Chapter Forty-Five: The Unexpected Younger Brother

“With your skills, you’d better practice for a few hundred more years!” Shen Qingyun’s disdainful voice echoed in his ears. Only after Shen Qingyun had gone did he open his eyes and gaze at the broken branch at his feet, his expression flickering with complexity.

He was silent for a long time, then bent down and picked up his sword, gripping it tightly. The strength Shen Qingyun had displayed did not leave him in despair; instead, it ignited his fighting spirit. Shen Qingyun’s dismissive words did not leave him enraged or humiliated, but became the very source of his motivation. Therefore, he would practice swordsmanship until even Shen Qingyun could not evade him!

Hearing the faint sound of a sword behind him, Shen Qingyun’s lips curled into a smile. A fine youngster, and a fine sword.

Since no one would disturb him here, cultivating was naturally the best choice.

That night, cold winds swept through the cracked stones, producing a wailing sound reminiscent of ghosts that would frighten even the bravest soul.

Moonlight poured through the ruined rooftop, draping Shen Qingyun below in a silvery veil, lending him an air of sanctity.

Rustling.

As he was cultivating, a gust of cold wind stirred the dry grass and fallen leaves, mussing Shen Qingyun’s hair.

Unmoved, Shen Qingyun spoke calmly, “Why stir up trouble?”

With a flash, a sword gleaming with cold light appeared before Shen Qingyun’s face, mere inches from his pen tip.

“Spar with me!”

The young man held his sword, speaking coolly.

“Go play elsewhere.”

Shen Qingyun responded, “I have no time to amuse a youngster.”

Yet the young man did not grow angry. The sword blade trembled, moving closer to Shen Qingyun, as he asked, “Will you go, or not?”

“No.”

“If not, I’ll kill you!”

Shen Qingyun slowly opened his eyes. This youngster certainly had a temper—good, it suited him.

“I have no sword.”

“I do.”

With that, he tossed a sword with a clang at Shen Qingyun’s feet.

Shen Qingyun stared at the sword for a moment, then picked it up and walked toward the rear courtyard of the Heart-Purifying Hall.

The young man hurried after him.

In the courtyard, moonlight spilled down, as if covering the yard in a layer of snow. Shen Qingyun carried the sword on his back, his robe fluttering in the evening breeze, giving him the air of a reclusive master.

“Your name?”

The young man was startled, then realized Shen Qingyun was speaking to him. “Feng Chuxun—my name is Feng Chuxun!”

Shen Qingyun nodded. “Good, Feng Chuxun. Watch closely!”

With that, Shen Qingyun began to wield his sword, performing the very moves he had seen Feng Chuxun use earlier that day. Having observed them just once, he could now execute them flawlessly.

Yet, in the instant Shen Qingyun swung his sword, Feng Chuxun was transfixed.

The movements were clearly the same, but in Shen Qingyun’s hands, each strike held a mysterious quality that defied description.

They were not the same as his own. When Feng Chuxun practiced those moves, it was merely for practice, lacking any offensive intent—only pleasing to the eye.

But now, as Shen Qingyun wielded them, every strike seemed capable of killing, each blade fierce and imbued with an indescribable meaning! Feng Chuxun could not help but immerse himself, seeking to unravel the essence that so captivated him.

By the time Shen Qingyun finished his demonstration, Feng Chuxun was still lost in its depths.

Why was it that Shen Qingyun’s sword could transform so, while his own could not?

When he finally came to his senses, Shen Qingyun was gone, leaving only a lingering aura in the courtyard. Feng Chuxun could clearly sense it...

A light of yearning shone in his eyes, and his long-dormant thirst for knowledge stirred anew.

As Shen Qingyun was cultivating, he suddenly felt a solid presence before him. Opening his eyes, he saw Feng Chuxun standing there.

He closed his eyes again and asked coolly, “What is it?”

Feng Chuxun lowered his head, looking at him. “Teach me swordsmanship.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I want you to teach me!”

After a moment’s silence, a surge of energy burst from Shen Qingyun—it was the third stage of Qi Refining.

Yet Feng Chuxun’s eyes showed no hint of emotion, gazing steadily at Shen Qingyun.

“No.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I don’t do things that bring me no benefit.” Shen Qingyun slapped his leg and stood.

Feng Chuxun said nothing, only speaking after a long pause. “I can become your disciple!”

Shen Qingyun was mildly surprised; he hadn’t expected Feng Chuxun to say such a thing.

“You’ve already taken a master, haven’t you?” Shen Qingyun asked tentatively.

Feng Chuxun nodded. “I’m under Elder Hong of the Discipline Hall.”

Shen Qingyun was at a loss—such a solemn matter as taking a master was so casual for him?

“No,” Shen Qingyun shook his head decisively.

“Why?”

“No reason. It’s simply impossible!”

Feng Chuxun fell into thought once more, suddenly recalling that he was at the peak of Foundation Establishment, ready to break through to the Spiritual Aspect stage, while Shen Qingyun was only at the third stage of Qi Refining. He said, “I can act as your enforcer!”

Shen Qingyun was taken aback. “Enforcer?”

“Yes, enforcer!” Feng Chuxun nodded. “You’re only in the third stage of Qi Refining, and I’ll soon reach the Spiritual Aspect realm. If anyone bullies you, just tell me—I’ll handle them for you. All you need to do is teach me swordsmanship!”

Shen Qingyun was helpless. People always looked down on the Qi Refining stage—what could be done?

But then he reconsidered. If he had someone to follow his orders, handling matters would be much easier for him.

Thinking of this, Shen Qingyun looked at...