Yang Feng did not come to the Heavenly Sword Sect to become a Sword Immortal.
He came because of one person.
Six years ago, without that person, he would have died.
He did not know whether she still remembered him.
Nor did he dare to assume he was worthy of standing before her even once more.
But after he opened his spiritual meridians, his thought was simple:
If he had to choose a place to continue living in this world, he might as well go to where she was.
This story begins in the Eastern Domain, a region within the vast Lan Feng Realm.
At the heart of the Eastern Domain, where Spiritual Qi gathers in its densest concentration, stands a sect devoted to the sword: the Heavenly Sword Sect.
The sect is situated upon the majestic Heavenly Sword Mountains. Peaks rise in layered succession, white clouds coil around their summits like silken ribbons, and Spiritual Qi condenses into thin veils of mist.
The Spiritual Qi here is so abundant that even plants awaken to sentience, and wild beasts easily gain awareness.
Fox spirits hide deep within the forests.
Cat spirits, dog spirits, and toad spirits roam along the mountain slopes.
Tiger spirits, crane spirits, and ox spirits guard the higher elevations.
And at the very summit dwell sword cultivators.
The Sect Master of the Heavenly Sword Sect, Wu Huai Zhang, is renowned throughout the entire Lan Feng Realm. Though he was not the founder of the sect, he is a once-in-a-millennium prodigy. It is said that his sword can cleave even the highest layers of cloud.
But that is the story of those who stand above.
Ours begins at the foot of the mountain.
The day Yang Feng set foot upon the Heavenly Sword Mountains, the sky was high and pale, and the spring wind was just strong enough to stir the hem of his robes.
He was sixteen. Not tall, nor particularly striking among youths his age.
He carried no aura of genius, no innate brilliance that made others turn their heads. He was merely a boy who had just opened his spiritual meridians and stepped onto the path of cultivation.
Ordinary enough to vanish into any crowd.
If one did not look closely into the eyes that were more alert than his years suggested, no one would notice that whenever he stood among many people, he unconsciously chose a place near the edge rather than the center.
Within the Outer Sect Plaza, blue stone tiles stretched wide across the ground. Stone corridors bordered it on all sides, linking the various training grounds.
On ordinary days, only outer disciples passed through here, practicing in quiet routine. Today, however, it was crowded.
New recruits.
Hundreds of young men and women had gathered, their expressions a mixture of excitement and unease.
Some clenched their fists as if urging themselves onward.
Some muttered cultivation formulas under their breath, afraid that even a moment’s distraction would cause the Spiritual Qi within them to scatter.
Others silently observed their surroundings, trying to carve every corridor and rooftop into memory.
The Heavenly Sword Sect recruits disciples once every five years.
Five years.
Long enough to alter one’s fate.
Cruel enough that among ten thousand people, perhaps only one would open their spiritual meridians.
Becoming a cultivator was already difficult.
Standing here was even harder.
Yang Feng stood among them.
A simple black cultivator’s robe draped over a dark green inner garment. His hair caught a faint copper hue beneath the morning light. His expression was so calm that it seemed almost out of place amid the charged tension in the air.
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He was not overly excited.
Nor was he nervous.
One practical thought merely passed through his mind:
This place is wide.
If they make us stand for long… my legs will probably ache.
“Look!”
A sharp cry of astonishment rang out.
In the next instant, the entire plaza erupted like oil flung into flame. Heads snapped upward in unison, all eyes turning toward the towering Ninefold Qi Refining Tower in the distance.
“Someone… is standing at the top of the Ninefold Tower?”
“That’s impossible! It’s over forty zhang tall. The spiritual pressure there is like a mountain. How could an outer disciple stand it?”
“Is it a woman?”
“Could it be an elder?”
Voices surged like waves.
Yang Feng lifted his head as well.
Just a single glance.
He did not need to think.
That aura was too familiar to mistake for anything else.
His heart stirred.
Six years.
He had not seen her since that day.
A hundred meters apart.
A white figure suspended in layers of wind.
And yet he recognized her at once.
His heart trembled. Just once.
He did not know whether she still remembered him.
Nor whether he was worth remembering.
But he knew exactly who stood above.
More clearly than anyone else present.
Leng Wuqing.
At the summit of the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower, the woman in white stood silent beneath the open sky.
Strong winds lashed at her robes, yet her figure remained steady, like a sword driven into stone.
Her voice rang out.
She did not need to shout.
She did not need to amplify it with Spiritual Power.
“You new recruits.”
“What are you making such a noise for?”
Just one sentence.
The entire plaza fell silent at once.
“You have only just stepped into the sect,” she continued, “so restrain yourselves.”
Her gaze swept over the crowd below, cold as a winter lake.
“New recruits, listen carefully.”
“The Sect Master and the elders have matters to attend to today. They cannot personally welcome you.”
She paused for a breath.
“I am Leng Wuqing.”
“Peak Master of One-Sword Peak.”
“On behalf of the sect…”
“Welcome to the Heavenly Sword Sect.”
Within the crowd, Yang Feng subtly tightened his fist inside his sleeve.
His eyes fixed on the top of the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower, where Leng Wuqing stood high above.
He did not think about the Inner Sect.
Nor did he think about One-Sword Peak.
Those things were too distant.
For now, there was only one task.
Do not be eliminated. Remain here.
That would be enough.
High above, Leng Wuqing raised her hand.
“With every batch of new recruits,” she said, “I show them this.”
“You are no exception.”
The Spiritual Qi of heaven and earth trembled.
From her palm, Spiritual Qi surged forth, swirling in midair. In the blink of an eye, it condensed into a sword formed entirely of Spiritual Power.
The moment the sword appeared, sword pressure flooded the entire Outer Sect Plaza.
“This,” her voice turned icy, “is the achievement every sword cultivator spends a lifetime pursuing.”
“If this is not your lifelong goal,”
“then do not call yourselves practitioners of the sword.”
Several faces paled.
“You are still far from it,” she continued, “but in the future, someone among you will reach it.”
She lifted the sword.
The light of sword intent quivered like thunder.
“This is Sword Form.”
She paused.
“One Sword Takes a Life.”
“One Slash Scatters the Soul.”
The sword fell.
From the summit of the Ninefold Qi Refining Tower, Sword Qi tore through the wind and shot downward in a single, unbroken line.
One clean slash, so precise it seemed almost silent.
For a fleeting moment, there was nothing.
Then a distorted sound, as if space itself had been compressed, shrieked through the air.
The blue stone beneath the plaza split apart.
A deep gash ripped across the ground, stretching from one end of the plaza to the other, straight and unfathomably deep.
A thunderous impact followed, shaking the air and pressing heavily against the chests of everyone standing below.
Dust rose in dense waves, rolling outward like a silent tide striking shore.
The force of the attack swept across the plaza, heavy as an invisible wall bearing down on every shoulder. Hundreds of new recruits dropped to their knees at once.
Some turned pale, lips trembling.
Some clutched their chests, their breath broken and uneven.
Some began to cry, not from pain, but from fear.
Her sword intent hovered like an invisible blade at each person’s throat.
If she wished, a single breath would be enough to take their lives.
No one dared lift their head.
Only the wind moved, cold enough to feel like it cut into skin.
Unlike the others, Yang Feng did not kneel.
Not because he felt no fear. His reaction was simply slower than the rest by a single beat.
His breathing trembled slightly, yet his legs did not move.
Cold sweat ran down his spine, but his gaze remained fixed on the slash carved into the ground.
The dust slowly settled.
Across the ground lay a slash nearly three zhang deep and over a dozen zhang long, cleaving through the blue stone as though it were tofu.
Fragments of stone clattered softly into the trench, the faint sound echoing within the suffocating silence.
The new recruits stared at the wound carved into the plaza. No one spoke.
In their eyes lingered stillness, reverence laced with fear, and a spark of longing newly ignited.
All of it merged together, forming an atmosphere that was at once oppressive with awe and charged with exhilaration, enveloping the entire square.
Above, Leng Wuqing withdrew her sword.
Her white sleeves stirred lightly in the wind, as if she had never struck at all.
She looked down.
“You.”
“Are you ready?”
No one answered.
Yet no one stepped back.
It was a shared silence, not born of confidence, but of a refusal to appear weak before her.
The wind swept across the heights, carrying the chill of the Heavenly Sword Mountains.
Leng Wuqing gave a faint nod.
“Then.”
“The entrance examination.”
“Begins.”
At that instant, the ground beneath the recruits lit up in unison.
A formation activated in a single breath.
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