Chapter Fifty-One: Disregarding the Sword

Chapter Fifty-One: The Sword Named No Turning Back

This sword measured approximately four and a half feet in length, its blade broad—at least twice the width of an ordinary treasured sword. Its very presence exuded a sense of dominance and boldness; one could imagine that, when wielded, it would carry an unstoppable momentum, a spirit of charging forward without retreat.

The hilt was a deep shade of blue-black; the scabbard, a pure jet black, both designed with utmost simplicity. Yet the aura that emanated from the sword was formidable—at minimum, it was a mid-grade magical treasure.

With a slight rasp, Fan Lanzhou slowly drew the blade. A misty blue light immediately blossomed from the sword, like frost or fog, ethereal and mysterious, yet carrying a profound weight within its haze.

Fang Junmei, his brows knit in concentration, observed the blade closely. It, too, was a blue-black hue, its luster subdued, the material of its forging unknown.

“This sword is a mid-grade magical treasure. It should be sufficient for you until the later stages of the Dust Realm. Besides channeling sword techniques, it possesses other uses as a magical treasure. I’ve recorded them in a jade slip for you to study on your own,” Fan Lanzhou said quietly, his gaze lingering on the blade with a trace of reminiscence.

“May I ask, Senior Brother, what is the name of this sword?” Fang Junmei, delighted, stepped forward and inquired.

Fan Lanzhou gestured for him to sit, then said, “This sword is called No Turning Back. The path of cultivation is a road with no return. Junior Brother, once you set foot upon it, never look back, no matter what happens. Use the sword in your hand to fight for your future.”

His words were filled with heroic spirit and the chill of bloodshed, a mood at odds with Fan Lanzhou’s usual demeanor.

As Fang Junmei listened, his heart was moved, but he also felt a twinge of unease.

“Could Second Senior Brother know I killed Xiao Yunyu?” he wondered, quietly asking, “Second Senior Brother, is this sword newly named No Turning Back, or has it always borne that name?”

“It’s always been called No Turning Back!” Fan Lanzhou replied. His gaze dimmed slightly as he added, “The sword’s name was given by someone else, who also left it behind. Now, I pass it on to you. However, your spiritual awareness still needs further cultivation—you won’t be able to bond with the sword just yet.”

With a resonant clang, the blade slid back into its sheath. Fan Lanzhou placed the sword on the table, retrieved a jade slip, set it down, and rose to leave, heading for his own room without another word.

His departure was sudden, almost as if he’d become another person.

The former master of the Unmoving Peak—Long Jinyi.

This sword must have belonged to him. Perhaps even Fan Lanzhou’s earlier words, brimming with boldness and murderous intent, were ones Long Jinyi himself had spoken.

Just what kind of man had he been? Fang Junmei’s curiosity was once again aroused.

—

Taking the sword No Turning Back and the jade slip, Fang Junmei first went to see his master, Daoist Cuotu.

The old man still lay in deep slumber. Fang Junmei gazed at him, his expression complicated, yearning for the day he would awaken and, like his previous master, the Elder of the Sword, offer him some guidance.

Instead, now he was left to his own confusion, with only Song Shede to explain the ways of cultivation and the basic principles of the immortal path—along with the more pragmatic, even ruthless, lessons of survival.

Suddenly, he thought again of Long Jinyi.

Had Long Jinyi, in his spare moments watching over Daoist Cuotu, felt the same helplessness, the same hope for guidance?

—

Returning to his own room, Fang Junmei examined the jade slip. It detailed the magical abilities of the sword No Turning Back; as he read, his eyes gleamed with excitement—it was indeed an extraordinary weapon, though the specifics need not be elaborated here.

Fan Lanzhou had said that, with Fang Junmei’s current level of spiritual awareness, he could not yet bind the sword, but Fang Junmei, stubborn as ever, tried anyway.

As expected, he was unable to succeed.

He could only put the sword away for now.

Next, he retrieved Chunyu Qian’s storage pouch. Upon opening it, he found a pile of gleaming sword spirit stones—the reward for passing the sixth trial: twenty thousand mid-grade spirit stones, ten times more than the previous round. It was a truly lucrative prize, and together with what he already had, more than enough for the foreseeable future.

Besides the spirit stones, there was a small transparent vial containing a single blue pill, its surface flecked with pinpricks of light—presumably the Qi Sea Pill Chunyu Qian had mentioned.

The final barrier, the Bridge of Heaven and Earth—if he could break through it, he would advance to the Dust Realm.

This final barrier, at the Qi Sea within the dantian, was not easily overcome. In the world of cultivators, one in ten would be eliminated at this stage, and the higher one climbed, the harder it became.

After pondering for a moment, Fang Junmei began his cultivation anew, as always focusing first on improving his realm, practicing the foundational Sword Sutra of Peach Blossom Spring.

Soon, the room filled with white mist, swirling together like a miniature dragon of clouds, which slowly drifted into Fang Junmei’s nostrils.

The process was not swift, as befitted a technique of the Qi-Gathering stage.

—

Time passed, days and months slipping by.

All was peaceful in the Peach Blossom Spring, save for the occasional skirmish between disciples. Yet the death of Xiao Yunyu would inevitably come to light, and when it did, a storm would surely follow.

Xiao Yunyu’s closest senior brothers were the first to notice his absence. They searched everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Questioning the disciples on gate duty, they learned he had not left the sect.

They realized, with growing dread, that Xiao Yunyu had likely been quietly murdered within the sect.

The matter quickly reached Xiao Yunyu’s master, Ning Jiuyi, the foremost elder of the outer sect. Cunning and fiercely protective of his own, Ning Jiuyi immediately dispatched several disciples to investigate, but did not report directly to Daoist Tianhe—instead, he planned to punish the culprit first and inform the authorities afterwards.

Upon careful inquiry, they learned that the last place Xiao Yunyu was seen was the wilds north of Medicine King Peak.

There, they discovered broken trees and shattered stones—evidence of a fierce battle between Fang Junmei and Xiao Yunyu, confirming that this was likely where Xiao Yunyu had met his end.

But by now, all clues had vanished.

With no further leads, Ning Jiuyi could only travel to the nearby Medicine King Peak to ask if anyone there knew anything. Chunyu Qian, eccentric as ever, denied any knowledge and promptly chased Ning Jiuyi away. Song Shede did not even make an appearance.

Frustrated, Ning Jiuyi left Medicine King Peak, his mind awhirl with suspicion. He began to wonder if the Unmoving Peak—his own sect’s rival in the upcoming grand competition—might have made a preemptive move.

Remembering that Fang Junmei had previously fought Xiao Yunyu, his suspicions fell squarely on the Unmoving Peak. Even if Fang Junmei himself was not the killer, it could well have been one of his senior brothers or sisters.

—

Beneath the hanging stars, in the valley where Ning Jiuyi resided.

In a room, eight people stood on either side, with an old man seated at the head, slowly sipping tea.

This was Ning Jiuyi.

Clad in a black brocade robe woven with golden thread, Ning Jiuyi was a tall, imposing figure. Though age had etched his features, the handsome lines of his youth were still discernible beneath his neatly trimmed beard.

Despite his dignified appearance, his expression was shadowed, brows clouded with darkness, his gaze cold and forbidding.

His aura was immense; he had reached the early stage of the Dragon Gate realm.

“Master, it must have been someone from the Unmoving Peak who killed our junior brother,” someone spoke up—a woman at the end of the left row, dressed in black, about twenty-five or six, not without beauty, but her expression was as cold and grim as Ning Jiuyi’s. “Please, Master, seek justice for our junior brother and for us as well. Otherwise, those people on Unmoving Peak will soon show you no respect at all.”

“Indeed, Master, please avenge our junior brother.”

“We should kill one or two as a warning to the rest!”

Others chimed in, though two or three remained silent, faces expressionless.

Ning Jiuyi took another sip of tea before glancing over the group, his gaze finally resting on the leading figure to his left. “Wanhai, what are your thoughts?”

A middle-aged man.

He appeared to be in his forties, standing nine feet tall, dressed plainly in coarse linen. His features were rugged and weathered, his long hair wild and unkempt, yet his posture was strikingly upright. His eyes were cold, merciless—like a lone wolf emerging from the wilds.

A massive sword over five feet long hung across his back, his whole presence radiating a faint aura of killing intent.

This was Ning Jiuyi’s second disciple, Feng Wanhai. Song Shede had once remarked that he had already achieved the Bone-Penetrating Realm, and had entered the early stage of the Dao Embryo.

“I care only for swordplay and killing, not for scheming. Whatever Master commands, I shall do,” Feng Wanhai replied coldly, his words brimming with murderous intent.

Whether he truly disliked thinking, only he himself knew.