The deepest bargains are never equal trades.
They're the kind where both sides walk away convinced—
they were the ones who gained everything.
Before dawn reached its appointed hour, a thin frost had already settled over the bluestone outside Clearheart Cottage.
When Jiang Muchen stepped out, Qingluan was waiting in the courtyard.
She wore plain white sword robes today, the Wind-Deity Sword strapped across her back. Compared to her usual composure, there was an extra weight in her expression—three parts solemn, one part restrained worry.
"Elder Chen is waiting for you at the main peak," she said, her voice cold and clear, like water locked under ice.
"The Sword-Heart Pool has opened."
Jiang Muchen nodded. He returned briefly inside, retrieved the Jade Flute, then tucked the piece of Netherworld Iron Wang Duobao had given him close to his body.
Just before leaving, he paused.
From his storage pouch, he took out a palm-sized sachet. The cloth was a fine weave Zhou Xiaohuan had once gifted him, the stitching tight and careful. Inside were seven or eight kinds of medicinal herbs.
"Senior Sister," he said, handing it to her.
"This is a Mind-Stabilizing Pouch. I prepared it last night. Seven-color petals from the Mirage Flower Sea, Bodhi leaves from the Pure Lotus Basin, and calming grass gathered near the Spring of Life."
He smiled faintly.
"When the Sword Pool opens, the sword pressure around it intensifies. While guarding me, your spirit may be shaken. Wear this—it'll help keep your mind clear."
Qingluan accepted it. The pouch felt warm in her palm, the scent light and steady.
After a long silence, she said quietly,
"You're always like this… even at a time like this, you're thinking of others."
"Precisely because it's a time like this," Jiang Muchen replied gently.
"If your mind is steady, you can pull me back if I falter. In the end, I'm still looking out for myself."
She shook her head and said nothing more.
They set off toward the main peak through the morning mist.
Passing the menial courtyard, Jiang Muchen detoured briefly. On the stone steps Elder Chen swept every day, he placed a small wooden box.
Inside were nine freshly refined Star-Pattern Steel needles, the tails engraved with miniature spirit-gathering arrays.
A note lay atop them:
"Senior, nurturing the earth-vein swords strains the spirit.
These will help regulate it. Once every three days—don't forget."
Only after that did he truly leave.
At the summit of the main peak, clouds surged like an angry sea.
At the very center stood a circular platform carved entirely from white jade. The pool atop it spanned ten feet across, its depth unfathomable.
The water was pale gold.
Perfectly still.
Yet from beneath its surface came a low, resonant hum—
as though hundreds of swords were whispering inside their sheaths.
Three figures stood by the pool.
Swordmaster Jian Wuji rested his hands behind his back, purple robes snapping softly in the mountain wind.
Beside him stood Elder Chen—no longer bent, his spine straight, his once-clouded eyes sharp with focused light.
The third was a stranger: an elderly woman in gray robes, leaning on a peachwood staff. Her face was lined like ancient bark, but her gaze was keen as a hawk's.
"Jiang Muchen," Jian Wuji said, his voice calm yet carrying over the roaring wind.
"This is the forbidden ground of the Azure Underworld Sword Sect—the Sword-Heart Clarity Pool."
"The sword intent within was left behind by Sword Saints after their deaths. Three hundred and sixty-five strands in total."
He looked directly at Jiang Muchen.
"Your soul is incomplete. Entering the pool means reforging it with sword intent. The process will feel like ten thousand blades piercing your spirit."
"If you wish to turn back—now is the time."
Jiang Muchen stepped to the edge of the pool and looked down.
The golden surface reflected his face—pale, but unyielding.
"I have no regrets," he said.
Jian Wuji nodded.
"This is Granny Li, the Pool Warden. If something goes wrong, she'll intervene. Whether you live, however… depends on you."
Granny Li squinted at Jiang Muchen.
"I've guarded this pool for sixty years," she rasped.
"Seven outsiders have entered. Two went mad within an incense stick. One became bones at the bottom."
"You're sure you want in?"
Jiang Muchen bowed.
"I trouble you with my life, Granny."
She snorted and said no more.
Jian Wuji swept his sleeve.
The pool erupted.
The golden surface split open, revealing a bottomless darkness beneath. A far denser sword pressure surged upward, blasting the clouds apart.
"Enter," Jian Wuji commanded.
Jiang Muchen leapt.
As he fell, he heard Qingluan's cry:
"Hold on, Junior Brother!"
Then Elder Chen's murmur:
"Remember the way of sweeping…"
Darkness swallowed everything.
The fall seemed endless.
Until suddenly—
impact.
Not against water, but against something thick, heavy, and burning.
Sword Pool water.
Not water at all, but liquid sword intent.
Every drop screamed, forcing itself toward his pores, his meridians, his sea of consciousness.
The pain exploded—hundreds of times worse than beneath Sword-Hoard Cliff.
Jiang Muchen groaned. The Jade Flute flew out on its own, hovering above him. Green light spread, carving out a fragile sanctuary.
Not enough.
The sword intent eroded it visibly.
Gritting his teeth, Jiang Muchen began circulating the sweeping-breath rhythm Elder Chen had taught him.
Long inhale.
Three short exhales.
Two sharp pauses. One slow release.
Resonance formed.
Whenever his breath matched a strand of sword intent, that strand softened—briefly.
But there were 365 such strands.
Trial and error.
Again and again.
Half an incense stick later, sweat poured from his brow. The damaged part of his soul burned, stabbed by invisible needles.
"I can't stop," he whispered.
Then—
A sigh echoed from the depths.
A black silhouette rose slowly.
A skeleton.
It sat cross-legged, bones smooth as jade. In its hands was a broken sword, rusted yet terrifyingly sharp in intent.
"Another one come to die," the skeleton spoke hollowly.
"You're the eighth outsider in three hundred years."
"Four went mad. Two became bones. One lived—but shattered his own Golden Core three years later."
"And you?"
"Why do you think you'll succeed?"
This was no mere illusion.
It was a residual heart-demon, forged from obsession and sacrifice.
Jiang Muchen steadied himself and bowed.
"I don't know if I'll succeed. But I have no choice except to try."
The skeleton laughed coldly.
"Do you know what else lies at the bottom of this pool?"
The water turned clear.
Below them lay thousands of bones, layered like a white forest.
"These are failed disciples," the skeleton said.
"Their resentment is fused into the sword intent. Every strand you absorb brings their hatred with it."
"When your soul is whole—those grudges will erupt."
"Will you still be you?"
"Afraid?" the skeleton leaned closer.
"Leave now. The warden can still pull you out."
Jiang Muchen was silent for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"Senior," he said, "the hilt of your broken sword bears the inscription 'Clear Wind'."
"If I'm not mistaken, you were Elder Qingfengzi, famed for the Swift Clear-Wind Sword three centuries ago."
The skeleton trembled.
"You… how do you know?"
"Three days at Sword-Hoard Cliff," Jiang Muchen replied softly.
"There's a Clear Wind Sword embedded there—intact, but without a sword soul."
He met the hollow gaze.
"You didn't fail the pool. You self-dispersed to suppress the resentment."
Silence.
Finally, the skeleton sighed.
"You're right."
"I've held this down for three hundred years. My remnant won't last three days more."
"After that—who will hold it?"
Jiang Muchen clenched his fist.
"Senior," he said, producing the Netherworld Iron,
"then let us trade."
"I'll help you suppress the resentment longer."
"And you—help me mend my soul."
The skeleton stared.
"You'd anchor a soul-sealing formation with your own spirit?"
"Even a fragment would weaken you permanently."
"It's worth it," Jiang Muchen said without hesitation.
"You paid three hundred years. I pay one fragment."
"That's a bargain."
After a long pause—
"Agreed."
Blood touched iron.
Runes formed.
Sword intent roared.
As the formation completed, Qingfengzi's bones shattered into golden motes, merging with the iron.
Soul-Sealing Formation: Established.
The black resentment receded.
But the pain—
was only beginning.
As sword intent flooded his soul, Jiang Muchen remembered Lu Mingyuan's words:
Remember why you came.
Why?
To mend his soul.
To walk further.
And deeper still—
to one day weave a net large enough to protect everyone he cared for.
"I won't die here!" he roared.
The flute sang.
Above, Jian Wuji struck, sending a pure-white sword intent into the pool.
The repair accelerated.
The struggle had only begun.
Three days remained.
The Way of Devotion — Chapter Maxim
True mutual benefit isn't splitting gains evenly—
it's making the other party believe they gained more,
while you quietly secure what matters most.