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The great sun fell— heaven and earth shattered, the four wilds collapsing with it.
And yet, at that very moment, a gentle breeze of unknown origin drifted in. It slipped through the blazing sea of fire, wound past star-like grains of sand, and with its thin, fragile body, forcibly halted the falling sun.
The blazing sun was savage, intent on crushing the mortal world to dust.
But the mortal world answered back— fine grass and crawling insects, birds and beasts, rivers and soil, towering trees and pale clouds all trembled together, unleashing a hoarse, desperate resistance.
Unyielding. Tenacious.
Trading fearless sacrifice for endless renewal— it formed a flawless, immaculate defense.
Blade met sword.
The great sun scattered.
The clear wind left no trace.
"Using heaviness as light!"
Among the spectators in the forest, someone with sharp eyes cried out, voice ringing clear:
"This saber gathers the smallest strength into righteous force—it has reached the realm of using heaviness as light! A rare defensive saber move, winning against the strong with the weak!"
"How could this be…?" someone murmured in disbelief.
"When this female sword-attendant fought earlier, she showed nothing special. Could it be that when facing the sword-attendant of the Life-Severing Sword, she was still holding back?"
Others seemed to arrive at an insight and boldly declared, "I don't think it was restraint. I think she truly couldn't win before. But now? It feels less like she's fighting, and more like she's honing her saber—using the sword to temper her blade. Each strike stronger than the last."
The crowd buzzed with commentary, voices overlapping without pause.
But at the center of the forest, Chu Yunsheng had already exchanged several more moves with the young sword-attendant.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Saber cries rang out—vast, chaotic, and profound.
Sword howls answered—domineering and unmatched.
The sounds collided again and again without end.
Their figures flickered at blinding speed, leaping and twisting across the clearing.
Once that nearly unstoppable Falling Sun sword move was broken, Chu Yunsheng immediately abandoned defense and launched into full assault. Twin sabers whirled in his hands, hazy and unreadable, yet packed with violent gale-force—one touch was enough to draw blood.
Meanwhile, the young sword-attendant had poured a great deal of true qi into that ultimate move. His surging inner energy now flowed with a slight hitch, no longer as smooth as before. His swordplay should have been at its most varied and elusive—yet it suddenly became strangely constrained at every turn.
Each time he swung his sword, he would find that a familiar blade was already there, waiting in its path, as though his opponent had foreseen it in advance.
The young sword-attendant had roamed the jianghu for many years at Lin Ce's side, crossing swords with countless heroes and talents. He had known victory and defeat alike. Now, though the situation had flipped—from suppressing another to being suppressed himself, with the faint sense of being trapped—he remained utterly calm.
His eyes narrowed slightly. The sword flowed forth like a roaming dragon as he observed Chu Yunsheng's moves.
"I've studied the hundred schools of swordsmanship in the Sword Grotto, refining them into a single blade with endless variations. My strikes should never be so easily read."
"So this so-called foresight of yours must be false."
The longsword thrust straight ahead, upright and centered, plain and unadorned.
Halfway through the strike, the blade suddenly trembled—its weight shedding, turning light and drifting, like smoke and mist, gently drifting forward.
Chu Yunsheng flipped his wrist.
The saber, white as thin ice, cleaved downward. In an instant, the misty haze was pressed flat and dispersed. The sword was like a swimming snake struck at its vital point—its agility gone, forced to snap back into sudden defense.
"As I thought."
Though one exchange had failed, the young sword-attendant broke into a smile.
"These are all saber techniques you used just now. Now you're repeating them one by one, trying to lure my sword into taking the same lines it did before when responding to those moves. You know those trajectories inside out—so you can counter me at every turn."
"You're trying to fake the illusion that you can calculate my sword techniques, to shake my state of mind and throw me off balance."
Chu Yunsheng blocked several more of the young sword-attendant's strikes in succession, focusing solely on feeling out the lingering traces of his own saber techniques. He offered no reply.
The young sword-attendant's eyes flashed with cold pride as he barked, "That trick won't work!"
The words had barely fallen when the sword intent in his hand changed abruptly, utterly unlike anything before.
At times the swordplay was exquisitely subtle; at others, plain to the point of dullness. One move unfolded into the four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Another transformed into the mountains and great rivers of the Central Plains.
Where the sword tip went, it could become razor-thin, slipping through the narrow gaps between the twin sabers to strike straight at a vital point. Or it could turn overwhelmingly heavy, crashing head-on into the blades without dodging or yielding, smashing down with brutal force, suppressing all before it.
Chu Yunsheng's body flickered like a light rainbow. He retreated several steps in quick succession, evading the onslaught.
Seeing this, the young sword-attendant smiled in satisfaction, finally venting a breath of frustration—relief at narrowly avoiding a reversal where victory might have turned to defeat.
Yet that breath had not even fully left him when Chu Yunsheng's twin sabers surged forward once more.
The young sword-attendant did not retreat. His sword moved faster than sound, like a startled swan skimming the water—attack meeting attack.
But when the sword thrust straight ahead, forcing back the twin sabers, and the clash of qi should have erupted—there was nothing.
No clear ring of blade striking blade.
No solid sensation of true qi and physical force colliding.
It was as though the strike had pierced empty air, a move falling completely short.
Yet the young sword-attendant knew with absolute certainty—his sword had stabbed.
It had stabbed true.
What was going on?!
His heart jolted. Sensing grave danger, he hastily withdrew his sword into defense.
At the same time, his gaze locked onto the twin sabers. Focusing intently, he saw that the black and white short blades, crossing and turning, traced out a perfectly rounded path. It was as though an unfathomable Taiji diagram had manifested before his eyes.
Yin and yang interwove and revolved. Though the two sabers were clearly right there before him, they seemed half-real, half-illusory—impossible to grasp, as if only a shadow remained, with no true form to be found.
But it was no illusion.
The young sword-attendant came to this conclusion not because he had seen through some hidden principle, but because he saw it with his own eyes—the saber edge flipped, turning from void to solid, and with a sharp clang struck his longsword.
Like a great bell being rung, a continuous, unending force surged from where blade met blade and seeped straight into his body. His true qi stalled at once. The young sword-attendant's face paled, a faint metallic sweetness rising in his throat.
He twisted sideways at once, palm bracing the longsword, rotating it in a crescent arc to dissolve that wave-after-wave saber force.
Yet the moment his sword move shifted, a pitch-black, ink-jade short saber appeared as if it had already foreseen it, slipping perfectly into the path of his blade. Before that deflecting strike could fully form, it was cut cleanly in half—snuffed out at birth.
At the same time, the other short saber, clear as flowing water, lifted lightly. Water turned to wood; the blade shot straight across, drawing in the oncoming sword qi as nourishment. Vitality surged forth, only to rebound violently back into the longsword.
He really can calculate it!
I have no room left to draw my sword!
With a black blade before him and a white blade behind, the young sword-attendant clutched his longsword and darted about in frantic evasions, trying again and again to change his moves and strike back. Yet no matter how he shifted, it felt as though he were trapped in a narrow ravine—blocked on both sides, nowhere to break through.
Saber after saber fell in rapid succession. Sword qi was transformed into saber light, then sent back again and again, hammering into the web of his hands and his arms.
The skin at his tiger's mouth split. His sleeves burst apart. Anxiety flared in the young sword-attendant's heart. His gaze hardened—and at last, he seized a fleeting opening, hacking out with a ruthless strike, intent on smashing the deadlock.
The sword came down—and both sabers arrived with it.
The young sword-attendant stared in shock—yet not entirely surprised—as that seemingly foreknowing saber came crashing down, swift and heavy. It was like a collapsing mountain smashing from above, carrying the grandeur of natural force, yet also something scattered and elusive, impossible to fully grasp.
This was Chu Yunsheng's killing strike—pouring out every last drop of his remaining true qi. It was also the strongest saber he could currently comprehend after merging his art with the Yin–Yang Crosswise Palm. Forged and tempered through this very battle, overturned and rebuilt again and again, that once rusted blade of insight had been honed to bare, dazzling sharpness in the shortest time possible.
True qi roared outward like a hurricane. Trees and grass whipped and bowed wildly. No one knew how many times blades had already clashed in this fight—but this time, the longsword could no longer stand against the short saber. With a single blow, it was knocked clean from the young sword-attendant's grasp.
Claaang—!
A long, clear cry rang out.
The wind stilled. Dust and sand settled. The short saber, pale as silver and cold as ice, hung suspended at the young sword-attendant's brow.
Near the Half-Mountain Pavilion, deathly silence fell.
On the mountain path, within the pavilion, and across the forest clearing, countless jianghu onlookers stared blankly at the scene. For a moment, they seemed turned into clay figures and wooden statues, unable to react—stunned and at a loss.
What had just happened appeared slow, yet in truth—from the instant the young sword-attendant was caught by that unfathomable, half-real saber, to the moment his longsword flew free and the short saber reached his face—no more than ten moves had passed.
At the speed of their exchanges, it was as if one had merely blinked twice. In that heartbeat of motion, the situation had flipped like a startled hare and diving falcon, victory and defeat decided.
"He lost…!"
"Lin Ce's sword-attendant actually lost!"
A voice still tinged with disbelief rang out, shattering the frozen air around them.
Those words were like a stone dropped into water, instantly stirring up a thousand ripples.
"I didn't even see those last few moves clearly—how did it end already? How did he lose just like that?"
"That female sword-attendant's final saber strikes were far too strange… half-real, half-false—real within the void, void within the real. An ordinary Hanshen realm cultivator would find them impossible to fathom or defend against. Even with my half-step Dingdan cultivation, I couldn't see them clearly. Lin Ce's sword-attendant didn't lose unjustly. But what kind of saber art is this? It's no supreme secret technique, yet it's anything but ordinary. The Xie family's foundation truly runs deep!"
"Wrong, wrong, wrong! I've studied saber arts across the world, and I dare say this is no established high-level technique at all—it's a self-created saber move!"
"A self-created move? Impossible!"
Voices clashed in heated debate.
Then someone threw back their head and laughed loudly. "Didn't I say it earlier?"
"This woman was using the sword to temper her saber! Think carefully—those final strikes, she'd already used similar ones more than once when the bout first began. Yet they weren't quite the same. Strike by strike, they changed. Strike by strike, they adjusted. Strike by strike, they were honed—until at last, a brand-new blade was fully forged!"
"Exactly!"
"So it really was like that!"
"To be able to create an ultimate move on the spot—what monstrous talent!"
"Turning defeat into victory, sharpening the blade while losing, then striking only when it's time to win. This clash of saber and sword was no less thrilling than those sparring matches on the White Dragon Ranking! Given time, these two will surely become prodigies on that list…"
The noise swelled without end.
A reversal snatched from the brink, the weak overcoming the strong, victory decided in a lightning-fast span of ten moves—such outcomes were always bound to set tongues wagging.
Inside the Half-Mountain Pavilion, the Drunken Mist Guest, Xi Feiming—dressed like a young Daoist—rubbed his chin and asked the nearby spectator who was watching with bright eyes and barely contained excitement, the Buddhist youth Juechen of the Great Compassion Temple: "Little monk, do you think that Ji Ling from the Nine Immortals Palace—ranked fortieth on the White Dragon Ranking—knows how to use a saber?"
Standing atop a stone pedestal, Juechen stared toward the clearing in the distance, listening intently to the surrounding commentary. Without turning his head, he replied,
"That female benefactor can't even handle a whip properly. How could she wield a saber?"
"Exactly."
Xi Feiming nodded. In a voice too low for most to hear, he let out a soft sigh. "So how could this possibly be that demoness Ji Ling?"
"And besides, this is clearly a man. I don't recall any supreme art of the Nine Immortals Palace that can turn a woman into a man—though the world is vast, and strange things do exist…"
Out in the clearing, Chu Yunsheng sheathed his sabers. He lifted a finger to wipe away the bead of blood at the corner of his mouth, then looked at the young sword-attendant, who was staring down at his own palm. He spoke calmly: "It wasn't an act. I truly could calculate most of your sword intent—its weight and speed, its point of rise and fall."
At this, the young sword-attendant looked up at him. This time, he didn't immediately snap back with confident denial as before. His lips parted slightly, and he asked in a daze, "…I had a flaw?"
"No one who practices martial arts and fights is perfect. There are always flaws."
Chu Yunsheng went on, "Your sword is very strong. Countless techniques, endless variations—each strike can be called exquisite. But your sword is also not strong enough. Precisely because there are so many moves, it becomes scattered. Refined, yet without spirit."
"If you wield the sword like a rigid mechanism, then no matter how many techniques or variations you have, they all end up much the same. I couldn't calculate your sword paths—but I had already grasped your sword principles. That's why I could predict them, and meet your blade with mine, strike for strike."
The young sword-attendant's eyes widened slightly.
After a moment, he gave a wry smile. "Senior Brother Lin once said the same thing to me. That was why he chose me as his sword-attendant in the first place. He wanted to take me through the jianghu to test my sword, to fight more battles and grind away my weaknesses. I thought that after these past few years, I had changed. But now it seems… I've just been treading water."
With that, he let out a sigh. He cupped his hands and bowed to Chu Yunsheng, the bitterness in his expression easing, replaced by a hint of openness and ease. "Thank you for reminding me once again that the path of seeking the sword is long and arduous, and that complacency has no place on it."
"My sword is strong—but your saber is stronger. If fate allows it, we must fight again someday!"
Seeing how Lin Ce's sword-attendant accepted defeat without losing heart or spirit, Chu Yunsheng—who considered his own heart long since aged—found a flicker of battle intent stirred within him. He couldn't help thinking of the days not far off, when he would roam the world with Xie Chengyun, seeking out swords across the land. What joy that would be, how exhilarating, how endlessly interesting.
To roam the horizons with sword and saber in hand, youthful chivalry roaring into the west wind—perhaps this was why the jianghu, generation after generation, remained so alluring, so hard to leave behind.
There is always a jianghu of the young. And always youths of the jianghu.
With weapons in hand to challenge injustice, with courage and gall in the heart.
Returning the salute, Chu Yunsheng dragged his utterly depleted body—every wisp of true qi already gone—forced up what little strength he had left, turned, and stepped onto the mountain path.
Seeing this, Xie Chengyun moved up to him. As if mindful of propriety between men and women, he only supported Chu Yunsheng by the arm with one hand, two fingers braced lightly at his wrist as he sent a stream of true qi across.
"You still have bouts to fight, young master. Don't waste your strength."
Chu Yunsheng knew well that Xie Chengyun's concern and tension ran bone-deep. Almost unconsciously, he didn't dodge or refuse—only reminded him in a low voice.
Xie Chengyun didn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he let out a quiet laugh. "It's fine. Chu-Chu has rendered great service—surely you can afford a little true qi?"
He paused, then tilted his head closer, deliberately lowering his voice. Clear and pleasant, it brushed against Chu Yunsheng's ear: "You didn't see Lin Ce's face. Usually it's like a lump of stone, not a twitch to be found. Today, though—changing every second, all sorts of colors. A truly marvelous sight."
"He isn't bothered by Fang Jingyou losing. What he cares about most is the flow of the battle and its outcome. You forced him to misjudge again and again—that's truly remarkable."
Warm, faint breath drifted close, brushing softly against the ear, near yet far.
Chu Yunsheng lifted his gaze and met Xie Chengyun's eyes. In that gentle, smiling look, he saw admiration, pride—and a few traces of poorly hidden smug delight over Chu Yunsheng's victory.
He smiled back.
"Be careful, young master."
Xie Chengyun returned the smile. As his hand slipped from Chu Yunsheng's arm, he copied what Chu Yunsheng had done earlier, when leaving the small hut to head into battle—giving the back of Chu Yunsheng's hand a light squeeze. It was part reassurance, part resolve, carrying an unspoken understanding between them.
Xie Chengyun turned and walked toward the raised platform, Lin Ce following close behind.
As Lin Ce passed by Chu Yunsheng, he gave a slight nod. His face was expressionless, but his words were spoken with utmost seriousness. "Your saber is good. But it needs to be stronger, if you wish to fight me one day."
Chu Yunsheng inclined his head. "I look forward to that battle."
When the two stepped onto the sword platform one after the other, Fang Wenmin finally set aside—at least for the moment—his half-formed suspicions about Chu Yunsheng's identity. Fanning himself as he walked over, he opened his mouth and out came that familiar tone: "Miss Chu, that battle was truly splendid! Saber arts weaving real and false, the Five Phases in flowing cycle, borrowing force to dispel force, a self-created ultimate move, turning defeat into victory—such genius is something I've rarely seen in my life!"
Chu Yunsheng glanced at him. "I hear Brother Fang earned the title 'Jade Fan Tanhua' because you truly once placed third in the imperial examinations. With eloquence like yours, it's a pity you never entered officialdom."
Fang Wenmin's fan froze mid-swing. He gave a dry cough. "Miss Chu, you can just say I'm good at flattery. I rather like hearing that."
Chu Yunsheng had no reply.
On the sword platform, both sides had already taken their distant stances, the bout about to begin. Yet those watching from the Half-Mountain Pavilion remained where they were, none stepping closer.
A battle on the White Dragon Ranking was nothing like an ordinary clash between Hanshen cultivators. These prodigies either carried peerless secret arts, had already brushed the threshold of martial truth, or possessed deep mastery of a single path so unique it set them apart. Once they fought in earnest, their techniques were unleashed without restraint, ultimate moves came one after another, and the momentum was often immense—enough to stir small-scale phenomena. Unless one had already formed a Core, it was unwise to stand too close, lest one be caught in the crossfire.
Chu Yunsheng also planned to find a spot with fewer people to watch from. But with a single glance, he saw nothing but a black sea of heads everywhere, shoulders pressed against shoulders. Compared to yesterday, there were far more people today—many jianghu folk had only just arrived.
"Miss, over here!"
A youthful, clear voice rang out, carrying a faintly otherworldly quality that made it stand out at once, even from afar.
Chu Yunsheng followed the sound and immediately spotted a round, gleaming bald head inside the Half-Mountain Pavilion.
Unlike the forest clearing and the mountain path, the pavilion wasn't crowded at all. Fewer than ten people stood or sat within, making it feel rather spacious. The pavilion sat slightly higher, with an excellent view—perfectly positioned to take in the entire sword platform at a glance.
"It's the little monk," Fang Wenmin said beside him. "Didn't expect them to be here as well. Come on, let's head over."
As he weaved through the crowd, Fang Wenmin noticed Chu Yunsheng's unfamiliarity with the few figures inside the pavilion. While quietly speculating about Chu Yunsheng's identity, he introduced them aloud: "The little monk who called out to us just now is Juechen, the Buddha-Heart Child—ranked third on the White Dragon Ranking, this generation's roaming disciple of Great Compassion Temple. The Daoist next to him is…"
By the time the brief introductions were done, the two had already reached the pavilion.
Entering the pavilion, they exchanged greetings with the others. Juechen in particular lavished praise on Chu Yunsheng's saber work and the sheer enjoyment of that battle, saying with childlike delight,
"That was really so satisfying to watch!"
Aside from those on the White Dragon Ranking, and counting Yan Xuanji as well, there were three Dingdan cultivators inside the pavilion.
Standing in the pavilion, the view was wide and unobstructed. From here, one could see several other spots in the distance where the crowds were thinner. Judging by their dress and bearing, those gathered there were from great clans and established sects— Dingdan cultivators or half a step into that realm. None of these people had shown up last night.
It was clear enough: no matter how fierce last night's continuous battles had been, in the eyes of true powerhouses and noble houses, they were nothing more than child's play, hardly worth notice. Only today's bout—White Dragon Ranking Thirteenth challenging First, the Xie family facing the Sword Grotto, Snow-Taming Sword against Life-Severing Sword—was worthy of a second glance.
After the pleasantries, Chu Yunsheng took a seat, gazing toward the sword platform atop the mountain.
At noon, the clouds parted and the mist dispersed, and the entire mountain glowed with a wash of molten gold.
Beneath an endless azure sky, drifting clouds stretched thin and distant. The wind stilled, the air congealed. On the sword platform, two figures—one in white, one in blue—exchanged formal salutes, hands resting on their swords as they faced each other.
The din of voices slowly faded away.
Their auras climbed, battle intent surged, and the atmosphere grew heavy and taut, ready to snap at the slightest touch.
It seemed everyone was holding their breath, eyes fixed on the scene, waiting for this clash of dragons and tigers—this pinnacle duel of swordsmanship belonging solely to the younger generation.
In the pin-drop silence, Chu Yunsheng suddenly caught, out of the corner of his eye, the Hidden Heaven Ning Guan from Wugou Manor quietly shuffling his seat closer. He sidled over, waggled his brows at Chu Yunsheng, and sent a secret voice transmission: "Miss Chu, don't you think Xie Chengyun treats you a bit… differently?"
Chu Yunsheng cast him a flat glance and replied just as calmly through the same secret art: "Yes. We're involved."
The sly grin on Ning Guan's face froze. He looked Chu Yunsheng up and down, then raised a thumb in sincere admiration, before shuffling his way back to where he'd been.
Just then, before Chu Yunsheng could turn his attention back to the sword platform, another secret voice transmission came from the other side: "Miss Chu, you're a man, aren't you?"
Chu Yunsheng's gaze darkened. He turned his head and saw Xi Feiming cradling a wine gourd, smiling faintly at him. Without waiting for a reply, Xi Feiming continued, a hint of smugness in his tone: "This poor Daoist only needs to pinch my fingers and count once to know whether you're male or female. And I'd wager Xie Chengyun knows as well—and that your relationship is far from ordinary. The first time I met him years ago, I cast a hexagram for him and foretold that he'd end up without heirs. He didn't believe me and smashed my stall on the spot…"
Chu Yunsheng rose at once and headed out of the pavilion.
Fang Wenmin froze, then hurried after him. Near the mountaintop—where the air was so quiet it felt almost oppressive—he lowered his voice and asked carefully,
"Miss Chu, what's wrong?"
Chu Yunsheng stopped beside a rock just outside the pavilion and said, "It's too noisy."
Fang Wenmin blinked. "Ah?"
Aside from you and me, no one's making a sound here. Could it be… everyone's breathing is too loud?
Fang Wenmin was utterly baffled. But before he could sort out Chu Yunsheng's strange behavior, two clear, ringing sword cries suddenly echoed from the sword platform.
Xie Chengyun and Lin Ce— had drawn their swords at the same time!