The Sword-Lotus Pool was filled with blooming lotus flowers, and behind each blossom rested the soul-mark of a Pure Yang cultivator.
Even Jing Qian himself had planted a lotus within the pool.
When the Sword Furnace reignited its Fate Fire, a torrent of majestic sword intent began circulating through the pool, bathing each lotus in waves of radiance.
As the one who had sown his own lotus, Jing Qian could feel a stream of pure sword intent flowing from his Sword Lotus straight into his consciousness, cutting away a faint thread of distraction that had coiled around his Dao Heart.
The lotus had the miraculous power to clarify one's heart of Dao, a marvel beyond words.
He counted carefully: twelve lotus blooms resonated with the sword intent, plus one unopened bud.
That meant, aside from Shang Xi, Jing Qian, and the old white ox, there were nine other senior Pure Yang cultivators still wandering somewhere in the void.
Pointing toward the Sword-Lotus Pool, Shang Xi spoke:
"Three thousand years ago, when the Great Calamity descended, we failed to respond in time and were forced into desperation.
The Sword Furnace was overdrawn and went completely dark.
If Aunt Zhenmiao were still alive, she would already have reached the second rank and rekindled it long ago.
My own talent was lacking, my fortune poor, and I delayed it for three millennia. I owe the sect more than words can tell."
Jing Qian shook his head.
"Master, the survival of Pure Yang Heaven rested solely on you.
To hold on for so long at the fifth rank is no small feat.
In terms of lineage and preservation, you've already done everything possible; there's no need for regret."
Shang Xi smiled faintly, nodding.
"No more dwelling on the past.
Pure Yang Heaven has emerged from decline; it's time to look toward the future."
He continued:
"Since you joined the sect, you've been busy helping me ascend, never resting for a single moment.
You haven't even received the sect's most important honor, the Title Grant.
That's my oversight."
"You must understand," Shang Xi went on,
"That both Pure Yang Heaven and Yanfu Dao are known throughout the realms as Dao-Ancestor lineages, and with good reason.
Each holds a unique path of title progression that leads directly to the level of the 'Honorific Title'.
You already carry the Yanfu secret title, Son of the Yanfu Dao-Ancestor, so you should not be unfamiliar with its nature."
He looked Jing Qian in the eye, his tone solemn.
"Titles are the very core every upper-third-rank cultivator must face on their path.
They determine one's share of the Authority of the Great Dao, one's seat upon the Mountain of Immortal Qi, and thus the true outcome of one's cultivation.
A title can measure the strength or weakness of a high-rank cultivator more clearly than the raw realm alone."
"Beginning from a lower-grade title, a bearer already stands out among peers of the same realm.
Compared to one without a title, even a lower-grade title grants the strength to bridge an entire rank's difference.
Mid-grade and upper-grade titles, and the still higher Honorific Titles, possess far greater power.
Across the boundless worlds, there are endless geniuses, spirits, and resources.
Under the pressure of time's great current, any realm that endures long enough will eventually produce someone who reaches the second rank.
Yet even among those who cultivate for tens of thousands of years, few ever attain a single mid-grade title.
Why? Because titles above the lower grade hide vast secrets and roots of power, passed down only within the highest orders of existence, beyond the reach of ordinary means."
"And among those top orders, only a very small number possess a direct path leading to an Honorific Title.
Such lineages are the true Dao-Ancestor bloodlines."
Shang Xi's gaze burned bright.
"Our Pure Yang Heaven follows this path:
from the lower-grade title Pure Yang Butcher of Men,
through the mid-grade Pure Yang Lord of Tribulations,
then to the upper-grade Pure Yang God-Slayer, Immortal-Extinguisher,
and finally to the true honorific 'Pure Yang' itself.
To hold this clear, profound progression of titles is the greatest foundation of our lineage, the reason the Pure Yang Sons may roam the worlds unchallenged."
Shang Xi's words, firm and resonant, cut through the air like sword-edge truth, revealing yet another hidden cornerstone of cultivation.
Jing Qian's understanding deepened as his master continued:
"You've only just received your own title; it still needs time to settle.
In the years to come, you'll discover how the title contains endless Dao insight, influencing every facet of your cultivation.
When your progress stalls, when you strike the wall of a bottleneck, the power drawn from your title will still flow without cease enough to bring forth a new transformation."
He paused, his eyes far away.
"I myself sat in the Ruined Sword Mountain for three thousand years.
My Earth-Fiend realm had reached its absolute end; by normal means, I could no longer advance.
But during those years, I refined my title step by step
until it reached the upper-grade Pure Yang God-Slayer, Immortal-Extinguisher.
The strength it granted me was no less than that of stepping directly into the upper-third ranks.
Now that my cultivation bottleneck is broken,
Once I raise my realm to match,
My power will soar to an even greater height."
He turned to Jing Qian and smiled.
"That alone should tell you just how vital the path of titles truly is."
Jing Qian listened intently.
This section had also been mentioned, though only briefly, in the Yanfu Reincarnation Dao Scripture – Chapter on Titles.
Yet, compared to Shang Xi's firsthand explanation, so vivid, profound, and brimming with lived insight, it felt like the difference between reading theory and beholding truth.
Moreover, within his Yanfu Dao inheritance, there was a glaring omission:
No detailed path of title ascension was recorded.
Nowhere did the Dao Scripture explain how to advance beyond "Son of the Yanfu Dao-Ancestor" toward the true honorific title of "Yanfu."
He had no roadmap at all.
With that realization, Jing Qian couldn't help but ask:
"Master, how many Dao-Ancestor lineages are there that are like our Pure Yang Heaven, with a complete and traceable title path?"
Shang Xi led Jing Qian around the back of the Sword-Lotus Pool as he replied:
"Don't be fooled by how few Pure Yang disciples remain today.
Despite our struggles to preserve the line, sects that can rival our Pure Yang Heaven in their path of 'Honorific Title' inheritance are exceedingly rare.
And for two Dao-Ancestor lineages, Pure Yang Heaven and Yanfu Dao, to coexist within the same world?
Across all realms and heavens, such a case exists only here."
"According to our sect's ancestral records, our predecessors once roamed the void and encountered only eight other forces worthy of the Dao-Ancestor rank, each possessing its own honorific inheritance.
They are: Xuanyuan, Shangqing, Shenshao, Mituo, Tianmo, Jiuyou, Xingchen, and Lingshan.
If, one day, you travel the void and meet disciples of these eight lineages, be on your guard, for these few are the true rivals of you and me."
"Outside the Dao-Ancestor inheritance of titles," Shang Xi continued,
"There also exists another, rather peculiar system of title transmission."
"Our Yingfutu Realm falls under the domain of the Northern Empress of Wuji Heaven,
who reigns as the High Goddess E Gao Shangdi, a first-rank being.
Her cultivation follows the path of fortune and incense-faith.
By her own divine Honorific Title 'Shangdi'
She created a unique Spirit Official (Lingguan) hierarchy,
ruling the northern heavens and establishing the Wuji Celestial Dynasty."
"Those granted ranks as Spirit Officials by the Celestial Dynasty
are, in fact, recipients of a special kind of title."
"From subordinate sixth rank up to subordinate fourth rank,
These heavenly appointments correspond roughly to lower-grade titles."
"From proper fourth rank to proper second rank,
They are equivalent to mid-grade titles."
"Above that, the first-rank appointees, the mortal Human Emperors, princes, and crown heirs, all match the power of upper-grade titles."
"However, understand this well:
The Spirit Official system of the Wuji Heaven draws its authority directly from E Gao Shangdi, and in essence, it differs profoundly from our Dao-Ancestor inheritances."
"Should you ever receive a heavenly appointment yourself,
You'll feel firsthand just how different these two powers are."
As Shang Xi spoke, the two of them arrived at a special place deep within Pure Yang Heaven's inner sanctum.
There stood a small blacksmith's forge, and within it, a massive iron anvil rested quietly at the center.
Shang Xi raised a hand toward it and said:
"Chixiao, all I've said so far, our sect's path of title advancement is rooted here, upon this Sword Anvil."
"You may place your own lifebound spirit construct, the one you obtained from Hidden Sword Mountain,
upon the anvil for tempering.
If your accumulation is sufficient, the Sword Anvil's power will stir, and it will grant you a title."
Hearing this, Jing Qian obeyed.
He lifted his black-jade longsword and stepped before the Sword Anvil,
quietly sensing the aura emanating from it.
What he felt was staggering, a vast, solemn pressure of rank and power.
Just by looking at it,
He felt as if he were gazing into the Sea of Spiritual Essence itself, the very origin of creation.
Pure Yang Heaven's foundation truly ran deep;
Everything here was something he had never even imagined before.
He couldn't help asking:
"Master… will this Sword Anvil temper my cultivation itself?
Does my realm affect the outcome?"
Shang Xi smiled faintly.
"No, it has nothing to do with your realm.
The Sword Anvil responds only to the battle aura and killing you've accumulated in your journey."
"The Pure Yang Sword Path teaches to nourish war with war, and end killing with killing.
The richer your battle experience, the heavier your karma of bloodshed, the denser the raw material for tempering your title."
"Ordinarily, if you can refine your path enough at the lower third ranks
to grind out the lower-grade title of Pure Yang Butcher, that already marks a profound accumulation."
"As for me, had I not spent three thousand years battling Lingling again and again, gathering an ocean of sword-qi and killing intent,
I never could have grounded my title, while still in the Earth-Fiend realm,
all the way up to the upper-grade Pure Yang God-Slayer, Immortal-Extinguisher."
Jing Qian nodded, no longer hesitant.
He raised his Immortal Sword Embryo and pressed it gently against the Sword Anvil.
"Screech!"
A chilling sound tore through the Pure Yang Cavern, so sharp it made his skin crawl.
At once, Jing Qian's entire arm went rigid, his body seizing as if struck by lightning.
His consciousness was yanked into an illusion, a vivid replay of his past life's death.
He stood again in that long street,
locked in a life-and-death duel.
In the end, he slew his foe with his sword but traded life for victory, dying of his wounds soon after.
That memory had long faded into the depths of his soul, but reliving it now filled him with a strange, bittersweet ache.
Then the Sword Anvil's power surged.
That fragment of memory was seized, pressed between the Immortal Sword Embryo and the Anvil, and ground to dust.
Throughout the process, it felt to Jing Qian as though he were performing a complete and flawless review of a life-and-death battle.
Every movement, every clash, every tactical choice from that deadly duel was broken down into countless dimensions analyzed, reassembled, and then poured back into his consciousness.
He suddenly gained absolute confidence. If he were to relive that same fight now, not only would he avoid dying of his wounds, his enemy wouldn't even touch a single strand of his hair.
Only after emerging from that memory did Jing Qian realize that the Sword Anvil's tempering process was not as simple as channeling his killing intent or battle aura.
On the contrary, each grind was like a perfect combat debrief, as though an invisible council of the most seasoned warriors, battle instructors, and killing masters were dissecting every move for him, teaching without restraint.
Excitement flooded through him. Jing Qian lifted his sword again and pressed it to the Sword Anvil.
This time, the scene drawn forth was his duel within the Fate Stele Space, his entanglement with the short, round cultivator at the stone altar.
So, even the battle experiences within the Fate Stele could be used here?
He couldn't contain his thrill. The Sword Anvil's guidance was meticulous, its insights exhilarating.
If the experience he'd gained from his real-world battles could be measured as one, then the combat experience within the Fate Stele Space was a hundredfold no, a thousandfold greater!
On the third grind, the memory that surfaced was of that desperate strike, the one where he had slain the Dragon-Elephant Snow Maiden, his first kill in this world.
It was a battle carved deep into his bones. He had replayed it many times throughout his cultivation, but never had any review come close to the Sword Anvil's perfect dissection.
Once again, his fighting instincts were sharpened beyond measure.
Jing Qian was completely hooked.
He had always been a man obsessed with combat, a swordsman by nature.
And now, before him, was the perfect instrument for refining that obsession, the Sword Anvil itself.
His already vast battle experience was being refined and reforged, rising to unimaginable heights.
"Screech!"
"Screech!"
"Screech!"
Without hesitation, Jing Qian slashed and ground his sword against the anvil again and again.
Sea demons. Ghosts. Monks.
Dragon-elephants. Longevity cultivators. Spirit-Suppressings.
Chongxuan. Stove King. The Ying clan.
Great ghosts. Qiongqi beasts. Blood River sect.
Every unforgettable kill, every fierce battle was dragged from the depths of memory, broken down, polished, and absorbed anew this time not as trauma, but as nourishment.
It was a miraculous experience beyond anything he'd imagined.
Even if this process had nothing to do with forging a title, he would have gladly continued, just to savor the wonder of such perfect tactical reflection.
As each battle memory was ground to dust, the essence reformed into luminous energy that gathered above his divine sense.
A pure, lethal sword intent enveloped his spirit.
It was as if a blade carved, stroke by stroke, four burning Dao runes upon his soul.
Pure Yang Butcher.
A lower-grade Pure Yang title, passed down from secret inheritance, was born within his heart.
At that moment, Jing Qian finally completed the full ritual, and he had become a true, recognized Pure Yang Son.
The Sumeru Dao Monument immediately etched this new title's Dao essence into his greater title of Master of the Myriad Sumeru Worlds,
Lending its divine power as further reinforcement.
Then, with a thought, Jing Qian made a choice; he replaced his mid-grade title, Lord of the Corpse Mountain, with Pure Yang Butcher instead.
Though its grade was technically lower, its alignment with his sword path was far superior.
As soon as he bore the title, his sword gained a new edge, a killing aura so sharp it seemed to slice through heaven and earth.
His offensive power rose dramatically.
Yet his journey through battle memory was far from finished.
Even after the title coalesced, Jing Qian couldn't bring himself to stop.
He kept grinding, again and again, each contact with the anvil replayed another great battle,
each reenactment, refining his instincts, strategy, and fighting system at an astonishing pace.
Now he finally understood why the entire Pure Yang Heaven seemed half-mad in its devotion to combat, and why every disciple strove so relentlessly to amplify their destructive might.
Here, every battle, every drop of blood, and moment of danger could be transformed into priceless nourishment for the birth of new titles.
And among those memories, battles fought beyond one's realm were worth even more than the brightest jewels of experience.
Jing Qian couldn't help but envy his master, Shang Xi,
who had spent three thousand years battling two second-rank demonesses as sparring partners,
eventually grinding out an upper-grade title.
That kind of advantage could save centuries of effort on the path to the higher realms.
"Screech!"
"Screech!"
Jing Qian continued without pause, each grind more fierce than the last.
His Immortal Sword Embryo also began changing under the anvil's tempering.
Black jade impurities flaked off, falling like dust; the blade's lines grew sleeker, finer, its texture took on the transcendent quality of a first-rank artifact, far beyond ordinary materials.
So this process of title-forging was also a method of sword-refinement!
By the time he had ground away seven-tenths of his life's battle memories, his Sumeru Immortal Sword Embryo had gained another qian of Life Measure, raising its total to four qian, drawing closer to the point where it could bear its first Life Pattern.
And in the process, he'd saved himself decades of lifespan.
The sword embryo now pulsed lightly in his hand, alive with spirit, as if it longed to transform into sword-light and soar, but his still-limited cultivation kept it bound.
For Jing Qian, this entire process was nothing short of ecstasy in cultivation.
Off to the side, Shang Xi watched in astonishment.
This little disciple of his, how many years had he even cultivated?
And yet he'd already forged the Pure Yang Butcher title.
Measured by time alone, the boy might well be a born killing demon!
But Pure Yang Heaven had always been tolerant of such temperaments.
In his heart, Shang Xi could only feel admiration.
Jing Qian's great grinding session lasted ten full days without rest.
At last, he reached the final memory, the moment when he, wielding the Immortal Sword Embryo and opening the Three-Life Eye, flashed behind the third-rank Blood Robe cultivator and drove his sword straight through the man's brow and soul.
Although at that time, the attention of the entire realm was fixed upon the great battle raging beyond its borders between the second-rank powers for Jing Qian himself, the act of slaying a third-rank cultivator with a single sword strike was an unprecedented and terrifying breakthrough.
Granted, the Blood-Robed One had only a low-grade title, his Immortal Spirit Qi was weak in rank, and his spirit machine was of mediocre quality; he simply couldn't withstand a strike from a first-rank Immortal Sword Embryo.
Moreover, the Corn Spirit and Ghost Phoenix had been distracting the Blood-Robed One on the main battlefield.
Even so, for Jing Qian, a lower-third-rank cultivator killing an upper-third-rank opponent was a defining moment, the brightest highlight of his life thus far.
Perhaps, in the eyes of true experts, a lower-third-rank Dao heir killing across ranks was nothing special, basic even.
But back then, Jing Qian hadn't even earned a Pure Yang sect title.
When he placed that battle experience upon the Sword Anvil for tempering, the Dao resonance that erupted reached a new peak.
Empowered by it, the newly forged Pure Yang Butcher title suddenly evolved, advancing directly into a mid-grade title: "Pure Yang Lord of Tribulations."
With this advancement, not only did the title's blessings surge dramatically,
But the Immortal Sword Embryo gained another qian of Life Measure, reaching five qian.
More astonishing still, a perfect replica of the Sword Anvil appeared quietly within Jing Qian's sea of consciousness.
He immediately understood:
From now on, he could temper his sword anywhere, no longer confined to the Pure Yang Heaven's physical anvil.
A most convenient development indeed.
By this point, all of his stored combat memories had been completely spent.
Slowly awakening from his trance, Jing Qian found the Immortal Sword Embryo in his hand heavier than before,
Its blade is infused with the dense aura of the title's blessing.
When he raised his hand slightly, a thin yet radiant layer of sword light rippled along its edge.
Though the light seemed faint, it carried the weight of a first-rank power, indestructible and peerless.
He was thoroughly satisfied with his sect's title system.
For pure combat amplification, Pure Yang Lord of Tribulations was unmatched.
He turned toward Shang Xi, bowed deeply, and said:
"Thank you, Master, for granting me this title.
The power of Pure Yang Lord of Tribulations is truly boundless!"
Shang Xi's bright gaze carried both awe and curiosity as he replied:
"Chixiao… just how many people have you killed?"
"You've yet to reach twenty years of age, and already you've condensed a mid-grade title.
Even within Pure Yang Heaven, that's unprecedented."
"When I was your age, I hadn't even earned a low-grade title."
"My own senior aunt, Zhenmiao, was far stronger than I,
Yet when she was your age, already at the third rank, she had barely managed to forge the Pure Yang Butcher title."
"Be cautious. Too many karmic ties, too many slain foes, and your Dao may be bound by endless retribution."
"Disciple understands," Jing Qian answered respectfully.
He couldn't very well explain the Fate Stele Space or its strange nature,
So he simply accepted Shang Xi's mistaken impression that his title had been earned through ruthless slaughter.
If anything, he was probably average among all the Pure Yang Sons through the ages.
And judging by this method of title ascension,
None of his predecessors could have been what one would call "good men."
Otherwise, the Yingfutu Realm would never have used the word "Butcher" to describe the Pure Yang lineage.
Shang Xi continued, his tone thoughtful:
"To have condensed a mid-grade title means you're no longer bound to the Sword Anvil.
You now possess the qualification to venture into the void for cultivation."
"If my senior aunt Zhenmiao had possessed your ruthlessness back then,
Perhaps she would not have perished."
"Come. I'll take you to our sect's secret treasury, and while we walk, I'll tell you about the history of Pure Yang Heaven."
He led Jing Qian through the glowing corridors of Pure Yang Cave-Heaven, speaking as they went:
"You've only cultivated for a short time, so you've never witnessed our sect's days of true prosperity.
Even though I entered the sect millennia before you, the most I've seen was Pure Yang Heaven's splendor here in Yingfutu Realm,
and within the greater Northern Wuji Heaven of the High Empress E Gao."
"According to our records, both Pure Yang Heaven and Yanfu Dao
were not originally born within the Yingfutu Realm or even the Northern Heavens."
"Our sect's ancestral homeland was the Divine Heaven within the Dao Abyss (Dao Yuan Zhong Shen Tian).
But around a hundred thousand years ago, a great upheaval befell that heaven; it collapsed upon itself, sealed away, and mysteriously vanished, leaving behind only the untouchable chasm known as the Dao Abyss."
"During that catastrophe, Pure Yang Heaven suffered immense losses, its strength crippled, its life force nearly extinguished.
To escape annihilation, our forebears fled here, to the Northern Wuji Heaven of the High Empress E Gao."
"At first, they were arrogant, clashing with the local powers and defying the Empress herself.
But our forefathers overestimated their strength and lost the confrontation.
Ultimately, they were exiled to this lesser realm, the Yingfutu Realm, which, truth be told, was more a banishment than a refuge."
"After leaving their inheritance here, the senior forebears who had come from the Divine Heaven departed once more into the void to perfect their own Dao, never returning to this world again."
"To them, this realm was a prison, not a home."
"But for us, it's different."
"The Pure Yang Heaven you see today was reborn here in the Yingfutu Realm through the legacy of Ancestor Yuanyang."
"The disciples who came later grew up here,
and their bond with this realm far exceeds their attachment to the old Divine Heaven."
"Take the Sword-Lotus Pool, for example, besides you, me, the old ox, and the unopened bud belonging to Zhenmiao, the remaining nine sword lotuses include two that predate Ancestor Yuanyang's ascension."
"In all the time since our sect took root here, the Yingfutu Realm has produced seven great cultivators, who now stand as the true leaders of Pure Yang Heaven."
Hearing this, Jing Qian's expression shifted; he couldn't quite believe it.
For a sect this powerful, with such ferocious sword arts and ruthless lineage, only seven senior ancestors across all these ages?
Unable to resist, he asked directly:
"Master, that number seems far too small.
How many Pure Yang Sons have there been throughout history?
Did the others… all perish?"
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