Sword intent.
Gu Chengming turned the phrase over in his mind — the one that had just tumbled out of Ren Wencai's mouth.
He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with it.
He remembered that Elder Ren had mentioned before that his sword already showed the embryonic form of sword intent — and had apparently said the same about Li Mozi as well.
Thinking about it now, this so-called "sword intent" was probably the cultivation world's measuring stick for gauging the level of a sword cultivator — much like how the First and Second Realms ranked raw cultivation, sword intent, sword force, sword-heart… these were likely the tiers used to rank the depth of one's swordsmanship.
"What a shame…"
Gu Chengming lamented inwardly.
Back when he'd been playing the game Immortal Gate, he'd spent all his time studying romance routes and admiring character art. The background lore and combat systems he'd skipped through almost entirely.
If only he'd known he'd end up living inside the thing, he would have committed those millions of words of game text to memory.
He reined in his wandering thoughts. Sword in hand, he pressed his fist to his palm in a respectful salute, his tone sincere:
"Master, would you be willing to enlighten me — what exactly is the profundity of sword intent? And how should a disciple judge whether he has truly… attained it?"
Ren Wencai blinked. A flash of startlement crossed his face, quickly replaced by an expression of thoroughly complicated strangeness.
"You…"
Ren Wencai opened his mouth, looked at Gu Chengming's utterly earnest face, and found himself at a complete loss for words.
He didn't even know what sword intent was. He didn't have so much as a working concept of it — and he'd stumbled into it anyway?
If word got out, there wasn't a sword cultivator in the world who wouldn't shatter their own Dao-heart on the spot.
Ren Wencai found his mind drifting back to many years ago — to the day he had first entered Huiyuan Gate as a new disciple. The sect master of the previous generation had ruffled his hair and spoken to him in a tone he still remembered.
You must remember: every Great Path in this world demands talent — alchemy, talisman craft, artifact forging, formation arrays, all of them. Except for the sword. The sword is the most reasonable path, and the most unreasonable path.
Ten years of bitter training might make you a master, but bitter training alone will never be enough to become a true master — never enough to cultivate sword intent.
Sword cultivation, like every other path, demands talent. But at least with the sword, there's always hope.
The young Ren Wencai had fancied himself extraordinarily gifted. He'd heard those words, but hadn't felt their full weight.
Later, when he became an elder himself — having witnessed countless dazzling geniuses and countless diligent mediocrities — he'd believed he truly understood the gravity of the word "talent."
But today, watching Gu Chengming, he realized his understanding had always been shallow.
Ren Wencai gathered his thoughts, exhaled slowly, and began to explain.
"Sword intent is something elusive and difficult to describe. An ordinary sword strike injures the body and severs the form. A sword strike imbued with sword intent injures the spirit and severs the will."
"When you draw your sword, you are no longer shackled by the cage of technique, no longer constrained by the measure of your spiritual energy — instead, you impose your will upon your opponent. The wind stops at your command. The clouds part for you. Your opponent falters before the fight even begins, already in your grip…"
"That is sword intent."
Gu Chengming listened, and understanding broke over him like dawn.
So it's just that strikes start carrying bonus effects, he thought to himself.
In that case, it did seem like he'd actually cultivated sword intent.
"The fact that you could grasp it to this extent means you have truly crossed the threshold. This Clinging sword intent of yours may not excel at raw killing, but in battle, it has a way of leaving your opponents unable to bring their strength to bear. Used well, fighting above your realm is no pipe dream."
"This is a good thing."
Having confirmed his disciple's capabilities, Ren Wencai was visibly satisfied. He turned and reached toward the interior of the room with one hand.
"Hmmm—"
With a faint ripple of space, an ash-grey, thoroughly unremarkable storage pouch fell into his palm. But the spiritual light flowing across its surface was far denser than that of an ordinary storage pouch, and upon closer inspection, its every inch was covered in layer upon layer of intricately carved restriction runes.
"Take it."
Ren Wencai extended the pouch toward Gu Chengming. His tone was casual, but the hand gripping the pouch was conspicuously deliberate:
"Inside, there are some things you may find useful."
"A few advanced cultivation methods suited to a sword cultivator of your… particular style. And some treasured artifacts I either obtained during my wandering years or personally forged."
"However, to prevent you from biting off more than you can chew — or from picking fights just because you've got a shiny weapon — I've placed several restrictions on it."
Ren Wencai tapped the runes on the pouch.
"The first layer of restrictions can be opened right now. What's inside is sufficient to carry you through the early stage of the Second Realm."
"Once your cultivation advances and you break through to the Second Realm's mid-stage, the subsequent restrictions will unseal themselves."
Gu Chengming accepted the pouch with both hands. The weight of it surprised him. He hesitated, then couldn't help himself:
"These methods and artifacts… wouldn't it be better if, once my cultivation has reached the appropriate level, you were to bestow them upon me yourself?"
Handing everything over in one go with preset unlock conditions — no matter how he looked at it, this felt like someone… putting their affairs in order.
Or preparing to leave on a very long journey with no clear return date.
Ren Wencai seemed to read the thought on his face, and said:
"The inner sect is not like the outer sect — more rules, more trouble."
"Now that you've cultivated sword intent, your entry into the inner sect is a foregone conclusion. Per sect regulations, inner sect disciples are required, after a period of rest within the sect, to accept missions from the sect, descend the mountain, and go out to temper themselves in the mortal world."
"The Great Qian Dynasty is in an unstable period right now, with demons and monsters stirring. Your time out there could be as short as half a year, or as long as three to five years — there's no telling."
At this point, Ren Wencai paused.
"And besides… your master, recently, has some old business that needs settling."
"A long road lies ahead of me, and when I'll return is hard to say."
"I am afraid that if you encounter difficulties out there — or reach a bottleneck in your cultivation — and I am not around, it might delay your progress."
"So it is better to prepare in advance."
Old business?
Something stirred in Gu Chengming's mind. He thought of the news he'd seen at the Myriad Wonders Assembly — the report about Yunyue Sect's Liu Changfeng being ambushed and roughed up by a "bandit cultivator." He thought of Yu Wenqiu's oblique mention of a disciple from the past. He thought of the unreadable expressions the other elders wore whenever this Elder Ren's name came up.
He asked no further questions.
"One more thing."
Ren Wencai seemed to recall something. "The methods and artifacts in that pouch — I handpicked every one of them. Especially the artifacts. Most of them are matched sets, coordinated with corresponding techniques."
"If you find any of them beneath you, or can't get used to them, leaving them to gather dust in a corner is fine."
"But if you ever think about selling them — do not break up the sets! And do not just casually hand them off to some pawnshop that doesn't know what it's looking at!"
Gu Chengming's heart gave a little lurch.
That tone. That expression. And the very clear unspoken subtext of don't let outsiders find out where these came from…
"Elder Ren…" Gu Chengming swallowed carefully and ventured, "These wouldn't happen to be… spoils from your days as a heroic vigilante, would they?"
It wasn't an unreasonable suspicion. After all, Elder Ren's talent for ambushing people with a sack over their head was a matter of public record, and his furtive manner now made it very hard not to think of the word "fence stolen goods." If they really were stolen property, and one day out in the world he produced one and the original victim recognised it…
"These are completely above-board treasures!"
Ren Wencai had apparently caught the implication and shot back with a huff:
"What I mean is, these things are matched sets! Do you understand what a matched set is?!"
"If you don't know what you're selling and break them apart for loose change, that is wasting a fortune! That is casting pearls before swine!"
"If someone genuinely wants them, make sure to sell the matching pieces together, and bleed them dry — ahem — open a fair and reasonably high asking price!"
Hearing this, Gu Chengming let out a breath of relief.
Not stolen goods. Good.
"All right. Everything that needed to be said has been said."
Ren Wencai waved a hand, as though setting down a great burden. The tension eased visibly from his entire frame:
"Now that you've cultivated sword intent, the Second Realm isn't as crucial a milestone for you as it once was. Rules are rules, but people have flexibility. Sword intent is a better key than any level of cultivation."
"Take these next few days to go back and rest properly — consolidate your realm, and familiarize yourself with your new capabilities."
"In a few days, when the sect master returns from his travels, I will personally take you to the Sect Affairs Hall to light your soul lamp and formalize your standing as an inner sect disciple."
"Yes, Master. This disciple obeys."
"Off with you. Off with you."
Ren Wencai flicked his wrist in dismissal, and without looking at Gu Chengming again, he settled back into his rattan chair, closed his eyes, and looked rather tired.
Gu Chengming straightened, took one last look at this master of his — normally frivolous to the point of embarrassment, yet unfailingly steady when it truly counted — turned, and slipped quietly out of the courtyard.
The gate creaked shut behind him.
The moment it did, Ren Wencai — who had appeared to be resting — slowly opened his eyes.
He listened to those footsteps fading into the distance. His gaze drifted through the courtyard wall and out toward the sea of clouds.
The sun was setting, painting the cloud layer a deep, blood-red.
"At last… everything is in order."
Ren Wencai murmured to himself, his voice barely a breath: "Yuan Qing, Yuan Qing… this time, your old master didn't read the situation wrong, did he?"
He reached into his robe and drew out a soul-jade — long since shattered, its light dead and cold. It was the one that disciple had left behind decades ago, when he departed.
Ren Wencai rubbed the broken jade between his fingers. A flicker of release crossed his eyes. Then his palm closed, gently but with finality.
Crack. The jade crumbled to powder and scattered on the wind.
"Whether it brings fortune or calamity — the road has been laid. The rest… is up to his own fate."
He exhaled long and slow, as though setting down something that had weighed on his chest for years.
The mountain wind rose abruptly, scattering fallen petals across the ground.
In the small courtyard, an old man poured himself a cup of wine alone, raised it toward the dying sun, and drank it down in a single draught.
---
Night had deepened. The moon hung at the apex of the sky.
After returning from Elder Ren Wencai's quarters, Gu Chengming did not rush to sleep. Instead, he sat beneath the old locust tree in the courtyard, using the moonlight to wipe down the Tinglan Sword in his hands.
Ren Wencai's parting words, and that storage pouch — both had left him with more feeling than he expected.
The cultivation path was long. To encounter a teacher who would shelter you along the way — that was a genuine stroke of fortune.
Just as his mind was beginning to settle and he was about to head inside, a set of measured, deliberate footsteps stopped outside his courtyard gate.
No knock. No voice. Only a solemn, mountain-like presence that seeped slowly in through the gap beneath the gate.
Something stirred in Gu Chengming's chest — he had sensed this presence not long ago, at the Mirror-Bright Stage.
He rose quickly and walked to the gate, lifting the latch.
Standing outside was the man known across Wenjian Sect as the "Black-Faced God" — the famously iron-handed overseer of the sect's penal code: Kong Zheng.
Tonight, Kong Zheng wore none of the elaborate ceremonial robes that marked his station as a peak master. Instead, he was dressed in a simple garment of dark cloth, his jade crown absent, his hair bound only by a plain wooden pin. Without the suffocating pressure he usually radiated, there was still something carved into his very bones — a rigidity and gravity that no amount of casual dress could conceal.
"Elder Kong."
Gu Chengming was mildly surprised. He stepped aside and bowed quickly: "To have you visit so late, and without the disciple being there to receive you at the door — please, Elder, come in."
Kong Zheng gave a small nod. His gaze swept over Gu Chengming once; that perpetually taut face relaxed, by a fraction: "Did I interrupt your cultivation?"
"Not at all, Elder. I was just about to brew some tea — you've arrived at exactly the right moment."
The two of them settled at the stone table. Gu Chengming brewed a fresh pot, and respectfully set a cup before Kong Zheng.
Kong Zheng accepted the cup but did not drink. He watched the tea leaves rise and fall in the cup, silent for a long moment, before he finally spoke.
"Today at the Mirror-Bright Stage — the world you constructed within the Interrogation of the Heart illusion… I have spent much time, since returning, turning it over in my mind."
He lifted his gaze. Those deep eyes fixed on Gu Chengming directly — probing, and faintly puzzled:
"Ruler and subject, each in their place. Father and son, each fulfilling their role. Every person knowing their position, every action guided by propriety — this is indeed the Great Path of Confucian governance, and the legal philosophy championed by the Great Qian Dynasty."
"But… there is one thing I cannot resolve."
Kong Zheng set down his teacup. He leaned forward slightly, and that air of pressure returned:
"Strict law can certainly bring order to the realm. But the human heart is treacherous — the most unfathomable thing in this world. What if someone harbors private ambition, who claims to uphold propriety but secretly subverts the law? What if the rites exist only on the surface, never truly entering the blood and bone? Then what?"
What troubled Kong Zheng was the boundary between Law and Heart. He had cultivated a sword of Legalism, yet upheld the rites of Confucianism. Half a lifetime spent enforcing the law, punishing the wicked — yet he had always sensed that the human heart was ungovernable. Law might be strict, but it could bind the body, not the mind. Statutes might be fine-grained, but they could restrain behavior, not desire.
Gu Chengming knew well that the Confucianism of this world had drifted heavily toward the Cheng-Zhu school — the "preserve Heavenly Principle, extinguish human desire" doctrine, emphasizing the investigation of things as a means of reaching outward toward Heavenly Principle. Kong Zheng's dilemma lay exactly there.
Kong Zheng's concern was with the Law — that Heaven and Earth had their constants, that rules were the square and compass by which to shape the world, that unchecked human desire required strict law to contain it, heavy codes to cure it, and only then could propriety be restored.
Gu Chengming listened to the full argument, then set aside all talk of codes and regulations, and instead spoke directly:
In the original substance of the mind, there is neither good nor evil. Good and evil arise when the will stirs. Knowing good and knowing evil is the innate moral knowledge. Acting on good and removing evil is the investigation of things.
Kong Zheng's brow furrowed. It felt almost like heresy — yet at the same time, he found the sharp division between good and evil that he had always upheld suddenly dissolving, converging into something unified within those four lines.
What he had always believed was "knowledge precedes action" — that one must first exhaustively investigate all principles under Heaven before one could act in accordance with them. And so he had buried himself in legal texts and case records, striving to know deeply before daring to act precisely.
But Gu Chengming said instead: Knowing is the beginning of action; action is the completion of knowing. The two cannot be separated into different things. If a man truly knows but does not act, it means he does not truly know.
And so the doctrine of the Unity of Knowledge and Action was laid out between them.
Knowing is where action begins; action is where knowing reaches fulfillment. When you truly understand this, speaking of knowing already contains action; speaking of action already contains knowing. As when drinking water — only the drinker knows if it is cold or warm. As when seeing something beautiful — the seeing itself is the delight. As when smelling something foul — the smelling itself is the aversion. That is true knowing. That is true action.
The reason men split knowledge and action into two separate things is because private desire stands between them. It is easy to root out the bandits in the mountains. It is hard to root out the bandit in the heart.
The law can restrain the exterior. Only extending innate moral knowledge can correct the root.
When the heart is like a clear mirror, untainted by a single speck of dust, then all things that come before it are met in their proper order, and one becomes impartially open to all.
At that point, there is no need to consciously observe propriety — every movement naturally accords with it. No need to consciously follow the law — every word and deed naturally falls within its measure.
This is what it means to follow the heart's desire without transgressing what is right.
When he finished, the room fell silent.
[The Zhouli Heavenly Harmony Righteous Heart Method, upon first hearing the doctrine that "mind is principle," nearly moved to denounce it as wild heresy — then, after reflection, found it held considerable substance.]
[The longer it listened, the more astonished it became. It had always known only how to govern others through rites, never how to verify the Way through the heart. Today, for the first time, it understood the true meaning of "returning to propriety through self-mastery" — which lies not in the body, but in the heart.]
[Zhouli Heavenly Harmony Righteous Heart Method affection rating +10]
[Current affection rating: 28 / Acquaintance]
Watching that affection rating surge, Gu Chengming felt a wave of quiet assurance.
He knew well that philosophical discourse had to proceed step by step. Say something too far ahead of what the method was ready to hear, and the Zhouli Heavenly Harmony Righteous Heart Method would dismiss it as the ravings of a madman. The current depth seemed to be exactly right.
The same principle applied to the elder sitting before him.
After a long silence, Kong Zheng finally returned to himself.
He slowly set down the teacup — long since gone cold — and said nothing. He simply rose to his feet, and, facing Gu Chengming, performed a deeply deliberate salute of equals.
It was a bow that had nothing to do with cultivation rank. It was a bow for hearing the Way.
Gu Chengming hastily stood and returned the bow, not daring to be negligent.
Kong Zheng straightened. Across that perpetually taut, dark face, something appeared that had rarely — perhaps never — been seen there before: a faint smile of release.
Then he turned his wrist over, and in his palm appeared a token forged entirely from black iron, radiating a chill, stern aura.
The token was long and narrow, carved around its edges with the image of a prison-beast swallowing the gate. On its face were engraved the two characters "Penal Code." On its reverse, a single ancient, vigorous character: "Qian."
It was not a standard Wenjian Sect token.
"Take this."
Kong Zheng extended the token toward Gu Chengming. His voice remained stiff, but the high-handedness had retreated — in its place was a measure of expectation:
"This is a token of the Great Qian Criminal Law Hall, Punishment Division."
"In my early years… I held a post under the Great Qian. There is some goodwill remaining between us."
"Now that you have entered the inner sect, you will inevitably go to train in the Great Qian. The official circles of the Great Qian are a tangled web — the waters run deep. But as long as you are there to investigate a case, or if you become entangled in some legal dispute, this token will allow you to directly access historical penal records and case notes from every dynasty — and to act with authority in certain situations — saving you a great deal of unnecessary trouble."
Gu Chengming's heart gave a jolt.
A token of the Great Qian Criminal Law Hall's Punishment Division?
This was no ordinary keepsake. The Great Qian governed by law — even inner sect disciples of major sects, and sometimes even direct-lineage disciples, ended up acting like well-behaved guests when they went to the Great Qian. With something like this, half of one's troubles would simply cease to exist.
He found himself puzzling over how an elder of a cultivation sect could possess a Great Qian token carrying such real authority.
And from his tone, it seemed his standing within the Great Qian was not low at all.
But then again — Wenjian Sect and the Great Qian were closely intertwined. Guizang Gate disciples could walk straight into government positions. That the master of the Enforcement Hall should concurrently hold a post in the Great Qian seemed, on reflection, perfectly plausible.
"I would not decline a gift from one's elder."
Gu Chengming accepted the token with both hands. It was ice-cold and heavy. A faint killing aura seeped up through his fingertips, and the Demon-Binding Sword Formula within him gave an involuntary shudder — clearly recognizing something of its own nature.
"Many thanks for Elder Kong's generous gift! This disciple will make good use of this token, and will not fail your trust."
"Mm."
Kong Zheng gave a single nod, seeming disinclined to speak of his own past. The forbidding air settled back around him:
"Since the discourse is concluded, I will not linger."
"Your words — I will need to turn them over carefully when I return. If you encounter a tangle in the Great Qian that you cannot unravel, bring this token to a man named Kong En at the capital's Ministry of Punishment — he will help you."
With that, Kong Zheng did not wait to be seen out. He swept his wide sleeves, and his figure dissolved into a streak of light, vanishing into the night.
---
The main peak of Wenjian Sect. The golden-roofed great hall at its summit.
The sea of clouds churned. Nine bell strikes rolled out across the mountains — a sound reserved only for the return of the sect master.
Within the hall, hundreds of whale-oil ever-burning lamps blazed until the space was bright as noon.
On the ceiling, star charts revolved slowly, projecting a vast and unfathomable pressure downward.
A middle-aged man in Daoist robes stood at the center of the high dais, hands clasped behind his back.
He appeared to be no more than forty years of age, though both temples had already gone white. He was Wenjian Sect's reigning sect master — Shen Qianqiu.
Below the dais, arranged in two rows on either side, stood the peak masters and senior elders who held real power within the sect.
The atmosphere was not as relaxed as usual. A heavy solemnity permeated the air.
Several years earlier, Sect Master Shen Qianqiu had been traveling in the bitter cold of the extreme north when he had observed an anomalous celestial phenomenon — a relic site left behind by an ancient powerful expert. The site was called Tianque, and rumor held that within it lay an incomparable opportunity.
But great opportunity rarely came without great peril. The space around Tianque was riven with chaotic spatial currents — one careless step and you were dead and your path extinguished. Furthermore, the window for entering it was extremely brief. Miss it, and the next chance was a hundred years away.
Everyone present had already been briefed on this matter. That included Ren Wencai, who had been stranded at the peak of the Fourth Realm for over a century.
In the crowd, Ren Wencai unconsciously rubbed at his cuff.
Peak of the Fourth Realm — one step from the summit, and yet that step was a chasm. His life force was approaching its limit; his blood was growing thin.
If he did not gamble now, this lifetime would almost certainly end right here — scattered into a handful of dust.
It was precisely for this reason that he had worked so urgently, in the time before his departure, to lay the road smooth for Gu Chengming.
Some among the elders voiced concern about Ren Wencai undertaking this journey — pointing out that Huiyuan Gate was currently held together by him alone, that if something went wrong, that entire lineage would be cut off, and that he had only just taken on Gu Chengming and had not yet seen him come to anything. Setting out for Tianque before then seemed hasty.
But Ren Wencai appeared remarkably unbothered. He could see how rapidly Gu Chengming was advancing — if he himself did not seek a breakthrough soon, within a few years he would no longer have the capacity to teach him anything at all.
Rather than sit and wait for death, he would far rather gamble for the sliver of chance at the Fifth Realm. If it worked, he could come back and shelter his disciple from the wind and rain. If it didn't — he had already arranged his affairs, and he trusted that Gu Chengming had the resourcefulness to stand on his own two feet within the sect.
In the end, the roster for Tianque was finalized.
Besides Sect Master Shen Qianqiu himself, Ren Wencai, Zhao Wuji, and two other elders who had spent years bottlenecked at the same barrier were also on the list.
The great golden-roofed hall. Candles burning low.
As the elders departed one by one, the hall returned to silence.
Only the churning sound of the cloud-sea outside, interspersed with the occasional cry of a crane, drifted in faintly through the latticed windows.
Shen Qianqiu stood alone on the high dais, in no hurry to retreat to the inner hall to rest.
Hands behind his back, his gaze passed through the open hall doors and came to rest on the scattered pinpricks of light in the outer sect's district, far in the distance.
That was Wenjian Sect's foundation — the place where countless disciples still toiling in the valley, dreaming of one day soaring skyward, made their home.
He might be the sect master, but he was, in truth, a man of remarkably attentive disposition.
Years earlier, moved by the difficulty of the outer sect disciples' cultivation path — knowing that those without strong resolve often gave up halfway — he had drawn on his own insights into the way of the divine soul and casually devised a small technique he named the Myriad Mysteries Convergence Method.
The technique's name spoke of "convergence," but it contained no profound mysteries. It simply used the principle of divine-soul resonance to instill in those who practiced it a psychological suggestion — a sense that "I am not walking this path alone," "everyone is cultivating together" — thereby steadying their Dao-heart and dispersing the loneliness.
He had not signed his name to it. He had simply had the merit hall mix it in with the standard foundational techniques and distribute it, treating it as a quiet, idle move on the board.
"I wonder how that technique is faring in the outer sect these days."
The memory rose, and with it a stirring of curiosity.
Since he was about to depart on a long journey, taking one last look at the seed he had planted all those years ago seemed like a fitting farewell.
If the results were satisfactory, he could have someone expand its distribution upon his return — a small gift of good fortune to the sect.
The thought decided him. Shen Qianqiu wasted no further time.
He settled cross-legged onto a meditation cushion, closed his eyes slowly, and — drawing on the thread of original-source perception he had embedded when he created the technique — let his divine sense flow out like a silken tendril, vaulting across the inner sect's layered restrictions in an instant and spreading out over the vast outer sect disciple population.
And then, in the next moment.
Shen Qianqiu felt a "boom" in his mind, and nearly fell clean off the cushion.
In his original design, the Myriad Mysteries Convergence Method was meant to be a sparse, faint net — disciples within it would perceive only a vague resonance, like looking at flowers through a fog, present yet barely there.
What he sensed now was an enormous, independent realm — one that existed apart from the material world.
— Who on earth has gone and completely overhauled my Myriad Mysteries Convergence Method?!
Shen Qianqiu's mental alarm bells rang at full volume.
Could this be an enemy incursion? A demonic cultivator or monster who had infiltrated the sect, using this technique to harvest the disciples' divine-soul energy?
As sect master, his first instinct was the safety of the sect.
No time to deliberate. His vast divine sense poured into the Myriad Wonders Assembly.
Countless points of light drifted and collided within the space, and at the center of them all, suspended in the air, were several enormous… boards? Constructed from condensed divine thought?
Shen Qianqiu steadied his mind, suppressed his roiling emotions, and looked carefully.
He saw, in the most prominent position, a "post" currently blazing red-hot with activity.
[Rational Discussion: Is Gu Chengming a pearl cast before swine in Huiyuan Gate? Can Elder Ren — ahem, Elder Ren — actually teach him properly? Honestly, he'd be better off coming to our Qingfeng Gate.]
Shen Qianqiu: "…"
He stared at that title. The corners of his mouth twitched twice, involuntarily.
He bore with it and clicked in, guiding his divine sense.
The poster had clearly come prepared — they had laid out in sweeping detail the many virtues of Qingfeng Gate, from Elder Zhao Wuji's steady and reliable sword style, to Qingfeng Gate's enviable geographic position, to the meticulous care it showed its disciples, and finally arrived at the conclusion:
— A world-class genius like Gu Chengming was rotting away in the declining Huiyuan Gate. Only Qingfeng Gate was a worthy home for someone of his caliber.
But what had actually set the post ablaze was not this argument at all. It was the replies shooting it down.
[Qingfeng Gate? Zhao Wuji? You lot clearly haven't heard — back when Elder Zhao went into the Netherworld Secret Realm, a Third Realm demon beast chased him all over the mountain, and in the end Elder Ren had to turn back and bail him out before he could even save face.]
[And let's talk about that sect competition several hundred years ago. Elder Zhao swore up and down he'd take the championship, then when he was fighting a senior sister from Daoning Gate, he couldn't bring himself to strike hard, and got knocked clean off the stage himself. Didn't even make the top sixteen.]
[Also — Qingfeng Gate is buried under snow year-round. And you have the nerve to call that "an enviable geographic position"?]
Every one of these replies, while naming no names, displayed an encyclopedic familiarity with Zhao Wuji's history of embarrassments that would have put Zhao Wuji himself to shame.
At last, the poster cracked.
[Ren Wencai! I knew it was you! That thread last time about 'Is Zhao Wuji the number-one figure of his generation' — that was you underneath being sarcastic too!]
[Oh? Who's getting upset now? I am merely an anonymous passerby who finds Qingfeng Gate's poaching tactics disagreeable. What — only Qingfeng Gate is allowed to try to steal disciples, but passers-by aren't allowed to say a fair word in response?]
Shen Qianqiu withdrew from the thread.
Having more or less guessed the identities of the two people trading insults in there, he felt a helpless sort of resignation.
Still. After this thorough investigation, the anxiety that had been clenching in his chest finally eased.
Harmless. Entirely harmless.
Strange as it appeared on the surface, the underlying logic of this thing was, in fact, remarkably sophisticated.
It had taken the original resonance mechanism of the Myriad Mysteries Convergence Method and built from it a vast network of divine thought — one that allowed disciples to exchange insights, circulate news, and even vent their feelings. And that kind of divine-thought interaction was itself an excellent method of refining the divine soul.
"This… this is really the same technique I originally created?"
Shen Qianqiu was the sect master. He considered himself to be of towering cultivation and broad experience.
Yet looking at this today, he realized that before the eyes of whoever had "mysteriously overhauled" this technique, he was little more than a student who had just walked in the door.
"Could it be some reclusive Grand Elder who had finally, in exasperation, decided to secretly fix my clumsy handiwork?"
Shen Qianqiu mused inwardly.
"Though it's different from what I intended… the results are undeniably more beneficial than harmful."
Shen Qianqiu shook his head with a rueful smile.
"Forget it. Forget it."
"Since this is the work of a senior and a master hand — I'll pretend I never saw it."
---
The following morning.
Word had reached Yu Wenqiu somehow that Gu Chengming had advanced to the First Realm, Ninth Layer.
What had begun as a sparring match between peers quickly turned into a one-sided affair as Gu Chengming's sword force bore down with overwhelming completeness. Faced with a gap in ability she simply could not bridge, Yu Wenqiu found herself unable to deploy her usual array of techniques, and was at a disadvantage almost from the first exchange.
Watching this sect-mate whose growth had become almost incomprehensible, Yu Wenqiu's feelings were complicated — both awed by the sheer speed of his progress, and quietly moved by the gulf that had opened between them.
Even so, she showed the openness of a true sword cultivator. She did not dwell on the result. When she saw the gap clearly, she sheathed her sword and stepped back — accepting defeat with composure and without fuss.
Before Gu Chengming had even finished catching his breath, Ren Wencai came rushing over in a hurry.
He looked at his disciple's aura — full and rounded — and gave a satisfied nod, then declared he was taking him to light his soul lamp.
The golden-roofed great hall at the summit.
The main peak was unusually lively today. Through the churning sea of clouds, several beams of light descended one after another.
By rights, a disciple being admitted to the inner sect was a simple formality — go to the Sect Affairs Hall, have the duty clerk light the soul lamp, and that was that.
But today's affair had taken on a rather different scale. Not only was Sect Master Shen Qianqiu himself seated on the high dais, but several senior elders who normally moved like dragons — all head and no tail — had appeared as well.
Most notably, Qingfeng Gate's Zhao Wuji had arrived first. His old face was set in its customary rigid expression, but the look in his eyes — a barely-suppressed urgency that said "I want to see exactly what trick you're pulling" — was impossible to hide.
Just yesterday, that old schemer Ren Wencai had transmitted a cryptic message saying he was bringing his disciple to light his soul lamp today, and that Zhao Wuji really ought to come and "bear witness, lest he regret it later."
Zhao Wuji genuinely hadn't expected Gu Chengming to advance to the Second Realm so quickly. Was the kid even human?
He didn't quite believe it, but he was curious enough that he'd come anyway.
---
At that moment, footsteps sounded from outside the hall.
Ren Wencai walked in with his hands behind his back, Gu Chengming in his blue robes following a pace behind.
Zhao Wuji probed carefully — then exhaled a long breath.
The tension eased from his frame. He settled back against the chair.
"First Realm, Ninth Layer."
All right. Good. Fine.
Going from the Eighth to the Ninth Layer in half a month was, in itself, shocking enough to make the world shake — but at least it was still within the realm of comprehension. Even so, a small fire of indignation began to kindle in Zhao Wuji's chest.
This man had roused all of them out at the crack of dawn, just to watch his disciple clear a single minor sub-realm?
Wenjian Sect's rules were strict: Second Realm or above, and no inner sect entry before then. The Ninth Layer of the First Realm was close to the Second Realm, certainly — but that final step was often the most impassable chasm of all.
Some disciples got stuck at this juncture for three or five years without making so much as a hairbreadth of progress.
Without the Second Realm, you were still an outer sect disciple.
So Ren Wencai had made a grand spectacle of leading someone all the way up to the golden-roofed great hall, and wanted the sect master himself to light the soul lamp — wasn't that breaking the rules? Wasn't that just showing off?
Up on the high dais, Sect Master Shen Qianqiu's brow had furrowed slightly as well, a flash of puzzlement crossing his eyes.
He appreciated Gu Chengming, and was willing to give Ren Wencai face — but rules were still rules.
"Although Gu Chengming's gifts are exceptional, his cultivation is still young. He has not yet reached the Second Realm. Admitting him to the inner sect now would, I fear, be difficult to justify to the broader membership."
"Sect Master senior brother, Zhao junior brother — there is no need to be hasty. Rules are rules, but people have flexibility."
Ren Wencai gestured back toward Gu Chengming:
"The sect regulations do specify the Second Realm as the threshold for inner sect entry — but there is also an unwritten precedent: any disciple who demonstrates combat ability on par with the Second Realm, upon approval by the elder council, may be admitted on exceptional grounds."
Zhao Wuji nearly laughed in exasperation. Clearing a realm above one's own in combat was fine enough — they'd been prodigies in their youth and had done as much — but the gap between the First Realm Ninth Layer and the Second Realm was a full major realm. Crossing an entire major realm in combat? You're telling me he can do that?
In Zhao Wuji's view, Ren Wencai had simply dragged them all here to show off his disciple. There was nothing more to it.
Gu Chengming was actually somewhat puzzled — Elder Ren had told him that having sword intent was sufficient for direct inner sect entry. Why wasn't he mentioning sword intent at all?
But as he thought about it, the expression on his face shifted into something strange, and he understood.
He knows how to build suspense for maximum effect, Gu Chengming thought. Elder Ren, you are genuinely devious.
At that moment, he felt an unusual gaze settle on him.
Gu Chengming instinctively turned to look.
On the elder's bench to the right, Yu Wenqiu — dressed in her violet robes — was looking his way.
Elder Yu's own expression was, at this moment, rather peculiar.
"…"
Gu Chengming noticed Yu Wenqiu's gaze as well.
Mildly surprised, he thought: Does Elder Yu know I've grasped sword intent? How did she know?
Then he quickly recalled what Yu Wenqiu had mentioned to him previously — the technique she possessed, known as the Clairvoyant Eye.
Ah. That technique sounds quite powerful.
"Ahem."
Just then, Ren Wencai gave a light cough — and finally showed his hand.
"Zhao junior brother, since you don't believe it — why not test my disciple yourself, with your own hands."
"Naturally, you are a senior, and a Fourth Realm sword cultivator — it wouldn't do to bully those younger. So you only need to suppress your cultivation to the early stage of the Second Realm. If he manages to win even a single move off you… please, Zhao junior brother, be the witness who acknowledges that my disciple has the qualifications to enter the inner sect. How does that sound?"
Zhao Wuji did not agree immediately. He narrowed his eyes.
That old schemer — he knew him too well. In situations like this, Ren Wencai was always digging a pit for people to fall into.
But he thought it over, and looked Gu Chengming up and down one more time. Nothing unusual jumped out at him.
Just a fundamentally solid First Realm Ninth Layer.
No matter how he turned it around in his mind, he'd come this far — might as well agree and settle the thing.
If Ren Wencai's old tricks really had trapped him, well — the man had laid the groundwork to build up to something spectacular, so at minimum he owed him a decent meal.
Besides, he genuinely didn't think Gu Chengming could beat him.
At this thought, Zhao Wuji gave a dry chuckle, rose to stand in the center of the great hall, and with one hand behind his back, extended the other toward Gu Chengming in a courteous beckoning gesture:
"Very well. Disciple Gu — please."
"Let your senior uncle see just how much weight this 'on par with the Second Realm' of yours actually carries."
---
Inside the great hall, the spiritual pressure congealed.
Zhao Wuji stood in the center of the floor. The aura around him receded like a tide and in the space of a breath had settled to the early stage of the Second Realm.
He stood with one hand behind his back, the other hand with two fingers raised in a sword gesture, his expression easy — the unhurried composure of an elder guiding a junior.
"Strike."
The two words landed. A breath of wind rose from nowhere.
Gu Chengming did not hesitate for so much as a heartbeat. His footing shifted; his form flowed out like a cloud uncoiling from a peak. In an instant he had closed the distance. His sword came out of its scabbard without sound, its edge angled obliquely, aimed straight for Zhao Wuji's right shoulder.
The strike was not fast. Nor did it carry the force of thunder.
Zhao Wuji's eyelids lifted slightly. Two extended fingers gave a light flick, moving to deflect that incoming edge.
In his estimation, a strike this direct and uncomplicated was riddled with openings. A simple redirect, and Gu Chengming would be completely exposed.
But the moment the finger met the blade.
No clash of metal. Only a soft sound — a "shiss" — like silk being drawn taut and then parting.
Gu Chengming's wrist gave a subtle twist. The Tinglan Sword did not get pushed away. Instead, it followed the line of the deflecting fingertip and wound around it — sliding up along Zhao Wuji's arm.
[Sword Intent (Clinging): activated.]
A flicker stirred between Zhao Wuji's brows.
"There's something to this."
He turned the thought inward, feet unmoving. His body angled aside to let the edge pass, his fingertips shifted again — from a stab to a slash, cutting straight toward the pulse point at Gu Chengming's wrist.
Gu Chengming did not retreat. He pressed forward. His sword moved with his body.
[Bond Activated: Surge.]
The sword's light abruptly accelerated.
What had been a somewhat sluggish attack blossomed, in that one instant, into afterimages.
The Tinglan Sword traced a strange half-arc through the air — dodging Zhao Wuji's slashing strike entirely and then, at a wickedly precise angle, lunging upward in a slash at Zhao Wuji's ribs.
The transition was seamless — as fluid as flowing water, the shift between slow and fast utterly natural.
Zhao Wuji let out a soft sound of surprise and was forced to step back half a pace.
One step back — and then step after step back.
Gu Chengming pressed his advantage without mercy. The sword light fell like rain — but not the rain of a downpour. It was the rain of a long, unending drizzle. Each thrust sought only to graze.
Zhao Wuji felt the air around him beginning to thicken.
At first it was barely noticeable — he had assumed the boy's spiritual energy was simply odd. But after ten exchanges, the sensation had grown unmistakably stronger.
Moving his arm was like moving it through water. Lifting a foot was like lifting it from mud. Every time he gathered energy to strike, it cost him three parts more effort than it should — and that all-pervasive, dragging resistance clung like a bone-deep parasite, impossible to shake.
"What kind of technique is this?"
Zhao Wuji, despite his suppressed realm, still retained the full breadth of his experience.
The sword moves of an ordinary First Realm disciple, no matter how refined, produced only variations in technique. But Gu Chengming's sword was clearly wielding force — weaving an invisible net.
He gave a low bark, and stopped trying to work within that narrow, entangled space.
The spiritual energy in his body surged. From the tip of his two-finger sword-gesture, a sword edge three feet long blazed out and swept outward in a sweeping horizontal slash.
This move was called "Severing the Current." It was designed to break ingenuity with raw power — to crush ten thousand techniques with one.
But Gu Chengming's eyes held not a trace of panic. His sword tip traced a flower in the air, and lightly settled against the incoming edge.
Not a clash. A redirect.
Zhao Wuji felt his gathered force veer sideways — that strike which had been aimed level abruptly plunged downward, beyond his control. In the gap this opened, Gu Chengming's figure flashed aside.
[Surge: layers accumulating.]
The sword light was now seamless — every strike light and glancing, touching and withdrawing in an instant.
Zhao Wuji felt a suffocating stickiness pressing in from every direction. Every punch, every extended finger strike he threw seemed to land in a mass of cotton — not only absorbed, but bounced back at him by the other side's counter-force.
Thirty exchanges. Fifty. Eighty.
In the great hall, a pin could have been heard dropping.
The elders who had been watching with mild amusement now sat forward, spines straight.
They could see it plainly.
On the floor, it was Gu Chengming who had Zhao Wuji on the back foot.
Zhao Wuji had his cultivation suppressed, yes — but what of his decades upon decades of combat experience? And yet here he was, being pinned in place by this fresh-faced young man, through nothing but this relentless, smothering style of fighting.
Zhao Wuji was growing more and more stifled. Just as he was about to pour in more spiritual energy, the energy cut out entirely without warning.
The spiritual pressure that had been massing in his palm collapsed in an instant. The breath he had gathered caught hard in his chest, with nowhere to go.
Why did the spiritual energy suddenly lock up?!
In that split second of lightning and spark.
The wind stopped. Gu Chengming's sword arrived.
The sword tip hovered, motionless, half an inch from the center of Zhao Wuji's brow.
Then Gu Chengming turned his wrist, sheathed his sword, stepped back three paces, and bowed with respect:
"I humbly thank Senior Uncle for letting me win."
Zhao Wuji did not move. He dropped his hands, and snapped his head sharply toward Ren Wencai — who was sitting to one side, teacup in hand, fighting a losing battle against the grin spreading across his face.
Ren Wencai leisurely took a sip of tea. When he felt Zhao Wuji's homicidal gaze, he finally deigned to look up, affecting surprise:
"Oh dear, Zhao junior brother — you were caught off guard, weren't you."
"Well? Did this old man lie about 'on par with the Second Realm'?"
Zhao Wuji looked at Ren Wencai's insufferably smug face and felt his back molars itch. He wanted nothing more than to walk over and dump that cup of tea on the man's head.
You absolute snake, Ren Wencai! I knew you'd been cooking something up!
Zhao Wuji drew a deep breath and pressed down the rage coiling in his chest.
A loss was a loss.
As an elder, to make excuses now would cost him not only face — it would cost him the substance of a peak master's dignity.
"Well played with the Clinging Formula. Well played with that sword intent."
Zhao Wuji let the light fade from his fingertips, and looked at the composed, unruffled young man before him. The anger in his eyes gradually banked, replaced by something far more complex — a genuine, reluctant admiration:
"Elder Ren is right. Your sword intent is fully formed. Without the cultivation of the Second Realm, you already carry the combat power of the Second Realm. The qualifications for inner sect entry — you have earned them without question."
"Many thanks, Senior Uncle." Gu Chengming bowed once more.
Up on the high dais, Sect Master Shen Qianqiu watched the scene unfold, and gave a quiet nod. Genuine appreciation moved through his eyes.
His vantage point was broader than Zhao Wuji's.
That entire sequence of combinations Gu Chengming had just demonstrated — deceptively simple in appearance, all "clinging" and "entangling" — had in truth embodied the subtle principles of yin-yang transformation and using the opponent's force against them. And that final instant of spiritual energy disruption, in particular, had surprised even him.
"In that case — do any of the elders present have objections?"
Shen Qianqiu swept his gaze around the hall, his voice warm but carrying the weight of settled authority.
The other elders, seeing that even Zhao Wuji had conceded, naturally had no opinions to offer. They nodded their approval in a wave.
---
The depths of the Sect Affairs Hall. The Soul Lamp Hall.
This was one of Wenjian Sect's most restricted sanctums. Thousands of ever-burning lamps blazed here, and each lamp flame represented the life and divine soul of one inner sect disciple.
When the lamp lived, the person lived. When the lamp went out, the person was gone.
Following the sect master's guidance, Gu Chengming pressed a drop of his own essence blood into the purple-gold lotus lamp that bore his name.
"Hmmm—"
The moment the blood touched the lamp, it transformed into a mass of crimson-gold flame that surged upward, forming a faint, ethereal connection with Gu Chengming's divine soul.
Shen Qianqiu looked at the vigorous, steady flame, and nodded with satisfaction:
"From this day forward, you are a true inner sect disciple of Wenjian Sect. The sect's honor and its trials are yours to share."
"This disciple understands." Gu Chengming bowed respectfully.
Once the ritual was complete, Shen Qianqiu did not immediately dismiss everyone. He brought Gu Chengming and the core elders to a side hall for a brief discussion.
"Chengming."
Shen Qianqiu settled into his seat; his expression grew somewhat more serious:
"You have entered the inner sect, and you carry sword intent — but you are still lacking in real-world experience."
"Within the sect, we have the mountain-protecting formation and the stationed elders — but it is, in the end, an enclosed place."
"My intention is this: spend three months within the sect to consolidate your realm and familiarize yourself with the inner sect's resources and techniques. After three months, take the sect's letter of passage and descend the mountain. Go to the Great Qian."
"First, to temper yourself in the mortal world and forge your sword-heart. Second, to act as a representative of the sect out in the wider world — deterring those who harbor malicious intent."
"This disciple accepts the order." Gu Chengming assented without hesitation, his voice clear and steady.
With the official business concluded, the atmosphere eased somewhat.
Shen Qianqiu offered a few more words of guidance on the subject of cultivation, then prepared to let everyone disperse.
But at that moment.
Yu Wenqiu — who had been standing in one corner the entire time, seemingly lost in a world of her own — let out a breath that was barely audible.
Elder Yu had troubles enough to drown her.
Gu Chengming was leaving — and going all the way to the distant Great Qian, no less. He'd be gone for years.
What was she going to do about her spiritual sustenance? What was going to happen to the story she'd been following that hadn't finished yet?
And the tens of thousands of words of fanfiction she'd just finished polishing — she hadn't found anyone to discuss it with yet!
Without Gu Chengming, who in this dead, dull inner sect would understand her "master-disciple slow-burn tragedy"? Who was going to sit with her and talk through all those rambling, soaring plot ideas?
Was she really going back to those old days — sleeping, then staring at the ceiling, occasionally going to the Hidden Sword Pavilion to flip through dusty old books?
So boring.
She shot Gu Chengming a faintly resentful sideways look, wondering if she could squeeze all the remaining hundred-thousand-plus-word outline out of him in the next three months.
Up on the high seat, Shen Qianqiu — in the middle of arranging various matters — let his gaze roam casually around the hall.
"Elder Yu."
Shen Qianqiu spoke, his tone mild.
Yu Wenqiu, who had been deep in her own thoughts, startled, and instinctively straightened, looking up in a daze:
"Ah? Senior brother Sect Master, what is it?"
"Elder Yu, you will accompany Gu Chengming."
"Part escort. Part… a chance for you to get out and clear your head — stop spending every day cooped up in the sect."
Yu Wenqiu blinked those eyes of hers, extended one slender finger and pointed it at her own nose, then stared back in open-mouthed disbelief.
---
Three months, in the world of cultivation, were little more than the blink of an eye.
During that time, Gu Chengming consolidated his realm, made his selections from the Scripture Pavilion — picking out several practical minor techniques — and spent time refining the batch of "matched" artifacts in the storage pouch.
As for the Passionate Sword Formula — though he did not study it in depth, he read through it once as general background reading, treating it as preliminary groundwork for the future sparring session he had in mind with that Senior Brother Lu.
When all was settled, the day of departure arrived.
A small flying vessel, shaped like a willow leaf, cleaved through the sky, carrying the two of them slowly away from the main peak.
Wind howled around them, whipping at their clothes.
Gu Chengming stood at the stern of the vessel and instinctively looked back.
His gaze moved through layer upon layer of cloud-sea, past the towering golden-roofed great hall, and finally came to rest on a stretch of ground that was lower than the rest, yet the most full of life in the entire sect — the back mountain.
Even from this distance, he could make out the thin, lazy tendrils of cooking smoke rising there, standing out against the cold immortal mists, carrying with them a warmth that was deeply, quietly reassuring.
Faintly, he could almost hear the noise and cheers drifting from the training grounds on the front mountain — the sound of countless outer sect disciples pouring sweat into the fight for their chance to become a carp leaping the dragon's gate.
Gu Chengming withdrew his gaze and looked to his side.
There was Elder Yu — who even when the sky was falling would find a comfortable position to lie down in first — and she was standing there with her little book-satchel slung over her shoulder, wilted like a frost-struck eggplant, heaving sigh after sigh.
"Senior brother Sect Master has done me wrong…"
Yu Wenqiu stared out at the long road ahead and down, her face clouded with gloom.
She could read Shen Qianqiu's intent clearly enough. What "escort," what "clearing your head" — it was plainly an excuse to drag her off the mountain and make her do some actual tempering, since she had been idling around the sect for too long.
Gu Chengming looked at her aggrieved expression and suppressed a laugh, offering comfort:
"The Great Qian is prosperous and lively, actually. There are plenty of new story books and novel food there too. It might not be as dull as you think."
"Story books and food can't compete with lying in a bamboo chair…"
Yu Wenqiu muttered, but the matter was settled. The sect master's order had been given. She had no choice but to accept her fate.
She waved a listless hand, and was the first to step off the vessel — calling up a streak of languid violet light:
"Fine, fine. Let's go. The sooner we're done, the sooner we're back. If we can wrap things up within three years, I might still make it home in time for a cup of freshly-brewed Peach Blossom Wine."
Gu Chengming laughed despite himself, then his expression settled.
He turned to face the boundless, fathomless sea of clouds — toward the distant, unknown, challenge-and-opportunity-filled direction of the Great Qian.
The mountain wind stirred. His blue robe rippled.
And in that moment, the semi-transparent notification box — long dormant — drifted up through his field of vision, with something of the feeling of a storyteller drawing a breath before the final line.
[The Qingxin Formula looked at the scene — the surging sea of clouds, one figure and one sword on the verge of setting out — and felt that this moment bore a striking resemblance to the closing chapter of the first volume of a story: a chapter that leaves threads deliberately hanging, pulling the reader forward.]
[One young man, sword in hand, departing the mountain gate. A companion by his side, the sect's hopes at his back, and ahead — ten thousand miles of mortal dust and the treacherous depths of the court.]
[It mused for a moment, and decided that if this volume of the story needed a title, perhaps it should be called…]
[ — Sword Departs Huiyuan.]
[Qingxin Formula affection rating +5]
[Current affection rating: 80 / Liked]
---
The wind rose, the clouds rolled, and the chapter quietly closed.
(Volume One: Sword Departs Huiyuan — Complete.)
---
Author's Note: Volume One is finished! Up next: the Great Qian arc.
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