Chapter 328: The Renowned Sword's Grace
The path of the sword naturally cultivates the sword. The sword is naturally important. But... is it *that* important? Beyond affecting combat power, can it truly influence the user's realm and cultivation in reverse?
The sword Su Li now held came from the blacksmith shop in the small town at the foot of Mount Li. It was personally forged by Luo Dagen, an unremarkable blacksmith from that shop, costing a few silver coins and taking half a day to make. It had been with him for over twenty years. Holding this ordinary longsword, which could by no means be called a divine weapon, he was still the number one swordsman in the world. Before his blade, all opposition crumbled. Not long ago, he had just slain a demon general with it.
Precisely because of his ordinary sword, the attitude of returning to simplicity in swordsmanship became prevalent in the Mount Li Sword Sect. The Seven Laws of the Divine Kingdom and other young disciples, out of admiration for their Grandmaster's Junior Brother, followed suit. Autumn Mountain Lord possessed a famously renowned Dragon Scale Sword, yet when traversing the continent, even in battles with powerful demons for the key to the Zhou Garden, he would only use an ordinary longsword. That sword also came from the small town at the foot of Mount Li, from the same blacksmith shop, and also cost only a few silver coins. Guan Feibai was the same. But this did not affect the status of Autumn Mountain Lord and Guan Feibai among the younger generation of the continent. Holding an ordinary blue steel sword, they were still members of the Divine Kingdom's Laws.
"Some foolish people might not understand this," the Black Robe said, gently wiping a few snowflakes off the square tray. He looked at Su Li and said calmly, "But I understand. As long as you can't find that sword, then whether it's the 'Kill Autumn' in the locust tree courtyard or this inferior sword from the blacksmith shop in your hand, it makes no difference to you."
"Yes," Su Li said after a moment of silence. "I truly lack a sword, and I have been searching for that sword all along."
Many years ago, his master brought him from his hometown to Mount Li. They walked for dozens of miles along a long mountain path, entered the mountain gate, and he became an inner disciple of the Mount Li Sword Sect. He mastered the general formula of the Mount Li Sword Sect in a very short time, and his talent in the way of the sword gradually revealed itself. He gained the affection of all his senior brothers and sisters and the reverence of his junior disciples, but he never had his own sword.
When the Red Stone Peak Sword Hall distributed swords, he didn't choose one. When he practiced swordplay daily or sparred with his senior brothers, he used a wooden sword. His senior brothers asked him why he refused to choose a sword. He said he didn't like the swords in the Sword Hall. But in his heart, there was another unspoken thought—those swords didn't like him either; they were avoiding him.
A full year passed. He completed his foundational swordsmanship training, glimpsed the true meaning of the sword, and finally earned the right to enter the summit and step into his master's cave dwelling. His master was the Sect Leader of the Mount Li Sword Sect, a peerless swordsman recognized throughout the continent. But Su Li didn't listen to a word his master said. He only stared at the sword hanging on the wall behind his master.
The scabbard of that sword was pitch black, made of some unknown material. The sword was sheathed, so its true form couldn't be seen. But for some reason, just looking at it filled him with joy and delight. He wanted to dance with excitement, to take it, hold it in his arms, sleep with it, even bathe with it. What made him even happier was that the sword in its scabbard emitted a pleasant, gentle hum, as if responding to his joy and expressing its own goodwill.
Of course, Su Li didn't know at the time that this sword was the personal weapon of the Mount Li Sword Sect Leader, a renowned sword ranked in the top ten of the Hundred Weapons List, the Sky-Shrouding Sword.
The Mount Li Sword Sect Leader was somewhat astonished. His personal sword was a peerless, ferocious blade—incomparably sharp, utterly cold, best at severing emotions and ending life. Why had it emitted such a soft sword hum today? Why was it so gentle towards this little boy? What did this mean? Then he laughed, because Su Li was his only disciple. This sword would naturally be passed down to him in the future. As it stood now, man and sword took pleasure in each other's company—it was truly excellent.
That day, Su Li received his master's promise that he would one day inherit this sword. This made him so happy that when his master wanted to spank him for violating the sect rules thirty-seven times the previous year and make him copy the sword manual five hundred times, he, for once, didn't talk back.
Later... his master entered the Zhou Garden. And then, there was no later. His master never returned. That sword never returned either. Su Li wept at the summit of Mount Li for three days and three nights, then stared blankly for seven days and seven nights before coming to his senses and throwing himself back into the cultivation of the sword. But this time, his senior brothers and sisters noticed a new sword at his waist.
That sword came from the small town at the foot of Mount Li, from that unremarkable blacksmith shop, from the hands of a then-unremarkable blacksmith—the grandfather of the current blacksmith, Luo Dagen.
...
Spring passed, autumn came. Years flowed by. Su Li's swordsmanship was initially perfected, and he descended Mount Li to head for the Zhou Garden.
Over the next few decades, he entered the Zhou Garden once every ten years. This naturally meant that during those decades, control of the Zhou Garden remained firmly in human hands, and the demon race could never get a foothold. The reason was simple: he wanted to enter the Zhou Garden. Who could snatch the key to the Zhou Garden from under his sword?
He entered the Zhou Garden for two purposes. First, he wanted to confirm whether Zhou Dufu was alive or dead. If that number one powerhouse under the stars was already dead, then that was that. If he was still alive, he wanted to know the gap between them and how much longer he, at the upper stage of Tongyou, would need to defeat this man.
Second, he wanted to find the sword that had vanished in the Zhou Garden. Perhaps the stars never betray a person, or perhaps that renowned Sky-Shrouding Sword felt his longing. On his last entry into the Zhou Garden, Su Li actually found it in the forest by the riverbank. This sword also became the first—and only—sword ever found by anyone since the Zhou Garden opened.
However, the sword's intent had completely vanished. Only the physical blade remained. Although the sword's material was still a rare treasure hard to find in the world, it was no longer the sword it once was.
The renowned sword was as before, but its grace was gone.
Su Li stood by the riverbank for a long time in silence before finally accepting this fact.
The sword was still there, but its intent was gone. So his master... was truly gone.
Carrying the sword that had lost its soul, Su Li left the Zhou Garden and traveled far to the Tang Clan in Wenshui. He sought out Old Master Tang, who in those days occasionally deigned to work personally, hoping he could find a way to revive the sword. What status did Old Master Tang have? Why would he entertain the nearly idiotic request of a second-generation disciple of the Mount Li Sword Sect? He ignored him completely. Su Li did only one thing. He stood on the stone dam of the Tang Clan, hidden deep in the mountains of Wenshui. In one night, he broke through several realms from the upper stage of Tongyou and reached the peak of the Juxing stage.
As the richest man on the continent, Old Master Tang's greatest skill was recognizing value. He knew Su Li was demonstrating his worth. He acknowledged that Su Li absolutely had that worth. So he changed his mind without hesitation and began to acquire rare materials from all over, trying to revive the renowned sword according to Su Li's requirements.
Unfortunately, even the Wenshui Tang Clan couldn't fully meet Su Li's demands.
The recollection ended there, because what followed was something even he—the most carefree and unrestrained, or rather, thick-skinned person—found somewhat embarrassing.
He looked at the shadow in the night sky, sensing the unfathomable will of the Demon Lord, and thought with a hint of mockery: If that sword could come back to life and be held in my hand now, what would you be worth?
...
The shadow in the sky grew lower and lower, as if about to touch the distant grasslands.
Chen Changsheng held the oil-paper umbrella, watching this scene, along with the cold, deathly silence in the eyes of the terrifying beasts in the tide. He didn't know why.
He didn't know the shadow in the sky was the projection of a Roc. He didn't know this Roc, which had half a foot in the sacred domain, was once Zhou Dufu's mount. He didn't even know that the sword intent merging into the oil-paper umbrella meant the Sword Pool could appear at any moment, and what a provocation that was to this terrifying Roc.
Nanke's black hair hung loose on her shoulders, soaked by the rain, looking extremely disheveled. Her small face was pale, the indifference in her eyes long replaced by anger. In their previous exchange, even from over a hundred zhang away, the sharp sword intent had still wounded her. She didn't understand why the sword intent had become so terrifying after entering the oil-paper umbrella.
"No matter how powerful the sword intent is, what does it matter? You don't know any sword techniques. Relying only on sword intent, how long can you last!"
Hearing the voice of this demon girl, Chen Changsheng wanted to say something but ultimately didn't. He had no solution to this problem. And in truth, even if he solved the issue of the sword intent not being infinitely expendable, he couldn't solve the problem of the sea of beasts surrounding the mausoleum.
An angry, clear cry rang out. A cold wind suddenly rose on the divine path. The heavy, wet hem of her skirt flew up. Rainwater shifted. Nanke raised her sword and struck again.
Two beams of sword light shot from the blade of the Southern Cross Sword, like two rivers of stars, cutting straight down the divine path toward Chen Changsheng.
Chen Changsheng raised the oil-paper umbrella to meet them. Hundreds of tiny sword winds were born on the umbrella's surface. Accompanied by a dense, cutting sound, an unimaginably sharp sword intent directly severed the two rivers of stars, then instantly shattered them into countless fragments. The stone platform before the mausoleum's main gate was covered in dots of starlight, floating like a sea of fireflies.
Just then, a zither sound rang out.
The ground at the lower end of the divine path was already soaked by the torrential rain. An old man sat cross-legged in the rain, an ancient zither laid across his knees. He lowered his head, concentrating on playing a tune.
The old man was an elder of the Zhuyin Wu. His specialty was mental attacks. The seemingly gentle, flowing zither sound hid unknown dangers. Rain fell from the sky, striking and plucking the strings along with his aged fingers, then was shaken into a mist by the strings' vibrations. Accompanied by the zither's sharp or light tones, faint shapes appeared in the mist.
These weren't real objects, but powerful divine thoughts. Like mountain spirits, like witch tigers, they suddenly left the old man's ancient zither, swept like a hurricane onto the stone platform. They didn't scatter the sea of starlight fragments, but eerily bypassed the oil-paper umbrella, turning into several strands of cold wind that landed on Chen Changsheng's face.
...
(At this critical juncture, sparing no ink to write about this vanished renowned sword—everyone understands the reason. This grand chapter of the Zhou Garden, from beginning to end, relies on this sword to add luster to my work. I hope the final result will satisfy both me and everyone. Wishing you all a pleasant weekend. See you tomorrow. P.S.: It's later than I imagined, though still before eleven. The reason is that I had hotpot for dinner. I don't know if it was overeating or something else, but I felt terribly uncomfortable and restless... Well, I guess I just ate too much.)