One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

After the old Celestial Master went down the mountain and then returned, life on Longhu Mountain did not return to its former hustle and bustle. Instead, a deeper tranquility settled in—not a deathly stillness, but the tranquility of the earth after a storm, when the earth has absorbed the rainwater and all things are quietly growing.

Nie Lingfeng did not rush to leave.

He still lived in that secluded room on the back mountain, his daily life as regular as the swinging of the ancient bell on the mountaintop: at the first quarter of the hour of Mao (5-7 AM), when the first bell rang, he was already sitting cross-legged on the blue stone under the waterfall; at the hour of Si (9-11 AM), when the sunlight pierced through the mist, he returned to the room, either reading scriptures or practicing the most basic sword techniques; at the end of the hour of Shen (3-5 PM), when dusk began to fall, he walked slowly along the blue stone mountain path, watching the sunset melt into gold and listening to the birds singing; at the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), when the last sound of the evening drum faded away, he had already spread out Xuan paper under the lamp, ground ink, picked up his brush, and silently wrote the Heart-Cleansing Mantra word by word.

Once, twice, three times.

The ink spread across the rice paper, the characters evolving from their initial awkwardness to their current smoothness. The 379 characters of the Heart-Cleansing Mantra have long been etched into my bones and blood, integrated into my breath. No conscious thought is needed; with the slightest movement of the mind, those peaceful, serene, and vast words will automatically emerge, building a flexible yet sturdy barrier in my consciousness. This barrier does not shut out the storms of the outside world, but it prevents them from disturbing the tranquility of my heart; it does not eradicate inner demons, but it keeps them like fish swimming in a pond—visible and perceptible, yet no longer capable of causing turmoil.

He had never abandoned the Ice Heart Mantra either. It was the earliest and most familiar mental cultivation method he had ever encountered. Although it followed the path of "using strength to overcome strength, using force to overcome force," which was completely opposite to the Heart-Cleansing Mantra's "using gentleness to overcome strength, using stillness to control movement," Nie Lingfeng discovered that the two were not incompatible. The Ice Heart Mantra was a sheath, a cage, forcefully suppressing restlessness in the most critical moments; the Heart-Cleansing Mantra was water, light, subtly cleansing and soothing in daily life. One internal and one external, one urgent and one gentle, they formed a wonderful balance.

And so, another week has passed.

That morning, at 3:45 AM.

Nie Lingfeng sat on the blue stone beneath the waterfall as usual. A light rain had fallen the night before, making the waterfall even more abundant, its roar like a thousand thunderclaps, causing the rocks beneath his feet to tremble slightly. The dense water vapor formed a seven-colored rainbow in the morning light, spanning the surface of the pool, a scene as dreamlike as a fantasy.

He closed his eyes, formed a mudra, and recited the Heart-Cleansing Mantra.

"The Great Dao is formless, yet it gives birth to heaven and earth; the Great Dao is without emotion, yet it governs the sun and moon..."

The mental energy flowed through his meridians, and his consciousness, like a clear mirror, reflected every corner of his heart. Those violent thoughts that once belonged to the Demon Blade were no longer menacing; instead, they lay quietly like sediment at the bottom of a river, occasionally rippling with the current before quickly settling back down. A gentle warmth emanated from the Qilin tattoo on his chest, no longer scorching, but like a hand warmer on a winter's day, comfortably warming his limbs and bones.

Everything was peaceful.

It was as calm as a bottomless pool of water.

However, in this state of utter tranquility, Nie Lingfeng suddenly felt a faint yet incredibly clear sound resonating deep within his mind—

"Click."

Like the first crack appearing on the ice of a river in early spring.

Like a fledgling bird using its tender beak to peck open the eggshell.

Like a long-sealed, heavy door, slowly pushed open from the inside by a gentle yet firm force.

Nie Lingfeng's heart skipped a beat!

But he didn't panic. Instead, he immediately gathered all his thoughts, withdrawing his consciousness like the receding tide, sinking into that deepest, darkest, and most mysterious place—

Consciousness space.

This place should have been a chaotic darkness, with only two orbs of light floating in the air—one fully lit, representing Nie Feng's early inheritance; the other's light had faded, but its afterglow remained, representing the Xuanwu True Scripture and the Demon Blade.

However, at that moment, he saw a third sphere of light.

The sphere of light that had remained dormant in the deepest part of his heart, which he had tried to touch many times but had never succeeded in, was now slowly lighting up.

The light was initially very faint, like the first pale light on the eastern horizon before dawn, weak yet resolutely tearing through the darkness. Gradually, the light grew stronger, but it was not a blinding glare; rather, it was a soft, gentle, milky-white halo that seemed to encompass everything. Within the halo, mysterious runes flowed faintly, neither words nor images, containing an ineffable antiquity and vastness.

In the center of the sphere of light, a figure slowly coalesced.

From the abstract to the concrete, from the faint to the strong.

Clad in white, pristine and immaculate. His long hair cascaded down his back with a simple cloth ribbon, a few stray strands falling across his forehead. His features were refined and gentle, but those eyes—when Nie Lingfeng "looked" into them—he seemed to see the rise and fall of stars, the vicissitudes of life, and a wisdom that had settled after countless trials and tribulations, a wisdom that was both extremely gentle and extremely detached.

Nie Feng.

Or rather, it is the last and most complete projection of Nie Feng's will left in this legacy.

Beside Nie Feng's illusory figure stood an even larger, surging mass of light and shadow. This light and shadow gradually solidified, transforming into a powerful and majestic beast—deer antlers, ox ears, camel head, rabbit eyes, snake neck, mirage belly, fish scales, eagle claws, and tiger paws. Its entire body was covered in fiery red scales, with golden patterns flowing between the scales, as if molten lava were surging beneath its skin. It lay quietly at Nie Feng's feet, occasionally raising its head to exhale two streams of white vapor, each carrying sparks, which flickered and faded in the air like fireflies.

Fire Qilin.

Even though it was just a phantom, the majestic and violent aura emanating from the ancient wilderness still made Nie Lingfeng's consciousness tremble instinctively.

Nie Feng's illusory figure slowly opened his eyes.

Those eyes, which seemed to pierce through time and space, fell upon Nie Lingfeng.

There was no scrutiny, no judgment, only a profound, almost compassionate...understanding.

"I never expected," Nie Feng spoke, his voice not loud, yet it resonated throughout Nie Lingfeng's entire consciousness space. Each word carried a peculiar rhythm, like the echo of the Great Dao, "that after you were completely consumed by demonic possession and your hands were stained with blood, you actually honed your mind to such a profound level. It seems that for you, the Qilin Marrow and the Mad Blood are both a near-death ordeal and a great opportunity for breaking down and rebuilding...

His tone contained emotion and surprise, but more than anything, it conveyed a sense of relief at seeing his successors finally on the right path.

Nie Lingfeng bowed in his mind, performing a very solemn salute: "Junior Nie Lingfeng greets Senior Nie Feng."

This bow comes from the bottom of his heart. Without the legacy passed down from this predecessor across time, he would not be who he is today—neither in terms of power nor in the hard-won clarity he possesses at this moment.

Nie Feng's illusory figure nodded slightly and raised a hand in a gesture of support: "No need for formalities. You have come this far because of your own will and choices. The inheritance is just a seed; whether it can take root, sprout, blossom, and bear fruit depends entirely on the individual."

His gaze lingered on Nie Lingfeng's consciousness for a moment, as if he were carefully sensing something, and then he nodded.

"The demonic blade is complete, the mad blood has been fused, and the killing intent is ingrained, yet one can maintain self-control with a method of purifying the mind, preventing one from succumbing to depravity." Nie Feng said slowly, "This state, though not the best, is already the minimum threshold for receiving the final inheritance."

He paused, his tone becoming solemn: "Now that you have initially subdued your demonic nature and your mind has stabilized, then this last inheritance—which is also the essence of my lifelong martial arts insights—is to be passed on to you today."

As soon as he finished speaking, Nie Feng raised his right hand and gently tapped the air with his index finger.

"Buzz—"

Space tremors.

Two distinct yet subtly connected clusters of light and shadow emerged from Nie Feng's fingertips and slowly rose into the air.

On the left is a dark, inky mass.

It wasn't just simple black; it was an absolute "darkness" that seemed capable of swallowing all light. Deep within the pitch-black light and shadow, faint, blood-red lines flowed, twisted, and intertwined like living things, forming eerie and sinister patterns. It exuded a cold, violent, and all-consuming aura, but strangely, within this extreme chaos and madness, there was also an indescribable, almost cruel "order." It was as if this darkness itself was the manifestation of some supreme rule—the rule of chaos, the order of destruction.

On the right is a cluster, as white as snow.

Pure white, ethereal white, white as if it doesn't exist in this world. It has no fixed shape, like clouds or mist, elusive and uncertain, yet subtly blending into the entire space of consciousness. Gazing at it creates a strange illusion—as if one is gazing at an endless void, or a mirror reflecting all things. It exudes a vast and profound sense of "being without desire or wants, following nature," quiet, deep, and all-encompassing.

Two orbs of light and shadow floated silently, one black and one white, one dark and one bright, one chaotic and one orderly, one violent and one peaceful, forming an extreme contrast, yet at a deeper level, they resonated with each other and depended on one another.