Chapter Three: The Three-Breath Divine Stone
Chapter Three: The Three-Breath Divine Stone
After the rain in the mountains, the air was crisp and fresh, birds chirped melodiously, and life flourished everywhere. Fang Junmei’s steps were unsteady at first, but after several dozen paces, he launched into a set of light-footed movements, gliding forward. This technique, Shadow-Chasing Steps, was personally taught by the Sword-Bearing Elder. With a mere tap of his toes, he could cover twenty or thirty yards at a time. Any ordinary observer would surely mistake him for some legendary mountain spirit or demon.
Swift as the wind, Fang Junmei pushed his internal energy to the limit, darting across treetops and shrubbery, racing for miles. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and his face grew tense. He drew in a breath of true energy and, with remarkable skill, spun around and shot backwards along his own trail—a maneuver so strange and deft that it would leave anyone breathless.
Thud!
He landed heavily on a patch of grass. Ignoring the muddy water soaking his ankles, Fang Junmei’s eyes fixed on what lay ahead.
...
In front of him stretched a mountain ravine, four or five hundred yards wide and more than two hundred yards deep. Though the light at the bottom was dim, the signs of destruction were clear—broken stones and earth everywhere, evidence of a fierce battle. After a night of rain, turbid water pooled at the base, and a slender waterfall tumbled down from above, echoing with the sound of falling water.
If nothing changed, this place would soon become a deep lake.
Yesterday it was a mountain path, today it was a chasm.
Fang Junmei gazed ahead in stunned silence. Such power to cleave mountains and valleys was far beyond any martial artist’s ability—not his, nor even his master’s. Only the legendary immortals could do such things.
Who were they? Where did they come from?
The curiosity that Fang Junmei had long suppressed surged uncontrollably within him. After a moment’s thought, his eyes flashed. If a fight had occurred, there must have been winners and losers, perhaps even life and death. Was the loser, the fallen one, still lying at the bottom of the ravine?
With this in mind, Fang Junmei focused his internal energy into his eyes, searching every corner below. Soon, he spotted a motionless figure wedged between rocks. Judging by the stillness, the person was surely dead.
Fang Junmei’s gaze sharpened again. He scanned the surroundings, found a less steep section of the ravine wall, and using his light-footed technique, descended.
...
The bottom was muddy and awash with water.
After landing, Fang Junmei wasted no time. The figure lay facing the cliff wall, back toward him. Fang Junmei stepped through the mire, hesitated not, and placed a large hand on the stranger’s shoulder—it was cold as ice.
Turning the body around, Fang Junmei finally saw the man’s face—a youth in his thirties, pale and slightly swollen, but once possessing a square, resolute visage, thick black brows, and a high nose. Even in death, his eyes shone with despair.
His life had been taken by a mysterious attack piercing his brow—a blood hole the size of a chopstick’s tip, with traces of blood still lingering.
“So... even immortals are mortal...”
Feeling the flesh and blood beneath his hand, Fang Junmei murmured softly.
He glanced around at the filthy surroundings and, feeling pity for the dead immortal, lifted the body to seek a proper burial place.
A faint white light glimmered and fell.
As Fang Junmei hoisted the body, something slipped from the neck. He caught it and examined it closely—it was a piece of green jade, broken in two.
The white glow emanated from its center.
Fang Junmei narrowed his eyes, joined the two halves, and instantly the white light formed a whole. Upon careful inspection, he saw a spectral miniature sword sealed within the jade—the source of the white glow. The surface was adorned with strange mountain engravings, mountains unfamiliar even to anyone in the kingdom of Pan.
“Perhaps it’s not a valuable treasure, or else it would have been taken by his opponent.”
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Fang Junmei shook his head and smiled, not taking it to heart. Carrying the corpse to higher ground, he searched again for anything that might identify the deceased, but found nothing. Using his sword, he dug a pit and buried the man. After a brief hesitation, he slipped the broken jade into his bosom—not out of greed, but to prove that this experience was not a mere dream.
Swiftly, he gathered his energy and sped off, wasting no more time.
...
That day, he finally returned to Sword North Mountain City.
“Second Young Master!”
“Second Young Master, you’ve finally returned.”
Even as he hurried along the mist-shrouded mountain path, people greeted him, their faces filled with sorrow.
Fang Junmei was no ordinary youth. Despite his age, he spent most of his time roaming the world, and had received instruction from the Sword-Bearing Elder—the foremost expert in Pan—on both martial arts and the ways of the heart. With a glance, he easily discerned the hidden motives in these men’s eyes.
He merely nodded and continued toward the heart of the mountain city.
Soon, Leng Qianqiu and Shu Chuchu heard the news and hurried out together.
“Junior Brother, why are you so late?” Leng Qianqiu’s commanding and dignified face bore a look of displeasure.
But in the next moment, shock appeared in his eyes. It was the first time in years he had seen Fang Junmei, and in that instant, he felt unable to gauge his depth.
Shu Chuchu felt the same.
Fang Junmei rarely lingered in the city, and though he was neither close to his senior brother nor his junior sister, he disliked certain practices in Sword North Mountain City. He had even less affection for Leng Qianqiu, who had taken over the city’s affairs from their master. So, he merely nodded calmly to the two and said, “Where is Master? I wish to see him.”
Leng Qianqiu’s brows furrowed further, his displeasure deepening.
“Second Brother, come with me,” Shu Chuchu, gentle by nature, quickly intervened, seeing discord brewing between her two brothers, and led Fang Junmei onward.
Fang Junmei followed Shu Chuchu, while Leng Qianqiu’s cold snort echoed behind, and after a moment’s silence, he too followed.
...
The three entered the chamber.
There, lying on the couch, staring with cloudy eyes at the ceiling, was the Sword-Bearing Elder. Fang Junmei’s gaze trembled, and he strode forward, kneeling: “Master, I have returned.”
The Sword-Bearing Elder turned his head to Fang Junmei. On his aged face, a childlike smile appeared. “I have been waiting for you.”
At that, tears welled in Fang Junmei’s eyes and slipped down his cheeks, a great sense of guilt swelling within him.
Behind Fang Junmei, Leng Qianqiu and Shu Chuchu’s faces grew solemn as well.
“You two, leave now. I wish to speak to Junmei alone. Close the door.”
The Sword-Bearing Elder commanded.
After a moment’s hesitation, Leng Qianqiu and Shu Chuchu complied and departed, closing the door.
The vast hall was empty save for Fang Junmei and the Sword-Bearing Elder. The candlelight flickered, casting the chamber in shifting shadows, threatening to extinguish at any moment—much like the elder’s dwindling life.
“Junmei, I am dying.”
The Sword-Bearing Elder spoke softly, his eyes void of sorrow, filled only with a strange regret and melancholy.
“Master—”
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Fang Junmei called out, yet could not find the words to comfort the old man before him.
“Junmei, I can defeat any martial artist, but I cannot outrun time, nor keep pace with the years. Now, I am dying—dying of old age on this sickbed,” the Sword-Bearing Elder continued.
“Master, you have never faced me at my peak. Wait for me—I will soon catch up to you and defeat you. I promise I will cast a shadow over you, so you spend every day thinking of how to best me.”
Fang Junmei finally spoke, his words rushed, as if trying to give the elder hope to live.
The Sword-Bearing Elder laughed heartily and shook his head, gazing at his most cherished disciple with both satisfaction and deeper melancholy.
“Junmei, at twenty-five you attained the innate realm and forged your own swordsmanship. Sooner or later, there will be no rivals left for you. What then? What will you do? Will you end up like me, lonely until the moment of your death?”
Fang Junmei was stunned. He had never considered such things, being in the prime of his life. How could he think decades ahead?
Now, hearing his master’s words, Fang Junmei felt as though he glimpsed the whole of life—was that his future? To defeat all foes, only to lose to time?
At this moment, the scene of the immortal battle in the mountains resurfaced in his mind.
“Junmei, come closer. I have one last matter to entrust to you.”
The elder’s voice grew faint, as if nearing its end.
Fang Junmei moved forward and leaned in.
The Sword-Bearing Elder’s eyes deepened. When Fang Junmei’s ear reached his lips, he whispered, “Junmei, I have already given you my Lovesick Sword. Today, I wish to pass on another treasure, one I have cherished all my life.”
Fang Junmei was bewildered.
The elder continued, “On my left hand, there is a stone ring. Take it and wear it.”
“Master—” Fang Junmei was even more surprised. He had noticed such a thing before, but it seemed neither rare nor precious. And to take something from his still-living master felt disgraceful.
“Take it, now!” the elder commanded sternly.
Fang Junmei steeled himself, reached for the elder’s hand, and removed the item—a plain gray stone, oval in shape, with a hole in the center like a ring.
Though clearly stone, it was exceedingly light, almost like cotton.
“Put it on,” the elder urged.
Fang Junmei did as told. Once worn, nothing unusual happened.
Only then did the elder’s face relax, a mysterious smile spreading—like that of a sly old fox. “Junmei, you must have heard of my reputation for always intercepting my opponent’s moves a step ahead.”
Fang Junmei nodded. “You once told me it was due to a heightened intuition.”
“Nonsense!” The elder grinned, scolding like a child. “What I relied upon was this strange stone I chanced upon. If you inject true energy into it, every movement within three hundred yards around you will appear to slow by three breaths in your eyes, as if bewitched by time itself. It is this stone’s power that gave me foresight!”
Fang Junmei was astonished—such a treasure existed? His master had hidden such a secret?
“However, you must not think the world truly slows. It’s only in your eyes. Whether you can intercept your opponent depends on your own reaction. Your sword, your speed, must surpass all others!”
The elder gazed deeply at Fang Junmei.
“Junmei, this is my greatest secret. I have named it—the Three-Breath Divine Stone! Now, it is yours.”
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