Chapter 21: Nine Hundred Daoist Scriptures, Entering the Gate of the Sword Immortal

The setting sun dyes the firmament, and the evening glow illuminates the fiery clouds.

On Fuyun Mountain, at the Qiuzhen Temple, a figure steps out of the Scripture Library.

As the wind brushes the treetops and sweeps across the mountain forest, white hair dances in the breeze, and the gray Taoist robes flutter with a rhythmic sound. Xuanming, standing tall on the peak, gazes into the distance. Looking at the brilliant red sun on the horizon, a sense of grand aspiration rises in his heart, leaving him refreshed and at ease.

"Nine hundred volumes!"

He has finally read through nine hundred volumes of Taoist scriptures and can once again contemplate the "Huangting External Landscape Scripture."

As long as he avoids worldly entanglements, minimizes trouble, and focuses on reading and cultivation—drawing principles from the world within books and referencing all things through the mysteries of the scriptures—he can remain a mountain recluse untainted by the mundane world. His Taoist heart will naturally remain pure, and his path to the Dao will be bright.

A Taoist dwelling amidst white clouds and cranes, with a scripture, a sword, and a cup of tea. His feathered robes are always stained with the colors of mist and clouds, never troubled by the peach blossoms of the mortal realm.

Thinking of this, Xuanming is in high spirits. Driven by whim, he lightly lifts his hand; the peach-wood sword on the desk of the library's second floor hums, suddenly shrieking as it flies across a hundred paces to land in his palm.

With the sword in hand, he dances.

The sword follows his heart, and his heart moves with the sword.

The peach-wood sword moves as if it were an extension of his own arm. Each movement and technique connects naturally, fluid and smooth as flowing water. At first, he was bound by form and sequence, but later, he broke free from those shackles, acting purely on impulse. He strikes with whatever technique comes to mind, and soon, a sphere of sword light envelops the cliff.

Sword energy crisscrosses, sword intent rages, and the wind of the blade howls. The power is immense, yet it remains contained within a square foot.

Beneath the setting sun, the Taoist dances with his sword. Every strike is as unpredictable as an antelope hanging by its horns; every move is like a stroke of divine inspiration; every technique is as unconstrained as a celestial steed soaring through the skies. No one could guess what his next move would be, where it would strike, or from where it would begin. There were no traces to follow, nothing to fathom. Although the sword techniques seemed disconnected, in Xuanming’s hands, they held no sense of discord; instead, they appeared perfectly natural.

The sword intent is contained yet unleashed, complete and unified. The sword light is condensed yet constant, dense as rain. As time passes, Xuanming enters a profound state. His sword intent, energy, and light all step into a new realm, as if washed clean of all impurities, undergoing a total transformation.

His understanding of the Eight Trigrams Sword Technique reaches an unprecedented depth. Utilizing this opportunity, he steps through the threshold of the Sword Dao, savoring its true essence and catching a glimpse of its magnificent vistas.

Finally, the peach-wood sword and Xuanming become inseparable. With the sword in hand and the sword in his heart, man and blade become one, blending together. His Taoist heart nurtures the Sword Heart, and the Sword Heart strengthens the Taoist heart; the two are in perfect harmony, reflecting one another.

With a light flick of his wrist, the peach-wood sword hums with a metallic ring. The sword intent, light, and energy suddenly contract, then burst outward. Between the gathering and the releasing, a Bagua pattern appears on the ground.

It is carved three feet deep into the earth, vigorous yet primitive and vivid, permeated with rich Taoist rhythm and swirling with layers of sword intent.

***

*Whoosh!*

With a sound of tearing air, the sword flies a hundred paces. The peach-wood sword lands in the Asking Dao Courtyard, settling steadily onto the desk by the window of the thatched hut. Its brilliance is hidden, its nature simple and integrated, appearing no different from an ordinary peach-wood sword.

After putting the sword away, Xuanming strokes his beard, watching the evening glow. He is spirited and beaming with joy. He never expected that this unintentional act would bear such fruit; a whim-driven sword dance had cleared his mind, purified his Taoist heart, and propelled his swordsmanship to leap forward, crossing the threshold into the Sword Dao.

Truly, the Great Dao is subtle and unfathomable. When fate does not arrive, one may rack their brains and exhaust all efforts to no avail; when fate arrives, simply watching the scenery and dancing with a sword can lead to enlightenment.

Most importantly, from this day forward, he can barely be considered a Taoist cultivator who has grasped the supernatural abilities of a Sword Immortal. Although his power is currently limited by his cultivation level, once he achieves the status of a "True Person," he will surely shine:

*Riding the wind on a flying sword, to rid the world of demons.*

Even without leaving the mountain, he could take a head from afar with a flying sword.

And that day is not far off.

Especially after this sudden enlightenment, Xuanming’s foundation has greatly increased. He is closer to the Qi Refining Realm, having already stepped half a foot through that door. He intends to polish himself for the remaining half-step. The deeper the foundation, the steadier one can walk in the future.

When night falls, Xuanming lightly taps his toes and traverses a hundred paces through the air, moving as gracefully as an immortal taking a casual stroll, his departure elegant and ethereal.

Before leaving, he glances into the distance, a slight smile playing on his lips: "The three of you are quite lucky."

His gaze pierces through the mountain forest, where three figures are rapidly approaching: Chang'anzi, Changning, and Changqingzi. They are sparring as they walk, the exchange quite lively. To be precise, Changning and Changqing are teaming up against Chang'anzi.

Changqing is a disciple of Daoist Xuanyang. His potential is good, and having recently attained enlightenment beneath the Sword Cliff, he has entered the third realm of Essence Refining. Changning happened to be there on the day he broke through. The two broke their bottlenecks one after the other and have sparred several times since.

Although Changning possesses a superior foundation, Changqing’s accomplishments in the Sword Dao are impressive, and his comprehension of the Eight Trigrams Sword ranks among the best of the young disciples. Even though she holds the upper hand, she finds it difficult to defeat him. After several bouts, they have developed a friendship and often joined forces against Chang'anzi. Over time, the three have frequently tested their skills against one another.

It is always Changning and Changqing teaming up to beat up Chang'anzi, yet they never gain any advantage, instead finding themselves on the defensive, pressed by Chang'anzi. If it weren't for the fact that the boy hasn't yet entered the third realm, no number of others would be enough for him to beat.

Since they have fought their way here today, it means they are fated to encounter the dissipating sword intent and Taoist rhythm on the peak. How much they can comprehend depends on their own destiny.

Thinking this, Xuanming quickens his pace and disappears after a few leaps.

White light like a snake, long swords dancing in the air, heavy blades slashing horizontally—the three continue to fight with increasing intensity, using spells and techniques as naturally as breathing, soon reaching the summit.

The next moment, their movements suddenly halt. Sensing something, they all turn toward the same spot. A few breaths later, staring at the Bagua pattern right before their eyes, the three are electrified. They exchange a look, reaching a tacit understanding, and each begins to observe it in their own way.

Changning sits cross-legged with her eyes closed, the most solemn and abstract. Chang'anzi sits directly in the center of the Bagua pattern, drawing the sword intent into his body, an experiential approach. Changqingzi takes a piece of wood from his wish-granting pouch and slowly carves the Bagua pattern with his sword, a style of imitation.

***

Cangdao Peak, Asking Dao Courtyard.

Xuanming has no interest in knowing what the three juniors are experiencing. Upon returning to his residence, he does not immediately reach for the "Huangting Scripture." Good food is not feared for being late; he intends to wait until he achieves the status of a Qi Refining True Person before reading it. By then, his cultivation will be higher, his view of the universe and all things more transparent, and perhaps he will gain a greater fortune.

For this reason, he goes straight to sleep upon returning.

The bright moonlight passes through the window, illuminating the floor and the desk. Lunar essence overflows from the silver light, lingering at the tip of his nose. As Xuanming breathes, it is drawn into his body and instinctively refined into magic power. In every breath, there is mystery.

This is the sleeping method Xuanming has researched. In the past, it required conscious control, but now it has become a habit. Without needing his deliberate maintenance, the circulation continues on its own while he rests, allowing his magic power to grow even in his sleep.

Early the next morning, after gathering the purple mist of the dawn, Xuanming uncharacteristically does not go to the Scripture Library. Having finally finished nine hundred volumes, he decides to rest for a few days.

Beneath an aged, vigorous pine, he has just brewed a pot of tea when he sees Xuanyang hurrying toward him.