Even as the black qi gnawed at his bones—
Li Zhexian's hand never once loosened from Qian Renxue's.
Qian Renxue turned her head, looking at the boy who now seemed more demon than human.
Her fingertips trembled slightly.
Yet she clasped his hand even tighter.
Inside the clay-walled hut—
Black qi coiled around him like venomous pythons, corroding every bone and limb of Li Zhexian.
In the blink of an eye, he grew gaunt and skeletal, corpse-spots spreading, breath as thin as dying embers—like a man moments from death.
But the next moment—
His blood surged once more like a roaring flood, flesh and bone regaining vitality, his aura awakening like a slumbering dragon.
"Rebirth isn't what I seek!"
"If all I wanted was a 'Sword of Rebirth,' I could grasp it with a flip of my hand!"
"But…"
"I refuse!"
"Merely grasping a 'sword intent of rebirth'—how is that any different from Thunder Ash Rebirth?!"
"How can that be called a Myriad Forms Sword Dao?!"
"Is it only decay and rebirth?!"
"Again and again forcing out decay that gnaws my five organs and erodes my meridians!"
"Don't tell me even then I still can't comprehend a single sword?!"
Half his face was corpse-purple, the other half pale as snow.
Only his eyes remained—cold stars burning with unyielding defiance.
Drops of filthy blood mixed with black qi dripped from the corner of his lips—
Zzzt—
Zzzt—
The soil sizzled as if eaten by acid, corroded into a thousand pits.
Such vicious, death-laden decay…
Gods knew how many cycles it had ravaged through his body, yet still he could not seize a trace of sword intent.
"Decay is not a spirit material. It clouds the wine!"
"If it can't brew wine—does that mean I can't comprehend a sword?"
Li Zhexian clenched his fist, joints crackling like metal. Unwilling fury roared in his eyes, hot enough to scorch his sockets.
"Absolutely not!"
"I, Li Zhexian, am no mediocrity who relies only on my Martial Soul!"
"Except for the first sword form—every one of my sword techniques was born because I first grasped the intent, then brewed its wine!"
Bang—!
His thought stirred.
The Clear Spring Wine Gourd appeared in a flash of light.
He tilted his head back and drank.
Rotten flesh along his jaw fell off like crumbling wood shavings.
The wine burned down his throat like oil on fire. His blood surged again, driving the deathly aura violently out of his body.
"This is only the eighth sword of the Qinglian Sword Song…"
"And the eighth sword is already this difficult… what of the ones that follow…"
"I cannot… fall at the eighth sword…"
"My Myriad Forms Sword Dao must not break…"
His decayed shell crumbled inch by inch, scattering like ash in the wind.
After repeated cycles of corrosion and rebirth—tempered again by surging blood—
Li Zhexian's body now shone like flawless jade; even his hair glimmered with light.
If it were merely ordinary decay—
He would not even need to circulate his blood.
His body alone could cleanse it.
"My physical body is stepping into the Titled level."
"But what I seek…"
"Is only sword intent!"
Just as his consciousness began to drift—
He could no longer hold on. His body slackened—
And once again he collapsed into that warm embrace.
When he awoke again—
Several more hours had passed.
Li Zhexian rose from Qian Renxue's lap, seeing the weariness she could not hide in her brows and eyes.
A pang of guilt passed through his heart.
From the moment he began seeking sword intent, he had repeatedly collapsed in exhaustion.
And Qian Renxue, without a moment of rest, had watched over him the entire time.
"You've worked hard, Xue'er."
Qian Renxue simply smiled softly and shook her head.
Her Spirit Power was nearly at the Titled level—going a few days without sleep meant nothing.
But continually channeling Light-attribute Spirit Power to resist the deathly aura was an immense strain on the mind.
"Right… Zhexian, your sword…"
Qian Renxue's expression suddenly shifted, her gaze falling onto the Qinglian Sword in Li Zhexian's grasp.
Li Zhexian looked down.
The once-clear, jade-bright blade had accumulated patches of pitch-black substance.
"Hm?!"
"The decay hasn't dispersed?"
He touched the spine of the sword—no response.
He pushed Spirit Power into it—yet the black substance clung stubbornly, unmoving.
"So every time I drew the death qi into my body… a trace of the most stubborn decay still sank into the blade."
Li Zhexian clenched his teeth.
The black substance was like the solidified form of the deathly qi—
Filthy sludge burying all twelve lotus engravings on the Qinglian Sword.
"Qinglian Sword…"
"I will not let you be defiled."
Suppressing his emotions, Li Zhexian raised the Qinglian Sword, strode out of the hut, and began cutting down the dead once more.
His heart for the sword—
No one could shake!
…
Outside the secret realm—
Many spectators had already dispersed.
The light screen was huge; within Spirit Hall City, one only needed to look up to see it.
After these continuous days—
People had long grown accustomed to Li Zhexian's madness.
…
"Myriad Forms Sword Dao… how impossibly difficult…"
A trace of sorrow flashed through Chen Xin's eyes.
Even someone as monstrously gifted as Li Zhexian—could not force open the Myriad Forms Sword Dao?
"Zhexian's obsession with the sword—heaven and earth can see it."
Feng Bailong stroked his beard with a sigh.
"To comprehend seven sword intents is already peerless across the ages."
"But the past sword intents were too strong. To grasp a new one, he must ascend yet another realm of understanding."
"Human strength… has its limits."
"To comprehend the sword—is harder than ascending the heavens."
Gu Rong, Dugu Bo, and Yu Yuanzhen didn't understand sword dao.
Their paths to power lay elsewhere.
But even they could see—
Li Zhexian had hit a bottleneck.
"Two days remain before the seven-day limit."
Dugu Bo's green robes fluttered as he spoke slowly.
"Believe in the boy."
"He will not stop here."
Bibi Dong had been watching in silence.
Li Zhexian sought sword intent?
Then let him seek.
The decay imbued with the traits of Rakshasa God-power—was it something easily understood?
"Let's see whether you comprehend your sword first—"
"—or whether I complete the eighth trial of the Rakshasa God."
Her purple eyes flickered with a faint shadowy glow.
...
That day—
Countless dead fell beneath his sword once more.
Though he did not encounter another Titled-level undead—
He met four Spirit Douluo-level undead.
All were reduced to nothing by his blade.
Black qi once again coiled around Li Zhexian like venomous serpents.
"There's still time."
"One more house."
He approached another dwelling, expression grim.
With a palm strike at a distance—
The courtyard gate blew open.
Then he rushed in, sword in hand.
Qian Renxue followed immediately—but the instant Li Zhexian stepped inside—
The courtyard gate slammed shut with a deafening bang.
"What?!"
Her lovely face turned pale.
This had never happened before.
Yet no matter how she struck the door—
It did not move an inch.
…
Inside—
Li Zhexian's body tensed, expression sharpening—prepared for the worst.
Before his eyes—
The withered courtyard slowly revived, brimming with life.
Bare earth transformed into a neat pebble path, the ruined hut shifted into red eaves and wooden windows.
All deathly qi vanished; the air grew clean.
And beneath the delicate single-room house—
A beautiful flower garden gradually emerged.
What made Li Zhexian's pupils abruptly contract—
Among the flowers—
A woman in a white dress bent over with a watering pot, her posture gentle as she tended the blossoms.
Suddenly, as if sensing something—
She turned her head, eyes curved in a gentle smile, dimples appearing, her voice soft:
"Hello."
Li Zhexian's eyes narrowed, each word cold and lethal:
"Bibi Dong…"
"That's me."
The woman turned back and continued watering.
"If you don't mind… wait a moment, all right?"
"Mm. Sit wherever you like."
Li Zhexian stared coldly, silently, at her turned back.