A celestial blade, forged of starlight and fury, rent the heavens and plunged into the cobblestone street before the mansion of ill repute. The lingering trail of its passage, like a comet’s vibrant tail, painted the air with ephemeral rainbow hues, banishing the perpetual gloom as a sunbeam pierces a haunted chamber.

A diminutive donkey, whiter than fresh-fallen snow, greeted the otherworldly arrival with ecstatic leaps and giddy circles, as if reunited with a long-lost friend in a forsaken land.

The spectral bride, draped in a gown of crimson silk, manifested a visible disquiet. Mistress of these blighted lands, she felt the sword’s power resonate deep within the earth, shaking the very foundations of the mountain. Had she not shielded the mansion with her own spectral energy, the thousand lanterns that flickered within would have been snuffed out in a single, chilling gust.

A tempest of shock and wrath warred within her. Not on the fallen blade did her gaze linger, but on the rent in the oppressive sky, a wound her power could not mend. Beads of crimson, like tears of blood, welled upon the silken fabric of her gown, cascading down as drops upon a lotus leaf, each one a testament to her weakening hold.

With a furious swirl of her spectral sleeves, she raised her head and unleashed a banshee wail that echoed through the cursed valley. “Trespassers upon my domain shall meet their doom! Bold Sword Immortal, I shall claim your head as a prize, and plant it in my garden for a century of agonizing bloom!”

A voice, light as a summer breeze yet ringing with undeniable authority, drifted from afar, coalescing finally around the fallen sword. It held the charm of a nobleman’s son, the delicate poetry of wind, flower, snow, and moon, yet beneath the surface flowed a river of unyielding steel. “Patience, fair lady. My corporeal form lags behind the swiftness of my blade. I merely sought a glimpse of your famed garden’s artistry…”

“A meager plot,” she snarled, her pale face tinged with a venomous blue, “fit only for the planting of a head!”

From the wedding dress’s sleeves, two rivulets of crimson blood surged skyward, aimed to engulf and corrupt the celestial tear.

“The very air reeks of impurity!” a voice declared, as the heavens groaned under the assault.

The twin streams of blood, forced back upon themselves, exploded against the dome of the small world like a rain of gore. The spectral bride shuddered, yet with a gesture of dismissive grace, gathered the falling droplets back into her tattered sleeves.

From the chasm in the sky, a young man descended, clad in robes of purest white, wreathed in an aura of shimmering light. Untethered, his dark hair flowed freely. His hands, clasped in a sword-like form, pulsed with raw power. A corona of blinding sword-ki danced around his arm, instantly dissolving any taint of foulness.

Barely thirty years of age, he landed with feather-light grace between the assembled mortals and the vengeful spirit. The fallen sword, sensing its master’s presence, leaped to his side, its tip pointing directly at the mansion’s gate, where the inscription “Xiu Shui Gaofeng” gleamed in tarnished gold.

The man lowered his hand, the overflowing sword energy momentarily abated. He saw then the little girl with a red coat, clutching a book satchel. A flicker of realization crossed his face – what he once protected was no longer his to claim. He smiled, a gentle warmth spreading over his features, and with a wave of his hand, Li Baoping’s Green Bamboo Bookbox stirred. A silver gourd, nestled within, quivered, releasing a miniature sword, no larger than two inches, yet gleaming with otherworldly light. It pierced the air with a whisper of wind, imbued with the man’s fading sword-ki, and vanished into his brow.

The Sword Immortal rubbed his temples, a wry smile playing on his lips. “So eager to prove your worth? From this day onward, let us roam the world together. You are no shrinking violet to languish in an embroidery room.”

The white donkey, its hooves dancing a merry jig, trotted to the man’s side, nuzzling its head against his shoulder in an affectionate greeting.

The man chuckled, reaching out to stroke the donkey’s silken mane. “Old friend, it has been too long. I have sorely missed you.”

The rent in the sky was closing, but at a terrible cost. The mountain’s spiritual energy was being consumed, fifty years of accumulated power dissolving into nothingness to mend the veil.

The spectral bride, regaining her composure, sneered. “A worn blade, sword-ki leaking from your mortal vessel, yet your natal sword burns with such ferocity. A Land Sword Immortal of considerable renown. Surely, you hail from the Dali Clan?”

The Sword Immortal smiled. “I am but a vagabond, adrift in this world. My name is of little consequence.”

He then turned his back, exposing himself to the vengeful spirit. “I am but half a friend to Aliang. Or rather, half his disciple. He refuses to acknowledge the bond, claiming I am too soft, too hesitant, too slow to unsheathe my blade. But I felt the disturbance, sensed the presence of my sword-raising gourd. Tell me,” he asked, turning to Chen Ping’an, “where have they taken him?”

Chen Ping’an explained, “We too are friends of Aliang. He gifted the gourd to Li Baoping, and Li Huai cares for the donkey. As for Aliang’s whereabouts, I believe you shall learn of them soon.”

The Sword Immortal nodded, listening intently to the boy’s words. “I understand.”

A tremor ran through the earth, the portent of collapsing mountains. The spectral bride’s face twisted in dread. She tried to flee, but found herself tethered to the spot, held fast by the presence of the flying sword that now hovered three feet above her head.

“Han Langzhong, embroidered river water god, where are you?!” she shrieked, her voice laced with desperation. “Do you not care that the interruption of Shangen’s actions will not only affect embroidery, but also three pieces! Dajiang, and Qidun Mountain, Tiefu River, and Longxu River in the north, which side can survive and not be affected?!”

In the sky above, an old man stood, holding aloft a great red lantern, his eyes burning with scorn. “Where is the fire, the fury of the so-called ‘Mrs. Chu?'”

Her face clouded with resentment.

Beside the old man stood a general, his armor gleaming, a serpent coiled around his arm. He sought to soothe the brewing conflict between the Minister of Rites and the spectral bride. “Madam Chu, Doctor Han and I can restrain the Yin God from interfering, but we expect restraint from you. No more extreme words or deeds.”

The spirit adopted a sly smile. “Would a friendly exchange of Taoist techniques and sword skills with this Sword Immortal be considered extreme, good sir?”

Han Langzhong laughed, a sound devoid of mirth. “A bodhisattva’s heart! I have learned much today, Madam Chu, which will be remembered in Dali.”

The spectral bride scoffed. “Little Doctor, are you blustering to frighten children? Only as Minister of Rites in Dali will you have the right to speak to me.”

The serpent on the Jiang God’s arm hissed, white mist swirling. He knew the machinations of the Dali court far better than the isolated ghost. “Madam Chu,” he warned, his voice laced with displeasure.

She covered her mouth with a hand, giggling behind her fingers, offering a mock bow with the other. “My apologies to Lord Han.”

The old man holding the lantern bit back his anger. He would not jeopardize the stability of the Dali Mountain and River over such a trivial matter.

He would not expose Mrs. Chu for her cruel torture and murder of scholars, as the Dali Rites Ministry had done for decades.
The hegemony of mountains and rivers will last forever.

What’s the point of dying a few people? What is innocent or unfortunate?

If he was not an official from Dali, or the doctor of the Ministry of Rites who was responsible for contacting and recruiting Qi training men, according to his temperament, as a student of Confucianism, he would definitely take action resolutely, even if both sides were injured. But the old man has reached this high position step by step. He has seen tens of thousands of casualties in the battlefield, seen the tall houses in Dali Capital changed their names, and saw death soldiers from other countries flying into fire. The assassination saw the tragic situation of two gods on the mountain fighting and affecting hundreds or thousands of people below the mountain.

In his position, he will do his own politics.

He, Han, is no longer the poor scholar who studied hard in the books of sages and only knew the principles in books.

For the sake of the Dali Law, he even killed the warriors who were passing by with dissatisfaction and righteousness, just for the innocent people to seek revenge from the gods on the mountain.

Before the man was seriously injured and died, he cursed, saying that Da Li was so ridiculous that he was the lackey of the gods on the mountain.

He told the man calmly that it might be thirty years or fifty years later, in short, there will definitely be one day when Dali will no longer die like you. The chivalrous warrior spat blood on his face before he died.

How can there be a simple thing in the world that is one-size-fits-all?

The old man holding a lantern and thinking in a complicated manner looked to the north. For some reason, his adult was not in a hurry to show up.

The Sword Immortal ignored Mrs. Chu and the Dali officialdom. The Yin Gods held no interest for him. He turned once more to the spectral bride, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “You wish to spar with me?”

The woman smiled, her eyes narrowed with a predatory light. “If I thought I had a chance of success, then I would. I will not see Land Sword Immortals as young as the young master.”

He waved his hand, and the white donkey scampered back to Li Huai. Reaching out, he grasped the hilt of his sword. “Very well,” he said.

Her eyes widened, a hint of genuine surprise flickering within them. “Oh? You accept?”

His fingers tightened around the hilt. “Its name is Gaozhu.”

He drew the blade in a swift, elegant motion.

And with that single, unadorned stroke, the world was changed. The oppressive twilight vanished, replaced by a blinding light.

The sword-ki raced towards the spectral bride with impossible speed.

She could only raise her arms in a futile defense, her wide sleeves shrouding her form.

The sword cleaved her in two.

Her scream echoed through the streets, a sound of raw agony that reverberated through the mansion behind her.

The servants and maids froze, blood weeping from every pore. Some collapsed, dissolving into pools of viscous pus.

Inside the mansion, a wealthy woman, studying calligraphy, continued the stroke. Her hand continued even as the blood poured down her arm. The guards stood, punching each other’s head, their movement never stopped.

The spectral bride, her severed halves rejoining, rushed towards the gate. Threads of red silk stitched the pieces back together, but the seams were ragged, the damage profound.

The Sword Immortal spoke calmly, his voice untouched by the carnage. “Come, let us try again.”

He slashed horizontally.

A shimmering wave of sword-ki, like sunlight on water, spread through the air.

She became a beauty bathing in the light and could only be stopped by the light.

The wedding dress fell to the top of the steps.

The spectral bride dissolved into a cloud of swirling smoke, fleeing towards the golden plaque above the gate, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. The faces bulged from time to time on the face of the plaque, a plea for mercy whispered: “Sword Immortal, spare me!”

In two simple strokes, he had shattered her soul, forced her to retreat to the heart of her power, the plaque that bound her to this place.

Lin Shouyi’s mind reeled. No wonder Aliang had said that the sword cultivators possessed a rare freedom and unparalleled destructive power. It was a pity that Lin Shouyi had good qualifications in practicing, but he is not suitable for sword cultivation. It was such a pity, but Lin Shouyi quickly regained his original way of thinking. Wouldn’t it be better to surpass those using the Taoist sword like him? However, Lin Shouyi knew that the man in front of him was probably the legendary Qi training man of the upper five realms. If a pure martial artist outside the Qi training man has always been inferior to Qi training man, then the Qi training man is Sword cultivators have always been one of the best among other Qi training men.

The reason is very simple, no one wants to fight a Taoist sword cultivator.

According to legend, some people have calculated that among the Qi training men who interrupted the enemy’s Longevity Bridge, there is undoubtedly the most sword cultivators, accounting for one-third, and they are even better than military cultivators who are decisive in killing and not involved in cause and effect. You must know the path to practice. There are thousands of ways, and there are destiny methods on every road, including the hundreds of schools of thought, the right path, etc., sword cultivator is just one of them.

Chen Ping’an’s thoughts were simpler. He was just thinking one thing. It turns out that the sword could be used in this way.

The Sword Immortal took one hand and said with a smile: “It’s not enough to do it. Mrs. Chu would better take my sword again?”

A figure appeared quietly under the plaque. It was a young man, but he was not astonishing. He was behind his waist with his sword, and he slowly said, “The Wei and Jin Temple of Fengxue Temple is OK.”

The white-clothed sword fairy smiled and said, “The God Immortal Platform is right for Wei and Jin Dynasties.”

No more said, this Land Sword Immortal swung his sword again.

The young swordsman on the opposite side had no expression on his face, reached out to hold the hilt of the sword, slowly pulled out the more than a century, and then stopped drawing the sword out of the sheath.

But between the two sword cultivators, a small and cute mountain appeared, with winding mountains hanging across the air.

The young sword immortal Wei and Jin cut off the mountains with one sword, but the sword’s intention was not enough, so he continued to draw the sword without giving up.

Not knowing that thousands of miles away, a mountain range that stretched for hundreds of miles had a huge canyon cracked from it at the highest point, like an immortal slashing out with a sword.