Supreme Being: The Sword of True Martial Arts

The faint sword intent outside the Sword Leaf Forest clung to the silvery-white trunk of the outermost Sword Leaf Tree, like a fallen leaf that had been there for a long time. When Lin Yan emerged from the forest, it was still there, motionless, neither moving forward nor backward, simply clinging to the tree. Morning light streamed in from the east, illuminating the countless sword-like leaves of the tree, reflecting countless fine silver rays. That wisp of sword intent clung to the densest part of the silver light, so light it was almost completely obscured by the morning light.

Lin Yan did not draw his sword. The bamboo sword hung at his waist, its deep golden tassel swaying gently in the morning breeze, the demonic energy bead glowing faintly. The Myriad Manifestations Sword Heart told him that this wisp of sword intent held no hostility, not even any "intent"—it simply clung to the tree trunk, like someone who had walked a long way to a door, not knocking, but simply standing against the door for a while. It wasn't that he dared not knock, but that he feared the person waiting inside would be gone once the door opened.

"Senior," Lin Yan clasped his hands in greeting, "Sword Leaf Forest is the outer barrier of the seal; beyond that lies the Valley of Protection. If you are not going in, I can relay your message."

The sword intent gently peeled away from the tree trunk, like a fallen leaf lifted by the wind, hovering in the air for a moment before settling three zhang in front of Lin Yan. It didn't just fall; it landed and then transformed into human form. An old Taoist priest with white hair and beard, wearing a faded gray robe, carried an ancient sword with pine-patterned patterns on his back. The pine patterns on the scabbard were identical to those on Ye Guichen and Ye Guidi's swords, but even more ancient—so ancient that the pine patterns weren't carved on, but grew out of the sword itself. His face was thin, with high cheekbones and slightly sunken eyes, bearing a resemblance to Su Muyun, but his eyes held no rain, only a very faint warmth—like a stone that had been exposed to the sun for a long time, still warm even after the sun had set.

"Chunyang Sect, Chonghe." The old Taoist's voice was very soft, as if afraid to disturb the dew on the sword leaves. "You are Lin Yan. The Taixu Sword, the Pojun Sword, and the Bamboo Sword—the three keys are all on you. The fourth is on the back of a young man. With all four swords gathered, the seal can be solidified. This old Taoist has waited for this day for a long time."

Lin Yan's Myriad Manifestations Sword Heart trembled slightly when the old Taoist spoke. It wasn't danger, but resonance. The sword intent emanating from Chonghe Zhenren was unlike any of the True Martial Sect, the Washing Sword Pavilion, the Huanhua Sword Sect, the Hidden Sword Tower, the East Sea Sword Manor, the Great River Gang, or any of the Six Sword-Wielding Sects. It wasn't sharp, dense, destructive, protective, intercepting, slashing, or resisting. It was "sunbathing." Like a stone sunbathing for a long time, absorbing all the light into its texture, neither dissipating nor reflecting, but simply warming. The Pure Yang Sect's sword path wasn't about attack or defense, but about "nurturing." It nurtured the pure Yang intent, the most powerful and Yang essence in the world, within the sword, not releasing it, but simply nurturing it. The longer it was nurtured, the warmer the sword became. When it reached its extreme warmth, everything touched by it would melt. Not burned, but warmed.

"How long have you been waiting for this day, senior?"

Master Chonghe did not answer, his gaze passing over Lin Yan and landing deep within the Sword Leaf Forest. Silvery-white tree trunks receded from either side, the metallic sound of sword leaves rubbing together echoing softly in the morning breeze. "When the Taixu Sword Cultivator planted this Sword Leaf Forest, the old Daoist was right beside him. He said he feared the seal wouldn't last until later generations, so with each tree planted, he left a wisp of 'fear' within its trunk. He feared for a thousand years, and the trees feared for him for a thousand years. The old Daoist said then—'No need to fear. Later generations will surely come.' He said—'How do you know?' The old Daoist said—'Because the sun rises every day. Later generations are like the sun; they will naturally come when the time is right.'" Master Chonghe withdrew his gaze. "He believed him. Before he passed away, he left the Taixu Sword in the cave, saying he would wait for the sun to rise. A thousand years have passed, and the sun has risen."

Lin Yan remained silent for a moment. "Senior, you are neither the tomb keeper nor the successor of the four sword cultivators. Why have you waited in the Southern Frontier for a thousand years?"

Master Chonghe did not answer. His right hand moved loosely in a fist, and the ancient sword with pine-patterned veins on his back drew from its sheath on its own. The sword's blade was not sharp silver, not azure after rain, not deep gold, not amber; it was an extremely pale, warm white, like jade that had been exposed to the sun for a long time. The sword intent was not offensive; it simply hovered there, like a lamp that was never lit but always kept warm. "The Chunyang Sect has existed for 3,700 years. The first patriarch, Master Chunyang, was the master of the Taixu Sword Cultivator. The Taixu Sword Cultivator was highly skilled, and Master Chunyang only accepted this one disciple. The disciple went down the mountain to seal his mad thoughts, while the master waited on the mountain. After a thousand years, the master passed away, and the disciple never returned. This old Daoist is the eleventh generation successor of the Chunyang Sect. Before each generation's successor passes away, they pass on the Chunyang Sword Intent to the next generation, along with the memories of the Taixu Sword Cultivator before he descended the mountain. When this old Daoist received the Chunyang Sword from his master, he also received that memory. The day the Taixu Sword Cultivator descended the mountain..." The old Taoist remembered the sun. He said to his master on the stone steps before Chunyang Palace, "Master, I'm leaving. If the seal isn't broken, I won't return." His master said, "Even if you don't return, the sun will still rise. But I will watch the sun for you. Every day when it rises, consider it as if you've returned." After the Taixu Sword Cultivator descended the mountain, the Chunyang True Man watched the sunrise before Chunyang Palace every day at dawn. He watched it his whole life. On the day he passed away, he smiled slightly at sunrise. His disciples asked him what he was smiling about, and he said, "Today's sun is my disciple."

The ancient sword with pine-patterned veins slowly returned to its sheath. Master Chonghe's gray Taoist robe fluttered gently in the morning breeze; his beard and hair were all white, but his eyes were as warm as stones that had been exposed to the sun for a long time.

"I didn't come to the Southern Frontier to wait for the seal to be reinforced. Reinforcing the seal is a matter for your generation. I'm waiting for something else—there's someone behind Han Guang. The sect leader of the Extinction Heaven Gate is at the peak of the Outer Realm, only one step away from proving the Dharma Body through the Heavenly Ladder, but he's not the real player. Those two fragments of mad thoughts within him didn't fall in by chance. Someone planted a seed of thought in his sword heart, using him to collect the four swords, intending to open the seal and take away the mad thoughts. This person's cultivation is extremely high, at least above the Dharma Body level. The method he used to plant the thought is extremely ancient, not the style of any sect in this world. I've investigated for a long time and only found one thing—when the four sword cultivators suppressed the mad thoughts a thousand years ago, there was a fifth person present."

Lin Yan's pupils contracted slightly. "A fifth person?"

"He exists in Taixu Sword Cultivator's memories. The moment the seal was completed, his fourth brother passed away on the altar, his third brother, Zilei Sword Cultivator, knelt before the skeleton and wept bitterly, his second brother, Xuanjia Swordsman, held his plain sword silently, and Taixu Sword Cultivator stood at the edge of the altar, watching his four younger siblings. At that time, there was a person standing at the entrance of the valley. He wore an extremely ordinary gray Daoist robe, his face blurred, and his features indistinct. Taixu Sword Cultivator asked him—'Who are you?' The person did not answer, but only looked at the skeleton on the altar and the kneeling, weeping Zilei Sword Cultivator. After a while, he turned and left. Before leaving, he said one sentence—'A thousand years later, I will come to take it.' Taixu Sword Cultivator wanted to chase after him, but the seal had just been completed, and his sword intent was exhausted, so he could not chase after him. The person disappeared into the Sword Leaf Forest and was never seen again. Taixu Sword Cultivator watched the sunrise in Chunyang Palace his whole life, waiting for that person. He did not wait. All the successors of Chunyang Sect have been waiting, and the old Daoist is the eleventh generation. Today, he finally waited."

"Did that person plant a fragment of thought in Han Guangjian's mind?"

Chonghe Zhenren nodded. "The seed of thought needs a host. Han Guang's Blood Fiend Sword Heart is the most suitable soil. The seed took root in his sword heart for a hundred years, growing into two fragments. One was suppressed by him with Blood Fiend, and the other grew in secret. He thought he was collecting four swords, but in fact, the owner of the seed was using him to break the seal. The day the seal in the Southern Frontier is broken, Han Guang will come. The person behind him may also come. I am waiting here not to help you strengthen the seal, but to wait for that person. If he comes, I will receive his sword. The sword that the Chunyang Sect has waited for for a thousand years."

The sword-leaf forest remained quiet for a long time. The millions of sword-like leaves stopped rubbing against each other, and the wind ceased.

Lin Yan suddenly understood why Chonghe Zhenren had said, "The sun rises every day." The successive generations of the Chunyang Sect had been waiting. Waiting for the "future generation" the Taixu Sword Cultivator spoke of, waiting for the fifth person who stood at the valley entrance when the seal was complete. They waited for a thousand years, the sun rising as usual each day, and they waited as usual each day. Until the future generation arrived, until the fifth person was about to arrive. Waiting itself was the Chunyang Sect's sword path. It wasn't a passive attrition, but treating each sunrise as if it were the day the disciple would return. Warming it. Warming a sword for a thousand years, waiting for the one who would receive it.

"Senior, if that person comes, you take his sword strike. And then what?"

Chonghe Zhenren gazed into the depths of the Sword Leaf Forest. "What happens next is yours. A thousand years to wait for one sword, and after that, this old Daoist can rest. I've watched the sunrise in front of Chunyang Palace for two hundred years, and I've never grown tired of it. Because every day, the sun shines on the Taixu Sword Cultivator."

Lin Yan bowed deeply to Chonghe Zhenren. The old orange cat and the gray cat emerged from the sword-leaf forest and squatted side by side at Lin Yan's feet, their four eyes fixed on Chonghe Zhenren. Simultaneously, they extended their right forepaws and gently touched the tassel of the ancient pine-patterned sword on his back. The tassel was a very pale, warm white, and when touched, it emitted a very soft tinkling sound, like a pebble that had been sun-dried for a long time falling into a stream. The two cats withdrew their paws, their tails swaying slowly at the same time. They sensed the millennia-old warmth within that sword. Not sharpness, not protection, not destruction, but "waiting." A thousand years of waiting for a single sword.

Chonghe Zhenren looked down at the two cats, a corner of his gray Daoist robe fluttering in the morning breeze. "When the Taixu Sword Cultivator watched the sunrise in front of Chunyang Palace, there was always an orange cat perched on the roof. Generation after generation of Chunyang Palace cats loved to sit on the roof to watch the sunrise. After the Taixu Sword Cultivator descended the mountain, that orange cat still sat on the roof every day, accompanying Chunyang Zhenren to watch the sunrise. On the day Chunyang Zhenren passed away, the orange cat jumped down from the roof and lay on his lap. Zhenren stroked the cat's back and said, 'I'm going to see my disciple. You wait for me for a few more days. You watch the sunrise for me later.' The orange cat licked the back of his hand. Zhenren smiled and closed his eyes. From then on, every generation of Chunyang Palace cats would sit on the roof at dawn to watch the sunrise. They watched for a thousand years."

The old orange cat crouched on the ground, its amber eyes gazing at Chong and Zhenren, its tail tip swaying slowly. It didn't meow, it just watched. The gray cat crouched beside it, its remaining right eye also looking at the old Taoist, its cloudy left eye closed. The two cats and the thousand-year-old cats of Chunyang Palace were separated by a thousand years, but their posture of crouching on the roof watching the sunrise was exactly the same.

Lin Yan suddenly recalled the old orange cat's first appearance in Tiepu Town—walking from the direction of the Bloodwood Forest, its three and a half legs moving unhurriedly, as if it had traveled a long way. It wasn't a stray cat. It was a cat from Chunyang Palace. It had traveled a thousand years from Chunyang Palace to Southern Xinjiang. Perhaps it was a descendant of that generation of orange cats, or perhaps it was the same one. Cats don't live that long, but the cats of Chunyang Palace, nurtured by a thousand years of sunrises, might live a very long time. Perhaps it was just an ordinary lame old cat, but its ancestor had squatted atop Chunyang Palace, watching the sunrise with Chunyang Zhenren, with Taixu Jianxiu, and with all the successive generations of Chunyang Sect disciples. It had watched for a thousand years, waited for a thousand years. Now it squatted outside the Sword Leaf Forest in the sealed land of Southern Xinjiang, waiting with the eleventh generation disciple for the fifth person. It had waited for a thousand years, and was still waiting.

Lin Yan crouched down, his palms flat on the ground. The old orange cat lowered its head and nudged his palm with its forehead. Warmth emanated from the cat's forehead—not body temperature, but a temperature nurtured by a thousand years of sunrises. The green tiles of the Chunyang Palace were warmed by the sun every morning at dawn. The cat crouched on the tiles, its belly pressed against the warm surface, the heat seeping into its body. Generation after generation, the warmth of a thousand years of sunrises accumulated on the cats of Chunyang Palace. The warmth on the old orange cat's forehead was the sunrise of the day the Chunyang Immortal passed away, the sunrise of the day the Taixu Sword Cultivator descended the mountain, and the sunrise witnessed every single day at dawn by successive generations of the Chunyang Sect before the Chunyang Palace. All the sunrises were contained within the cat's body temperature. Warmed.

Master Chonghe watched as the old orange cat nudged Lin Yan's palm with its forehead, his beard and eyebrows trembling slightly. "The orange cat from the Chunyang Palace generation jumped down from the palace roof after Master Chonghe passed away, left Chunyang Palace, and headed south. The young Taoist guarding the palace said that when it left, it looked back at the palace roof, then stepped over the threshold on three and a half legs, and never returned. The young Taoist recorded it in the Chunyang Palace's cat register—'Orange cat, a disciple of Master Chunyang, left the palace on the day Master Chonghe passed away, went south, and its whereabouts are unknown.' That mark was still clear when I first entered the palace. Now it's faded to almost invisible. But it's here."

The old orange cat lifted its head from Lin Yan's palm, its amber eyes gazing at Chong and Zhenren. Its right hind leg was lame, though the Chunyang Palace's cat register didn't record why. Perhaps it had fallen while descending the mountain, or perhaps it had tripped over vines in the Bloodwood Forest of Southern Xinjiang. It had walked for a thousand years, from Chunyang Palace to Southern Xinjiang, its three and a half legs traversing countless mountains and rivers, and now it stopped. Because the people it was waiting for were almost all there.

The Taoist priest bowed to the old orange cat. The old Taoist bowed to a cat. The old orange cat squatted on the ground and accepted the bow. Its amber eyes reflected the morning light, like the green tiles on the roof of the Chunyang Palace that had been exposed to the sun for a thousand years.

Footsteps echoed from the depths of the Sword Leaf Forest. Su Muyun ascended the stone steps, his Qingfeng Sword hanging at his waist, its post-rain azure blade gleaming faintly in the morning light. He paused for a moment upon seeing Chonghe Zhenren, then continued on, clasping his hands in greeting. "Su Muyun, a former disciple of the Huanhua Sword Sect, greets Senior Chonghe."

Master Chonghe gazed at the post-rain azure hue on his sword. "A drop of rain from Shenxi Bridge fell upon your sword. A hundred years ago, he disappeared in the Southern Frontier, and the Huanhua Sword Sect searched for him for a long time. Later, some said he was imprisoned by the Demonic Sect, others said he was dead. I saw him once in the Southern Frontier. Before he was imprisoned in the Demonic Tomb, he stood outside the Sword Leaf Forest for a whole night. I asked him why he didn't go in. He said—'My rain is not enough. Going in wouldn't help, so I might as well wait outside.' He waited a hundred years, until you came. His rain fell on your sword, and that was enough."

The azure hue of Su Muyun's Azure Sword rippled slightly, like water rippling in the wind. He spoke, only bowing deeply to Chonghe Zhenren. Chonghe Zhenren nodded, his gaze passing over Su Muyun, over Lin Yan, over the two cats, settling on the distant horizon beyond the Sword Leaf Forest. There, on the edge of the sky, was a very faint star. Not the Mountain Guardian Star, but a tiny star rising in the direction of Chunyang Palace. Dawn was approaching, and the star was about to disappear. But the old Taoist was still watching.