Nine Desolate Records

The shadow of the Zhige Sword loomed over Lu Li.

He sat cross-legged beneath the massive broken sword, the ten-zhang-high wreckage resembling a silent mountain peak, the cracks on the sword clearly visible in the morning light.

Xuanji stood three zhang away, his gray robe fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. The old man didn't immediately impart the sword technique, but simply watched Lu Li quietly: "The other day, you pulled the subsidiary sword of the Zhige Sword from the depths of the Sword Tomb Abyss. Why did the sword acknowledge you then?"

Lu Li opened his eyes, recalling that near-death moment: "Because I didn't resist."

"No." Xuanji shook his head. "It's not because you gave up resisting, but because in giving up resisting, you chose to 'believe.' Believe in the judgment of that sword, believe in the will of the sword wielder three thousand years ago."

He walked up to Lu Li, a sharp glint in his cloudy eyes: "Now, I want you to make a new choice. Not to passively wait for the sword's judgment, but to actively... become the sword wielder."

Lu Li's breath hitched: "Become..."

"You have already touched upon the first level of the Zhige Sword Intent, 'Seeing Yourself,'" Xuanji said. "But that's not enough. You need to see not only your present self, but also the person who stood here three thousand years ago, facing the same choice."

The old man stretched out his withered finger and touched Lu Li's brow.

It's not about imparting techniques, but rather... unlocking memories.

Lu Li's vision went black as his consciousness was dragged into the deep sea.

Three thousand years ago. In the same valley, with the same sword.

No, the sword was still intact back then. Its ten-zhang-long blade pointed straight to the sky, its entire body a bluish-black, with golden patterns flowing along its spine like living things.

The swordsman was a man as imposing as a mountain. Clad in tattered bronze armor, he stood in the center of the valley, surrounded by eight equally scarred figures.

Nine people.

The swordsman stood in the center, with the other eight positioned to the eight directions. Beneath their feet was an enormous array, its patterns extending throughout the entire valley, each pattern radiating a chilling energy fluctuation.

Beyond the formation lies the entire sky.

The sky was torn apart. From the crack flowed ever-changing darkness, which writhe, roared, and tried to break through some invisible barrier. With each impact, the entire earth trembled.

"Heaven and earth... can't hold on any longer." The figure from the east said in a low voice. She was a woman, holding a jade staff in her hand, the staff already covered with cracks.

"Then let it return to chaos." A rough voice echoed from the north. A giant, bare-chested man, carrying a battle axe, had a deep, bone-revealing wound on his chest from which blood gushed. "But our people..."

"There are no more of our kind." The old man from the west said with his eyes closed, his voice eerily calm. "Within the Nine Provinces, all spirits have fallen. The prisoner has devoured the evil thoughts of all living beings... It has become a part of this world."

"Therefore we must divide it," the swordsman spoke, his voice deep and rumbling like thunder, "to divide it across the nine provinces. With our blood as our bond, with this sword as our oath—"

The golden patterns on the sword suddenly lit up, their light piercing the darkness of the sky. The other eight people also raised their weapons at the same time: a jade staff, a battle axe, a medicine cauldron, a scroll, a token, a bow and arrow, a chain, and a compass.

"As long as our bloodline continues, the seal will remain forever!"

The nine people swore an oath in unison, their voices transforming into tangible runes that were imprinted between heaven and earth.

Nine beams of light shot into the sky, intertwining and merging in mid-air to form a net of light covering the entire land. The net of light fell to the earth, forcefully dividing, compressing, and suppressing the surging darkness.

The crack in the sky slowly closed.

But the figures of the nine people gradually disappeared in the light.

The swordsman took one last look at the world, his eyes filled with no regret, only deep weariness: "If anyone in the future can reach this point... I hope you will have a better choice."

His body turned into specks of light and disappeared into the Zhige Sword.

The sword broke.

It was broken in half right in the middle.

The upper half of the sword shot into the sky and disappeared into the void. The lower half, along with the hilt, fell into the valley and embedded itself deep in the earth.

Lu Li suddenly opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

"You felt it?" Xuanji's voice was calm and unwavering.

Lu Li clutched his chest and nodded with difficulty: "They... risked their lives..."

"It's not just about fate." Xuanji walked to the broken sword, reaching out to stroke its rough blade. "It's about bloodline, soul, the very foundation of all existence. The seals of the nine anchor points were built from the very beginning upon the 'self-sacrifice' of the nine sealers."

He turned to look at Lu Li: "So now you understand? Why must the descendants of the guardians of the nine anchor points be of direct blood?"

"Because... the seal needs the power of bloodline to maintain it?" Lu Li's voice was hoarse.

"Yes, but not entirely," Xuanji said. "To be more precise, the bloodline of descendants naturally carries a portion of the sealed 'authority'."

Lu Li trembled all over.

"The three-hundred-year grand ceremony requires this kind of authority." Xuanji's eyes deepened. "Xun Wenruo and his 'Demon-Feeding Plan' is essentially a tampering with this system. They want to replace bloodline inheritance with containers, and replace self-sacrifice with human sacrifice, ultimately achieving the goal of 'controlling' the power of prisoners."

"But they forgot," Xuanji's voice suddenly turned icy, "that the prisoners were able to be sealed because the nine ancestors chose to 'sacrifice themselves to protect all living beings.' The core of the Demon-Feeding Plan is 'sacrificing others to fulfill oneself'—how could such a contradictory idea truly control the power originating from the evil thoughts of all living beings?"

Lu Li fell silent.

He recalled Xun Wenruo's calm face, the 30,000 rebel soldiers who were sacrificed, and the shocking records in Yun Potian's notes.

Xuanji looked at Lu Li, "The Zhige Sword has acknowledged you, and the Yan Emperor's bloodline within you has begun to truly awaken. You can choose to accept the inheritance, or you can choose to give it up."

Lu Li closed his eyes.

The scene from my memory resurfaced. The oath that echoed through the heavens and earth as the nine sealers simultaneously sacrificed themselves. I thought of the deceased Jiang Yin, the old blind man, Yun Potian…

They are all heroes.

But they all died.

Lu Li didn't want to die.

But he also didn't want to... let down those who had died.

He opened his eyes. "I accept the legacy, but I don't accept fate."

Xuanji raised an eyebrow slightly: "What do you mean?"

"If the guardian's destiny is to sacrifice himself, then I will break that destiny." Lu Li stood up and walked towards the broken sword. "If the predecessors could not defeat the prisoner, then I will find a way to defeat him."

He reached out and placed his hand on the cold blade.

"Nine ancestors sacrificed their lives to give us three thousand years of respite. During these three thousand years, countless people have been searching for a better path. Now, it's my turn."

A stinging pain came from my palm.

It wasn't the coldness of the sword itself, but some deeper resonance. The sword intent remaining in the broken sword began to resonate with the Yan Emperor bloodline within Lu Li's body.

On the dark blue-black sword, the dim golden patterns gradually began to light up.

"You..." Xuan Ji's eyes flashed with surprise.

"I'm not a hero." Lu Li's voice was calm. "I'm just an ordinary person who doesn't want to die, nor does he want his comrades to die. But if the only way to survive is to become a hero, then I will become a hero."

The light on the sword grew brighter and brighter.

The countless broken swords stuck in the valley began to tremble slightly, emitting a deep, resonant sword cry.

From deep underground, came the heavy sound of chains dragging.

Xuan Ji's expression changed: "The 'Battle Intent' has been alerted! Lu Li, stop immediately—"

But it was too late.

Lu Li's palm seemed to be welded to the sword, and the crimson-gold bloodline patterns spread up his arm, connecting and merging with the golden patterns on the sword.

He "saw" more.

It's not just the memories from three thousand years ago, but also the memories of every descendant of the guardians over those three thousand years.

Countless fragmented images flooded my mind.

Pain, despair, struggle, resentment.

And there is... a faint but never-extinguished glimmer of hope.

That hope came from the dying thought of each guardian: "If someone in the future... can go even further..."

Now, Lu Li is the one who "has someone in the future".

He gritted his teeth, enduring the onslaught of memories. Golden light erupted from his left eye, almost engulfing his entire pupil. The lock on his chest trembled violently; the prisoner's power, stimulated by his bloodline, began to surge wildly.

Xuanji shouted sharply, "Stabilize your mind!"

Lu Li's consciousness struggled to function amidst the raging tide. He recalled the Mind-Stabilizing Technique taught by Elder Gusong, and the perspective of "standing on the shore."

He forced himself to detach.

It's not about resisting memory, but about observing memory.

It's like observing the confluence of three rivers within the body.

This time, what he saw was not the clash between crimson gold and cyan-black, but countless interwoven "lines"—the lines of the guardian's inheritance over three thousand years, each line connecting to a departed soul, ultimately converging on this broken sword, converging on... himself.

"I see……"

Lu Li murmured.

The fate of those who guard the city is not sacrifice, but "bearing the burden".

Bearing the sacrifices of our ancestors, bearing the evil thoughts of prisoners, bearing the weight of the entire Kyushu.

This is not a curse.

This is... a responsibility.

At the same time, the light on the broken sword reached its peak. A beam of crimson-gold light shot into the sky, piercing the morning mist and soaring straight into the heavens.

All the broken swords in the valley hummed simultaneously, their sounds converging into a torrent that echoed through the valley.

The sound of chains dragging deep underground gradually subsided.

The "will to fight" has fallen asleep again.

The beam of light slowly dissipated.

Lu Li withdrew his hand, leaving a complex golden sword mark on his palm.

"You..." Xuan Ji looked at him, disbelief appearing in his eyes for the first time. "You actually... managed to stay calm?"

"It's not about stabilizing," Lu Li said, looking down at the sword mark on his palm. "It's about accepting it."

He raised his head and looked at Xuanji: "The power of the Guardian comes from the will of 'guarding.' As long as this will remains, the Prisoner's corruption can never completely devour me."

"If the nine ancestors could exchange their lives for three thousand years, then I can also use the remaining 30% of my humanity to strive for another three thousand years."

He paused. "No, not striving. It's about change."

Xuanji remained silent for a long time.

The morning light had fully illuminated the valley, casting a long shadow of the broken sword.

"Eighteen days left," the old man finally said. "In these eighteen days, I will teach you the true 'Sword Intent of Ceasefire.' But you must remember—sword intent is merely a tool; true power lies in your choices."

Lu Li bowed: "This junior understands."

"There's one more thing." Xuanji looked into the depths of the valley. "Your commotion just now has alerted too many things. There are probably already people waiting for you outside the Sword Tomb."

Lu Li's eyes narrowed: "The Turbid Abyss Sect?"

"You are the first person in three thousand years to truly activate the legacy of the Zhige Sword," Xuanji said. "Your bloodline, the resonance of the Prisoner's tyrannical essence within you... for those who wish to control the power of the Prisoner, you are the most perfect and most precious... vessel."

Lu Li clenched his fist.

The sword imprint on my palm felt warm to the touch.

Xuanji turned and walked deeper into the valley. "Follow me. The real cultivation is only just beginning."

Lu Li followed.

Behind him, the shadow of the broken sword trembled slightly in the morning light, as if responding to something.

Outside the valley, at the edge of the thick fog, several dark figures silently emerged.

The leader pulled back his hood, revealing a young but pale face. A dark red token hung at his waist, with an eye engraved on its surface.

The eyes are open.

Deep within his pupils, the beam of light shooting skyward from the valley was reflected.

"Found it." The young man's lips curled into a strange smile. "Inform the leader that the 'vessel' has awakened. The plan can begin."

The dark figure behind him bowed and vanished into black smoke.

The young man stared toward the valley, his pupils slowly rotating until they turned pure black.

"Lu Li...we'll meet again soon."