Chapter 1: Heart’s Blood 01

Fuyuan Realm, the Far East.

Several mountain ranges undulate endlessly, shrouded in mist, with strange peaks and stones, clear pools like ink, and conical summits dotted like stars. Unusual rosy light encircles the Nine Heavens Sect, making everything seem like a paradise on earth where time is forgotten.

Among the three sects and six branches of the immortal clans, ever since the founder of Nine Heavens Sect carved out a forbidden land and established the sect, it has stood tall on Fuyuan soil like a crane soaring to the sky. Not only is the sect’s aura extraordinary, but it has produced prodigies generation after generation, firmly securing its place as the leader of the immortal gates, never wavering.

To be admitted to such a prestigious sect, the disciples’ talents and temperament are self-evident; even the lowest-ranked Qi Refining disciples carry themselves with an indescribable grace.

West of Nine Heavens Sect, near the gates, a man in azure robes walked across water with his hands behind his back. In the blink of an eye, a famed sword with a cold, gleaming blade broke through the surface, following him closely.

Lu Mao grasped the sword, flicked the blade with his finger, and a deep, resonant sword cry echoed through the mountains.

“The sword sings so clearly! Congratulations, Brother Lu, on mastering sword refinement!”

“Among us outer sect disciples, Brother Lu is truly the foremost.”

Several disciples surrounded him, smiling and cupping their hands in congratulations, regardless of their inner envy or jealousy.

Lu Mao smiled slightly, his eyes sweeping over them, already aware of their thoughts, but he paid no heed to such schemes. He sheathed his sword, speaking with humility but carrying a proud bearing.

“I am but half a step ahead of everyone; how could I be called the first? Nine Heavens is full of talent, I am merely a minor figure.”

Despite his words, having broken through and reached Foundation Establishment before his twentieth birthday, he was already a top figure among the outer sect. Across the entire Nine Heavens Sect, he could be called a favored child of heaven.

The other disciples inwardly smirked, suppressing their dissatisfaction and continued to flatter Lu Mao.

“With your current cultivation, in three months during the sect’s grand competition, you’ll surely advance to the inner sect. Perhaps you’ll be taken in by a Dao Lord, and a true disciple’s position is within reach.”

“Yes, indeed!”

Nine Heavens Sect divides its disciples into inner and outer sects. The outer sect is vast and fiercely competitive. Only by advancing through the annual grand competition can one hope to be noticed by the powerful cultivators. The ten true disciple spots are even more unattainable for the outer sect.

Countless prodigies vie for those ten elite positions; this person’s prediction of true discipleship was naive and harbored ulterior motives.

Lu Mao disregarded him, and sensing his attitude, the others distanced themselves as well. That disciple, pleased at having provoked Lu Mao, did not realize he would soon face hardship in the outer sect.

The outer sect disciples discussed their cultivation insights for the day. Lu Mao was not stingy, speaking a few words that revealed the essence of sword refinement. As he spoke, he suddenly sensed a surge of spiritual power nearby.

He looked up abruptly and saw a streak of rosy light soaring from the sect, like a meteor darting into the gates. Spiritual energy surged, awe-inspiring.

The dragon jade that had been silent for decades raised its head, the thunder bells suspended in its mouth vibrating, emitting a pure, ethereal sound like celestial music. Accompanied by that immense spiritual aura, it seemed to wrap mountains and carry the moon, with an unstoppable fierceness.

Clouds billowed atop the dome. With Lu Mao’s eyesight, he could barely glimpse high-level cultivators riding clouds and cranes, retreating in haste, as a figure in crimson broke through the sea of clouds and vanished into the layered peaks.

Though the figure had departed, its mark remained—a sudden long scar in the clouds, as if a sword had split heaven and earth.

That sword seemed to strike Lu Mao’s heart as well.

He was speechless, stunned.

The other disciples, though not as keen-eyed as he, could sense the drama from the rolling spiritual energy above and asked, “Such a display—has a Dao Lord returned to the sect?”

Lu Mao was also deeply curious. Though he hailed from the Lu clan, he was merely a collateral branch with little authority and knew little about the powerful figures atop Nine Heavens.

Among them, an elderly disciple stroked his beard, smiling proudly.

“You youngsters, newly entered Nine Heavens, of course you don’t know the name.” This disciple had lingered in the outer sect for a century, his cultivation stagnant, relying on longevity pills, indulging in pleasures and sharing news freely. “That one—personal disciple of Master Floating Hibiscus, currently the top of the ten true disciples, commonly called ‘Leng Fangxie.’ Now, do you know who I mean?”

“It’s Dao Lord Qinghong!” everyone exclaimed.

“Indeed. When you entered the sect, the Dao Lord had already left to travel, so you’ve not met him. But surely you’ve heard of him.”

Heard of him? More than that.

His reputation resounded not only in Nine Heavens but throughout Fuyuan Realm. Born ordinary, yet taken in by the greatest living master, his talent was exceptional. From his first step in Qi Refining, his progress was unstoppable. Within a century, he reached Nascent Soul. How many prodigies are there in the cultivation world? Since his rise, all have been left far behind, unable to even glimpse his shadow.

With Leng Fangxie’s talent, it’s said that within a hundred years, Nine Heavens will likely gain another illustrious Dao Lord.

He despised evil fiercely, spending most of his year outside, slaying demons and stirring storms wherever he went. His reputation was earned through real battle; even those who envied him only grumbled, never slandered him.

In Lu Mao’s view, those who carry themselves with proud and lofty airs are usually maligned by mediocrities. Yet since joining the sect, he had never heard a single ill word about Leng Fangxie—even his narrow-minded clan brothers spoke well of him, which amazed Lu Mao.

Thinking of the stunning figure he had just witnessed, who turned out to be the very Dao Lord his clan brother had long pursued in vain, Lu Mao’s feelings were momentarily complex and hard to describe.

Everyone crowded around the elderly disciple, asking about Dao Lord Qinghong. He responded to each question, though mostly with vague answers.

But none were fools; after a few queries, they shook their heads. “Looks like Brother doesn’t really know much about the Dao Lord.”

---

The elderly disciple, proud of his seniority, flushed with embarrassment and irritation. “Matters of the Dao Lord are not for us to gossip about!”

The disciples scoffed, their disdain obvious.

“Oh, you—” the old disciple, goaded beyond reason, raised his head and said, “I can’t speak for the rest, but there’s one thing you might as well know. It’s said the Dao Lord’s sword breaks all laws, his cultivation terrifying, but actually…”

He lowered his voice. “The Dao Lord’s appearance is of immortal beauty, enough to captivate hearts.”

“I once had the fortune to glimpse the Dao Lord. Just once, just once.” There was a trace of yearning in his tone. “And for nearly a hundred years after, I could not forget it.”

“To such an extent!” the others marveled.

There are countless beauties in the cultivation world; they had seen plenty, but never to that degree.

“Ah, ah…” The elder sighed several times, stirred into disarray by seeing the Dao Lord again after a century. He hurriedly tossed out, “The Dao Lord should now be at the Hall of Harmonious Dao,” and fled.

His behavior only heightened everyone’s curiosity. They resolved to go to the Hall of Harmonious Dao to glimpse the Dao Lord’s elegance. Lu Mao also felt compelled, and happened to have an unfinished task in hand. Having mastered sword refinement, he rode his sword and quickly arrived at the Hall, leaving the other outer sect disciples far behind.

The Hall of Harmonious Dao, a place where Nine Heavens instructs disciples and manages tasks, was always bustling. Lu Mao sheathed his sword and landed, noticing a crowd at the entrance. Listening closely, he realized they were all there to “sneak a look” at the Dao Lord.

He moved like water, and with a few steps slipped inside.

Within, the scene was less lively than outside; disciples collecting or returning tasks and stewards had their eyes fixed on one corner.

The figure in crimson stood tall, back to Lu Mao. Though his aura was restrained, he shone dazzlingly in the eyes of cultivators, making them avert their gaze.

Beside him stood a small, thin child. The boy’s hair was yellowed, his body gaunt, clothes ill-fitting, and exposed skin yellowish. No spiritual radiance surrounded him—clearly an uninitiated mortal. Under everyone’s scrutiny, he nervously clutched Leng Fangxie’s sleeve.

Lu Mao glanced indifferently, then withdrew his gaze.

He looked at the person standing before the crimson figure and recognized him instantly.

Clad in black robes, grave yet unable to hide his amiable demeanor.

It was the senior brother!

Nine Heavens does not care much for rank by age; cultivation is what matters. Today, if you surpass me, you are my senior; tomorrow, if I surpass you, I call you “junior.” Some call older peers “senior” as a courtesy.

But the Senior Brother—or Senior Sister—there is only one in the entire sect, and once decided, the title remains unless that person leaves the sect or commits an unforgivable crime. When the master retires, the Senior Brother becomes the new leader.

To win trust as “Senior Brother” is an arduous path.

That path, Zhou Huai took and outpaced all.

Senior Brother spent most of his time managing sect affairs, and trivial matters like task registration were beneath him. Yet now he was gently inquiring about details.

The attention of those in the Hall did not concern Leng Fangxie. He recounted from the beginning, discussing the task he took before leaving the sect, from solutions to details, leaving nothing hidden, explaining everything without ambiguity.

“As for the demon’s corpse,” Leng Fangxie paused briefly, then said, “I ground it to dust—there’s nothing left.”

Senior Brother raised his brows, teasing, “As expected of you, still so fierce. No matter; as long as someone checks the demon’s aura in the house, it won’t affect your task.”

He recorded the details in a jade slip, then his gaze shifted to the child beside Leng Fangxie.

“This child—what do you intend, junior?”

Suddenly mentioned, the child’s hand clutching the sleeve tightened. He trembled, as if drawing strength from Leng Fangxie’s robe, barely keeping calm.

Leng Fangxie replied, “He will be my sole disciple in the future.”

The words dropped like hot oil in a pan—uproar ensued. Lu Mao was stunned as well.

Taking a disciple!

And the only disciple!

A place so many coveted, and Leng Fangxie casually granted it to a mortal?!

“He is called Li Lingchen. Record his name. The matter of entry will be discussed later.” Ignoring the shocked stares, Leng Fangxie wrapped Li Lingchen in spiritual energy and departed.

In that moment, Lu Mao saw his face clearly.

Immortal elegance, pure and lofty, eyes cold and sharp like a sword, dazzling and intense.

Lu Mao’s eyes burned, forcing him to lower his head, his heart pounding. When he looked up again, the crimson figure was gone, and nearby cultivators shared his stunned expression.

Lu Mao was awestruck, and even after returning home, remained lost and unable to recover.

---

West of the Hall of Harmonious Dao, the highest peak belonged to Leng Fangxie’s master, Floating Hibiscus, commonly called “Sword Peak.”

Enveloped in clouds and mist, Leng Fangxie slowed his pace, introducing the scenery to the child as they traveled west.

Li Lingchen remained silent, memorizing everything.

He was born to impoverished mortal parents, begging and selling wild produce to survive. The family could barely scrounge together a string of coins; his life was worth less than paper. He might have grown up unremarkably or died from a random fever.

But before he grew up, disaster struck—his parents were devoured by a grotesque monster. He should have been next, but was saved by the immortal lord beside him.

Li Lingchen still remembered that night.

Moonlight was pale, tinged with murderous energy, the air thick with blood and stench, suffocating. Li Lingchen lay in a corner, drenched in blood.

Bones, flesh, organs, heart.

Chewed, swallowed, digested.

An eyeball rolled from the monster’s mouth, tumbling to his feet. Despite the blood and dirt, Li Lingchen recognized it as his mother’s eye.

He stared at the monster, his eyes nearly bursting with rage. As it rushed toward him, about to make him its next meal, a cold flash streaked by, and the monster let out a baby-like shriek, turning to ashes.

On the muddy, bloody path, an immortal lord stood with hands behind his back, looking down at him.

“Master…”

The immortal seemed to say something, but Li Lingchen couldn’t hear. Terror and hatred drained all his strength, and with the danger gone, he collapsed, losing consciousness.

Upon waking, he found himself brought to Nine Heavens Sect by the immortal lord.

The immortal healed his wounds, bought him new clothes, and Li Lingchen tasted the finest meal of his life.

The immortal said he would take him as his disciple.

Li Lingchen was both shocked and delighted. But upon entering Nine Heavens, seeing the immortal grandeur and being eyed with disdain by lofty immortals, he felt only inferiority.

But the immortal lord had his reasons for choosing him. Li Lingchen felt inferior, but not worthless; the immortal must have seen talent in him. He had never cultivated before, but once he opened his meridians, who could say whether he would surpass those proud immortals or not?

He would not let his master down!

“On Sword Peak, besides you and me and a few children, only my master remains. He is usually in seclusion, rarely seen. If you meet him… be respectful.”

Li Lingchen keenly sensed a strange tone when his master mentioned his own master.

Sword Peak was not rough like mortal tales, but a palace of jade and towers, clouds reflecting in the sky, more pure and aloof than other peaks. Leng Fangxie brought him to a hall halfway up the mountain; inside was beautiful, and a child greeted them. Upon learning Li Lingchen would be the Dao Lord’s future disciple, the child’s attitude became noticeably respectful.

Li Lingchen’s wounds had not fully healed, so Leng Fangxie arranged for him to stay in the room closest to his own.

After giving a few instructions, Leng Fangxie shut himself away. Li Lingchen could only follow the child’s advice to eat and rest.

He awoke in the middle of the night, burning with fever and pain. Remembering his master’s instructions, Li Lingchen forced himself up, supporting himself as he left the room.

He pushed open the door, trembling, and looked around. The children were nowhere to be seen; the night was eerily silent. Li Lingchen shivered, wanting to find help, but could only seek out his master.

Luckily, their rooms were close; a few dozen steps brought him there. Seeing the bright light from his master’s room, he was about to knock when he heard a low, ragged gasp.

He stopped.

Once, then again.

Ambiguous, unspeakable.

Li Lingchen had grown up amidst all walks of life and knew exactly what it was. After initial embarrassment, a cold wind brought a wave of shock.

Those gasps…

They sounded as if they came from his master.