Jianzui Peak stood in the northern reaches of the Central Plains,
A thousand-zhang mountain shrouded in mist year-round.
Legend spoke of a divine scion ten thousand years ago,
Who raised his sword to question the heavens.
Before the blade could strike,
Heaven's thunder fell first—
Splitting the summit into a flat expanse.
Thus, the mountain was named "Jianzui," Swordfall.
Rain pooled atop the flattened peak,
Forming a lake of crystalline blue.
Its waters shimmered faintly,
Dense with spiritual energy that never dispersed—
Especially potent at dawn and dusk.
This lake was called Tianjian Pool,
The Heaven-Mirror Basin.
It reflected mountains and stars,
Not as a mirror, but as a lens—
Said to reveal the heart,
And even the soul's fate-mark.
Yet for the past century,
Every dozen years or so,
A beast would emerge from the lake—
Serpentine shadows, dragon-like roars,
Shrieks that tore through the air.
Those who approached met misfortune.
Since then, Jianzui Peak was declared a forbidden zone.
Locals passed down the warning:
"Three li from Swordfall—no human shadow."
Even hunters at the mountain's base refused to draw near.
And so, this land remained untouched for a hundred years.
At one corner of the lakeshore,
Jagged rocks jutted from the earth.
Among them grew a strange tree.
Its leaves shimmered violet-blue in the wind,
Branches twisted like fingers gripping a sword,
Roots coiled tightly around the stone,
Etched with the passage of time.
The entire tree seemed nourished
By the sword-intent of the mountain's heart.
Spiritual energy surged around it,
Guarding a single fruit—
Glowing with a purple-gold light,
Suspended like a flame,
Its aura pulsing faintly,
As if breathing with divine essence.
Beneath the tree's shadow,
A serpent coiled silently at the roots—
Its body covered in silver scales,
A single horn protruding from its brow.
It flicked its tongue in warning,
Eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty cold.
This was no ordinary beast.
A thousand years ago,
It had devoured a Spirit-Focusing Fruit by this lake,
Undergoing a rare metamorphosis—
Silver scales sprouted wings,
A horn grew from its forehead,
And its mind awakened.
It had cultivated here ever since,
Waiting for the next fruit to ripen,
To undergo a second transformation—
And ascend to the rank of true demon.
It regarded the tree as sacred,
Guarded it with its life.
Any living creature that approached
Would be slain without mercy.
At that moment,
A figure sat cross-legged not far away—
Clad in a deep grey inner robe,
With a dark violet cloak draped over his shoulders.
An invisible hourglass turned slowly in his hand.
His gaze was calm as still water,
Yet within his eyes,
Starlight swirled—
The glimmer of celestial calculation.
His name was Xuan Chen,
A traveler from the western continent.
He had come alone—
Not for cultivation,
Nor for trial,
But to trace the remnants of his soul's fate.
Why he appeared here,
No one yet knew.
Since birth,
His fate-soul had been fractured.
His senses differed from ordinary men.
He often felt
That a thread of truth lay hidden
Behind a veil of mist.
For years,
He had wandered the lands,
Seeking the source of his soul's loss.
Months ago,
He heard rumors in the northern frontier—
Of beasts appearing by the lake,
Of dragon cries at night,
Of spiritual energy in turmoil.
He sensed a faint resonance
Between the lake's pulse
And his own fragmented soul.
So he journeyed against the current,
Into the Swordfall Mountains.
From afar,
He saw a silver-scaled serpent
Climbing the peak,
Vanishing into the mist.
Suspicion stirred.
He followed in secret.
Until he reached the edge of Tianjian Pool,
Where the strange tree breathed,
And the fruit glowed faintly.
Only then did he understand
What the signs had pointed to.
Yet the serpent's awakened intelligence was still raw,
Its ferocity not yet tempered—
And its cultivation formidable.
To seize the fruit by force
Would provoke a deadly battle,
And risk backlash from the very laws of fate.
Besides, the fruit was not yet ripe.
To take it prematurely
Would be twice the effort,
And tenfold the danger.
So he laid down a spiritual array—
Not for combat,
But for observation.
For three days and nights,
He studied the serpent's habits,
Tracked its movements,
Measured its aura shifts—
Waiting for that one moment
When fate would stir,
And he could take the fruit
Without a sound.
He knew this path was perilous.
But he chose patience over greed,
Because the obsession in his heart remained clear:
The road to the fate-soul—
Even a slight deviation
Could lead to the loss of one's true self.
That self,
Buried deep within the soul's awareness,
Was the core of who he was.
He would rather miss the fruit
Than let a moment of desire
Drag him into battle
And off the path.
He sat within the array,
Ever watchful,
Until this morning—
This morning,
The fruit's aura began to swell.
He knew the ripening had begun.
He activated the array,
Stirring the surrounding energy
To lure the serpent away.
It worked.
The serpent, sensing the disturbance,
Slithered into the forest to investigate.
He held his breath,
Waited until its aura had faded,
Then rose and approached the tree.
But just as he reached for the fruit,
The surrounding energy rippled.
His heart clenched.
He took one step—
And felt killing intent surge like a tide.
The serpent had sensed something mid-flight,
And returned like lightning.
Its cold eyes locked onto him.
Its tail lashed through the air.
He dodged,
But was still struck across the shoulder—
His body flung sideways,
Crashing hard beside the tree.
The serpent lunged again,
Its maw wide,
Fangs gleaming with deadly light.
He tried to summon his energy and evade,
But his chest was blocked—
His breath disrupted,
Ribs aching.
The tail strike hadn't been fatal,
But it had shaken his core,
Stalling his qi flow.
He moved a fraction too slow.
And he knew—
If this next strike landed,
He might not survive.
Just then—
A sound tore through the wind.
A youthful figure burst from the forest,
Clothes whipping in the air,
Carrying a direct, piercing intent.
His steps were slightly raw,
But firm and grounded.
Each stride struck with purpose.
Before reaching the serpent,
He had already lowered his stance like a drawn bow—
One palm swept out,
Striking directly at the serpent's vital spot.
The blow pierced its scales,
A dull thud rang out.
The serpent shuddered,
Its scales bristling.
It roared in fury,
Whipping around to attack.
Xiao Chen.
After leaving the village,
He had planned to head south.
But while resting at a roadside teahouse,
He overheard a group of traveling hunters
Speaking of the northern frontier—
Of dragon cries atop Swordfall Peak,
Of flashes of light at midnight,
Of silver shadows streaking through the sky.
Something stirred in his heart.
He remembered the lingering poison within him.
If there were rare beasts or fruits,
Perhaps they could help.
So he changed course,
Heading north.
Yet the closer he drew to Jianzui Peak,
The more unease gripped him.
He didn't know why—
Only that he couldn't resist it.
He followed the feeling.
Until, not long into the climb,
He heard roars and wind-tearing sounds ahead—
A battle.
He followed the noise,
And saw this scene unfold.
—
Xiao Chen said nothing.
His eyes locked onto the serpent,
Reflecting its twisting killing intent.
He gripped his short blade,
Not rushing in,
But circling slowly around the beast.
His steps were steady,
His breath taut like a drawn string.
Man and serpent stared each other down,
Auras locked,
As if ready to devour one another.
He had survived the crimson lion.
He knew—
Against a beast fighting for its life,
Even a moment's hesitation could mean death.
Gone was the reckless youth.
Now, he moved with measured intent.
He knew the serpent's mind had awakened,
But its instincts still ruled.
To charge in recklessly
Would be to offer himself to its jaws.
He held his blade tight,
Not striking blindly—
Instead, he used small movements
To bait the serpent's attacks,
Testing for openings
With each feint.
Suddenly, the serpent twisted and lunged—
Its force pressing close.
Xiao Chen spun and struck with a reverse blade.
The edge landed squarely on its scales.
Clang—!
A sharp ring echoed.
Sparks burst.
The blade recoiled violently, nearly flying from his grip.
Its scales were like iron.
That strike felt like cleaving stone.
His palm went numb,
Wrist searing with pain.
His sword momentum faltered.
The serpent spun, tail whipping sideways.
Xiao Chen barely dodged,
But the clash of blows grew fiercer.
Its tail wind grazed his arm—
He grunted, stumbling back several steps.
The serpent's fury intensified.
Its attacks grew relentless.
The tug-of-war turned into suppression.
Xiao Chen gritted his teeth,
Steadied himself,
Breath growing heavy.
He knew—this beast could not be overcome by brute force.
Only cunning could win.
He had to wear it down,
Find an opening,
Strike true.
And in this killing field,
There was no one to rely on.
Only himself—
To break fate and survive.
At that moment,
Xuan Chen knelt on one knee.
He flipped his palm,
Producing a pill etched with green patterns.
His throat moved—he swallowed it.
Before the medicine reached his core,
He already felt his meridians stir,
His breath slightly stabilized.
His right hand pressed to the ground, sealing acupoints to stop the bleeding.
His left hand formed a seal, suppressing the pain in his chest.
He dared not move recklessly.
His gaze never left the battlefield—
Tracking the serpent's shifting attacks,
And the youth's bladework and footwork.
Though he had struck once in aid,
Xuan Chen did not yet see him as an ally.
A stranger's intentions were unknowable.
Friend or foe—unclear.
Only through observation
Could he judge.
He watched the youth's movements,
Sensing the flow of his energy.
And silently calculated:
"This boy's bone structure is exceptional.
His qi flow is steady…
If he can endure to the fifth exchange,
He's no ordinary talent.
But if he turns hostile—
I can stall him for a moment.
That will be enough."
Dozens of moves passed.
Xiao Chen's fatigue began to show.
His arms bore wounds,
His breath grew ragged.
His sword trembled in his grip.
Xuan Chen's brow twitched.
He sensed the energy field growing chaotic.
He sighed—
Whether moved by the youth's persistence,
Or bracing for the backlash of his next move,
He knew—
If he didn't act now,
He would regret it.
His breath shifted.
Battle intent ignited.
Xuan Chen moved like wind,
Flashing to the serpent's flank.
One finger pointed out—
"Qi Break!"
The force roared like thunder.
His finger condensed into a thread of energy,
Piercing the serpent's scales,
Splitting a faint silver seam.
The beast's aura faltered.
The serpent shrieked,
Turning to strike Xuan Chen.
Xiao Chen seized the moment—
His blade reversed,
Driving hard into the breach.
Steel met flesh.
Sparks flew.
Serpent blood sprayed.
Xuan Chen followed with a palm strike,
His body twisting to evade the tail sweep.
His palm landed true—
Right where Xiao Chen's blade had struck.
The force sank deep.
Another palm.
Together,
They brought the serpent down beneath the tree.
As its body collapsed,
Purple blood seeped out,
Its aura shaking the surrounding spiritual field.
In the pool of blood,
A violet-blue leaf drifted down,
Landing on each of their shoulders—
As if to mark this meeting.
Not born of favor.
Not born of gain.
But of a fated encounter.
Suddenly,
Both felt a shift in their bodies.
They had been touched by the serpent's blood.
Their auras trembled slightly.
The blood mist of the silver-scaled serpent spread across the mountain,
Carrying a spiritual resonance unlike that of ordinary beasts.
It was the Dragon Vein Breath—
A remnant of its uncompleted metamorphosis,
Blending spiritual energy, demonic force, and core essence.
Released only at the brink of death.
Both had been touched by its blood.
Their meridians grew warm,
Their breath surged—
As if some unknown force had been stirred.
Xiao Chen felt his qi sea burn like a furnace.
His pores opened,
His fate-mark activated on its own,
Beginning to absorb the lingering spiritual energy in the blood.
But soon,
He realized he was only absorbing the spiritual layer—
No effect on the body itself.
Xuan Chen sat cross-legged,
Circulating his inner breath to refine the serpent's blood.
Moments later,
His brow twitched.
A flicker of surprise lit his eyes.
His physical aura began to tremble,
Like a great bell ringing.
Faint lightning shimmered beneath his skin.
A subtle dark pattern surfaced along his meridians—
His body was being tempered
By the trace amounts of dragon breath in the blood.
He opened his eyes,
Looked at Xiao Chen,
And asked in a low voice:
"You… only absorbed the spiritual energy?"
Xiao Chen shook his head.
"Mm. My meridians expanded slightly,
But my body hasn't changed."
Xuan Chen's gaze narrowed.
He didn't press further.
Only murmured to himself:
"…Not ineffective.
Just… not the path he walks."
A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes,
Then vanished.
He silently recorded the anomaly.
Xuan Chen took out a Body-Tempering Pill
And a strip of beast sinew.
He handed them to Xiao Chen.
"Take this pill.
It'll ease the pain.
The sinew can brace your arm—
You won't drop your blade."
Xiao Chen accepted it,
Nodded slightly,
His gaze lingering on the serpent's still-warm corpse.
Xuan Chen glanced sideways.
"Though it didn't become a dragon,
Its bloodline was halfway there.
Its blood, gall, bones, and scales—
All rare materials.
Don't waste them."
With that,
He pointed lightly.
A stream of spiritual light enveloped the serpent's body,
Sealing its aura,
Preventing energy loss.
He then produced a sealed spatial jade,
And said:
"This beast was slain by us.
Once its aura stabilizes,
We'll divide it fairly."
Xiao Chen didn't object.
He simply smiled:
"I won't fight for it.
But you owe me a life—
Don't forget to repay it."
Xuan Chen smiled faintly.
"I'll remember the life.
And I'll divide the spoils fairly."
They exchanged a glance,
And finally relaxed their guard.
This blood battle
Had slain more than a serpent—
It had broken the wall between them.
An unspoken promise
Had already taken root.
Xuan Chen turned to the fallen serpent,
Then looked at the youth beside him—
Equally breathless,
Equally wounded,
Of similar age.
He was silent for a moment.
Then spoke,
His voice low and rough,
Like wind brushing water:
"Places like this…
Not everyone dares tread.
Why are you here?"
The youth met his gaze,
His tone calm:
"The apothecary below said there's ancient herbs here.
Might cure an old ailment.
I came for the herbs.
Heard the commotion,
So I came to look."
Xuan Chen nodded lightly,
Glanced at the wound on his chest,
And said quietly:
"I'll remember this karma."
He turned slightly,
His robe fluttering in the wind.
His voice was calm,
But carried a hint of inquiry:
"Your name?"
The youth looked up.
His eyes were clear,
Bright as morning stars.
He paused,
Then answered with a question:
"Who are you?"
Xuan Chen smiled.
"Xuan Chen."
The youth nodded.
"…Xiao Chen."
The mist began to clear.
The lake reflected two figures—
Standing in blood,
Still as ancient stone.