“Junior Sister, have you really thought this through?”
The black-haired woman stared at the white-haired sword immortal before her, the one cradling a child and possessing beauty that could topple nations.
Her expression held neither joy nor sorrow, as if the affairs of their sect had nothing to do with her—as if she were merely watching a beauty willingly abandon an entire mountain sect.
But that was exactly what infuriated her most: that eternally aloof demeanor, that appearance of being untouched by mortal concerns.
And yet, for the sake of some worthless brat, she was throwing away the title of strongest under heaven.
The black-haired woman clenched her fists, anger spilling over her features, though her words still clung to a final shred of decorum.
“Shuang Feixue, think carefully.” She made one last attempt to persuade her. “Once you step through that gate, you will no longer be the holy maiden of our Daoist sect. Those enemies of yours out there won’t let you go. Before, they held back out of respect for our great sect, but now it will be different.”
“Senior Sister, there’s no need to say more. My mind is made up. Whether it’s for this child or for our late master, this sect absolutely cannot be entrusted to me.”
Shuang Feixue replied only with those faint words, then fell silent. She held the tiny warmth in the swaddling cloth close, the translucent chilled sword on her back, and walked out of the grand hall. None of the disciples or elders outside dared to stop her.
No one would be so overconfident as to challenge the strongest in the world.
“For the sake of your so-called conscience, you’re going to protect this walking disaster? You’re throwing away far more than just the title of strongest under heaven. Is it worth it?”
No matter how much she didn’t want to ask, her body was always more honest than her heart. More than twenty years of sisterhood couldn’t be erased by a single decision.
Yet the burden of the sect still rested on her shoulders. She could not—should not—exchange so many words with someone who had betrayed the righteous path.
“In the affairs of this world, there is no ‘worth it’ or ‘not worth it’—only willing or unwilling.”
In answer to her senior sister’s question, Shuang Feixue did not turn back. With just that single sentence, there was nothing left for them to say.
“You may take the person, but not the sword. You must leave Hanyu behind. That is the sword of our sect, not your sword.”
Discarding any lingering sentiment, the black-haired woman finally spoke the words everyone present knew she would say.
No one besides those two had wanted to hear them—they had no desire to die here over a sword—but reputation outweighed everything.
Clang—
Every person present drew their swords in unison. Sunlight glinted off the blades, the reflected cold light sharp enough to kill.
Seeing this, Shuang Feixue showed no panic. She tied the swaddled child securely against her chest, drew the long sword from her back, and in an instant unsheathed it.
A sharp shing rang out.
The disciples and elders present felt their vision go dark. The light bursting from Hanyu momentarily blinded them, though it lasted only an instant and caused no real harm. When they opened their eyes again—
Every sword in their hands had been sliced cleanly in two. Gasps of shock filled the air.
The peerless master before them simply gazed at them calmly. Shuang Feixue swept her long sword in a circle, pointing its tip at each person in turn before suddenly hurling it forward. Hanyu embedded itself firmly into the center of the plaza.
The moment the sword pierced the ground, a wave of frigid air spread outward from its blade. It was the height of summer in the seventh month, the heat oppressive, yet that chill dispersed the sweltering air and sank into everyone’s bones.
One disciple, seeing a chance for fame, immediately stepped forward to pull Hanyu free. The instant her fingers touched the hilt, frost instantly encased her entire arm.
“Aaaaaah!!!”
Pain followed a moment later. An elder, seeing this, struck swiftly—the disciple’s arm fell to the ground. The elder then channeled energy to stem the bleeding while several nearby disciples hurriedly carried the foolish girl away.
The elder sighed, her voice filled with bewilderment.
“Feixue, why must you do this?”
Shuang Feixue did not answer the elder’s question. Instead, she spoke as if to herself.
“Sixteen years from now, if Hanyu has not yet been drawn, this child will come personally to retrieve it for me.”
With those words, she vanished into the distance on lightfoot skill so exquisite it seemed like flight.
She left behind only stunned onlookers—and the black-haired woman inside the hall, her face hidden in the shadow of the roof beams. No one could see her expression, and no one dared try.
“Pursue her! All of you, chase her down! Bring her back alive if you can, but I want the body if you can’t!”
As the furious roar echoed from within the hall, the disciples scattered like frightened birds, terrified that their martial senior sister would vent her rage on them.
Only a few elders remained. Their expressions were complicated, and they all sighed in unison.
The question in their hearts was the same.
“For a child prophesied to bring calamity, is it truly worth it?”
But the answer to that question was known only to the late sect leader, Cave Heaven True Person, and to Shuang Feixue herself.
Far beyond the borders of the sect, deep within the imperial capital, the current State Preceptor of the Great Liang Dynasty was playing a game of Go against a mysterious woman.
The State Preceptor was a beauty—exquisite features, spiral-black hair coiled neatly beneath her official cap. She wore the dignified robes of her station: court attire embroidered with a three-clawed dragon, a ceremonial sword at her waist, and a horsetail whisk in hand. Clearly, she had rushed here straight from morning court.
The mysterious woman was utterly different. She was more beautiful than the State Preceptor—beauty on a completely different level. Her seductive eyes were like silk, her allure enchanting and deadly. With that naturally flawless face, it seemed no one in the world could rival her. Even if someone could, they would lack her unique charm.
And unlike the State Preceptor’s solemn attire, she wore only a single layer of gossamer-thin black gauze, so sheer it was thinner than paper.
Her starry eyes gazed at the State Preceptor, carrying a seductive power that even another woman could scarcely resist.
“I believe I’m about to win again.”
She smiled lightly, disdain in her voice. Victory was routine for her.
“You should know I didn’t come here to play Go.” The State Preceptor regarded her gravely and finally asked the question weighing on her mind. “Just what use is that walking disaster to you? Why are you so fixated on him?”
The purple-haired woman merely curved her eyes in amusement and countered with her own question.
“What is a sword to you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The State Preceptor frowned, unable to see the connection.
But the enigmatic woman simply continued, as if speaking only to herself.
“To people like you, a sword is status, authority, power—but never a weapon.”
She rose with sinuous grace, like a serpent—an exquisitely beautiful, venomous serpent.
With a casual motion, she drew the ceremonial sword from the State Preceptor’s waist. It looked grand and elegant, but it was ornamental, meant only for show. A true sword’s purpose was to draw blood and take lives.
“Yet a sword has always been a weapon. It exists to seize—life, protection, whatever its master desires. It obeys only its owner’s will. Unless it leaves your hand and falls into the enemy’s grasp, only then does it turn from ally to foe.”
She slowly slid the sword back into its scabbard, then drew from behind her back a serpentine chain sword that coiled obediently around its mistress.
“To us who live by the blade in the jianghu, a sword that fits one’s hand perfectly is the truest companion. It is also our life. To lose one’s sword is to lose one’s life. Only the lowest thugs or bandits would ever let a sword slip from their grasp.”
What is this woman talking about? The State Preceptor grew even more puzzled.
Without giving her a chance to ask, the woman continued.
“That child is a sword—a sword that will never leave its master’s hand. With him, even the weakest person could become strongest under heaven. And for someone like me, the true strongest under heaven, with him I could surpass the innate limit and reach the true heavens above. Do you understand now?”
The State Preceptor’s confusion finally vanished, replaced by unprecedented gravity.
“You mean…”
A finger pressed against her lips.
“Shh. Some secrets must never be spoken aloud.”
Suddenly, black gauze covered the State Preceptor’s eyes. The sudden stimulation forced her to close them. When she opened them again, the woman was gone—leaving behind only a Go board where victory was already assured.