Chapter Forty-Six: The Sword as You See It

“What exactly am I missing?”

Outside the Hall of Purification, Feng Chuxun sat cross-legged on the ground, indifferent to whether it was clean or not. His sword was half-sheathed, and he was deep in thought.

Before him, two neatly cut wooden blocks lay side by side. The one on the right bore four sword marks—each identical in length, width, and depth. The left block, however, was nearly split apart, covered in a dense web of horizontal and vertical cuts, some so deep that the wood was almost cleaved in two.

There was no question: the four marks on the right were the work of Shen Qingyun. The left, a testament to Feng Chuxun’s own attempts.

“If you can use your sword to carve four identical marks into the wood, then you may proceed to the next stage of learning with me!”

Shen Qingyun’s words still echoed in Feng Chuxun’s mind. After leaving four flawless sword marks on the wood, Shen Qingyun had spoken those words, the sword still in his hand.

Since then, Feng Chuxun had tried countless times to imitate Shen Qingyun, striking the wood with four consecutive thrusts. It was all in vain. When he tried to control his strength, the depth might be right, but the length and width were not.

To carve them slowly, bit by bit? The idea had never crossed Feng Chuxun’s mind. His way with the sword was all about speed—a single decisive strike, never regretted. To work slowly would be to go against everything he believed in.

He sat there the whole night, unmoving as a stone statue even when his stomach began to growl with hunger.

A jade vial rolled to his feet. He opened his eyes and glanced at it, but did not reach out to pick it up; he simply ignored it and closed his eyes again, lost in thought.

“That’s a fasting pill. Do you really think you’ll solve anything on an empty stomach?”

Shen Qingyun’s voice drifted over on the wind. Feng Chuxun’s expression did not change, but his hand reached out, took the vial, and swallowed a pill.

Seeing this, Shen Qingyun couldn’t help but chuckle before turning and stepping back into the hall.

The fasting pill would allow him to go five days without eating—five days of undisturbed cultivation.

...

Gulp. Gulp...

Night fell over the Hall of Purification, and all was silent save for a sound like the pounding of a heart, clear and distinct. Shen Qingyun withdrew from his meditative state, a flicker of doubt in his bright eyes. Was the place truly haunted?

Gulp. Gulp...

The heartbeat-like sound grew stronger, louder, and clearer. Shen Qingyun frowned, rising to his feet, listening intently for the source of the noise.

He failed to notice that the spiritual energy within the spirit stones on the floor was being drained at a staggering rate—the stones themselves growing dimmer with each passing moment.

Moments later, Shen Qingyun lowered his head and looked down. The sound was coming from beneath the floor?

The instant the spirit stones faded completely, the heartbeat-like sound ceased abruptly.

“There’s something underground?”

A chill ran through Shen Qingyun. There being something underground was not surprising—but for a mere heartbeat-like sound to affect his state of mind was another matter entirely. He had once been an emperor; his spirit and will were all but flawless. Unless he allowed it, nothing in this world should have been able to disturb him.

Yet now, his mood was unsettled. He could not ignore it.

A flicker of frustration crossed his eyes. Shen Qingyun murmured, “If only I had already established my foundation!”

With the Foundation Establishment realm, he could use his spiritual sense to probe the area, not just rely on the wind, scents, and the atmosphere to remain vigilant. Even if only barely, he could scan the whole mountain with his spiritual sense! Then he would finally know what lay beneath the Hall of Purification.

But for now, he was not yet at Foundation Establishment. He had to suppress the urge to tear apart the mountain and sit down to continue his cultivation.

Just as he was about to resume drawing energy from the spirit stones, Shen Qingyun suddenly paused. The spiritual energy had already been exhausted?

Casting aside the depleted stone, Shen Qingyun drew a fresh, luminous spirit stone from his storage ring and resumed his cultivation.

...

Five days passed in the blink of an eye. Shen Qingyun and Feng Chuxun each kept to themselves—one quietly cultivating, the other alternating between contemplation and practicing sword strikes on the wood.

On the morning of the sixth day, Shen Qingyun walked out of the Hall of Purification to find Feng Chuxun still seated in the same spot. Nearby, a small mountain of wooden blocks had formed, each one scarred by countless sword marks.

Approaching, Shen Qingyun said quietly, “Give me a sword.”

Feng Chuxun opened his bloodshot eyes, looking at Shen Qingyun with a trace of confusion.

“Hand me your sword,” Shen Qingyun repeated. “Let’s spar.”

“Just a friendly match?” Feng Chuxun asked. It was not fear that held him back, but the memory of Shen Qingyun’s formidable technique—a move that seemed to overwhelm one’s very will, so much so that even his own sword would try to wrest itself from his grasp. He was reluctant to face that again.

“Just a friendly match,” Shen Qingyun confirmed with a nod.

“Very well.”

Feng Chuxun rose. Since it was only a spar, he had no objections.

Sword in hand, Shen Qingyun no longer radiated the aura Feng Chuxun had sensed days before; he seemed entirely ordinary. Yet Feng Chuxun dared not underestimate him in the slightest.

“Get ready!”

Shen Qingyun called out softly, advancing toward Feng Chuxun. The same intent that had once been present in Shen Qingyun’s swordplay now manifested in his bearing—sharp and dazzling.

Feng Chuxun reacted swiftly, flourishing his blade into a defensive posture. He realized that what separated him from Shen Qingyun might be this very intent—indescribable, yet palpable.

Shen Qingyun’s intent was so strong it seemed to suppress the flow of his own blood.

Suddenly, Shen Qingyun’s movements quickened. His sword shot from his hand, a dazzling streak of light stabbing toward Feng Chuxun.

With a flick of his own blade, Feng Chuxun deflected Shen Qingyun’s sword, sending it spinning through the air before it landed, quivering, in a nearby block of wood.

A thrill of triumph surged in Feng Chuxun’s heart. Was Shen Qingyun underestimating him? To throw away his sword so lightly!

But Shen Qingyun continued rushing forward. Feng Chuxun’s face remained impassive as he unleashed a sword technique, a gleaming arc of energy slicing through the air.

A faint smile touched Shen Qingyun’s lips, and suddenly he vanished. The sword energy struck only empty air.

In the next instant, Shen Qingyun reappeared three paces from Feng Chuxun.

Feng Chuxun was dismissive. Now that Shen Qingyun was unarmed, what could he possibly do?

But then a sharp sword aura flashed past his ear. A tear appeared in the white robe on his shoulder, and a bright stain of blood blossomed, vivid against the fabric.

Feng Chuxun stared, stunned, his mind blank. “This…” he muttered, oblivious to the pain in his shoulder, unable to form another word.

Shen Qingyun stopped a single step away, a leaf in his hand disintegrating to dust, drifting to the ground.

“How did you do that?”

Feng Chuxun’s heart pounded, his face flushed. He had never been one to show his emotions, but now, nothing was hidden from Shen Qingyun.

Shen Qingyun did not answer, but instead asked, “What, to you, is the sword?”