The forging of the Spirit Pact, with its solemn vow carved into stone, had left Li Wei with a profound sense of commitment, his soul tethered to the Dao even as his frail body teetered on the edge of collapse. The hidden valley, with its shimmering pool, ancient tree, and glowing blossoms, pulsed with an energy that seemed to affirm the warmth in his dantian—a warmth he believed was his nascent Golden Core, nurturing a fledgling Nascent Soul. Azure Dragon, his scruffy spirit beast, remained a loyal companion, curled by the stone altar as Li Wei pored over the scroll, its worn bamboo slats a sacred guide through his trials. The scroll's latest passage unveiled a dynamic new challenge: "The Phantom Blade, where the cultivator infuses their qi into a weapon, crafting a blade of spirit to cut through mortal and ethereal foes."
In the cultivation novels Li Wei had devoured in Beijing, phantom blades were legendary weapons—extensions of a cultivator's soul, wielded with qi to slice through physical and spiritual barriers. The scroll's description was more poetic but equally compelling: "Shape the blade with the heart's intent, let qi flow through its edge, and wield it to sever the chains of the mundane. Craft with purity, for a tainted spirit dulls the blade." Li Wei, tempered by lightning, betrayal, and moments of clarity, felt a surge of excitement. His earlier attempts at crafting—the Spirit Forge and Celestial Forge—had ended in shattered blades, but this trial seemed to call for a spiritual weapon, one born of his Nascent Soul. His body, ravaged by hunger, fever, and the throbbing infections in his hand and arm, ached with every movement, but the valley's mystical aura and the scroll's promise fueled his determination.
Li Wei resolved to refine his Star Blade, the sharpened branch he'd imbued with qi during his Heavenly Sword Art, into a true Phantom Blade. The valley, with its sacred energy, seemed the perfect forge for such a task. He prepared with reverence, reinforcing his altar with smooth stones, their surfaces carved with star-like patterns inspired by the Starstone to channel the valley's qi. He placed the scroll, jade slip, Starstone, and stolen booklet at the altar's center, surrounded by the ancient tree's glowing blossoms, their light pulsing like a spiritual flame. Azure Dragon watched, head tilted, as Li Wei sipped the valley's crystal-clear water, its coolness a fleeting relief against his persistent fever. The scroll suggested a meditative ritual to "infuse the blade," so he chose a twilight hour, when the valley's energy felt most potent, to begin.
Li Wei sat by the altar, the Star Blade across his lap, the Starstone in one hand, the jade slip pressed to his chest. He chanted the scroll's incantations, their rhythmic tones blending with the valley's whispers, which seemed to hum with approval. He focused on his dantian, visualizing his Golden Core as a radiant star, his Nascent Soul a glowing figure wielding a blade of light. The scroll urged him to "shape with intent," so he imagined his qi flowing into the Star Blade, transforming its crude wood into a shimmering extension of his soul. The warmth in his dantian surged, pulsing in rhythm with his chants, and he swung the blade in slow, deliberate arcs, practicing his Heavenly Sword Art. The air seemed to hum, and he swore he saw faint sparks trailing the blade, like the visions from his earlier trials.
Hours passed, his body trembling from the strain, his fever intensifying, the pain in his infected wounds throbbing with each movement. In his trance, the valley faded, replaced by a starry expanse where his Nascent Soul wielded a radiant Phantom Blade, slashing through shadowy foes—echoes of Wang Hao, Lin Tao, and his own doubts. A voice, resonant and commanding, echoed: "Is your spirit pure enough to wield the blade?" Li Wei's qi flared, but his body faltered, the fever spiking as dizziness gripped him. He swung the Star Blade one final time, visualizing a burst of light, but the wood cracked under the strain, a splinter embedding in his palm. He collapsed by the altar, gasping, Azure Dragon whining and nudging his face.
The Starstone felt warmer, as if infused with the blade's energy, and the warmth in his dantian pulsed stronger, clearer, as if the ritual had refined his qi despite the broken blade. Had he truly crafted a Phantom Blade, or was it another fevered vision? The scroll promised a weapon of spirit but warned of impurity, and Li Wei chose to believe he'd succeeded in spirit, if not in form. He bandaged his hand, salvaged the broken blade, and scribbled in his notebook, hands trembling: "Phantom Blade forged. Qi shines, blade cracks. Body falters, spirit cuts." The valley's whispers seemed to approve, their murmurs blending with the evening breeze, the ancient tree's blossoms glowing brighter.
During the next video call with the Order of the Jade Dawn, Li Wei shared the ritual, holding up the broken Star Blade, its splintered edge glinting in the campfire's light. Zhang Wei, eyes wide, called it a "spiritual triumph," suggesting he infuse the blade with moon berry essence to mend it. Liu Mei, her serene face lit by moonlight, praised his effort but urged him to treat his wounds: "The blade is within, but the body must endure." Chen Xiu saw it as proof of ascension, while Zhao Feng, skeptical, dismissed it as a failed craft, sparking a heated debate that tested Li Wei's leadership. He hid his worsening fever and the throbbing pain in his wounds, fearing their concern might fracture the sect's unity.
As dawn broke, Li Wei sat by the pool, the Starstone warm in his hands, Azure Dragon snoring softly. The scroll promised that the Phantom Blade cut through the mundane, but also warned of greater trials. The valley's energy, his sect's support, and the scroll's guidance bolstered him, even as his body weakened. With his Golden Core and Nascent Soul pulsing as beacons, Li Wei felt ready to face the next challenge, his spirit wielding a blade of light, one shattered swing at a time toward immortality.