Sword Tomb 5

In the brief moment they conversed, the battlefield’s dynamics shifted drastically.

Tianning had been forced back against the cliff. Six flying swords pinned her to the rock, two piercing her shoulder and neck, immobilizing her. Blood trickled from her wounds, staining the stone.

Her blood seemed to activate Daozi’s sword array. Gold and purple patterns, anchored by the swords, rose slowly, forming an intricate circular formation that suppressed her with undeniable force.

Tang Jiu murmured, “A Foundation Establishment sword array, wielded so effortlessly. The Qi Clan’s Daozi is at least late Foundation Establishment.”

Tang Yueling frowned. “All this for a sword? Such ruthlessness. Is the Qi Clan so desperate they’re broke?” Clans had their share of dirty secrets—her Tang Clan included—but siblings fighting so openly was unheard of.

Su Qing’s thoughts drifted elsewhere: those swords looked familiar…

Scanning below, she spotted other Qi Clan members, dressed in their signature snow-white robes, as during the disciple selection. But their waists were bare—no swords.

She averted her gaze before they noticed.

As expected, those were their swords.

How strange. The Qi Clan had gone out of their way to decorate Tianning’s room, feigning care, yet now they faced her without pretense, swords drawn.

Their attempt at winning her over was transparently half-hearted.

Su Qing asked Tang Jiu, “Is reaching Foundation Establishment at his age impressive?” Her novel-reading experience varied—some protagonists ascended at the start—so she wasn’t sure what this meant here.

Tang Jiu’s eyes widened at her ignorance but softened, recalling her mortal origins. Unlike them, raised at the immortal-mortal border, she hadn’t even “seen pigs run.”

He explained patiently, “Incredibly rare—a young genius. Most reach Foundation Establishment around eighty. The Sword Sect’s first-year goal is exactly that. One sect year equals sixty mortal years, meaning it takes that long to ensure students hit the target.”

“But this Qi Clan heir, so young, is already late Foundation Establishment. No wonder he’s called Daozi—likely favored by the Heavenly Dao.”

Su Qing inwardly scoffed: The Heavenly Dao must be blind.

Tang Yueling snorted openly. “Favored? More like the Qi Clan’s effort.”

Tang Jiu smiled awkwardly. “True, but it’s still not easy.”

The topic felt taboo, and he didn’t elaborate. Su Qing wasn’t curious. She looked at Tianning, head slumped, possibly unconscious, and worried.

Challenging Daozi herself was impossible.

Glancing at Tang Yueling, she saw her conflicted expression. That earlier strike had drained her, and even with spirit stones, she couldn’t fight again.

The outcome was clear.

No freshman dared challenge Daozi now.

He stood atop the chaos, pristine and unruffled, his stunning, emotionless face and commanding presence drawing awe and admiration.

Daozi gazed at the Free Sword, extended a hand, and called softly, “Sword, come—”

The Free Sword trembled, its light intensifying, as if ready to fly to him.

Su Qing watched, unable to look away.

Even she had to admit: it was his. With talent, strength, and clan backing, why wouldn’t he be chosen?

But she didn’t want this.

Suddenly, a black rift opened before her.

A dark figure emerged—first a robe’s edge, then a body, and finally, black hair parted to reveal a pale face.

A ghostly female cultivator, small and pallid, with startling eyes—pure black, almost no whites, pupils vast like lightless obsidian.

Meeting her gaze, Su Qing’s skin crawled.

Terrifying.

Not her appearance, but her penetrating stare, as if it stripped Su Qing’s soul bare, inspecting every inch.

Tang Jiu exclaimed, “Senior Wei Yue, you’re here!”

He blinked, noticing Wei Yue staring at Su Qing too long, sensing something off. “Senior Wei Yue?”

She turned, her voice faint, almost lifeless. “If the Free Sword falls to the Qi Clan, the Sword Sect will lose face.”

Su Qing, hearing her voice, connected it to the cafeteria’s ghostly hand. Relief eased her fear.

Wei Yue’s dark eyes shifted to Tang Jiu. “You, take the Free Sword.”

“Me?” Tang Jiu sweated. “No way, Senior. My Tang Clan’s modest but still reputable in Tianque. I can’t risk it. Besides, I have my Bamboo Harmony!”

Wei Yue’s near-white-less eyes skipped Tang Yueling, landing on Su Qing.

“You?”

Su Qing froze, questioning reality. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You don’t have a fated sword, do you?”

“No, because my spiritual roots are stunted. No sword wants me,” Su Qing said, sensing trouble. “What are you planning?”

Wei Yue didn’t waste words. She grabbed Su Qing’s collar. Her plaster-pale hand brushed Su Qing’s neck, icy as death, sending shivers through her.

“Ghost cultivator, let her go!” Tang Yueling rolled up her sleeves. “And what was that look? Why skip me?”

“Senior Wei Yue, stop! This isn’t a joke!” Tang Jiu urged.

Their voices overlapped, but to Su Qing, they felt distant. In a blink, Wei Yue hauled her above the Free Sword. Its blinding light stung her eyes, and even Wei Yue’s ghostly form flickered in its radiance.

“Senior!” Su Qing clutched Wei Yue’s sleeve, panicking. “What’s this? What’s this?!”

“Ordinary swords don’t want me, so how could I take the Free Sword?!”

Wei Yue’s tone was cold, frenzied. “How do you know without trying? Success or death.”

Her body dissolved into black smoke, vanishing. Su Qing, clinging to her, plummeted.

Time stretched—

Unable to process, her eyes fixed on the Free Sword, solemn and holy, like a cross nailed in the sky. Clouds couldn’t veil it, demons couldn’t taint it, the mundane couldn’t approach.

Its sleek blade filled her vision, its overwhelming presence confirming it as the sword of her dreams—capable of cleaving seas and whales.

Even if it rejected her, her heart burned with desire.

Sword, come!

Sword, come—!

She called silently.

Falling, she reached for its light. Sharp sword qi surged, scorching her skin. Her vision flashed red, then black, and she lost consciousness.

The Free Sword rejected her.

“It shouldn’t be.” The faint, dying voice spoke again. “This isn’t what I saw. It shouldn’t be like this.”

“What did you see this time?” a lazy voice replied. “I’m sometimes curious about your world.”

“What’s curious about a blind person’s world?”

“Didn’t your blindness come after your bloodline awakened? You could see normally as a child. Don’t you miss it?”

“I’ve seen what matters. What’s to miss?”

“Really? We’ve known each other so long, and you’ve never seen my face—”

“That’s the least regrettable thing.”

Su Qing woke to their casual banter.

Why was it so cold, so wet?

She realized she was submerged in a lake.

Clear moonlight filtered through branches, bathing her. Through leaf gaps, she saw a blue-purple night sky and gentle, sheep-like stars.

A breeze caressed her hair like a mother’s touch, rippling the lake’s shimmering surface. The distant forest, dark yet unafraid, swayed under moon and starlight.

Su Qing noticed her wounds had mostly healed. In her hazy memory, the Free Sword’s qi had burned her, pain everywhere.

Now, the wounds were nearly gone. Was it an illusion, or did power surge within her? She clenched her fist—real strength.

Some deeper wounds lingered, but the lake’s gentle washing showed signs of healing.

The lake could heal.

“Mirror Lake is where body cultivators recover post-training. Its water speeds healing. This valley is Senior Body Sect Sister’s privilege. I had Zhu Xu bring you,” Wei Yue said, appearing beside her. She sat midair, black robes dangling above the water, moonlight reflecting beneath.

A cheerful voice chimed—Zhu Xu. “Payment’s fifty chicken legs, settled. Awesome, Junior Sister, thanks for the feast!”

Su Qing recognized her: the bloodied body cultivator from the cafeteria.

Now, Zhu Xu lounged nearby in the lake, a sweet foxtail grass in her mouth, dark hair floating like waterweeds. Her wounds were less severe, revealing her face.

Despite her brash demeanor, Zhu Xu had wild, striking features—bold sword-like brows, large bright eyes reflecting the stars, wheat-colored skin, athletic build, and white scars crisscrossing her exposed skin.

The opposite of Wei Yue, whose small face, big eyes, and deathly pale skin chilled. Half her body—left arm and torso—was gone, burned by the Free Sword.

As a ghost cultivator, Wei Yue was vulnerable to its righteous yang qi.

“Come soak,” Zhu Xu teased. “Maybe your arm will grow back.”

“I have no physical body,” Wei Yue said coldly.

She turned to Su Qing, apologetic. “Today was my fault. I caused your injuries. If you need help later, find me.”

Su Qing hadn’t expected an apology. In this world, the strong didn’t need to apologize—strength justified crushing the weak.

She didn’t respond, instead climbing from the lake toward the shore.

Zhu Xu called, “Junior Sister, your wounds aren’t healed. Where to?”

“The Sword Tomb.”

“It’s past midnight. The swords have returned.”

Su Qing didn’t look back. “I need to see for myself.”

She wasn’t giving up. She didn’t think she was lesser than Daozi. If the Free Sword didn’t choose her, it was blind. Surely another sword would?

Why bustle about for nothing?

Her wet clothes weighed her down, shivering in the cold wind. But warmth soon enveloped her, drying her clothes and hair.

Without stopping, she marched toward the Sword Tomb’s cliff.

“You pissed her off,” Zhu Xu said, enjoying the drama.

“It was my mistake,” Wei Yue admitted.

Her candor made Zhu Xu console her. “Still, Junior Sister gained something. I fought for the Free Sword once—got my guts pierced. You nearly lost your soul, saved only by Master. But that ordeal remolded my meridians, setting me on body cultivation. You found your sword qi and intent faster afterward.”

“Her injury and healing in Mirror Lake completed the first step of body cultivation. She’ll soon notice her body’s changed. Maybe then she’ll cool off. But you—she’s straightforward and resilient. Why not warn her?”

Wei Yue scoffed, “You talk too much.”

As Zhu Xu said, the swords had returned.

The cliff-top platform was silent, save for the howling wind. Her clothes billowed like sails, but no flying companion joined her.

A bright moon lit her path.

The ancient sword-plum burned red in the dark, a nighttime sun. Daytime battles had scarred its branches and flowers, fresh sword marks marring its gnarled trunk.

But Su Qing wasn’t worried it would wither.

It rooted in rock, blooming heaven-defying flowers. Its vibrant, tenacious life force wouldn’t falter from student squabbles.

Strangely comforting, it eased her heart.

She sat beneath the plum tree, leaning against its trunk in a comfortable pose. The wind rustled its branches.

If only a sword would fall from the sky.

No sword fell, but petals did.

Exhausted, aching, and sleepy, Su Qing drifted off. Plum petals swirled, covering her, their red fragrance a gentle comfort, like a tender gaze.

A plum branch fell into her lap.

The next day.

“So, Senior, you pushed me toward the Free Sword for these benefits?”

“Not quite,” Wei Yue said calmly. “I just didn’t want it in Qi Clan hands, and you were the only usable one nearby. Others in the crowd had talent but were either from clans or allied with them. You, though average, offended the Qi Clan on day one. Perfect.”

Su Qing, deemed average: …Weren’t you apologizing?

“It failed. Even with the sword qi harming people, the elders didn’t stop the trial. Now, Daozi has the Free Sword. If Free Immortal knew, she’d curse that brute for his blind strength.”

Su Qing wanted to ask how Wei Yue knew about her selection-day clash but figured, as a journalism club member and possible confession wall admin, she was well-informed.

Zhu Xu, lounging against the plum tree, plucked petals. “Wei Yue, what’s with the rush? This isn’t like your cool, detached dead-face vibe.”

Grinning, she tugged Wei Yue’s robe, dodging her swat. “Chill, the sky’s not falling. We tall folks handle that. Overthinking won’t make you taller.”

Wei Yue’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Junior’s here—don’t make me hit you.”

Su Qing half-understood their talk. The Free Sword, tied to Free Immortal’s legacy, couldn’t fall to the Qi Clan, or it might harm the sect.

After sleeping, her anger had faded.

“I’m not mad anymore. I was scared and furious then, but if you hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t have tried. Without trying, I’d still cling to false hope.”

Sighing but undeterred, she said, “Now I truly know how poor my aptitude is.”

A pressing issue remained. “Seniors, as you see, no sword chose me. Sword class is tomorrow—what do I do?”

Zhu Xu scratched her head. “I’m a body cultivator; sword’s a side gig. I’ve got a junk sword. Want to join the secondhand goods group? You might find a used sword if you look carefully.”

Wei Yue, a ghost cultivator with resources, had good swords but suggested, “Seeking a sword is about fate. Since no ready sword fits you, why not forge one from scratch?”

“Forge a sword?”

“Select materials, forge it, nurture it over time, and create a sword only you can wield, bound to your life and death.”

A sword only for her, trusting her with its life?

Su Qing’s eyes widened, her heart stirring.

Maybe that was the sword she sought.