Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Sword's Frost Chills Fourteen Provinces

The cold, clear moonlight seemed to blend with the sharp gleam of the sword, dreamlike and ethereal. One could no longer tell whether it was the sword in the youth’s hand that became the radiant moon, or if a full moon had fallen from the sky itself.

All three present were struck speechless by the sight, their pupils reflecting the perfect roundness of the moon.

Three thousand guests drunk amid blooming flowers, one sword chills fourteen provinces with frost!

Unbidden, this line of poetry surfaced in Liu Xiyue’s heart. There was a strange beauty to the scene, one that made onlookers unconsciously sink into its spell.

Yet, for the middle-aged scholar at the heart of this deadly force, it was as if he had fallen into an icy abyss, his heart completely engulfed by terror.

A grandmaster! This man must be a grandmaster! Only a grandmaster could channel the power of heaven and earth like this!

He roared inwardly, his mind now ruled by a single thought—escape!

But how could he possibly avoid a sword-light that cut down from the heavens, carrying the full might of the world’s natural order?

With nowhere to run, the scholar could only turn and roar, pouring the last of his vital energy into his fists and hurling a final punch toward the sky.

Fist met sword.

Time seemed to freeze.

The shockwave from their clash sent the two bystanders flying, but fortunately, they had been far enough away to remain unharmed.

The middle-aged scholar at the center, however, was not so lucky.

The spot where he stood was split open by the sword-light, leaving a gash several yards deep, sword-intent lingering and shredding the surrounding grass and trees to pulp.

The scholar himself was covered in blood, his vital energy completely spent. His body was riddled with wounds, lying motionless in the ravine.

At this moment, Lin You descended from the void, wooden sword on his back, ignoring the scholar and heading straight for Jiang Liunian to check his injuries.

“Daoist Yuchen... I didn’t expect to see you again before the end. But I must go ahead; I won’t be able to witness your immortal path any longer. Cough, cough!”

Jiang Liunian forced a smile, but blood spilled from his lips. His face was ashen, his life force all but spent, the fire of life flickering like a candle in the wind.

He had used mystical arts and forbidden techniques in quick succession tonight, leaving his body drained and perilously close to death.

Liu Xiyue, standing nearby, was moved to tears, her heart full of guilt. If not for saving her, would Mr. Jiang have ended up like this?

Yet Jiang Liunian turned to her and, with a carefree air, said:

“You needn’t blame yourself. This outcome comes from my own momentary greed. Even without you, I imagine things would have ended much the same. To see Daoist Yuchen one last time before dying is fortune enough—I can rest in peace.”

With that, he closed his eyes.

But after a while, Jiang Liunian was surprised to find that he had not died! Instead, a strange energy was steadily flowing into his body, like a clear spring welling up in parched earth.

His wounds began to heal under the influence of this power.

What was happening? He opened his eyes in confusion.

He saw the essence of countless plants in the mountains, like tiny stars, converging into a torrent that poured into him without end.

Before him, Daoist Yuchen stood at the center of it all. His robe was now tinged with jade green, endless vitality swirling around him, as if nature itself bowed before an immortal lord of creation.

With this energy pouring into him, Jiang Liunian’s depleted essence revived and began to heal.

Was this Daoist Yuchen’s mystical art? He felt a shiver of awe.

No—this was no ordinary technique. It was divine power, true immortal art! A surge of emotion welled up within him.

Within moments, Jiang Liunian was mostly healed. Even his essence was half restored.

Lin You withdrew his divine power, standing with his hands behind his back, and smiled at Jiang Liunian.

“The path is vast—how lonely to walk it alone. I still hope we can seek the Way together, to witness the immortal road side by side.”

Looking at the poised, graceful Daoist before him, Jiang Liunian felt a strange emotion rise in his heart.

A companion on the path, a fellow seeker.

It seemed that on this endless road to immortality, he was not alone after all.

...

After healing Jiang Liunian with his rejuvenating art, Lin You went to the ravine.

The middle-aged scholar was barely breathing, not yet dead. Seeing Lin You approach, his scattered gaze regained a bit of focus. With effort, he said, “I never thought I’d meet a grandmaster here. To die at your hands—my life was not in vain! May I ask, which of the Eight Grandmasters are you?”

Lin You shook his head. “I am but a cultivator of the Qi Meridian. I am no grandmaster.”

“What? Impossible!” The scholar forced his eyes wide, staring hard at Lin You.

Indeed, he sensed only the aura of a perfected Qi Meridian practitioner.

This was unacceptable. As the disciple of a grandmaster, it was one thing to fall to a peer, but to lose to a mere Qi Meridian cultivator?

Yet the truth could not be denied. No matter how unwilling, nothing could change the outcome.

With his last breath, the scholar asked, “This sword... what is its name?”

“Divine Sword Art—Azure Vault.”

“Azure Vault? Named after the heavens... truly a sword to cleave the sky...”

He muttered a few more words and then fell still, life extinguished in the ravine.

Lin You looked at the body in silence.

No matter how great his status or martial prowess in life, in death, he was but a heap of dust.

With a tap of his foot, the earth and stones moved to cover the corpse, granting a final dignity to a fallen master.

Then, he led Jiang Liunian and Liu Xiyue back to the Red Pine Daoist Palace.

...

Jinhua Prefecture City, Zhang Mansion.

Zhang Zongcheng paced the room, face dark with anger.

Why had Sima Hang been gone so long? Had he still not caught the fugitive?

Irritation gnawed at him; he wished he could seize the traitor himself and tear him to pieces.

A shout came from outside.

A soldier in the city guard’s uniform rushed in, knelt, and reported, “Master! Urgent news from outside the city! Lord Sima’s body has been found buried in a forest at the foot of Mount Chisong’s northern slope!”

“What? What did you say? Say it again!” Zhang Zongcheng seized the soldier by the collar, his overwhelming presence nearly suffocating the man.

How could this be?

Sima Hang was the personal disciple of Grandmaster Cao Chuan, a veteran master with a hundred meridians opened. How could he die so easily?

That stranger couldn’t possibly have done this!

Who was behind it?

Mount Chisong again! Could it be that Daoist Songhe has returned?

At this thought, a chill swept through Zhang Zongcheng’s heart. The wrath of a grandmaster was not something he was ready to face.