Night had already deepened over the Fang family manor.
Inside a modest yet well-kept bedroom, a single lamp burned softly, its warm light swaying with the faint night breeze that slipped through the half-open window.
Fang Hanbo sat beside the wooden table, his brows tightly knit. Though he tried to appear calm, his fingers kept tapping lightly against the tabletop—an unconscious habit whenever worry crept into his heart.
Across from him, Su'er sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands were clasped together, resting on her lap, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease. Her gaze drifted toward the door again and again, as if expecting someone to return at any moment.
After a long silence, Su'er finally spoke, her voice low and worried.
"I wonder… what kind of sword Lin'er will choose."
Fang Hanbo let out a quiet sigh.
"The Sword Repository isn't an ordinary place," he replied slowly. "Every blade there carries its own temper. Choosing the wrong one could burden him instead of helping him."
Su'er nodded slightly, her worry deepening.
"He's already been through so much," she murmured. "I just hope the sword he chooses… treats him kindly."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the night insects continued their chorus, unaware of the quiet anxiety filling the room. To the world, Fang Lin's awakening was a cause for celebration—but to his parents, he was still just their son, standing at the beginning of a dangerous path.
**********
Deep within the Sword Repository, silence reigned.
Fang Lin stood between the towering wooden racks, torchlight flickering softly along the endless rows of sheathed swords. The air felt heavier here, dense with restrained sword intent that brushed against his senses like invisible waves.
Beside his head, Lingyi floated quietly, its blue, rounded form unusually still.
"So," Lingyi spoke in a low voice, "this is where your future blade sleeps."
Fang Lin did not answer immediately.
He slowly walked forward, his footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor. As he passed each rack, different sensations washed over him—some swords felt dull and lifeless, others sharp and impatient, a few even carried faint hostility.
Yet none of them called to him.
"This feeling…" Fang Lin thought to himself. "It's like being watched… and judged."
Lingyi circled once, its tail swaying.
"That's normal," it said. "Swords with will don't accept people easily. Especially someone like you."
Fang Lin raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Someone like me?"
Lingyi replied calmly,
"An outsider wearing another man's fate."
Fang Lin exhaled slowly and stopped walking.
His hand clenched unconsciously at his side—not in fear, but in resolve.
"I didn't come here to be rejected," he said quietly. "If these swords are waiting… then one of them is waiting for me."
As if responding to his words—
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor rippled through the air somewhere deeper within the repository.
Lingyi froze.
"…Did you feel that?" it asked.
Fang Lin's eyes narrowed as he turned toward the darker end of the hall.
"Yes."
Without hesitation, he took a step forward.
Unaware of it himself, Fang Lin had already begun moving toward the blade that would one day change everything.
When Fang Lin reached the place from where that familiar feeling had been calling him, he realized it was tucked away in a corner of the floor.
The torchlight did not fully reach this area.
Shadows gathered there unnaturally, thicker than elsewhere, as if the darkness itself had chosen to linger.
Lingyi floated closer, peering around, its tone puzzled.
"Huh? There's nothing here but darkness.
I don't even see a sword."
Fang Lin did not reply immediately.
He slowly bent down, his gaze fixed on the corner. His fingers brushed against something rough and cold.
"Maybe there isn't a sword here, but—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
His hand closed around an object hidden beneath dust and shadow.
As he lifted it up, a black piece of wood came into view—long, heavy, and strangely lifeless. It looked crude, almost unfinished, like a chunk of dark timber carved vaguely into the shape of a blade.
Fang Lin frowned slightly.
"…there's definitely something strange here," he said quietly.
"Maybe it's just a piece of wood."
He turned and held the object toward Lingyi.
The moment Lingyi saw it—
Its entire form froze.
The playful air vanished instantly.
"That—"
Lingyi's voice faltered.
Its blue body trembled faintly, tail stiff, as if some deep instinct had been struck.
"…That is not wood."
Fang Lin's brows knit together.
"It doesn't look like a sword," he said. "There's no edge, no shine. It doesn't even feel sharp."
Lingyi slowly circled the object, keeping a careful distance, its tone unusually low.
"It's wrapped… sealed… suppressed," it murmured.
"I can't sense a blade, yet the pressure coming from it feels… wrong."
Fang Lin looked down at the black object again.
Up close, he noticed that the surface wasn't ordinary wood. It was dense, unnaturally dark, as if light itself was being swallowed by it. Faint, almost invisible grain-like patterns ran along its length, resembling veins rather than wood fibers.
From the tip to the handle, it was roughly leg-length, completely encased in this black, abyss-like material. Even the grip was the same—no metal, no guard, no ornamentation.
To anyone else, it would look like nothing more than a useless black wooden stick shaped like a sword.
Yet—
When Fang Lin held it, a subtle sensation spread through his palm.
Not heat.
Not cold.
But a silent heaviness, as if something immeasurably old was watching him from behind closed eyes.
Lingyi swallowed—if a soul could do such a thing.
"This thing…" it said slowly, "doesn't feel like it belongs among these swords."
Fang Lin tilted his head.
"Then why is it here?"
Lingyi didn't answer immediately.
After a long pause, it said,
"Either it was forgotten…
or it was never meant to be found."
Fang Lin remained silent.
He didn't feel fear.
Instead, a strange sense of familiarity lingered in his chest—as if this black, lifeless object had been waiting here for a very long time…
Not for a sword master.
But for him.
After a few moments, Fang Lin finally broke the silence.
"Should we inform Elder Baishan about this?" he asked quietly.
"So far, I haven't chosen any sword at all… only this dried piece of wood."
As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on the black object in his hand.
Lingyi responded after a brief pause, its tone thoughtful.
"Yes, that would be best. There are so many swords here, yet no one has told you which kind of sword suits you."
It hovered slightly closer, then added,
"So let's ask Elder Baishan directly.
He can tell you which sword is most appropriate for you."
Fang Lin began walking toward Elder Baishan.
Before he took more than a few steps, Lingyi quietly slipped back into his body. Elder Baishan's perception was sharp—lingering outside for even a moment longer could have drawn unwanted attention.
From the outside, Fang Lin looked completely calm.
But within him, Lingyi's voice echoed softly.
"Better not take chances.
That man's awareness is too strong."
Fang Lin agreed silently.
As he approached, Elder Baishan turned to look at him, his gaze steady and unreadable, as if he had already sensed that Fang Lin had found something unusual.
The Sword Repository remained silent.
Elder Baishan looked at Fang Lin and asked calmly,
"Fang Lin, have you chosen your sword?"
Fang Lin hesitated. He raised one hand and awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his voice carrying a hint of anxiety.
"No… I haven't chosen one yet. There are too many swords here, and I can't decide which one would be best for me."
He paused for a moment, as if gathering courage.
"B–but I found this thing," he added, lifting the black, dried-looking wood slightly.
"Can I keep it?"
For the first time since entering the Sword Repository, Elder Baishan's expression changed.
His eyes fell upon the object in Fang Lin's hand.
Silence descended.
The torchlight flickered, yet the black wood seemed to swallow the light instead of reflecting it. Elder Baishan did not reach out immediately. He simply stared at it, his brows knitting faintly, as if searching through memories long buried.
After a long moment, he slowly stepped closer.
He did not touch the object.
Instead, he asked in a low voice,
"Where did you find this?"
"In the corner of the first floor," Fang Lin replied honestly. "Where the light doesn't reach."
Elder Baishan exhaled softly.
"So it's still here…"
His tone was quiet, filled with something Fang Lin couldn't quite place—nostalgia, caution, and a trace of solemnity.
"This object," Elder Baishan said at last, "has been lying in the Sword Repository for a very long time. No one has ever chosen it. Most don't even notice it."
He lifted his gaze and looked straight at Fang Lin.
"But if you were able to find it, then that itself is an answer."
Fang Lin's eyes widened slightly.
"Then… can I keep it?" he asked again.
Elder Baishan nodded.
"Yes," he said firmly. "You may keep it."