Supreme Being: The Sword of True Martial Arts

As the star Chonghe Zhenren was looking at faded into the dawn, a second touch of sword intent echoed from outside the Sword Leaf Forest. It wasn't the light touch of Ye Guidi, as if afraid of disturbing something, nor the extremely faint touch of the fifth person, like a fallen leaf clinging to a tree trunk. It was a knock. Using the tip of a sword against the door, three knocks were made, neither too loud nor too soft—"knock, knock, knock." The rhythm was exactly the same as any ordinary visitor. But this was the sealed land of Southern Frontier, the Sword Leaf Forest, untouched for millennia. There was no door, only countless sword leaves gently rubbing together in the morning light. The visitor was knocking with their own sword intent.

Lin Yan probed with his Myriad Manifestations Sword Heart. A figure stood before the silvery-white tree at the outermost edge of the Sword Leaf Forest. He wore a long blue robe, his hair was gray and tied back with a black jade hairpin, his face was thin, his cheekbones high, and his eyes slightly sunken. He bore a resemblance to Cui Mingxuan and Cui Mingcong, but was more aged and profound. This was Cui Qinghe, the head of the Pingjin Cui Clan, a peak outer realm cultivator among the top ten on the Earth Ranking, only one step away from attaining the Heavenly Ladder and becoming a Dharma Body. A black jade longsword hung at his waist, its scabbard devoid of any patterns, exactly the same as the one Lin Yan had seen Cui Mingxuan use at the Wang Family Sword Gathering. It wasn't that Cui Mingxuan had copied him; rather, it was the sword he had used in his youth that he had passed down to his nephew, and he had replaced it with a new one. New sword, old sword, both possessing the same profound depth.

He stood outside the Sword Leaf Forest, his right hand loosely clenched, and the black jade longsword drew from its sheath on its own. It wasn't drawing the sword, but letting it emerge spontaneously. The tip of the sword tapped three very lightly on the silvery-white bark of the Sword Leaf trees. A knock on the door. After knocking, he sheathed the sword, stood with his hands behind his back, and waited for his master to open the door.

Master Chonghe's grey Taoist robe fluttered slightly in the morning breeze. "Benefactor Cui, the sealed land of the Southern Frontier is bound by an agreement between the Six Sword-wielding Sects and the Eight Great Families, stipulating that no one other than a successor of the Four Swords is allowed to enter. You are not among the successors of the Four Swords."

Cui Qinghe's voice came from outside the Sword Leaf Forest, unhurried and calm. "Senior Chonghe, I'm not here to take away the Mad Thought, nor to prevent the four swords from gathering. I've come to return something." He took out a piece of bamboo from his sleeve. It was very short, about three inches long, with jagged edges, as if it had been broken off from a bamboo sword. The bamboo was a deep blue-green color, almost black after a thousand years of oxidation, but the break was extremely new—it wasn't just broken, but rather had been nurtured with sword intent for a hundred years after being broken, and the break had always retained the color it was when it was first broken.

The ancient bamboo sword that guarded the sword cultivators was not the crooked, thousand-year-old sword at Lin Yan's waist, but an even earlier, first one. The one Gu Changyuan carved at the age of seven. The first bamboo sword Gu Changyuan carved at the age of seven was crooked and not in the shape of a sword. It sat on the bluestone platform with the bronze lamp for a hundred years, and then its whereabouts became unknown. Its tip broke off and ended up in Cui Qinghe's hands.

Chonghe Zhenren stared at the three-inch bamboo strip, his beard and eyebrows trembling slightly. "How did the tip of the bamboo sword that Gu Changyuan carved when he was seven years old end up in your hands?"

Cui Qinghe didn't answer, holding the bamboo strip in his palm, its dark jade-colored surface gleaming with a faint, warm luster in the morning light. That wasn't sword intent, but a wisp of thought left in the bamboo when Gu Changyuan was seven years old, when he was carving a sword—"fear of the dark." The seven-year-old boy was afraid of the dark, so he carved himself a sword, crooked and irregular. He had carved his "fear of the dark" into the bamboo sword. Later, he saw himself in the bronze mirror of the ancient tomb behind the Zhenwu Sect, saw the truth of sword intent, and died sitting on the precipice, his heart shattered. But that wisp of "fear of the dark" remained in the seven-year-old bamboo sword, not taken away by him. Later, the bamboo sword somehow broke off at the tip, and this broken tip fell into Cui's hands. Cui Qinghe nurtured it with sword intent for a hundred years, keeping the broken edge the color it was when it was first broken. Not to treasure it, but to wait. Waiting for someone who could take it back.

"The Cui clan ancestor was the fifth person at the sealing site a thousand years ago." Cui Qinghe's voice remained calm and unhurried. "The ancestor had no name; the Cui clan genealogy called him 'The Sword Watcher.' He didn't know swordsmanship, nor the way of the sword; he was merely an old servant who watched over swords for others. The Taixu Sword Cultivator, the Xuanjia Swordsman, the Zilei Sword Cultivator, and the Ancient Guardian Sword Cultivator—before their sworn brotherhood, each had their own sword and their own past. They severed those pasts with their own hands, leaving them outside Mount Ling. The ancestor was the one who guarded those pasts for them. After the seal was completed, the fourth brother passed away, the third brother wept bitterly, the second brother remained silent, and the eldest brother stood at the edge of the altar, watching his younger siblings. The ancestor stood at the entrance of the valley for a while, then turned and left. Before leaving, he said—'A thousand years later, I will come.'" "Take it." What he wanted to take wasn't the mad thought, but the past left behind by the four sword cultivators outside Mount Ling. The thousand-year period had arrived, and that past had long since scattered into the world, leaving only this piece of bamboo sword tip. It was the first bamboo sword that the ancient guardian sword cultivator had carved when he was seven years old. It wasn't carved well, it was crooked and uneven, but it was the beginning of all his guardianship. Later, he had a new bamboo sword, a thousand-year-old sword path, three elder brothers standing shoulder to shoulder with him, and the determination to seal the mad thought. But the wisp of "fear of the dark" he had when he carved the sword at the age of seven, he never lost. He left his earliest fear in the first bamboo sword and entrusted it to his ancestor to guard. He said—"If the seal breaks after a thousand years, and the next guardian is afraid, give him this sword tip. Tell him, I was afraid too."

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.

Cui Qinghe held up the three-inch bamboo strip, its dark jade-colored tip resembling an old piece of wood long sun-baked in the morning light. "The Cui family has guarded this sword tip for a thousand years. Qinghe has come today to return it. Not to the bamboo sword itself, but to the successor of the ancient sword-guarding cultivator a thousand years later. Young Master Lin, will you accept it?"

Lin Yan walked through the forest of sword-leaf trees. The silvery-white tree trunks slowly receded from both sides, and the metallic sound of the sword-leaf leaves rubbing together rose again, like countless tiny swords whispering. Cui Qinghe stood outside the forest, wearing a long blue robe, his black jade sword hanging at his waist, a three-inch bamboo strip in his palm. He saw Lin Yan, said nothing, and simply handed him the bamboo strip.

Lin Yan received it with both hands. The moment his fingertips touched the bamboo strip, the bamboo sword unsheathed itself, its deep golden tassel swaying violently in the morning breeze, the demonic energy bead glowing faintly. The bamboo sword sensed the tip it had lost a thousand years ago—not the same sword. The ancient guardian swordsman had forged two bamboo swords, the first at the age of seven, the second held for a lifetime. The second was at Lin Yan's waist, the tip of the first in Cui Qinghe's palm. The two bamboo swords, separated by a thousand years, met outside the Sword Leaf Forest. The deep golden tassel of the second bamboo sword gently wrapped around the black jade tip, not merging, but lightly touching it. Like a sword touching the wound it had broken a thousand years ago. It didn't hurt anymore, but touching it reminded it of the feeling when it broke.

The bamboo strip trembled slightly, and a faint wisp of blue emerged from the depths of its dark jade color—the "fear of the dark" left inside when the ancient guardian swordsman carved his sword at the age of seven. Trapped within the bamboo strip for a thousand years, nurtured by the Cui family for a millennium, it was now gently awakened by the tassel of the second bamboo sword. It didn't transform into sword intent, nor did it dissipate; it simply emerged from the bamboo strip like a tiny lamp. The eighth leaf of the Lin Yan Dharma Image sapling swayed on its own, "Caring," and the veins in its deep golden veins, where the "fear" had resided, simultaneously lit up. Fear of not being able to protect those it wanted to protect, fear that the empty room filled by Gu Qing would be emptied again, fear that the stars honed by Senior Brother Liu's thoughts would be extinguished, fear that Master's cup of cold tea would never be warmed again. All fears responded to that tiny lamp.

The tiny bud at the edge of the seventh leaf, "Tai Xu," trembled slightly. It wasn't the ninth leaf, but the bud that sprouted from the seventh. What else was to grow within the Tai Xu style—something the two cats had seen but not spoken of. At this moment, it was gently touched by the ancient guardian swordsman's "fear of the dark" from when he was seven years old, and it stirred. Not to break through the soil, but to sense the shared temperature. What was to grow within the "emptiness" of the Tai Xu style was "beginning." The initial fear, the initial darkness, the initial crooked sword-sharpening technique, the initial sweat on the palms when holding the sword. The Tai Xu intercepted the sword intent of a thousand years; the empty space wasn't nothingness, but waiting for "beginning" to return. The ancient guardian swordsman's fear of the dark at seven years old was the "beginning" of all his swordsmanship. A thousand years later, this wisp of "beginning" had been nurtured within the bamboo strips until now, and now, through the tassel of the second bamboo sword, it gently touched the bud within Lin Yan's Tai Xu style. The bud remembered this temperature.

The bamboo strip fell silent. The pale blue deep within the dark jade faded again, but didn't disappear. It simply returned to the bamboo strip, continuing to warm itself. The ancient guardian swordsman, who feared the dark since childhood, waited a thousand years, only to find another guardian who shared the same fear of loss. Fear met fear, beginning met beginning. That was enough. The bamboo strip didn't need to reconnect with the bamboo sword; it was already whole. The broken tip of the first bamboo sword and the tassel of the second bamboo sword touched once across a thousand years—that was enough.

Lin Yan held the bamboo strip in both hands and bowed deeply to Cui Qinghe. Cui Qinghe turned away, refusing the bow. "No need to thank me. The Cui family has guarded this place for a thousand years, not as a favor, but as repayment of a debt. Our ancestor, the sword-observing man, stood at the entrance of the valley a thousand years ago, watching his fourth brother pass away, his third brother weep, his second brother remain silent, and his eldest brother gaze at his younger siblings. After watching for a while, he turned and left. He spent his life observing swords for others, never holding a sword himself. After leaving Lingshan that day, he never looked at any sword again. In his later years, he sat under the locust tree in the Cui family's old residence and suddenly said, 'I understood the swords of those four men. Not with my eyes, but with waiting.' His disciple asked him what he was waiting for. He said, 'Waiting for someone to hold the sword for them.' The Cui family waited for a thousand years, and we have found you. The sword tip is returned to you; the Cui family's debt is paid."

He turned and walked towards the edge of the Sword Leaf Forest, stopping after a few steps without looking back. "Han Guang will arrive tonight. One of the two fragments of his thoughts is suppressed by his Blood Fiend, while the other is growing in secret. He thinks he's collecting the Four Swords, but actually, the one growing in secret is using him as a tool. The fifth person planted in his sword heart isn't two fragments, but one—the other isn't planted, it's his own. For a hundred years, he's suppressed his thoughts with Blood Fiend. In the process, Blood Fiend and thoughts have eroded each other, and a second fragment has grown from his own sword heart. Even the fifth person doesn't know about that fragment. He nurtured it himself. Han Guang isn't a pawn in a pawn's game; he's waiting too. Waiting for the Four Swords to gather, waiting for the seal to break, waiting for the fifth person to appear. At that time, he will use his own fragment to devour the one planted by the fifth person. Not to break free from control, but to turn the tables. You reinforce the seal; what he wants is the fifth person."

The long blue robe disappeared into the dark red shadows of the Bloodwood Forest.

Chonghe Zhenren gazed in the direction where Cui Qinghe had disappeared. "The Sword Observer. For a thousand years, he has watched over swords for others, never holding one himself. He understood the swords of those four men not with his eyes, but by waiting. Waiting for someone else to hold the sword for them. The Cui family waited a thousand years, and then you came. That broken sword tip is in your hand, not to take it back, but to remember—the fear that the ancient guardian sword cultivators had at the beginning, and your concern now, are of the same kind of warmth."

Lin Yan looked down at the black bamboo strip in his palm. Three inches long, its edges jagged, the broken edge retaining the color it was when it was first broken, nurtured by the Cui family for a thousand years. A faint blue tinge remained deep within the bamboo strip, like a tiny lamp. His bamboo sword returned to its sheath on its own, the deep golden tassel hanging at his side. He didn't reattach the bamboo strip to the sword; instead, he placed it close to his chest. The warmth emanating from the bamboo strip wasn't body heat, but the warmth of "Chu," nurtured by a thousand years of waiting.

The old orange cat and the gray cat emerged from the Sword Leaf Forest and crouched side by side at Lin Yan's feet, their four eyes fixed on the bamboo strip on his chest. Simultaneously, they extended their right front paws and gently nudged it. The bamboo strip gleamed faintly beneath his clothes, as if in response. The two cats retracted their paws, their tails swaying slowly at the same time. They sensed the seven-year-old ancient guardian sword cultivator's fear of the dark within that bamboo strip, and they also sensed the care within the eighth leaf of Lin Yan's Dharma Image sapling. The same warmth, separated by a thousand years.

Su Muyun ascended the stone steps, his Qingfeng sword hanging at his waist. "Han Guang will arrive tonight. The fifth person may also appear. Senior Chonghe is waiting for the fifth person, Cui Qinghe is repaying a debt from a thousand years ago. We are waiting for Han Guang. The four keys—Taixu, Pojun, Bamboo Sword, and Xuanjia Su Sword—will all gather tonight. But three of the four swords are in your hands; how can you simultaneously pierce the four corner holes?"

Lin Yan gazed at the octagonal stone altar. "When the ninth leaf grows, it won't be me going to find it; it will come to me."

The group returned to the circular valley. The guardian star had set, and the beads in the skeleton's palm on the altar glowed faintly in the morning light. The wild fruits of Zhending were still red, and the bamboo tube of wine remained sealed. The sword runes on the four mountain walls were hidden in the sunlight, and the dark red heart at the center of the sword net beat slowly, its rhythm slower than the night before. Last night, the transparent bamboo sword had gently pierced and awakened the warmth at its core; two cats had flicked it from a distance, causing the warmth to flicker for a moment; the Taixu swordsman feared being cut open by Jiang Zhiwei; and the little monk had placed a handful of wild fruits before the skeleton. It sensed all of this, and its beating rhythm slowed down on its own. It wasn't being suppressed more tightly; it was waiting. Waiting for the four swords to gather tonight, waiting for the seal to be strengthened, waiting for an ending it itself didn't know.

Lin Yan sat cross-legged in front of the skeleton. A bamboo sword lay across his lap, while the Tai Xu Sword and the Po Jun Sword were planted in the ground before him. Lu Chen sat to his left, carrying a large, grey-black sword, its pale blue tassel hanging in front of his chest. Jiang Zhiwei sat to his right, the Bai Hong Guan Ri Sword lying across her lap. Su Muyun sat on the edge of the altar, the Qing Feng Sword planted at his feet. Luo Shengyi, Meng Qi, Zhen Ding, Qi Xia, Qi Zhengyan, Ye Guichen, and Gu Qing all sat in a circle. Chong He Zhenren sat at the entrance to the stone steps, the Pine-Patterned Ancient Sword lying across his lap, facing the valley entrance. The old orange cat and the grey cat squatted side-by-side in front of the skeleton, their four eyes fixed on the heart within the sword net.

The circular valley fell silent. Only the slow beating of a heart and the gentle rustling of countless sword-like leaves in the wind. Waiting for night. Waiting for Han Guang. Waiting for the ninth leaf.