Chapter 10#
Yu Xuan came to a halt, composing his expression to face the battle head-on.
Refusing to show weakness, he closed his eyes and swung his sword twice. In an instant, specks of wood element converged from all directions across the platform.
They solidified into vines.
Several vines gathered and twisted together, then fanned outward in every direction, winding upward to bind the flying dragon’s body!
A heaven-splitting dragon’s roar rang out!
The dragon shrieked, thrashing its body without cease, its expelled breath forcing Yu Xuan back two steps.
The movement of Yu Xuan’s hands never slackened — the vines coiled tighter and tighter.
For a moment, both sides of the arena fell utterly silent, testifying to the tension of the battle.
Yu Xuan was currently at a bottleneck in his cultivation; this match against Ling Guangyi could only do him good, not harm.
He slowly raised his eyes, feeling the abundant spiritual energy wrapped around him flowing outward in an endless stream.
But Ling Guangyi’s sword intent was a cut above. The dragon’s cry after cry reverberated through every onlooker’s eardrums, and the platform itself began to tremble.
Ling Guangyi soared into mid-air, gazing down at Yu Xuan.
One hand formed a seal while the other continued swinging the sword. The blade left afterimages in his hand, pale-yellow sword intent dancing beautifully.
The flying dragon gradually wrenched free of the vines’ grip.
Yu Xuan’s brow furrowed slightly. He bit his finger and squeezed out a drop of blood, pressing it against the flat of his blade. At once, the sword blazed with even brighter light!
The vines cinched tighter once more.
No one wanted to lose.
Though Fusheng Sect was not a sword-cultivation sect, Immortal Zhongwu placed the utmost importance on swordsmanship, and every disciple under him excelled at it.
Yu Xuan had no wish to bring shame upon his master.
Ling Guangyi was a sword fanatic through and through; he found himself inwardly impressed by Yu Xuan’s swordsmanship and forceful offensive.
Then, with a powerful heave of his hand, the veins on the back of it stood out sharply, and the very currents of air responded to the motion!
With only his free hand thrusting forward, the dragon let out a roar. Ring after ring of pale-yellow radiance spread outward from the arena floor, the sword intent’s reach expanding, whipping up a fierce gale that surged toward the crowd!
Yu Xuan narrowed his eyes slightly, his black hair blown back behind him.
The oncoming sword intent scattered some of his gathered wood element, and the color of the vines dimmed a little along with it.
Yet he showed not the slightest panic. Planting his feet against the platform, he used the tangible sword intent as a foothold and launched himself upward, diving straight at Ling Guangyi!
Ling Guangyi reacted with lightning speed, swiftly cutting out several blade-shaped sword intents and slashing them toward him. Yu Xuan dodged sideways even as he pressed forward.
Clang!
Two sharp swords crossed. Both fighters poured every ounce of their strength into the clash, and for a moment, dark-green and amber-gold radiance engulfed the entire platform!
“Zhongwu, that disciple of yours truly has formidable skill.” The sect leader of Feijian Sect, Sword Venerable Yuanzhi, remarked with a smile.
Immortal Zhongwu gave a slight nod, then turned his head and replied with a faint smile, “Ling Guangyi is still the better of the two.”
At the very center of the mountain summit, a high dais had been erected for the leaders of the major sects with the greatest power to be seated. From up there, the two of them had an unobstructed view of the entire match.
Both were venerables who had cultivated for a thousand years — how could they not see through a junior’s true ability? Although Yu Xuan appeared evenly matched with Ling Guangyi, his practical combat experience was not as rich.
Before the words had even faded, Yu Xuan relaxed his force and withdrew slightly, the two auras parting, granting him a brief moment to catch his breath.
After two or three breaths, rather than pressing forward again, he touched down lightly onto the platform surface.
The outcome had been decided.
Yu Xuan knew his own strength was insufficient; to keep fighting like this, a graceless defeat was only a matter of time.
He smiled and set his sword tip against the ground to steady himself, flicking a leisurely sword-flower, then clasped his fist toward Ling Guangyi. “Many thanks for your guidance, Brother Ling.”
“I hadn’t realized Brother Ling’s sword intent had reached such a level.”
Ling Guangyi stepped down to the ground in two or three light touches. His forehead was beaded with cold sweat — the fight had not been easy for him either. He raised a hand to wipe it away and let out a hearty laugh, speaking earnestly:
“Fusheng Sect’s way of the sword is truly impressive. You are an opponent I acknowledge.”
The moment Ling Guangyi stepped off the platform, his fellow sect members surged forward to surround him in a circle. He laughed openly from within, answering their questions one by one.
“Shixiong, you were amazing!”
“Shixiong, could you teach me that sword technique from earlier…”
The people of Feijian Sect…
Yu Lin thought of Chu Fengmian, whom he had come to know just a few days ago — he too was a cultivator of Feijian Sect.
He craned his neck to look, but every face was unfamiliar; Chu Fengmian was nowhere to be seen.
Come to think of it, the moment he had arrived at the mountain summit, his temples had begun to throb. What Chu Fengmian had said — “demonic energy encroaching,” “the Liu family’s dealings with the demonic realm” — refused to leave his mind.
In his past life, someone dear to him had died from demonic energy entering the body, and it had become a recurring nightmare for him. Now, whenever he encountered anything to do with the demonic clan, he was that much more careful.
He pressed his lips together, shook his head, and told himself to simply stay alert. He swept those thoughts from his mind and shifted his gaze to Yu Xuan, who had just stepped off the platform.
Yu Lin’s lips curved up with delight. “Second Shixiong, you were incredible!”
Yu Xuan raised his eyes to look at him, his smile tinged with regret. “I still lost.”
“Xiao Lin? Wenjin?” Yu Yue pushed her way through the crowd toward them. “There were too many people at the entrance — I almost couldn’t get through.”
Yu Xuan looked weary, but at the sight of her, his gaze softened. He stepped forward and took her hand, drawing her close.
Yu Yue read the regret in his expression and wrapped him in a sudden embrace.
“You were amazing.” Yu Yue’s face was pressed against his chest, her voice slightly muffled, yet her tone was utterly sincere.
Amid the clamor of the crowd, Yu Xuan found himself abruptly embraced. He could still feel Yu Yue’s warm breath against him.
His composure faltered at once; his cheeks flushed crimson. “Xiao Lin and Wenjin are right here!!” he said, mortified.
The moment Yu Lin and Wen Jin heard themselves mentioned, they tacitly each took a step back and launched into a conversation at complete cross-purposes, as if making small talk.
Yu Yue glanced back at them and let out a soft laugh, choosing not to expose their clumsy performance.
The blazing sun climbed higher, its halo growing and shrinking as the light shifted. Yu Lin turned around and was struck by a sudden flash of sunlight; he instinctively squinted.
On the dais where the sect leaders were seated, several brocade boxes had been set out — prizes for the victors of the Sword Tournament, each containing a spirit weapon of excellent attribute.
His gaze fell on one sword atop the dais, a flowing spirit sword, and he found he could not look away.
The sword was translucent from hilt to tip, its blade shifting like flowing water, shimmering with a water-blue luster.
The spirit sword had already unsheathed itself. Rippling water-like patterns flowed continuously within it, catching the sunlight and reflecting it like the surface of a lake.
As he looked at it, he felt a resonance.
This was the Floating Water Sword he had longed for in his past life.
He stared at the blue glow emanating from the Floating Water Sword, and his thoughts began to drift.
His past life. The mountain summit.
Yu Ling had claimed the third-place ranking in water-attribute as a matter of course. He stood below the dais, eyes shining bright.
Sword Venerable Yuanzhi carried down the sword case containing the Floating Water Sword. He looked upon Yu Ling before him with fond affection and extended the case. “Congratulations, dear child.”
Yu Ling smiled shyly and reached out to accept the case. “Many thanks, Sword Venerable Yuanzhi!”
Yu Lin had stood below in a daze, but at the moment the case changed hands, his heart gave a sharp lurch. He raised his head, staring at the flowing blade within.
Yu Ling, putting on a mature air, stepped down from the dais. And then Yu Lin saw him spot Immortal Zhongwu in the distance and go flying into his embrace with a laugh.
While hardly an unusual sight, had it been the Yu Lin of old, he would certainly have burned with jealousy. But at that moment, for reasons he could not explain, he had been blind to it entirely, staring at the sword as if enchanted.
Immortal Zhongwu caught Yu Ling and coaxed him to take the sword out for a look.
Yu Ling obediently drew the blade. The hilt was silver-white with a faint blue sheen; the blade was animated and lively as a living thing.
He murmured to himself, “What a beautiful sword…” and reached out, unable to resist, to run his fingers along the blade.
The tip pricked out a bead of blood.
The vivid red stood in sharp contrast to the pale white of his skin. He winced with a sharp hiss, scrunched his brow, and looked aggrieved. “Master, does it dislike me?”
Immortal Zhongwu shook his head gently and said in comfort, “It won’t. No one could dislike you — not even a sword. It is only eager; it wishes to recognize you as its master sooner.”
As he spoke, he took hold of Yu Ling’s bleeding finger and squeezed out a drop of blood, pressing it against the blade.
The instant the blood touched it, the sword shook frantically from side to side, letting out a mournful cry.
Immortal Zhongwu’s expression grew intent. He tapped the blade twice. A forceful stream of spiritual energy flowed into it, and the spirit sword gradually stilled — and recognized its master.
Immortal Zhongwu seemed oblivious to the sword’s mournful cry. He turned to Yu Ling and said, “Give it a name.”
Yu Ling, hearing his words, felt his heart settle. He let out a breath of relief, and after a moment’s thought, turned to him with a smile. “Let’s call it the Flowing Water Sword.”
Yu Lin raised his eyes. Listening to Yu Ling’s words and watching the rippling patterns shift across the blade, his temples throbbed.
No. That was not its name.
…
After obtaining the Flowing Water Sword, Yu Ling was overjoyed and utterly devoted to it.
Immortal Zhongwu was obsessed with the way of the sword, and perhaps in the past he had held back his demands out of concern for tiring Yu Ling out. Now, seeing how eagerly Yu Ling wished to learn, he was naturally happy to teach.
Indeed, from that day on, the sound of sword-dancing drifted from the main hall of the sect leader’s residence every morning at the hour of Chen, continuing unbroken for over a month.
And then, for no apparent reason, it stopped.
One day, Yu Lin went to the main hall to pay his respects. He found Yu Ling lying draped across Immortal Zhongwu’s knees, chatting idly. He was barefoot, standing on a large, plush cushion that had been left on the floor. The Flowing Water Sword lay tossed carelessly on the ground.
Yu Ling gave him a sidelong glance, curled the corner of his mouth, then turned back and lifted Immortal Zhongwu’s hand, speaking in a wheedling tone: “Master, is this sword incompatible with me? I don’t want it anymore.”
Immortal Zhongwu, as if Yu Lin were invisible, picked up Yu Ling’s hand and examined it, blew gently on it, then carefully applied the medicine that was kept ready at his side. “Very well. We’ll find you a better one another day.”
Yu Lin lowered his gaze to the Flowing Water Sword in the corner, and felt that he and it were the same.
Both were the ones who had been cast aside.
“Master, since he no longer wants it — might you give it to me?”
That was the first time he had ever lowered his head and asked Immortal Zhongwu for something.
Immortal Zhongwu heard his words, but turned and looked at him, eyes ice-cold. “This was what Yu Ling won at the Sword Tournament. How could it possibly go to you?”
He seemed genuinely puzzled, even furrowing his brow, and let out the question that had long been accumulating within him: “Why must you always compete with Yu Ling for everything?”
Yu Lin felt as though he had been struck a blow to the head. His body went rigid, at a loss for how to respond.
Do I really compete with Yu Ling for everything?
Asking for something he no longer wanted — could that even be called competing?
Yu Lin slowly shifted his gaze to the Flowing Water Sword. The smile that had settled on his face without his noticing looked more like a grimace.
He couldn’t tell whether it was his imagination, but the Floating Water Sword seemed three shades brighter than usual, its glow pulsing larger and smaller over the span of several breaths.
He could feel its strong resonance with him.
“Floating Water Sword…”
“My name is Floating Water Sword…”
A voice — clear as a water droplet, ringing, and ethereal — sounded beside his ear.
He raised his head. The two on the seat showed no reaction whatsoever.
Only he could hear it.
He pressed his lips together, curved his back slightly, and a soft “I’m sorry” dissolved into the air on the wind.
He could only withdraw his gaze and let down its expectations.
At last he gave Immortal Zhongwu one long, deep look, then turned and walked away.
The spirit sword hummed once — and a “I like you so much,” not yet given form, was left behind in Yu Lin’s wake.