The first pale light of dawn filtered through the latticed window and spilled across the bed.
The first thing Gu Chengming felt as consciousness crawled back was pain.
Not the simple ache of bruised skin — this was the kind of pain where the slightest movement sent his muscles pulling at his organs, wringing out sounds he couldn't suppress.
"Awake?"
A voice came from somewhere beside him, carrying a distinct edge of exasperation.
Gu Chengming turned his head with great effort. Ren Wencai was seated in the nearby chair, a cup of tea in hand, studying him with an expression too complicated to name.
"Elder Ren..."
Gu Chengming parted his lips, his throat parched and raw.
On reflex, he tried to push himself upright to offer a proper bow — and the moment he exerted any force at all, a violent spasm of pain tore through his chest and abdomen, sharp enough to make him hiss through his teeth.
"Hsss——"
"Alright, alright, stop moving."
Ren Wencai set down his teacup at once, his face stern but his voice betraying a flicker of helplessness:
"Lucky for you I kept watch the whole time and stepped in to protect your heart meridians when it counted. Otherwise, what do you think would have happened to that little life of yours? The backlash from the Sword-Questioning Stone would have shattered you to pieces!"
Gu Chengming let out a rueful smile and obediently lay still, speaking in a weak voice:
"Thank you for saving my life, Elder. This disciple was reckless."
"Oh, so you know you were reckless?"
Ren Wencai fixed him with a glare — a glare that held anger, yes, but also a deep, barely-concealed shock and warmth.
He had only meant to let the boy broaden his horizons a little, to temper his heart and sharpen his spirit.
Who could have imagined the boy was completely unhinged? At the Fifth Layer of the First Realm, he actually dared to try leaving a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone — the sort of feat that even an average Second Realm cultivator wouldn't lightly attempt.
"Your injuries are stable for now, but your meridians took serious damage. For the next few days, you lie down and you stay down. Don't even think about practicing your sword."
As he spoke, Ren Wencai produced several small vials of medicine from his sleeve and set them on the table, still muttering away:
"What were you even trying to prove? At your current level, reaching eighty steps — even eighty-five — would have been more than enough to demonstrate an unshakeable Dao-heart. That degree of tempering was already plenty for you. There was absolutely no need to gamble on that one-in-a-thousand chance of leaving a mark..."
Ren Wencai's voice stopped abruptly.
He looked at the young man lying in the bed — pale-faced, battered all over, and yet with eyes that shone with a strange, clear-sighted serenity. Whatever lecture he had been building toward died in his throat.
No need to gamble on that chance of leaving a mark? No need to stake your life on something so fleeting as a name on a stone?
Reason told him he was right. As an elder, as a senior of the sect, he ought to teach his disciples to walk the steady road — not to overreach, not to chase what was beyond their grasp.
But...
Ren Wencai found himself thinking of that sword strike yesterday.
It had no flourish. No cleverness. It was pure to the point of extremity — and resolute to the point of extremity.
That spirit — of swinging without regret, of pressing forward alone against ten thousand — wasn't that precisely what he himself had sought in his youth, before the slow grinding of years had worn it away?
Wasn't that the whole point of being a sword cultivator? If even that last edge of spirit was to be filed smooth by reason, then what exactly was the point of walking the sword path at all?
"Haah..."
Ren Wencai let out a long sigh. The severity melted from his face, replaced by something quieter — a trace of wistfulness, and even envy, that he rarely let show.
"Forget it. What you did... was very well done."
"'Too rigid and you'll snap' is a truism, yes. But if you can't be rigid in the first place, what is there to snap? We who walk the sword path — this is exactly how we ought to be."
He rose to his feet, hands clasped behind his back, and moved to the window. Gazing out at the rising sun, his voice grew reflective:
"The world ahead, in the end, belongs to the young — to those who still carry that edge. We old relics can only pave a little road for you to walk."
Something stirred in Gu Chengming's chest as he listened. He could feel it — this man who normally wore his scheming nature behind a veneer of dignity was, at this moment, entirely sincere.
"Elder speaks too highly of me," Gu Chengming said softly. "Had you not been there to protect me, this disciple would have died with nothing to show for it, let alone a future."
"Hmph. Save the flattery."
Ren Wencai turned back, his customary air of fathomless authority reassembling itself on his features. He pointed at the vials on the table:
"Those are Rejuvenating Pills and Bone-Mending Salve. Three times a day, without fail. Once you're healed, come find me."
Without waiting for a response, he swept his wide sleeve, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.
The wooden door creaked shut behind him. Only then did Gu Chengming allow himself to fully relax, exhaling a long, slow breath.
He tried gently circulating his spiritual energy. His dantian was hollow as an empty vessel, and his meridians felt like a dried-out riverbed — even the lightest touch sent dull pain prickling along them.
Well. He had gone and made himself a proper invalid.
His gaze drifted to the medicine vials on the table.
Rejuvenating Pills. Bone-Mending Salve. These were healing medicines formulated for Second Realm cultivators — every last one of those vials would be worth a small fortune to any outer disciple.
Then again, that told him everything about where he stood in Ren Wencai's estimation.
He'd have to put in a real performance at the upcoming disciple evaluation. Otherwise he'd be doing the man a disservice.
Of course, before any of that could happen, he needed to get this half-wrecked body of his back in working order.
.....
The moment Ren Wencai stepped out of the courtyard, every trace of his stern expression evaporated. His steps turned light and bouncy; he couldn't stop himself from humming some nameless little tune under his breath. Not a shred of elder's dignity remained.
"Heh heh..."
He walked on, laughing to himself on the inside.
Sure, he had scolded the boy for being reckless and foolhardy — and by all accounts, it truly had been. But honestly, who could witness something like that and not quietly marvel: this kid is terrifying?
If word of this got out, no sect in the world — not just Wenjian Sect — would know what to make of it. Every one of those normally high-and-mighty old fossils would have their jaws drop clean off their faces.
"Good thing I was clever enough to sit on this."
Ren Wencai stroked his beard with satisfaction.
He had been careful not to breathe a word of it. The only person who knew that Gu Chengming had left a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone was Ren Wencai himself.
One drunk old sword fanatic was already enough to guard against like a thief. If the full story got out, the number of people coming to poach the boy would be impossible to stop. Huiyuan Gate had finally produced a seedling this extraordinary — there was no way he was letting anyone dig it up.
"Oh my, isn't that Elder Ren? What's got you in such good spirits?"
Just as Ren Wencai was happily tallying up his schemes, a voice drifted toward him from ahead — slightly soft, slightly sly.
Ren Wencai's steps hitched. The smile on his face vanished in an instant. He inwardly cursed his luck.
He quickly composed himself into his most nonchalant expression — one that even carried a faint tinge of weary suffering — and looked up.
On the path ahead stood a middle-aged man robed in pale blue, his complexion fair, his eyes carrying a sharp, probing gleam. This was Zhao Wuji, an elder of Qingfeng Gate.
Zhao Wuji was famously the biggest gossip in the whole sect — a man who made it his personal mission to know everyone's business before they knew it themselves.
"Ah, Junior Brother Zhao."
Ren Wencai cupped his hands and sighed:
"Good spirits? Hardly. Just making the best of a grey situation."
Zhao Wuji clearly didn't buy a word of it. He looked Ren Wencai up and down and stepped a little closer.
"Senior Brother, there's no need to be so guarded with me. Word's already reached me that early this morning, you personally escorted one of your disciples into the rear mountain restricted zone and even invoked your authority to unlock the Sword-Questioning Stone's seal."
He let that hang in the air a moment, then said, as if idly:
"A disciple worth Senior Brother's personal attention — even to the point of bending the rules to take him to the Sword-Questioning Stone for tempering — surely couldn't be anything less than a once-in-a-generation genius?"
Ren Wencai's heart gave a quiet lurch.
Of course. There were no secrets in this world.
But he had come prepared. A look of pained resignation crossed his face, and he waved a dismissive hand:
"Junior Brother overestimates things. Genius? Hardly. The boy is the son of an old acquaintance — middling talent, nothing more. I owed his father a favor, so I bent the rules just this once to let him broaden his horizons. If anything, I was hoping the experience would show him how out of his depth he is."
"Son of an old acquaintance?"
Inside, Zhao Wuji laughed until his sides ached.
Like he'd believe that! Ren Wencai, personally escorting some ordinary legacy-case to the Sword-Questioning Stone? If the kid were really mediocre, he'd have gotten a few spirit stones and a pat on the head and been sent on his way. For Ren Wencai to take this much personal interest, there was absolutely something going on.
He pivoted slightly, probing:
"Senior Brother, please don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. I've already heard from the steward watching the restricted zone — after that disciple went in, there was quite a commotion around the Sword-Questioning Stone. And what's more..."
Zhao Wuji fixed his gaze on Ren Wencai's eyes and spoke each word with deliberate weight:
"I'm told that the Sword-Questioning Stone now has... a new mark on it."
Ren Wencai's heart quietly sank.
So it really couldn't be kept buried.
A mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone — the attending stewards wouldn't dare spread that kind of thing around carelessly, but for someone determined to dig, there would always be enough threads to pull.
Since concealment was off the table, the only option left was a half-truth smokescreen.
Ren Wencai drew a slow breath, his expression shifting into something that looked very much like a man whose secret had just been found out — rueful, a little embarrassed:
"Haah. You really don't miss a thing, do you, Junior Brother."
He gave a small nod of concession.
"You're right — the boy did leave a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone."
Zhao Wuji blinked. Genuinely surprised.
An actual mark? Leaving a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone — that was bona fide exceptional talent. No wonder this old fox had been playing it so close to the chest!
He was just about to press for specifics when Ren Wencai continued:
"That said — don't go making it out to be more than it is."
Ren Wencai shook his head, his tone touched with a note of sympathy:
"The boy left the mark, yes — but he pushed himself to absolute exhaustion to do it, and nearly damaged his own foundation in the process. And what's more..."
He paused, then held up two fingers.
"He's already at the peak of the Second Realm. One step away from the Third."
"Peak of the Second Realm?"
Zhao Wuji blinked. The tension that had been coiling in his chest quietly unwound.
Late Second Realm, leaving a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone — that was talented, certainly. The sort of promising seedling every peak would be happy to snag.
But... only that much.
After all, as difficult as leaving a mark on the Stone was, for a disciple from a family with deep cultivation roots, someone who had reached the late Second Realm and threw everything at it — they still had a fighting chance.
Though it had to be said: Huiyuan Gate had been in decline for so long, and yet this old fox had still managed to hit the grand jackpot.
"Ah, I see..."
The shock faded from Zhao Wuji's expression, replaced by something complicated — a cocktail of jealousy and relief — as he said with an acidic sweetness:
"Late Second Realm and already leaving marks — that is a rare talent indeed! Senior Brother has really struck gold this time. Congratulations, congratulations!"
His mouth said congratulations. His heart was busy reassuring itself: it's fine, it's fine — just a late Second Realm genius. Enviable, sure, but still within the range of acceptable.
"You flatter me. Pure luck."
Ren Wencai wore his most modest face, while inside, he was fit to burst with laughter.
Late Second Realm, he says. Heh.
Watching Zhao Wuji's expression — that particular cocktail of envy and grudging acceptance — Ren Wencai barely held in his glee. He traded a few more pleasantries, then made his excuses — something about needing to get back and tend to his disciple's recovery — and took his leave.
The moment he turned away, every trace of weary suffering on his face was swept clean, replaced by a grin that absolutely refused to be suppressed.
You old thing. You thought you'd get something out of me? You don't know who you're dealing with.
He smoothed his beard, shaking his head. Strange — ever since he'd discovered this boy Gu Chengming, he couldn't seem to stop the corners of his mouth from curling upward.
This wouldn't do. It really wouldn't do.
————
On the other side of the sect, night had deepened, and moonlight lay like water across the ground.
After the elder's departure, Gu Chengming sat cross-legged on the bed and ran his qi through a few full cycles, waiting until the turbulent blood-energy inside him had finally settled before letting out a slow breath and opening his eyes.
His body still ached all over, but that terrifying sensation of being on the verge of flying apart had faded considerably.
"Hah..."
He rubbed his temples, composed himself, and with a thought, brought up the system panel.
If he was being honest, even though he thought he'd glimpsed the words "Bond Achieved" in the instant before he lost consciousness, he'd never quite been able to set his heart at ease.
Reality wasn't a game, after all. There were no save points, no loading from a checkpoint.
He'd bet everything on the conviction of a Galgame veteran — the stubborn belief that if you pushed every option to its absolute limit, you'd find your way to the Happy End. But what if that was wrong?
What if reality turned out to be one of those games with nothing but Bad Ends?
Carrying that knot of unease, Gu Chengming turned his gaze to the translucent display floating before him.
The next second, the sheer volume of pop-up notifications nearly gave him a fright.
Good grief. The unread messages were stacked like a spam flood.
He steadied himself quickly, and his eyes went straight to the one that mattered most.
[The Huiyuan Sword Art sees that you're awake, and the anxiety it has been holding finally settles.]
[It looks at your sorry state, and a torrent of complicated feelings wells up inside it. It is moved by your stubbornness. It aches for your injuries. And beneath all of that, there is a giddy relief — the relief of something nearly lost and found again.]
In the end, a thousand things to say all backed up in its heart and came out as nothing more than one line — half complaint, half aggrieved pout.
[Next time... don't do something this dangerous again, okay..]
The words on the screen paused for a brief moment, as if something needed to be composed before it could continue. Then, a new line of smaller text drifted slowly into view.
[You promised me you'd stay with me until the very end.]
Seeing that familiar, unmistakable tone, the last great weight in Gu Chengming's chest finally settled for good.
Good. Still the same familiar little grudge-holder it had always been.
It hadn't turned into something resembling the Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art. It hadn't sealed itself away out of some spiral of self-doubt.
His effort had not been wasted, then.
Gu Chengming offered a few quiet words of reassurance, promising that he wouldn't take such risks again.
[The Huiyuan Sword Art says nothing.]
[It quietly stirs what little spiritual energy it has, and begins gently combing through the blocked meridians inside your body.]
Feeling those thin, cool threads moving inside him, Gu Chengming thought: yes, this is more like it.
Just then, something else surfaced in his memory. Before he'd blacked out — hadn't he caught a glimpse of a "CG Unlocked" notification?
The thought had barely formed before the system interface rippled and shifted. A new tab he had never seen before appeared in the navigation bar — [CG Gallery].
A newly unlocked interface?
Gu Chengming's eyes lit up. He tapped into it immediately.
The layout was clean and simple. At the moment, only one card was lit — all the others were greyed-out question marks.
He looked closer at the glowing card. Its title was not [Flowing Light, Sword Shadows]as he'd half-expected, but rather —
[Huiyuan Sword Art / A Sword Art That Belongs to You Alone]
"Huh? This name..."
Something stirred in Gu Chengming's chest. He touched the card with his fingertip.
In the next instant, the card flipped over, and a stunningly rendered full-body illustration unfolded before his eyes.
Whatever fatigue had been dragging at his spirits evaporated on the spot.
Now THIS was a proper Galgame!
You've got to have character illustrations — that's the whole point!
The image that slowly filled his vision was breathtaking in its detail.
The background was a field of ruins — crumbled walls, broken stones, and between them, a sunset blazing blood-red. And seated dead center in the frame was a small, slight figure dressed in coarse hemp robes.
She looked painfully thin, and fragile. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek, and the trace of tears not yet dry at the corner of her eye.
But the thing that drew the eye was what she cradled in her arms — a wooden sword, clutched fiercely to her chest.
The sword was crude and crooked, slightly lopsided, and taller than she was by a full head's length. It should have looked ridiculous. Almost comical.
And yet she held it as though it were the most precious thing in the entire world. She faced forward — faced him — and smiled the most radiant smile imaginable.
Except...
"This..."
Gu Chengming rubbed his chin, a distinctly odd feeling creeping over him.
This design... wasn't it a little too... young?
He had assumed that after everything they'd been through together, the Huiyuan Sword Art would appear as something like a young woman, or at least a teenager.
Just as he was staring at the illustration with a furrowed brow, a burst of dialogue erupted in his mind.
[The Huiyuan Sword Art seems to sense what you're looking at. It is instantly mortified.]
[It tries to use dialogue boxes to block the illustration from view.]
[Don't look! Stop looking——!]
Don't look at the CG? Then what exactly have I been playing this Galgame for?
[The Huiyuan Sword Art is a little flustered. The bond between the two of you may be unbreakable now — but letting you see its most unguarded self is still... a bit embarrassing.]
And right on the heels of that thought, another line appeared before Gu Chengming.
[The Hundred Bones Resonance has been silently spectating this entire scene from the sidelines.]
[Its internal commentary: What an unbearably sappy couple.]
Gu Chengming paid the Hundred Bones Resonance's reaction no mind.
He closed the CG Gallery, but a new question had already taken shape in his mind.
If the Huiyuan Sword Art's unlocked CG was titled [A Sword Art That Belongs to You Alone]— then where had [Flowing Light, Sword Shadows]gone?
And that so-called [Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following] true intent — had it simply vanished?
As if to answer his thoughts, the system interface shimmered with another strange pulse the very moment the questions formed.
Below the entry that had belonged to the Huiyuan Sword Art, a new, separate entry slowly materialized — independent, standing on its own.
[Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following (Fragment)]
[Affection Rating: 5 / Stranger]
"Hm?"
Gu Chengming stared.
This thing was still here? And it had its own separate entry now?
Before he could even process that, several lines of text crackled into existence — ice-cold, and radiating a resentment that felt almost corporeal.
[The Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art has been watching from the sidelines for quite some time.]
[Seeing that you have only now, at this late hour, finally noticed its existence, it lets out a single cold, contemptuous laugh.]
[Oh. So you finally remembered it exists.]
"..."
A question mark floated slowly over Gu Chengming's head.
That tone... why did it sound oddly familiar?
[The Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art is thinking about how, just earlier, you were willing to take serious injury rather than draw on its power. And now it has to look at you and that sword art doing your nauseating little dance together. The resentment curdling inside it is almost physical. In fact, it feels faintly ill.]
[What a disgusting sword art.]
[What a disgusting sword cultivator.]
[Most sword cultivators in this world are self-righteous fools who deserve to die.]
[But of all of them...]
[A sword cultivator like you deserves it most.]
"??"
Gu Chengming hadn't even finished processing this when the Hundred Bones Resonance reacted first.
[It senses that aura — fragmented, but still lofty, still utterly imperious. Its heart seizes with alarm.]
[Holy — a cultivation method grandmaster?! When did this one show up?!]
The aura was faint, yes, but the inherent rank suppression that came with a high-grade cultivation method was entirely real.
Observing that this newcomer seemed to mean trouble and was clearly harboring open hostility toward Gu Chengming, the Hundred Bones Resonance — operating firmly on the principle of fighting the weak and fleeing the strong —
[The Hundred Bones Resonance immediately announced: Gu Chengming! This newly arrived cultivation method grandmaster dares to insult you to your face — this is an absolute outrage!]
[It bitterly laments that its own strength is currently insufficient, that it has yet to forge its golden body, and that it is therefore unable to help you vent this grievance. To preserve its fighting strength for the future, it has no choice but to temporarily withdraw from this confrontation — this is absolutely NOT because it's scared!]
[Just you wait. When it achieves full mastery, it will help you settle this score and tear that cultivation method's mouth clean off!]
Having delivered this rousing declaration, it promptly scuttled into the furthest corner and made itself very small.
Gu Chengming was speechless.
Cowardly as the Hundred Bones Resonance was, however, the Huiyuan Sword Art had not one ounce of fear.
[The Huiyuan Sword Art sees its host being berated, and whatever warmth and emotion had been washing through it instantly evaporates. In its place rises a fierce, sharp protectiveness.]
[It turns toward that fragmented mass of Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following sword intent and lets out a warning hum.]
This only seemed to make the newcomer angrier.
[The Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art lets out a cold, scornful laugh. It finds this entire scene absurd to the point of farce.]
[It sneers: as expected, birds of a feather flock together. Sword art and sword cultivator — both equally worthless.]
[Earlier, watching this pathetic little sword art twist itself out of shape in pursuit of strength — it had thought, at least this one has ambition, at least this one could be shaped into something. But looking at it now, it's nothing but a sword art that has already debased itself and is fated to be used up and discarded by its sword cultivator like trash.]
[And it still wants to protect him? How utterly laughable.]
The words seemed to land without any effect whatsoever.
[The Huiyuan Sword Art simply gives a small, quiet laugh. It can't even be bothered to argue. It doesn't even offer an explanation.]
That response seemed to trigger a memory in the Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art — a memory of what had happened earlier.
[The Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art falls silent.]
[It feels as if a great boulder has lodged itself in its chest — too heavy to push up, too stubborn to press down — a suffocating, festering weight.]
[Sensing, perhaps, that its last outburst had only embarrassed itself, it lets out a cold sniff, says nothing more, and sinks out of sight — an "out of sight, out of mind" exit if ever there was one.]
And at just that moment, a presence that had been sitting in "observer mode" through everything finally could not resist surfacing.
[The Qingxin Formula has watched this little farce from beginning to end, and finds it rather amusing.]
[Qingxin Formula Affection Rating +1]
[Current Affection Rating: 65 / Like]
That completely unexpected chime jolted Gu Chengming out of his thoughts. He suddenly realized: wait — the Qingxin Formula's affection rating had somehow reached 65?!
When on earth had it hit the "Like" stage? How had it climbed this fast?
[The Qingxin Formula gives a quiet chuckle.]
[It thinks to itself: if it hadn't taken the initiative just now, this Gu Chengming would probably have gone another ten days or half a month before noticing.]
[Hmph. It has always kept a low profile, never one to compete for attention. But being overlooked to this extent is, if it's being honest, a little hurtful.]
Gu Chengming broke into a cold sweat internally and hastily examined the Qingxin Formula's status in detail. One look, and he was stunned.
The rise in affection was only five or six points in total — but it represented a qualitative shift.
On the status bar, the original [Friendly] state had transitioned into [Like].
And the benefits that came with that change were entirely tangible.
First: attribute points. Two full [Fixed Spirit Attribute Points] had been added directly to his panel.
Spirit attributes were notoriously the hardest to cultivate. Two points was enough to give him meaningfully more resilience against soul-targeting attacks.
Second: a change to his permanent passive.
The passive ability previously known as [Crystalline Mind] — the one that kept his thoughts sharp and his head clear at all times — was gone.
In its place had appeared a brand new, visibly higher-tier state:
[Piercing Insight]
[Effect: Read people with clarity, distinguish truth from deception. In critical moments, perceive the true intentions of others and receive corresponding dialogue option prompts.]
Gu Chengming hadn't even finished processing what this new passive did before his vision blurred.
Then, three translucent option boxes materialized before him — clear and crisp as a game interface.
So this was [Piercing Insight] in action?
Gu Chengming focused his gaze.
[Option One: You've been with me so constantly that your presence has become as natural to me as breathing. I suppose that's why I sometimes forget to notice you — and for that, I'm sorry.]
[Option Two: It's not too late. As long as I've remembered, it's never too late. You are my right hand and my left — I couldn't afford to lose you.]
[Option Three: Relax. As compensation, two story pamphlets, delivered to your door.]
Good grief — dialogue options?!
PS: This chapter is approximately seven thousand characters — equivalent to three and a half chapters — with more updates to come. Aiming for fifteen thousand characters total today.
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