Chapter 35: A Single Sword Emerges from the Mountains

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For the half month after receiving guidance from the Sword-Hiding Ancestor, Xiao Chen made no deliberate effort to cultivate. Instead, like the old ancestor himself, he devoted himself each day to sweeping the floors and wiping the bookshelves. His movements were slow and focused, as though the rag and broom in his hands were extensions of his swordsmanship. Every sweep of dust was an exercise in “gathering” and “concealing.”

His aura grew increasingly restrained. He appeared even more ordinary than before, like a weathered stone whose edges had been smoothed away by the passage of time, lying quietly in a mountain stream, utterly unremarkable. Yet only Xiao Chen knew what astonishing sharpness was taking shape within that stone.

One morning, a piercing crane cry shattered the tranquility of the Heavenly Sword Sect. A messenger crane drenched in blood staggered down from the clouds and finally crashed onto the plaza before the sect’s grand council hall.

The disciple assigned to guard the messenger crane hurried forward and removed a bloodstained jade slip from the message tube tied to its leg. As spiritual power flowed into it, an anxious projection of divine sense appeared in midair.

“Senior Brother Qin is surrounded in Soul-Severing Valley by the Little Blood Butcher and his followers while protecting us. He has suffered severe injuries and is in grave danger! The Blood Butcher fiends have set up a Blood Fiend Array, preventing us from drawing near. We implore the sect to send an elder to rescue him at once!”

The moment the news spread, the entire Heavenly Sword Sect was thrown into turmoil.

Qin Wuyou was one of the finest among the inner disciples. Upright and exceptionally gifted, he was one of the few people in the sect who had consistently shown Xiao Chen goodwill and firmly believed in his innocence. For the past three years, he had secretly provided Xiao Chen with aid and protection more than once.

Inside the Scripture Pavilion, Xiao Chen paused while sweeping. He raised his head, his gaze seeming to pierce through layer upon layer of lofts toward the grand council hall. Though it lay far away, he sensed that familiar, frantic fluctuation of divine sense with perfect clarity.

Wuyou was in trouble.

He set down the broom and quickly climbed to the third floor. The Sword-Hiding Ancestor was seated by the window, leisurely sipping a cup of coarse tea, as though he had long expected Xiao Chen to come.

“Going?” the ancestor asked faintly without raising his head.

“I am.” Xiao Chen’s reply was firm and decisive. “I owe him.”

“Within the sect, factions are everywhere. The faction allied with the Little Blood Butcher will certainly obstruct matters and delay the rescue. By the time your elders reach a decision, your friend will likely already be cold.”

The ancestor was merely stating a cruel fact.

“So I will go myself.” Xiao Chen’s gaze was calm and resolute.

At last, the ancestor lifted his head and glanced at him. Beneath Xiao Chen’s utterly ordinary appearance, he sensed a sword intent on the verge of erupting—an intent tempered to perfection through “concealment” and “gathering.”

“Your sword should not remain hidden in this pavilion forever.” The ancestor nodded in assent. “Go.”

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“Thank you, Ancestor.”

Xiao Chen bowed once more, then turned and descended the stairs without the slightest hesitation.

He left the Scripture Pavilion and headed toward the mountain gate. The news had already spread, and many disciples were discussing it among themselves. Some were worried, while others took delight in the misfortune, yet not one dared descend the mountain without permission.

Just as Xiao Chen was about to pass through the mountain gate, a familiar figure stepped into his path.

It was Lin Feng.

Lin Feng’s face was gloomy, his eyes filled with resentment and a trace of barely concealed fear. Several lackeys followed behind him. Clearly, they had been waiting here on purpose.

“Xiao Chen! You worthless cripple! This is an important place of the sect. Do you think you can come and go as you please?” Lin Feng shouted harshly, attempting to conceal his inner unease beneath those words. The humiliation he had suffered in the martial arena last time had left him consumed by hatred for Xiao Chen.

Xiao Chen did not slow his steps. He did not even raise his eyelids, as though the person before him were nothing more than a patch of air.

Being ignored so completely dealt a severe blow to Lin Feng’s pride. His face flushed crimson as he roared, “I’m talking to you! Are you deaf? Stop right there!”

He reached out, intending to seize Xiao Chen by the shoulder.

Just as his hand was about to touch Xiao Chen’s robes, Xiao Chen finally moved.

He did not draw his sword. He did not even use the bamboo sword at his waist. He simply joined his index and middle fingers together, forming a sword seal, and casually swept them through the empty space before him.

The motion was light and effortless, like a scholar setting down the first stroke upon a sheet of rice paper.

There was no flash of sword light, no sword qi, not even the slightest ripple of spiritual power.

Yet Lin Feng seemed to have been struck by lightning. His entire body froze in place. The several followers behind him stared wide-eyed as well, their faces filled with disbelief.

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A wisp of severed hair drifted slowly down from Lin Feng’s forehead.

Immediately afterward, a thin line of blood appeared gradually across his left cheek. A bead of blood slid down his face and fell to the ground.

Plop.

The sound was soft, yet it struck Lin Feng’s heart like a heavy hammer. He could feel that invisible sword qi had passed along the great artery beside his neck. Had it deviated by even the slightest fraction, he would already have been a corpse.

Absolute terror instantly drowned all his anger and resentment. His legs gave way, and with a thud he collapsed to the ground, his face deathly pale and his body trembling like a sieve.

From beginning to end, Xiao Chen never spared him a glance. His figure drifted away and vanished into the clouds and mist beyond the mountain gate.

His cultivation might not yet have fully returned to the peak he had once reached.

But his sword heart and his understanding of the sword, after three years of沉淀 and the Ancestor’s enlightenment, had already reached the pinnacle of the age.

This time, he was descending the mountain not only to rescue his dear friend, Qin Wuyou.

He would also make those enemies who believed the Stunning Rainbow Sword had already broken its wings remember once more the terror that had ruled them three years ago—the terror cast by that white-robed sword shadow.

A new legend began from this moment.

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