus thrones, smiling as they held flowers?
Xian Jie watched the blood-stained youth drift away with the starlight: "Xian Chen couldn't defeat me, and neither can you."
"Is that so?" Song Qianji asked softly.
Xian Jie suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest: "You!"
Song Qianji laughed, revealing a mouthful of blood: "I don't believe it."
With his last strength, he seized back the tree seed and began chewing and swallowing it voraciously, like a bloodthirsty demon.
At the same time, the Pure Bottle flew out, and the Fountain of Immortality washed over his body, making him radiant and resplendent, like a sacred deity.
Song Qianji's flesh and blood began to disintegrate from his limbs, melting like a candle.
The stars extinguished one by one, the starlight descending from the sky softened, and the irresistible gravitational pull gradually weakened.
"You!" Xian Jie's pupils dilated, "You're insane!"
The Nine Swords pierced through his body in an instant. He didn't even have time to look down at his wounds before collapsing backward.
He could not rest in peace, burdened with countless regrets and unanswered questions.
Song Qianji watched as his body turned into a withered log, then was shattered into dust by the Nine Swords:
"If you could do it, why can't I?"
"Boom!"
The Sky-Supporting Tree rapidly withered, the heavens trembled on the verge of collapse, and the earth shook violently.
The moment of apocalypse had arrived.
Song Qianji closed his eyes, allowing the raging winds and quaking mountains to envelop him. Through the howling wind, he heard every root and leaf of the Sky-Supporting Tree whispering its pain to him.
The Sky-Supporting Tree was like colorless glass—it reflected whatever light you shone upon it.
You could use it or harm it; it felt all the kindness and malice of the world and faithfully returned it to humanity.
"Leave it to me," Song Qianji said.
The dying Sky-Supporting Tree sensed his resolve and thanked him with drifting crimson leaves.
Until his death, Xian Jie could not understand why Song Qianji, who was one step away from ascending to immortality and leaving this doomed world, would make such a choice.
Who would abandon ascension, offering all their cultivation and flesh as nourishment to plant themselves as a tree?
Song Qianji roared to the heavens: "From this day forth, I will hold up the sky!"
"No!" an enraged voice cried out.
Song Qianji was startled—how could there be anyone else in this desolate place at such a time?
A ball of fire flew from the direction of the snow plains, carrying three figures within.
Wei Zhenyu's eyes were redder than the Inexhaustible Fire: "Song Qianji, stop!"
"Senior Brother Song!"
"Brother Song!"
Meng Heze and Ji Chen rushed toward him, following closely behind.
In a fleeting moment, Song Qianji recalled fragments from the river of time. Memories from past and present lives surfaced from the depths, weaving into a complete tapestry.
He suddenly smiled: "You didn’t want to leave back then either."
In the previous life, there were no winners. The tale of the Chosen One and the savior was merely a facade.
Nourished by the Fountain of Immortality, "Song Qianji" sprouted and grew at an unimaginable pace.
His skin turned golden, his features blurred, countless roots burrowed deep into the earth, and countless branches soared into the clouds.
He rose above the clouds and looked down upon the entire world.
Below, a sea of people surged across the snow plains.
Cultivators poured through the passage Ji Chen had opened, braving the wind and snow, racing toward the continent's edge.
He saw countless faces, familiar and unfamiliar.
Song Qianji murmured, "So many people came? This isn't a temple fair—was it really necessary?"
Strange—even after transforming into a tree, why did he still feel like weeping?The cultivators rushed to the edge of the continent, only to witness the old tree withering and crimson leaves swirling through the sky like a rain of blood scattering everywhere.
They had come to help Song Qianji win the final battle and defend the world, yet all they could do was watch as Song Qianji sacrificed himself to the Dao, planting his own body to become the new Sky-Supporting Tree.
What a scene of unimaginable, soul-shaking grandeur?
A golden tree took root and sprouted, soaring from the earth, its trunk piercing the clouds like a sharp sword.
A mortal body, defying the Mandate of Heaven.
“Song Qianji!”
“Senior Brother Song!”
“King Song!”
Song Qianji heard countless cries echoing through heaven and earth.
The mortal world he could no longer return to was pleading for him to stay. Yet all he could do was strive to grow toward the sky.
“All my life, I’ve been planting trees. Never thought I’d be planting my last one here. But this place really isn’t suitable for planting trees.”
With his final breath, he shouted: “The box!”
The crowd was bewildered.
A dark shadow shot out. A jade box opened mid-air, and soil poured from it like rain.
This was the most fertile soil of Thousand Canals. Before entering Blood River Valley, he had filled a storage jade box with it, carrying it with him to soothe his longing for the fields.
For someone who tills the land, what matters most?
The soil.
He had entrusted the soil-filled box to a friend, intending for them to hold back and serve as Thousand Canals’ final trump card at the last moment.
The fertile soil of Thousand Canals blanketed the frozen ground at the continent’s edge, and the new Sky-Supporting Tree, as if granted wings, reached the heavenly barrier.
Song Qianji gradually lost his sight, darkness enveloping his vision.
“If you dare not return, I’ll go to the Western Sea and become a great demon!”
He heard Meng Heze’s voice and thought, Stop bluffing. In this life, all your loved ones are here—you can’t return to the Western Sea. Just go back to Thousand Canals and hunt. I’d be relieved if you’d stop fighting with Wei Zhenyu.
“Brother Song, I’ll wait right here for you. You will come back, won’t you?” This was Ji Chen’s voice.
Song Qianji thought, I’m not afraid. You still have a sister to care for at home—sooner or later, you’ll have to return to Thousand Canals. Just remember not to play matchmaker anymore or set up random blind dates for Ji Xing.
“If this is your choice…” Ziye Wenshu’s words trailed off.
He plunged his Snow Blade into the soil, knelt on one knee, and channeled his own Spirit Qi into the new Sky-Supporting Tree.
Song Qianji felt the cool energy of the Ice Soul cultivation method flowing into his roots. He wanted to urge Ziye Wenshu to stop, but he could no longer speak.
His heart ached with regret. I’m sorry, Ziye, truly sorry. When I made that vow, I truly believed I could return.
If I had known it would come to this, I would have let you focus on cultivating your Ice Soul method and being the detached Courtyard Overseer. Without friends, you wouldn’t have to grieve for them.
Even if you pour all your Spirit Qi into me, it’s like trying to extinguish a burning cartload of firewood with a cup of water.
“Song Qianji, don’t go, don’t go.”
He heard Wei Zhenyu’s sobs and felt the warm energy of the Inexhaustible Fire flowing into his roots.
If he could speak, he would have scolded him. A man’s tears are not shed lightly. What’s with all the crying and stammering? You haven’t learned a bit of my spirit of finding joy in hardship.
Soon after, he felt various streams of Spirit Qi pouring into his roots, like small creeks converging into a vast ocean.
Countless golden leaves rustled, like a stirring melody played on a zither.
Song Qianji’s ten thousand eight hundred attachments to the world—he could not voice a single one.
His branches stretched boundlessly, gathering the crumbling heavenly barrier.
The earth still trembled. Could this newborn Sky-Supporting Tree hold up heaven and earth?"King Song has abandoned ascension to save the world at the cost of his life. Though my cultivation is meager, I too wish to do all I can!" Chen Hongzhu thrust Hundred Flowers Killer into the soil, channeling Spirit Qi toward the Sky-Supporting Tree like the cultivators of Thousand Canals and disciples of Song Courtyard.
Another cried, "What immortal alliance? What eternal legacy? If this world perishes, who can survive alone?!"
"King Song is gone. Whether we withstand this calamity depends on us now!"
Countless cultivators knelt at the continent's edge, while more kept arriving from the snow plains.
In this moment, all forgot hatred, prejudice, rage, and suffering—their minds purified, giving everything they had.
The collective will of humanity gathered here.
Tendrils of the Sky-Supporting Tree burst through the earth around them, forming new trunks.
Ten trees became hundreds, hundreds became thousands. Though slender and frail compared to the mighty Sky-Supporting Tree, these saplings grew steadfastly upward, encircling the colossal parent tree.
From the continent's edge to the Cracked Ice Plains, countless trees sprouted branches and leaves.
From this day forth, the heavens and earth were no longer supported by a single Sky-Supporting Tree, but by a forest piercing through the firmament.
...
Song Qianji didn't know how long he had slept.
It felt as if he hadn't been born yet, slumbering in darkness soft as clouds.
Until a familiar voice roused him.
"Hey, wake up! Can you hear me?"
"You're... the, the narration?" Song Qianji opened his eyes but saw nothing. "Did I die this time or not?"
The narration cleared its throat lightly. "Don't you remember? You gave up ascension and planted yourself as the new Sky-Supporting Tree, thus gaining recognition from the world's primordial will. Though your physical form perished, your soul was preserved within the Sky-Supporting Tree, retaining a thread of vitality."
Memories gradually surfaced—the cries of millions still echoing in his ears. Song Qianji's dazed mind began turning slowly. "I'm not dead?"
The narration sighed admiringly. "To think you broke free from the script and single-handedly reversed destiny for the entire world. Here, have some chilled grapes—your favorite!"
Song Qianji declined. "I'm feeling rather cold now."
The narration offered eagerly, "Then have some hot orange juice! Hot orange juice should be fine, right?"
Song Qianji gulped down a cup in one go and couldn't help remarking, "Still the familiar taste."
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