Chapter Twenty-Five: Blades as Cold as Frost, Immortality Beyond Reach

Outside the residence of Master Yun Jing.

“The way of the sword is manifold: it can be upright and righteous; it can be cunning; it can be fierce; it can be tricky; it can be grand; it can be sinister; it can be heroic; and it can be subtle, and so on and so forth.”

“But a blade is different. A sword is honed on both edges, yet a blade has but one. This means it presses ever forward, with only the way ahead and no way back. That single edge is all the more ruthless, all the more intent on killing.”

“A sword may be the weapon of a gentleman, or that of a villain, or even possess an air of grandeur.”

“But a blade, cold and brimming with lethal intent, regardless of its style or the manner in which it is wielded, whether broad and heavy or slender and light—because it has but a single edge, it carries more of that relentless, murderous spirit than a sword.”

Old Ge spoke slowly, calmly expounding and offering guidance.

The mountain fiend crouched before him, gripping a long blade, listening intently.

In these past days, it had refined its vital energy and could move freely throughout the temple. With the long blade in hand, it no longer feared the weapon’s sharp, baleful aura and could wield it with ease.

Having studied the art of the blade, it found it not unlike the use of a short club, yet the blade’s edge made bloodshed come all too easily.

Born a spirit beast, skilled at hunting, it found the blade’s thirst for blood even more to its liking than the club’s straightforwardness.

Old Ge, seeing this, suspected that the creature, being of simian origin, might possess a difficult nature. After some thought, he admonished, “You have learned my blade techniques. See that you do not use them for evil.”

The mountain fiend, Gu Cang, grunted, scratched its head, then thumped its chest with a resounding thud.

...

Qingyuan watched for a while from outside the courtyard, not wishing to disturb them.

Of late, Old Ge often spent time with Master Yun Jing, and seldom had leisure. Today was a rare moment when he could instruct the mountain fiend in the art of the blade.

Qingyuan returned to his chamber and took out the precious casket.

Within it were clues to the treasure spoken of by the Ancient Sovereign of Guangyuan.

As for the key, unless something unexpected occurred, it should be found within one of the three great families of Yuanjing City.

“There’s always the chance of unforeseen events. I only hope this journey proceeds smoothly, or else I’ll be forced to travel far and wide again.”

Qingyuan thought to himself, “I must devote myself to cultivation. The further I advance, the longer I can hold on; perhaps I can stave off that so-called fated end a little longer.”

He sat cross-legged, visualizing the June radiance enveloping him, manifesting the Ninefold Jade Tower.

The first level was called the Tower of Qi Refinement.

Within, it was simple and bare, nothing in any direction save for a wisp of vital energy wandering inside.

Compared to before, this wisp had grown several times stronger.

When it grew strong enough, he could break through to the second level, thereby condensing a form that could leave the body.

For now, he was merely at the threshold of the Dao.

“In this world, martial arts strengthen the blood and body, increasing one’s vigor.”

“But vital energy here cannot increase one’s physical strength; it only prolongs the breath, keeps the organs in motion, allows the meridians to circulate blood, thereby extending one’s years.”

Qingyuan mused, “I have inherited true teachings from the immortals, which is fortunate... In this world, many who seek the Dao receive only minor, incomplete methods, or grope about on their own. Some may spend a lifetime at it and never achieve anything, forever lingering at the threshold, and after years of fruitless effort, may even begin to doubt whether the Dao is real at all.”

“Most who fumble alone or inherit shallow teachings, after decades of bitter cultivation, manage to form but a single wisp of vital energy, enough to extend their lifespan somewhat. Yet hindered by flawed techniques or lacking talent, few can progress any further.”

He closed his eyes and quietly practiced his arts.

Though he saw the path of cultivation more clearly than most, spared the confusion of the lost, each step still demanded solid effort and was by no means easy.

These nine heavens were arduous at every turn.

After nine such steps, one would touch the realm of immortals.

Who could say what obstacles lay between man and the immortal in that journey?

...

That afternoon, Gu Cang the mountain fiend came to pay his respects.

“How much of the blade art has Old Ge taught you?” Qingyuan asked, observing the cheerful mountain fiend. “The military style is without flourish, focused on practicality, almost every move meant to kill or defend one’s life. It suits you well.”

“Half,” the mountain fiend replied.

Having recently refined vital energy, it could now control both breath and blood. It had also grown accustomed to human company, and its speech had improved, though it still sounded a bit hoarse and heavy, with halting, rough phrasing.

Now draped in a black robe, its appearance was concealed from ordinary folk, who, hearing it speak, would simply take it for a man of few words and notice nothing strange.

Gu Cang removed its hood, revealing a face covered in black fur. Scratching at the patch of white on its head, it said, “Old Ge had matters to attend to—otherwise, I could have learned more.”

Qingyuan smiled. “You are clever indeed.”

The mountain fiend beamed at the praise.

Suddenly, Qingyuan asked, “Would you come down the mountain with me?”

Gu Cang nodded without hesitation. “Alright.”

“You don’t ask what for?”

“No need,” replied the mountain fiend.

Qingyuan laughed. “You trust me, then.”

The mountain fiend grinned, mouthful of fangs appearing not at all fierce, and, scratching its head, said, “Master... I trust you...”

“Since Old Ge is busy, come down the mountain with me, then,” Qingyuan said. “We’ll go to Yuanjing City, and you’ll have a chance to hone your blade skills.”

“Practice blade skills?” the mountain fiend asked, puzzled.

“This trip may not be a peaceful one,” Qingyuan replied. “It’s a good opportunity for you to practice. The military blade art is all about killing; it’s not enough to be proficient—you must face real opponents.”

The mountain fiend gave a vague grunt, not knowing how else to respond.

Qingyuan looked at him and couldn’t help but smile.

The mountain fiend’s temperament was very nearly human—changeable, sometimes loyal, sometimes cunning, sometimes simple and honest, sometimes dark and sinister. Though most of its kind were not gentle, their natures varied.

This Gu Cang, however, was clearly among the loyal ones.

That was a good thing. Otherwise, Qingyuan would have had to keep his guard up.

“Let’s go.”

Qingyuan rose, intending to bring the precious casket, but then recalled that they were going to seek a key. Bringing the treasure along might only cause trouble. After some thought, he stowed it away and entrusted it to Old Ge.

He paid his respects to Old Ge and left the casket with him.

Old Ge, knowing Qingyuan’s journey to Yuanjing City was of great importance, accepted the casket and gave him a few words of caution, urging him to be careful.

After expressing his gratitude, Qingyuan set off with the mountain fiend.

On the way, curiosity led him to detour toward the courtyard with the well.

He found the corridor sealed off, and the side door was now locked.

“It seems the secret within is well-guarded—barely any time has passed, and the place is already locked up and blocked off.”

Qingyuan chuckled and paid it no further heed, calling for the mountain fiend to follow as they left Mingyuan Temple.

Descending the mountain path, they had not gone more than half an hour before Yuanjing City came into view in the distance.

Yuanjing City was a great metropolis, far surpassing Licheng.

It was livelier and more prosperous, teeming with people and bustling traffic.

The Bai family was considered the most prominent clan in Yuanjing City.

The Zhao and Qian families came next, just behind the Bais.

But how great the gap truly was, no one could say.

At least in common opinion, they were nearly on par with the Bai family.

For both the Zhao and Qian families were ancient and deeply rooted in Yuanjing City.

One had passed down through two hundred and eighty years.

The other had a history of three hundred and sixty.