Read ahead 5 chapter on patreon.
https://www.patreon.com/cw/Thanarit
More knowledge flooded in.
Zhao Ling'er had once been part of a great sect, a prodigy who surpassed her peers before she turned twenty. A Sword Immortal who could carve her will into the fabric of reality with nothing but intent and steel.
But she had chosen a different path.
The Doctrine of Emotional Severance.
An ancient technique, forbidden by most sects, that allowed a cultivator to cut away their humanity piece by piece in pursuit of absolute transcendence. Every bond severed. Every emotions erased. The ultimate sacrifice in exchange for the ultimate power.
Zhao Ling'er had mastered it completely.
She had erased her parents from her heart, turning their faces into distant memories with no warmth attached. She had severed friendships that had lasted decades, cutting the threads that connected her to anyone who might anchor her to mortality. She had removed joy, laughter, sorrow, rage. Everything that made her human, she had burned away.
All in pursuit of immortality.
All to reach a realm where even death itself would bow.
Celine stared at this woman who had chosen power over everything else and felt something twist in her chest.
She knew that emptiness. Not the same way, not to the same degree, but she recognized it. The hollow space where connection should have been. The armor built so thick that nothing could reach the heart underneath.
Zhao Ling'er finally spoke.
Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but carried no warmth.
"I erased them all."
Celine said nothing.
"My parents. My friends. The masters who raised me. The disciples who looked up to me." Zhao Ling'er's pale eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
"I cut away every thread that bound me to the mortal world. I burned every bridge. I severed every tie, and I succeeded."
The wind picked up, carrying cherry blossoms that hadn't been there before. They drifted between them.
"I reached heights that others spent lifetimes dreaming of. I stood at the peak of cultivation, untouchable and alone. The world called me the Ice Empress because nothing could move me. Nothing could reach me. I thought that was strength."
Her hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed sword.
"But there was one thing I could never erase."
Celine's breath stopped.
The clouds below began to shift. They rose and condensed, forming a staircase of pure light that climbed from the void toward the peak where they stood.
Someone was ascending.
A figure appeared at the bottom of the staircase, walking upward with slow, deliberate steps.
A man.
He was plain in every way. Average height, average build, unremarkable features. He wore simple robes with no embroidery or decoration. No sword at his hip. No aura of power radiating from his presence.
Just a man.
But the way Zhao Ling'er's posture changed, the way her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her sword hilt, spoke louder than any display of power could have.
He reached the top of the staircase and stopped a respectful distance away.
"Ling'er," he said quietly.
His voice carried no cultivation technique. No command. Just warmth.
Zhao Ling'er didn't turn to face him, but Celine saw the smallest tremor run through her shoulders.
"I took him in as a servant," Zhao Ling'er said, still speaking to Celine, or perhaps to herself. "I needed someone to tend to the mundane tasks of daily life. Cooking. Cleaning. Maintaining the grounds. I chose him because he was mortal. Powerless. Insignificant. I thought his presence would mean nothing. That I could keep him at arm's length, use his service, and remain untouched."
A cherry blossom landed on her shoulder. She didn't brush it away.
"I was mistaken."
The words fell heavy between them.
"He worked quietly. Never complained. Never asked for anything. He simply existed. In the morning, there would be tea waiting. In the evening, the garden would be tended. He moved through my life like water, leaving no trace but changing everything, and slowly, I began to feel again."
Celine's chest tightened.
"The tea he made tasted better than anything I'd consumed in decades. The garden he maintained brought me peace I thought I'd abandoned. His quiet presence became something I looked forward to, though I told myself I didn't."
She finally turned, just slightly, enough to see the man from the corner of her eye.
"The elders of my sect discovered it. They came to me with warnings. They told me that attachment was poison. That love was a chain that would drag me back down to mortality. That if I continued down this path, everything I had sacrificed would be for nothing. They ordered me to send him away. To erase him from my heart as I had erased everything else. To complete my ascension and leave humanity behind forever."
Her hand moved to fully grip her sword hilt.
"They told me I was at the threshold of true immortality. That one more step, one final severance, and I would transcend everything. Death would have no hold on me. Time would bow to my will. I would become eternal."
She looked at Celine directly for the first time.
"They asked me what immortality was worth, and I realized I didn't know the answer anymore."
She turned fully now, facing the man who stood waiting at the edge of the peak.
"What is eternity worth if you spend it alone? What is transcendence worth if you abandon everything that makes existence meaningful? What is power worth if there's no one left to share it with?"
The man took a step forward.
"I spent lifetimes cutting away pieces of myself in pursuit of perfection. I believed that to ascend, I had to become less human. Less flawed. Less alive. But he showed me something I'd forgotten. That humanity isn't weakness. That connection isn't chains. That feeling isn't failure."
The man reached her, standing close enough to touch but not reaching out. Just waiting. Patient and kind, as he'd always been.
Zhao Ling'er's hand released her sword hilt.
"The elders were right about one thing," she said.
"I had to make a choice. Immortality or humanity. Transcendence or connection. Power or love."
She looked at the man, and for the first time, her expression changed. The ice cracked. Warmth flooded in, tentative and fragile and real.
"I chose him."
The words echoed across the peaks.
"I chose to feel. I chose to be flawed. I chose to be human, and I would make that choice again. Every time. Forever."
She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and took his.
The world around them began to shift.
The jade mountains started to dissolve. The floating islands faded. The spirit bridges flickered and vanished. The cultivation realm itself was unmaking, collapsing inward like a dream reaching its end.
But Zhao Ling'er and the man remained, holding hands, solid and real while everything else became light.
Celine felt tears on her cheeks.
The last thing she saw before the world went white was Zhao Ling'er's face, no longer cold, no longer perfect, but alive with an emotion so powerful it burned.
Love.
.
.
.
The heavens split open.
Celine barely had time to process what was happening before the sky tore itself apart. Not violently, but reverently, like the world itself was bowing to something greater.
Clouds surged upward in spiraling columns. A vertical line of sacred light carved through the firmament, so bright it burned to look at directly. Ancient runes manifested in the air around it, symbols so old they predated language itself, glowing with power that made her bones hum.
The Dao Gate.
It appeared above them like the entrance to heaven itself, a massive doorway framed in light and scripture, pulsing with the rhythm of creation.
Zhao Ling'er and the man began to rise.
They were lifted by something else entirely. Resonance. Harmony. Their joined presence formed a truth so complete that the world had no choice but to acknowledge it.
The natural world responded.
Qi erupted through the clouds in visible waves. The jade mountains bowed, their peaks tilting toward the ascending pair like subjects before royalty. Floating islands stilled in midair, their rotation ceasing out of respect. Cherry blossom petals stormed upward by the thousands, as if the Dao itself had bloomed.
Zhao Ling'er looked down.
Her eyes met Celine's.
She smiled.
Not the cold, perfect smile of a Sword Immortal. Not the mask of someone who had severed their humanity. Just a woman who had found what she was looking for.
They ascended hand in hand through the Dao Gate.
The light swallowed them whole.
The gate dissolved after they passed, its purpose fulfilled.
Silence returned.
Celine stood alone on the mountaintop, tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving with emotions she couldn't name.
But the vision didn't end.
It deepened.
Time slowed around her. The air shimmered like heat rising from stone. The clouds folded inward like pages turning in a book, and suddenly she was seeing backward, watching history unfold in reverse.
The world shifted.
Zhao Ling'er appeared again, but younger this time. Her robes were simpler, less refined. Her sword was plainer, unadorned. Her eyes were colder, filled with ambition and nothing else.
The setting changed.
A bamboo grove materialized around Celine. Rain fell softly, tapping against the leaves with a gentle rhythm. The air smelled of wet earth and green growth.
The man appeared.
He was kneeling on the ground, cleaning Zhao Ling'er's sword with a soft cloth. His movements were careful, reverent, as if the blade were made of glass instead of steel.
Zhao Ling'er stood nearby, back turned, staring into the rain.
She didn't acknowledge him. Didn't look at him. Didn't speak.
He might as well have been invisible.
The scene shifted.
Celine watched time pass in rapid flashes.
He brewed her tea every morning, the steam rising in perfect spirals.
He repaired her sandals when they wore thin.
He cleared frost from her meditation mat before dawn.
He never spoke unless spoken to. Never asked for anything. Never left.
Seasons passed like moments. Spring became summer became autumn became winter became spring again, and still he stayed, a constant presence in the background of Zhao Ling'er's life.
Then one day, she finally spoke to him.
"Why do you stay?"
Her voice was flat, genuinely curious rather than kind.
The man looked up from where he was tending the garden. He smiled, that same gentle smile Celine had seen before.
"Because you haven't told me to leave."
Something in Zhao Ling'er's expression shifted. Not much. Just a flicker. A crack in the ice.
Time moved forward again.
Celine watched as Zhao Ling'er's cultivation continued, but the direction changed. She was no longer erasing emotion with surgical precision. She was searching for something. Meaning. Purpose. Something beyond the endless pursuit of perfection.
She began to write poems.
She laughed at something the man said while they ate dinner.
She sat beside him in comfortable silence, watching the sunset.
One night, under a sky full of stars, Zhao Ling'er spoke quietly.
"I've spent my entire life chasing ascension. I thought that was the only path worth walking. But now I don't know if I'm chasing immortality or just running away from being mortal."
The man said nothing, just listened.
"I think I'm starting to chase something else," she continued. "I don't know what to call it yet."
"Meaning," the man suggested.
"Maybe."
They began practicing together.
Not master and servant. Partners.
Their cultivation was no longer based on detachment and severance. It was built on emotion. Imagination. Shared belief. The idea that two people together could forge a path that neither could walk alone.
This was the birth of something new.
The Heaven Severing Imagination Sword.
It didn't appear as a manual or inheritance. It didn't descend from heaven or emerge from ancient ruins. It formed between them, layer by layer, through shared experience and honest connection.
Celine watched as the first layers awakened.
Heartstroke. A blade that cut through falsehoods and self-deception, leaving only truth behind.
Soulmirror. A technique that reflected pain back to its source, not as punishment but as invitation to heal.
Echo Severance. A strike that severed attachments to past failures, anchoring the practitioner in the present moment.
The training continued.
Celine watched them practice beneath waterfalls, during storms, on floating peaks that drifted through clouds. Sometimes they trained with swords. Sometimes through honest conversation. Each layer awakened through understanding, not violence.
Ten layers became twenty.
Twenty became fifty.
Fifty became ninety-nine.
Each layer represented a truth they'd discovered together. Each one was a chapter in their shared story.
Then came the final breakthrough.
Zhao Ling'er stood once more on her sacred mountain, the same peak where Celine had first seen her. But this time, the man stood beside her as an equal. Their souls had transcended while their bodies remained mortal, a paradox that shouldn't have been possible but was.
Zhao Ling'er spoke, her voice carrying across the realm.
"I understand now. Ascension doesn't require severing love. It requires embracing it completely. The Dao isn't about becoming less human. It's about becoming fully yourself."
Two swords appeared in their hands.
Not summoned. Not forged. They simply existed, manifested from memory and shared truth. The blades glowed with soft light, humming with power that felt alive.
Together, they struck the air.
Not violently. Not as an attack. As an act of completion. A final punctuation mark on a sentence that had taken lifetimes to write.
The hundredth layer awakened.
The Dao Gate formed again.
This time it was wider. Slower. More luminous. It opened like a flower blooming at the speed of meditation, revealing depths that hurt to perceive.
They rose together as a unified truth.
The heavens responded with music, not thunder. A harmony that resonated through every mountain, every cloud, every particle of qi in the realm.
They vanished into the stars.
Their immortality was achieved not by discarding their humanity, but by honoring it.
The vision released Celine.
She collapsed onto the stone, not from grief but from resonance. Something ancient poured into her soul like molten gold being poured into a mold. Light fell around her like ash from a divine forge, settling into her skin, her bones, her heart.
Three truths took root within her.
She could feel them forming, crystallizing, becoming part of who she was.
The Dao of the Sword. Clarity of intent. Becoming your own edge. The understanding that a blade was just metal until someone gave it purpose.
The Dao of Emotion. Vulnerability. Connection. The courage to feel without flinching, to love without armor, to grieve without shame.
The Dao of Imagination. The belief that the world was unfinished. That meaning could be shaped. That two people holding hands could forge a path to heaven.
These three threads wove themselves into her being, becoming inseparable from her essence.
A sigil formed beneath her feet.
Ancient symbols arranged in a perfect circle, glowing with the same light that had filled the Dao Gate.
Zhao Ling'er appeared again.
Not as she had been before, cold and distant, but as she was now. Ascended. Serene. Gentle. Her form was translucent, more idea than flesh, but her presence was undeniable.
"You understand," Zhao Ling'er said. Not a question. A confirmation.
Celine nodded, unable to speak.
"The sword is a living path," Zhao Ling'er continued. "Not a technique to be memorized, but a story to be written with each breath. You've seen the foundation. Now I'll teach you the first layer."
She moved closer, her form shifting with each step like light through water.
"Heartstroke. A blade that cuts self-doubt and shame. It leaves no wound except truth. Watch."
Zhao Ling'er's hand moved in a slow, deliberate arc. Not fast. Not powerful. Just precise. Her fingers traced a pattern in the air that looked almost like calligraphy.
"The motion is simple. The intent is everything. You're not cutting at an enemy. You're cutting at the lies you tell yourself. The fears that hold you back. The voice that says you're not enough."
She guided Celine's hand, positioning her fingers, adjusting her stance.
"Now try."
Celine took a breath.
She remembered her mother's funeral. Standing alone while everyone whispered about succession and duty. The moment she decided she would never let anyone see her weak again.
She moved.
Her hand traced the same arc Zhao Ling'er had shown her. Not with a physical blade, but with intent alone.
Something cut.
Not flesh. Not air. Something deeper.
A weight she'd been carrying since she was six years old fell away like chains breaking.
Celine gasped.
Zhao Ling'er smiled. "Good. That's the first step."
She began to fade, her form dissolving like morning mist.
"Remember this," Zhao Ling'er said, her voice growing distant. "Strength is not the same as wholeness. You can be powerful and still be broken. True cultivation requires both."
She was almost gone now, just an outline of light.
"Never sever yourself to gain power. Never abandon who you are to become something greater."
The last traces of her presence vanished.
Celine stood alone on the mountaintop.
The three Daos shimmered within her, visible to her inner sight. Threads of light woven through her soul, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She smiled through her tears.
She understood now.
She would become strong. Strong enough to protect the people she cared about. Strong enough to stand at her father's side. Strong enough to face whatever came next.
But not by discarding herself.
Never again.
The book pulsed in her hands, warm and alive, and suddenly she was falling backward through light.
The alcove reformed around her.
The obsidian table. The velvet chairs. The floating lanterns.
Her cold tea sat exactly where the golem had left it.
Celine stared at the book in her trembling hands, her cheeks wet with tears she didn't remember crying.
She'd only read the prologue.
The story was just beginning.
And somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that when she opened the book again, it would show her something different. Something new. Another layer. Another truth.
Because that's what the Heaven Severing Imagination Sword was.
Not a technique.
A journey.
And she'd just taken the first step.