Cleaning the Ancient Battlefield

Naming the sword?

Su Qing hugged her heavy sword, pondering, “Shouldn’t I recite some grand poetry at a time like this? Like, ‘Drunkenly slaying sea whales with the Heaven-Leaning Sword, laughing as I cross stormy waves in a river boat.’ Should I name it Whale-Slaying Sword?”

“But that’s unfair to whales,” she mused, scratching her head. “And I’m not *that* cultured.

At this critical moment, I can’t think of any brilliant poems.

The more I try, the blanker I get—my mind’s stuck on stuff like ‘One sword’s frost chills fourteen provinces.’ Those lines are great, sound epic, but I’m past that age.”

In other words, her chuunibyou days were over.

Names like Xuanyuan, Seven-Star Dragon Abyss, Zhanlu, or Chixiao weren’t bad—they sounded nice.

But they didn’t fit, risked clashing with other swords, and, well, she was *definitely* past her chuunibyou phase.

Jiang Weed offered, “I’ve read plenty of poems. But a name is the shortest bond, the first step to imbuing a spirit. I can’t name it for you.”

Su Qing declined politely, “I don’t dare let you name it either. Not for any reason, just… you accepted ‘Weed’ as your name. I’m not sure what name *wouldn’t* suit your taste.”

She thought briefly. “By that logic, since it’s made of Zixi ore, should I call it Zixi? Or Pure Yang, since it’s a Pure Yang Sword?”

Jiang Weed, slightly miffed, puffed his cheeks. “What’s wrong with Weed? It *is* a weed. Zixi Sword, Pure Yang Sword—they sound fine. What’s wrong with how the sword looks?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Su Qing said. “But I don’t want to be a naming disaster. Let me think more.”

Jiang Weed’s forging furnace was in the last row, last spot—cramped and inconvenient, but close to the ventilation window, good for airflow.

As time passed, the sun shifted, its rays moving from the table to the sword. The blade gleamed, absorbing light, growing more spirited.

Su Qing realized it was a brilliant, cloudless day—perfect, as if celebrating the sword’s birth. On her way here, preoccupied with whether the sword would succeed, she hadn’t noticed the sun’s warmth or the clear sky.

Now, with her mind settled, she appreciated the weather.

“You’re a sunward sword, and my name has ‘Qing’ (clear) in it,” she said fondly, gazing at the blade. “So, you’ll be Manqing Sword. I chose these words hoping every day from your birth is clear—no storms, no gloom. Even if fate brings setbacks, you’ll always find a clear day.”

The name wasn’t dazzling, neither novel nor quaint, but it was the most heartfelt she could muster.

As if echoing the idea that a name is the shortest bond, the moment she named it, Su Qing felt a faint connection in her heart.

An invisible thread tied her to Manqing Sword. It wholly accepted her—it was born for her.

Stepping forward, she pricked her finger with spiritual energy, letting red blood drip. Using her finger as a brush and blood as ink, she smoothly drew intricate runes on the silver blade.

She was forging a sword pact.

Though sentient, Manqing Sword was barely more than a mundane object, far from swords like Red Rust or Xuejin with mature spirits. The pact was traditional: the master lives, the sword lives; the master dies, the sword follows. No room for mid-path discord or parting ways.

If the sword later gained a true, independent spirit, they could renegotiate. But that was for the future.

With the final stroke, the pact formed. The blade flashed with spiritual light, the blood’s malevolent aura evaporating into the metal, and Manqing Sword hummed with a metallic ring.

Su Qing stepped back three paces, calling, “Sword, come!”

Instantly, Manqing Sword responded, lifting off the ground and fitting perfectly into her palm. She gripped the hilt tightly.

The sword was massive, reaching her shoulder when upright, nearly her height. Instinctively, she tilted it, the tip grazing the ground before her.

As it rose, it sparked brilliantly against the floor. Standing quietly before her, it was like a silent, loyal steel beast.

“Manqing Sword,” she called.

The blade pulsed with faint light, truly responding.

Her ears buzzed, blood surged, palms sweated, but she didn’t forget.

“Thank you,” she said to Jiang Weed, heartfelt. “No words can express my gratitude. I know Zixi ore isn’t easy to find, and crafting this took immense effort.”

He started to speak, but she cut in, “I know what you’ll say—that it’s simple for you. But its meaning to me is different. I’ll remember this.”

To Jiang Weed, it was just finding, digging, and forging. Yet her sincere gratitude warmed him.

He smiled.

*Earth Mother, I haven’t even made a true friend, but my heart’s already full, like it’s been nourished by sweet rain.*

…

“Zixi ore?” Tang Yueling frowned. “Never heard of it. What tier is it? You sank your whole fortune into this? You sure you weren’t scammed? And ‘Weed’? Who names themselves that? Is it a fake name to scam and run?”

She eyed Manqing Sword, uncertain. “But this weight… it does seem worth the price. This sword’s *really* heavy.”

Though light swords were mainstream, heavy sword users existed—often burly, immensely strong types.

Which didn’t seem like Su Qing.

“I’m aiming for sword flight. Light swords don’t suit me,” Su Qing said. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

When Tang Jiu’s Bamboo Sword saved her at the sword tomb, its two-finger width and half-foot size left her uneasy. She didn’t like it.

“Plus, I’m pursuing dual body-sword cultivation,” she added. “My goal is Senior Sister Zhu Xu’s resilience and muscle, plus Senior Sister Qin Zhen’s attack power.”

This was her self-devised cultivation path.

Tang Yueling clicked her tongue. “Not easy.”

But she didn’t doubt Su Qing’s resolve. The willpower and determination for dual cultivation? Su Qing had that in spades.

Su Qing wanted to gauge the debt she owed. Even Tang Yueling, from a prominent family, hadn’t heard of Zixi ore. Checking Wuya Pavilion’s mineral records yielded nothing, confirming it was no ordinary material.

With no documentation, Su Qing couldn’t verify if Manqing Sword could feed on other ores. She trusted Jiang Weed wouldn’t lie, but she wanted to test its feeding method.

Sighing inwardly, she felt she owed a massive favor.

But Manqing Sword was done, and she loved it—returning it was unthinkable. She’d look for crafting treasures during missions.

Not one to dwell, she sorted her emotions and moved forward. As she grew accustomed to Manqing Sword, her first official work-study task arrived.

Cleaning the ancient battlefield.

More precisely, the ancient battlefield secret realm.

This mandatory task required all subsidized students to participate unless they had a valid excuse. It sounded tough—battlefields meant blood and fire, and cleaning likely involved corpses.

As expected, this was Su Qing’s first secret realm. From the secondhand item group, she learned the rewards were generous.

Though no extra pay was offered, students could keep nearly everything found during cleaning—a Sword Sect subsidy for poor students.

The battlefield was vast, so work-study students paired up, assigned to different areas.

Su Qing’s partner was a male Formation Sect disciple. Learning his focus surprised her—work-study students, usually poor, rarely chose the costly formation path.

He looked eighteen or nineteen, tall, handsome, and fair-skinned. His light white robe gave him a refined, scholarly air, his gentle smile boosting his approachability.

Calluses on his hands marked him as a frequent writer—a cultured man, likely from a decent mortal family, though why he’d chosen cultivation was unclear.

He seemed reassuring. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

As a group partner, Su Qing hoped he was as normal as he appeared, someone who understood reason.

Though Formation Sect differed from Body Sect, she held no prejudice. Both were work-study students—best to get along.

While Su Qing observed him, he subtly sized her up.

This female body cultivator wasn’t striking, dressed plainly. But she was tall, poised, not shrinking, with clean teeth and no obvious calluses, suggesting a decent mortal background and some knowledge.

Their eyes met, and they exchanged polite smiles.

“Xu Wenqing.”

“Su Qing.”

After formal smiles and names, they were acquainted.

The lead steward, Li, instructed, “Before entering the ancient battlefield secret realm, I have words you must take to heart—they concern your lives.”

“Your task is simple: marking, not cleaning. You’ll receive red, blue, and yellow flags. In the realm, mark remains with red flags, ruins with blue flags.”

“The battlefield’s been sealed for over 300 years. It seems calm, but who knows what hidden traps, mechanisms, or miasmas fallen cultivators left? Can you, mere Qi Refining students, handle them if triggered? So, mark only—don’t get greedy and rummage.”

“Unclaimed storage bags belong to the first finder per Sword Sect rules, but they must be inspected first. Mark storage bags with yellow flags and let the sect handle them.”

“You’ll work in pairs, never leaving each other’s sight. If there’s danger, use your spirit communicators to contact me.”

“Understood?”

The disciples chorused, “Understood!”

Su Qing took her red, blue, and yellow flags and, with Xu Wenqing, followed the steward with other pairs into the secret realm.

The entrance was a tree in the main peak’s back mountain.

An unremarkable, thin tree, indistinguishable among countless others, devoid of spiritual energy.

The key wasn’t the tree but the steward’s token, kept in a light envelope.

Li brushed the envelope against the trunk, and a door emerged.

He directed students to enter in pairs.

Su Qing and Xu Wenqing stepped through, one after the other. The scene shifted instantly.

They landed on a sand dune, yellow-white sand forming a desert. Their feet sank slightly. Sand stretched everywhere, but a forest loomed at the horizon, suggesting the desert’s limits.

Su Qing checked the sun’s direction. “Let’s start here and head toward the forest.”

Xu Wenqing, snapping to attention, gave a gentle smile. “Fine, as you say.”

Su Qing smiled back. “Have suggestions? We can discuss.”

Truthfully, her first impression of Xu Wenqing was inexplicably negative, possibly due to his Formation Sect affiliation. But she wasn’t one to judge unfairly, and he seemed normal.

Unsure of her bias, she stayed polite but quietly raised her guard.

The dune was small and flat, making searches easy. Su Qing soon found two half-buried skeletons.

Three hundred years later, time seemed frozen. The corpses weren’t mummified like those on the news, retaining their deathly expressions—twisted, mask-like faces that nauseated her.

Perhaps biased, she thought they looked sinister, their gaudy, dark clothes suggesting they weren’t upright disciples.

Keeping three steps away, she said, “Xu, these two have storage bags. Since we found them together, shall we split them? Which one do you want?”

Her words felt eerie even to her.

Xu Wenqing said seriously, “You found them first, Su. How could I claim credit? I appreciate your kindness but won’t take advantage. Facing such grim remains so calmly, unlike most girls, you’re admirable.”

His praise seemed genuine.

“We’ll work together later. Calling you Xu and me Su feels cumbersome. How about first names? Just call me Su Qing,” she said, dodging flattery and changing the subject. “I’ll place the flags.”

She set two red flags by the remains and two yellow ones by the bags.

Moving to the dune’s center, Xu Wenqing spotted a half-missing skeleton and storage bag, signaling Su Qing and placing his flags.

The area was lifeless, even the wind and sun still, eerily quiet. Xu Wenqing spoke softly, “Su, what do you think killed them?”

Su Qing repeated, “Su Qing.”

He corrected smoothly, “Su Qing, what do you think?”

She glanced at him, dropping further corrections. “Three hundred years ago? How would I know?”

Picking up her non-answer, he said, “From their state, likely drained of spiritual energy. I sensed no spiritual energy here upon entering.”

He smiled faintly. “Without spiritual energy, even surviving spirit materials or treasures turn to junk in decades. No wonder Sword Sect lets us keep what we find.”

Free stuff? Su Qing had no complaints. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

She nodded. “So, we won’t find much good stuff?”

“Not necessarily,” Xu Wenqing said. “A senior’s technique or two would outshine everything. But inheritance is hard to find—not something beginners like us can force.”

He sighed leisurely.

Su Qing said, “I see.”

Why was he so chatty? Was he genuinely kind or just talkative? She doubted it. From group project experience, he seemed like the type to talk big during planning, vanish during work, then claim credit in presentations.

Thinking this, she stressed, “Whatever. Let’s follow the rules and finish safely.”

Xu Wenqing agreed, “Exactly. Knowing you think the same puts me at ease.”

His gaze was clear, open to scrutiny.

Perhaps because they followed the rules, the afternoon was uneventful. Su Qing found five remains, Xu Wenqing four, each with a storage bag—dying with their possessions.

Their team was efficient, if nothing else.

Around dinner time, Su Qing’s stomach growled. Her vision blurred, and she was ejected back to Sword Sect, Xu Wenqing beside her.

The exit was another random tree, not the entrance.

Li scanned them. “No incidents?”

Xu Wenqing replied, “All normal.”

Li said, “That’s the best outcome. Hand over the flags and go eat.”

Su Qing thought of her five storage bags but hesitated to ask directly. “Is there another cleaning task?”

Li saw through her. “Storage bags will be checked and returned soon. The battlefield’s huge—centuries won’t clean it. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more work.”

“The cafeteria auntie and uncle like you—you’re a sensible kid. Stick to the rules,” he added. “Today, two greedy fools rummaged an evil cultivator’s bag in the realm. If we hadn’t arrived, flesh puppets would’ve eaten them. One lost an arm, the other a leg, and they’re still screaming!”

Su Qing promised, “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Xu Wenqing smiled. “Thank you, Steward Li. We’ll be careful.”

Heading to the cafeteria, they walked together briefly. Before Su Qing could speed off, Xu Wenqing spoke, “A friend messaged via communicator—someone took items from a storage bag and left…”

Su Qing frowned, about to say, *Others’ hands are their own—we mind ours.*

But Xu Wenqing continued, “The battlefield’s treacherous, with evil cultivators’ remains. Danger lurks. We must follow rules and avoid greed.”

He was right, and she agreed. Had she misjudged him?

“You’re right,” she said, smiling politely. “I’ve got urgent business. I’ll go ahead.”

Xu Wenqing’s manners were impeccable. “I’m off to study. See you.”

Su Qing felt odd. Why didn’t she like him? He was polite.

Maybe intuition—or they just didn’t click.

…

The five storage bags arrived the next day.

Their divine senses erased, even a newbie like Su Qing could access them.

Counting the contents, she couldn’t help but exclaim, “Wow!”

Truly unexpected.