CHAPTER 2 — THE SWORD THAT TALKS BACK
Jason woke with a painful jolt, as if someone had kicked him back into reality. His lungs burned for air, his heart hammered wildly, and for a long moment he didn't know where he was. Only after the spinning room settled did he recognize the infirmary wing of the Star Sword Sect—small windows, plain wooden walls, and a faint medicinal scent that reminded him of the times he came here after getting beaten in sparring sessions.
But this time felt different.
There was a strange warmth coursing through his veins, flowing smoothly like molten gold. His body felt lighter, stronger, almost… refined. He raised his hand and nearly flinched; faint spiritual wisps danced over his skin. Jason had seen real geniuses radiate this kind of glow. But him? The sect's most iconic failure?
"Good grief, you look shocked. Don't tell me you just realized you're alive."
Jason nearly jumped off the bed. "You—! Not again!"
The rusty sword lay innocently beside him, looking like it belonged in a trash heap. Yet the voice echoing in his head had the tone of a centuries-old elder forced to babysit a clueless child.
"That reaction. Priceless," the sword snorted. "Someone should paint it."
Jason pressed a hand to his forehead. "Why are you talking inside my head? What are you? Explain everything."
"What am I?" The sword scoffed. "An overqualified tool cursed with an artistically challenged form. And apparently, your new life coach."
Jason stared. "…Life coach?"
"Yes. Because without me, you'd be a one-chapter protagonist. The kind who dies for character development of someone else."
Jason grimaced. He wanted to be offended, but the sword wasn't entirely wrong.
He took a slow breath and asked again, more quietly, "Did you really save me?"
The sword hummed. "Your meridians were collapsing. If I hadn't pushed my spiritual essence into your body, you'd be flatter than the pancakes they serve in the outer disciple cafeteria."
Jason blinked. "You used your power… on me?"
"Yes. Don't get emotional. I only did it because it would be annoying to find a new wielder."
Jason almost laughed. Almost. The sword's sarcasm made him want to smack it against a tree, but strangely… he felt a spark of warmth in his chest. When had anyone—anything—ever bothered to help him?
Before he could say more, the door slid open.
Lin Xueyin stepped inside, carrying a small box of medicine. The soft glow of the evening sun framed her silhouette; her long robes brushed the floor in a gentle motion. Her features were delicate, her eyes calm, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to her—the kind of intelligence that could calculate an entire business empire with a single glance.
Jason's heart skipped, then tripped, then fell on its face.
"S–Senior Sister Xueyin," he stammered.
She approached with a gentle smile. "Jason Wu, you're awake. We were worried."
"We…?" Jason repeated, unable to hide his surprise.
"Yes," she said. "You collapsed during the awakening ceremony. Elder Ming asked me to check on you since I was the closest at the time."
Jason tried not to look too happy. He failed.
Xueyin's eyes swept over him, studying him with a precision that made Jason feel oddly exposed. She paused for a long moment before speaking again. "Your aura has changed dramatically."
Jason tensed.
She continued, "Your meridians expanded beyond their original capacity. And the stagnation in your spiritual root… is gone."
Jason blinked. Gone? His spiritual blockage—the thing that ruined his life—gone?
"Jason," she said softly, "Did something happen? Did you obtain some kind of opportunity?"
Before he could respond, Longwu muttered in his mind, "Say something believable. Tell her you tripped, hit your head, and achieved enlightenment through blunt force trauma."
Jason clenched his teeth. "Can you not?!"
Xueyin blinked. "Hm?"
Jason froze. "Ah—not you! I mean—uh—my head still hurts!"
The sword cackled inside his mind.
Xueyin gave him a curious look but didn't press further. "Tomorrow is the final entrance evaluation. If you perform well, you'll officially enter the inner disciple trials. Make sure you rest."
As she turned to leave, Jason caught a faint blush on her cheeks—so faint he wondered if he imagined it. But the moment she stepped out, Longwu clicked its metaphysical tongue.
"That girl is too observant. Too smart. She has the eyes of someone who could negotiate with ancient dragons and win."
Jason sighed. "Is that… bad?"
"For you? Probably. Smart women see through idiots."
Jason glared. "I'm not an idiot."
"You bonded with a sword from the trash pile. That says enough."
Jason lay back down, staring at the ceiling. He replayed the day's events—the humiliation, the awakening storm, the sword speaking, the sudden leap in his ability, and the unexpected softness in Xueyin's gaze.
All his life he was the bottom of the sect, the joke, the talentless stray. But now… the warmth in his veins pulsed with hope, with potential he never dreamed he could have.
Tomorrow's evaluation would determine everything.
His future. His place in the sect. His chance to rise.
And for the first time ever, Jason felt ready.
Because he wasn't alone anymore.
He had a sword.
A sarcastic, annoying, impossible sword…
but a sword that had chosen him.