One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng's days in Longhu Mountain were like a mountain stream, gentle and clear, flowing day after day, washing away the rough edges and silt in his heart.

As the morning bell rang for the first time, he was already meditating beneath the waterfall on the back mountain. The sound of the water was like a stampede of ten thousand horses, the roar crashing against the cliff face and bouncing back, creating a continuous echo. The mist, like fog, permeated the cool morning air, dampening his Taoist robe and the ends of his hair. He closed his eyes, placed his hands in a mudra on his knees, and silently recited a mantra for purifying the mind.

Those violent thoughts that once belonged to the Demon Blade no longer ran rampant. They floated and dispersed like duckweed on water, rising and falling with the flow of consciousness. Nie Lingfeng learned to observe them—to observe the impulse to cleave the waterfall in half with the blade, to observe the desire to tear everything in front of him apart—simply observe, without judgment, resistance, or following.

"Observe your mind as you would observe water," Master Rongshan once taught him. "If there are impurities in the water, the more you stir it, the muddier it becomes. Just watch quietly, and the impurities will settle down on their own."

So he watched quietly.

Watching those thoughts rise, bursting like bubbles on the water's surface, and then disappearing. Looking at the Qilin tattoo on his chest, slightly warm, the burning sensation no longer stinging, but rather like a hand warmer held close to his heart in winter, gently warming his meridians.

At noon, sunlight streamed through the window, casting neat patches of light on the floor of the side room.

Nie Lingfeng sat cross-legged on a futon, the *Taishang Ganying Pian* (Treatise on the Response of the Supreme Being) spread out on his lap, already on its third reading. The edges of the pages were frayed, and in some places, there were unconscious fingerprints left from his contemplation. Those sentences, which were originally profound and difficult to pronounce, requiring meticulous reading, now seemed like pearls of wisdom, as if they had long been etched into the depths of his consciousness, only to be illuminated and revealed one by one now by a gentle light.

"Misfortune and fortune have no fixed gate; they are summoned by oneself. The retribution for good and evil follows like a shadow."

He read it softly, his voice unusually clear in the quiet room. When he finished, he looked up at the window—a sparrow had landed on the windowsill, its little head tilted, its beady black eyes staring at him curiously. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, then the sparrow chirped, fluttered its wings, and flew away, leaving a few tiny claw marks on the windowsill.

"The retribution for good and evil..." Nie Lingfeng repeated softly, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I killed Shen Chong and Gao Ning, my hands are stained with blood, that's evil. But I saved Old Master Lu, saved Old Master Tian, ​​and perhaps many others who would have died at the hands of Quanxing, that's good. So what will my retribution be?"

he does not know.

But he knew he could face the problem calmly now. Unlike a month ago, when the mere thought of the word "murder" sent chills down his spine, stirred his inner demons, and made him want to dig out his memories and tear them apart.

Now he can look at those memories—the shape of the blood mist spurting from Shen Chong's neck in the moonlight, the expression on Gao Ning's face when his chest was pierced—like looking at a faded ancient painting, there is emotion, there is sigh, but no fear, no guilt, and no... that twisted pleasure.

This is progress.

As dusk fell, the setting sun painted the sky orange-red, and the outlines of the mountains were edged with gold.

Nie Lingfeng walked slowly along the bluestone mountain path. Ancient pines stood tall and strong by the path, their needles rustling in the evening breeze. Sometimes he would encounter Daoist Rongshan—this eldest disciple of Elder Tian, ​​who now handled all the affairs of the Celestial Master's Mansion. A few more strands of white hair seemed to have appeared at his temples, but his eyes remained as gentle as ever.

The two would sit in a pavilion halfway up the mountain, with a pot of tea and two plain porcelain teacups on the stone table. The tea was cloud and mist tea produced in Longhu Mountain, with a clear color, a slightly bitter taste, and a mellow aftertaste.

"Young friend Nie," Rong Shan once asked, holding his teacup and gazing at the mountains sinking into twilight, "what do you think the Dao is?"

Nie Lingfeng was stunned for a moment.

This question was too broad and too profound; he had never seriously considered it before. He took a sip of tea, pondered for a moment, and then tentatively answered, "The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao... the name that can be named is not the eternal name?"

Rong Shan smiled, his laughter gentle: "That's the opening of Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching. What I'm asking about is—your Tao."

"My path..." Nie Lingfeng put down his teacup and gazed into the distance. At the foot of the mountain, the lights of villages could be faintly seen, scattered like stars across the earth.

He was silent for a long time.

Rongshan didn't urge him, but waited quietly, his fingers gently caressing the warm teacup.

"My path..." Nie Lingfeng finally spoke, his voice soft but clear, "First, to live. Not the kind of life of mere survival, but to live with integrity and a clear conscience. Second, to protect those around me—Chu Lan, Bao'er, Xu San and Xu Si, and... those others I might encounter in the future who are worth protecting. Third..."

He paused, his gaze suddenly shifting to a distant, unseen place: "Look at this world, see just how vast it truly is. Look at the landscapes I've never seen, the people I've never met, the stories I've never experienced."

Rong Shan listened quietly, his smile gradually deepening.

"A very simple path." He nodded, picked up the teapot and refilled Nie Lingfeng's teacup. "But the simpler the path, the harder it is to walk. Because there are too many temptations along the way—fame, fortune, power, strength, love, each of which can lead you astray. There are also too many forks in the road, each of which looks like a shortcut, and as you walk... you get lost."

"I know." Nie Lingfeng looked at the tea leaves floating in the teacup, "but that road is straight, steady, and the direction is clear."

Rongshan looked at him with a look of relief, approval, and the sentiment of an elder seeing a junior finally grow up.

"You've found the way," he said, his voice gentle, but every word struck a chord deep within. "The rest is just walking step by step. When the wind and rain come, use an umbrella; when it gets dark, light a lamp; when you're tired, rest—but don't look back, don't turn, just keep walking."

Nie Lingfeng nodded solemnly.

Yes, he found it.

Under normal circumstances, he was completely in control of himself. The killing intent of the demonic blade remained, like a sharp blade hidden in its sheath, quiet, but ready to be drawn at any moment. The restlessness of the mad blood also remained, like a fire dancing in his chest, warm, but not burning out of control.

But when he held the Snow Drinking Blade, he still needed to spare some of his attention to suppress the burgeoning demonic energy. It was like holding a red-hot iron rod—he could hold it, he could swing it, but the burning pain in his palm always reminded him of the danger of this power.

However, if subjected to excessive stimulation...

Nie Lingfeng didn't want to think about it too much.

He clearly remembered that night—facing the siege of the four madmen, facing Old Master Lu's near-death madness, and hearing the news of Old Master Tian's tragic death—the violence in his heart almost broke through all the dams of reason and completely overwhelmed him.

If I could experience that kind of thrill again...

"I hope not," he muttered to himself, as if in prayer, "but even if it does... I have to tough it out."

Now that the path has been found, we can no longer get lost.

---

One morning a month later, news reached the back mountain: the Old Celestial Master had returned.

At that time, Nie Lingfeng was practicing his swordsmanship under the waterfall. It wasn't the Demon Blade, nor the Six Secrets of Aohan, but the most basic sword techniques—slashing, chopping, parrying, thrusting, blocking, and parrying. His movements were slow, each move clear and distinct, the sound of the blade cutting through the air mingling with the sound of the water, creating a unique rhythm. He was like someone polishing a precious work of art, patient, focused, and completely absorbed.

"Young friend Nie! Young friend Nie!"

The young Taoist priest, panting, came running up, his robe soaked with dew at the hem: "The Celestial Master is back! He's in the main hall, please come over!"

Nie Lingfeng sheathed his sword, the blade tracing a graceful arc in the air before returning to its original position. He nodded: "Alright, I'll go now."

Back in his room, he changed into a clean Taoist robe—not the official robe of the Celestial Master's Mansion, but a casual outfit prepared for him by Rong Shan, dark blue and made of soft fabric. He tied his long hair into a simple ponytail at the back of his head—the black at the roots had now spread into the middle of his hair. His originally snow-white hair had now turned into a peculiar "grayish-white" color, a black and white intertwined, like some kind of fashionable highlight, or like the marks of time.

When we arrived at the main hall of the Celestial Master's Mansion, it was already packed with people.

The air was so heavy you could wring water out of it.

The old Celestial Master sat in the main seat of the rosewood chair, still wearing that simple gray Taoist robe, the cuffs slightly worn and the hem covered in dust. But he looked... different.

It wasn't weariness, nor old age, but a settled, almost tangible dignity. He sat there, his back straight as a pine tree, his hands resting flat on his knees, his gaze calmly fixed ahead. But it was precisely this calmness that made it difficult to look directly at him—like the surface of the sea after a storm, seemingly calm, yet concealing undercurrents capable of swallowing everything.

Standing beside him were ten people, his ten most trusted disciples. Rong Shan stood at the very front, hands at his sides, eyes slightly red. Zhang Lingyu stood beside him, her usually aloof face now taut. The other high-ranking Taoist priests, whom Nie Lingfeng had only met a few times, also wore solemn expressions, and the hall was deathly silent.

Nie Lingfeng entered, his footsteps echoing clearly in the silent hall. He reached the center of the hall and bowed deeply to the Old Celestial Master: "Old Celestial Master."

The old master's gaze fell on him.

In that instant, Nie Lingfeng felt as if he had been illuminated by a gentle yet unmistakable light—not a blinding glare, but the sunlight filtering through the morning mist, soft yet capable of revealing every speck of dust. The old master's gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds, sweeping over his gray hair before finally settling on his eyes, as if trying to see into the depths of his soul.

"Little Feng," the old master spoke slowly, his voice calm, yet each word seemed heavy, "have you... controlled the demons within your heart?"

Nie Lingfeng straightened his back and met the old Celestial Master's gaze. He took a deep breath, his voice clear and firm: "Thank you, old Celestial Master, and thank you to all the Taoist priests of Longhu Mountain. After a month of cultivation, I have been able to completely control myself in my normal state. The killing intent of the Demon Blade is still there, and the restlessness of the Mad Blood has not subsided, but like a tamed tiger, it is usually docile and dormant, only revealing its claws when needed."

He paused, then honestly added, "When wielding the knife, one still needs to allocate some of one's mind to suppress the demonic nature, like holding a red-hot iron rod—it's usable, but too hot to handle. And if one is subjected to excessive stimulation..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear.

The old celestial master looked at him, his eyes deep, as if assessing a newly forged sword—judging its sharpness and its resilience. After a long while, he nodded, a very faint, almost imperceptible smile appearing on his face.

"That's good," he said, a hint of relief in his voice. "That's good."

The old celestial master turned his head and looked at Zhang Lingyu: "Lingyu, come here."

Zhang Lingyu stepped forward, bowed deeply, and his white Taoist robe fluttered slightly with the movement: "Master."

The old master looked at him with a complex expression—there was relief, reluctance, and expectation, but more than anything, there was... a calm that was almost resolute.

"Lingyu," he said, his voice still calm, but each word struck Zhang Lingyu's heart like a heavy hammer, and also the hearts of everyone in the hall, "Now, go down the mountain."

Zhang Lingyu shuddered, abruptly looking up, her usually aloof face displaying disbelief for the first time: "Master?"

"You've been too comfortable on Longhu Mountain." The old Celestial Master's voice was as calm as stating a fact. "You are exceptionally talented, with a solid foundation. Your Golden Light Mantra has reached perfection, and you've also mastered the Yin Five Thunders quite well. But you're missing one crucial thing—"

He paused, his gaze sharp: "You lack worldly experience, you lack the tempering of human life. You cultivate the Tao on the mountain, cultivating a pure and otherworldly path. But the true Tao is in the human world, in the everyday life, in the joys and sorrows of all beings. If you continue cultivating like this, no matter how solid your foundation is, you won't go far or reach great heights."

"But disciple..." Zhang Lingyu's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but his voice was somewhat hoarse.

"Go down the mountain." The old master interrupted him, his tone authoritative yet not stern, more like a father seeing off a child about to embark on a long journey. "Go and experience the mortal world. Go and see the suffering of all beings, taste the flavors of life. Go and experience love and hate, face gains and losses. When your heart is at peace, when you understand the weight of the four words 'The Way is in the human world'—when you come back."

Zhang Lingyu fell silent.

He lowered his head, looking at his hands—hands that could radiate brilliant light when practicing the Golden Light Mantra, and could draw upon impure energy when circulating Yin Five Thunders, yet had never truly experienced the warmth and coldness of human life. After a long while, he took a deep breath, raised his head, and the confusion in his eyes gradually settled into determination.

"Yes..." He bowed deeply, his waist bent very low, "Disciple... obeys."

The old master's expression softened, and a barely perceptible hint of satisfaction flashed in his eyes.

"If you have no direction," he said slowly, "you can go to Chu Lan. That kid... has it tough too. He carries just as much burden as you. Go help him, and let him... help you. You're about the same age, but your experiences are vastly different. Perhaps you can find solace in each other and each find your place."

Zhang Lingyu was taken aback, then understood what was going on, and bowed deeply again: "Disciple understands."

The old Celestial Master's gaze swept over the other disciples in the hall.

"From this day forward," he said slowly, his voice not loud, but like a great bell, resonating in everyone's hearts, "I will not take action again, nor will I descend the mountain, unless it is a matter of life and death."

An uproar erupted inside the hall!

"Master!" Rong Shan rushed forward, his voice trembling. "Why is this happening? The world of supernatural beings is in turmoil. Although Quanxing has suffered heavy losses, it is still a formidable force. Various powers are eyeing us covetously... If you do not intervene, Longhu Mountain..."

"Yes, Master!" another senior master said anxiously, "You are the pillar of our Longhu Mountain. If you don't come out, I'm afraid the outside world will..."

The old master waved his hand.

With just a simple gesture, the hall fell silent instantly. Everyone stared at him, their eyes filled with confusion, worry, and resentment.

"I'm old," the old master said, his voice tinged with genuine weariness, but mostly with a sense of relief. "What needed to be done, has been done. Those who needed to be killed, have been killed. The rest of the road... is yours to walk."

He looked at each disciple in the hall, his gaze sweeping over their faces one by one, as if giving them his final instructions.