Chapter 22: First Arrival at Heavenly Sword

The first morning after leaving the Guixu Cottage, Jiang Yiyi still felt somewhat unsettled. There was no familiar bird song, no soft, furry touch of the moonlight rabbit—only the cool morning mist of the mountain forest and the solid earth beneath her feet.

“Father, aren’t we taking the flying boat?” she asked curiously, looking at Jiang Xiuyuan dressed plainly in a simple hemp robe, resembling a rustic farmer heading to the market. With his perfect Dao-form cultivation, crossing a region should take only a few days.

Jiang Xiuyuan smiled and shook his head. He handed a dry branch to Jiang Xiaobai and gently tidied Yiyi’s slightly disheveled temple hair, speaking softly, “This journey of ours is not about rushing, but about observing the path. If we rode magical vessels, covering a thousand miles a day, all we’d see would be the clouds rushing past and mountain peaks flying beneath us. Only by measuring the earth with our own feet, observing with our eyes, and listening with our ears, can we truly feel the pulse of this land.”

He pointed toward a distant village where smoke curled lazily from chimneys. “Look, there are mortal villages. They rise with the sun and rest at dusk, living no more than a hundred years, experiencing joy and sorrow, birth and death—all part of the Dao. We immortals, with our long lifespans, often overlook such simple scenery. This is the first lesson of our journey: to feel the earth and savor the mortal world.”

Jiang Xiaobai took the dry branch thoughtfully and casually fashioned it into a sword flower. The branch seemed to come alive in her hand, emitting a faint slicing sound. She appeared to understand her father’s intention: true harmony of the heart lies not only in mountains and rivers but also in the myriad lives beneath them.

Jiang Yiyi nodded vaguely, though her attention soon drifted to an unknown wildflower by the roadside, adorned with dewdrops, with a colorful butterfly dancing above it. The curiosity and joy sparkling in her eyes was exactly the sight I longed to see.

And so, the family of three began their journey of ten thousand miles in this almost ascetic manner. They chose no set direction but followed their hearts. By day, they traveled on foot like mortals; I would recount to my daughters the various plants and landscapes we encountered, sharing historical legends from ancient texts tied to this land. By night, they camped in the wilderness, lodged with mortal farmers, or sometimes stayed in cultivator towns to hear the latest rumors.

Jiang Xiuyuan perfectly concealed his aura, appearing as a white-haired old man without cultivation. Jiang Yiyi and Jiang Xiaobai also suppressed their spiritual powers, looking like ordinary young girls with some martial skills. Such a group was inconspicuous in the borderlands where the mortal and immortal worlds intertwined.

Years passed quietly on this journey.

We crossed vast plains, witnessing the rise of mortal dynasties and the erection of majestic cities; they also traversed barren ancient battlefields, sensing the silent centuries of slaughter and resentment buried deep within the earth.

Jiang Yiyi helped injured mortals and befriended mountain spirits. Jiang Xiaobai honed her sword spirit through observation, having seen city guards practice sword formations, rural wandering knights wield their blades, and low-tier wandering cultivators fight to the death over a single herb. Witnessing so much life and death matured her temperament, sharpening her sword heart into a colder, more composed edge.

These were scenes impossible to behold within the confines of Guixu Cottage.

One day, they arrived before a vast mountain range unlike any they had seen—a range of towering peaks like giant swords thrust into the heavens, steep and sharp, piercing the sky. The air carried a faint but piercing sword aura so pure and potent that the clouds above seemed sliced by invisible blades, forming jagged, angular shapes.

“This is the Tianjian Mountain Range of the Eastern Domain,” Jiang Xiuyuan said slowly, gazing up at the highest peak soaring into the clouds. “The Tianjian Sect, the foremost sword school of the Eastern Domain, is nestled here.”

Jiang Xiaobai’s breath caught. She could distinctly feel the sword intent within her stirring in resonance with the sword aura permeating the land—a thrilling challenge, a reverence for a greater peak yet to be scaled.

They did not fly directly to the sect but entered the largest town on the outskirts of the Tianjian Mountains—Tianjian City.

Upon entering, an overwhelming sword energy assaulted them. The city’s architecture was simple yet sharp, built mostly of bluestone and black rock with straight lines resembling sword sheaths. Almost every cultivator in town carried a longsword, each unique—some ancient and heavy, others light and elegant, some radiating deadly intent, others restrained and unassuming.

What stirred Jiang Xiaobai most profoundly was the diverse sword intent emanating from these sword cultivators. Some blazed like wildfire, domineering and absolute; others were as cold as ice, severe and unyielding; some flowed like a gentle breeze through willows, graceful and unpredictable. Like a sponge, she greedily absorbed all of it, matching it against her own understanding of the sword Dao. Her eyes sparkled as she scrutinized every sword cultivator passing by, as if trying to see through their very sword spirits.

Jiang Xiuyuan led his two daughters to a teahouse facing the street and sat down. This was the best place to gather information, where all walks of life converged and local customs and news could be heard.

“Guests, what will you have? Our shop has just received ‘Cloud Peak Mao Feng,’ a spirit tea picked from the mid-mountain of Tianjian Mountain, infused with sword intent—it’s most refreshing,” the waiter cheerfully greeted them.

“A pot, please,” Jiang Xiuyuan tossed a silver coin casually.

The tea arrived quickly, fragrant and fresh, releasing a subtle sharpness on the tongue—a curious sensation.

At a neighboring table, a few cultivators in Foundation Establishment and Golden Core stages spoke quietly but clearly enough to reach Jiang Xiuyuan’s ears amid the bustling teahouse.

“Have you heard? Senior Brother Xiao Chen… he might really be ruined,” one young man wearing the outer disciple robes of Tianjian Sect sighed, full of regret.

“Xiao Chen? Which Xiao Chen?” a companion asked.

“Who else! The most dazzling genius of Tianjian Sect in a hundred years—no, a thousand years—‘Soaring Swan Sword’ Xiao Chen!”

At the mention of the name, several nearby tables quieted, clearly recognizing the thunderous reputation.

“The boy who sensed Qi at three, established foundation at seven, reached Golden Core by thirty, and formed Nascent Soul by a hundred—a peerless prodigy?”

“Exactly!” The first speaker’s voice brimmed with admiration and sorrow. “Senior Brother Xiao’s sword talent is said to be once in ten thousand years. His ‘Soaring Swan Sword’ is so fast that even elders in late Nascent Soul feel inferior. The sect’s ancestors say he is the future hope of Tianjian Sect, the rare talent who can lead us to suppress the barbarian tribes from the Western Desert and the northern wilds!”

“So… what happened to him?”

The young man’s voice grew somber. “One year ago, Senior Brother Xiao accompanied senior elders on a mission to eradicate the great evil cultivator ‘Blood Butcher Elder.’ That battle was fierce and earth-shaking. Blood Butcher Elder was slain on the spot, but we suffered heavy losses. To protect an elder, Xiao Chen, with his Nascent Soul-level power, confronted the Blood Butcher Elder’s life-born magical weapon, the ‘Blood Transformation Divine Blade.’ As a result… his life sword ‘Soaring Swan’ was shattered, his sword heart poisoned by demonic energy, his soul severely wounded, and all his cultivation… drained away like flowing water.”

A collective intake of breath echoed through the teahouse.

For a sword cultivator, losing one’s life sword and having the sword heart damaged is crueler than death itself—it means the complete severance of one’s Dao path.

“Truly a talent envied by Heaven!” someone lamented. “Where is Xiao Chen now?”

“Where else?” The young man shook his head bitterly. “After waking from a coma and realizing he could no longer cultivate, he collapsed completely. He refused all help from the sect, left alone, and disappeared. Some say he might have found a place to end his own life. After all, for someone so proud, falling from the clouds into the mud is more painful than death.”

Silence fell over the teahouse, filled only with endless sighs.

Jiang Yiyi’s face turned pale, filled with sympathy. Jiang Xiaobai furrowed her brow, unable to imagine the despair a sword cultivator would feel upon losing both sword and cultivation.

Only Jiang Xiuyuan, holding his teacup, gazed calmly out the window at the towering Tianjian peak, his eyes deep and unfathomable. A once radiant genius, now perhaps quietly preparing to end his remaining days in some forgotten corner.

This story of the mortal world had only just begun, yet it already stirred such poignant sorrow.