The Four Have Always Been Fully Filled; What Doubt Could There Be About This Place’s Fengshi? Thus, I Should Compose a New Poem for You. In Youxiang Gully, Han Zhao Wu Lun Yi. Lend Me to Yu Chuang Sheng the Two Armpits—Heavenly Immortals May Not Necessarily Think of Me. Yet Still Rely on Flowing Water Sending People Home. On Layered Summit, Remaining Sunset; Grass Dew Has Already Stuck to Clothes. (Su Shi, *Lining Jiang Xian*, composed at Fengshi Cave, as a title note.) … … In the southern part of Zhaotian Continent, stretching for thousands of li, lies a continuous range of Qing Shan peaks, hundreds of fine mountains hidden in mist and clouds throughout the year. The foremost grand sect of cultivation—Qingshan Sect—is located here, rarely seen by ordinary people. Scattered beyond the Qingshan Mountains are many small towns and villages; one such town, Yujie Town, is situated in a hilly region to the southwest, named for the ethereal mists rising from within the mountains. Yujie Town offers splendid views. In early spring, gentle winds brush against the faces of its residents, Yang Qingwu strolls with her misty presence—ever so faint—like she's living in a paradise. To local townsfolk, this scene is now routine; to visitors on their wine halls, it’s a marvel. At the window seat, Yin San only wants to eat hot pot. “Never mind how many problems exist that a single hot pot can’t solve—if there are such problems, then two will be enough. This saying has become widely popular in Ming Department, though I believe it originally came from Chao Ge. You know, in our region, sunlight is scarce and the air remains damp and cold—how could anyone dislike hot pot? May mushrooms flourish? You people enjoy them so much; we have eaten them for tens of thousands of years and have long grown weary of them. Right now I simply wish to enjoy a genuine hot pot, then return home and boast about it—what is wrong with that?” She watched the duck intestines sinking into the red, spicy broth and the peppers drifting in and out, swallowed hard, then looked up at a young woman seated across from her. The young woman had sleek black hair, delicate features, youthful eyes—she would surely be lively if she smiled. But she didn’t smile; her eyelids gently lowered, her long lashes steady as though framed by an artwork, not truly alive. The room remained quiet. The footsteps of pedestrians outside grew clearer and more distinct. Yin San said: “Well, I admit I came here to witness the spectacle—but what kind of spectacle is this? How could everyone in the cultivation world fail to attend such a grand event? So you expect me to be silenced because of it? That’s unreasonable. This junior sister—could you kindly loosen this binding on me? Even if you don’t let me go, allow me at least two mouthfuls of food before the baozhu and yellow throat disappear from the pot.” The duck intestines had settled to the bottom; the peppers floated in and out; the baozhu and yellow throat shimmered faintly. Yin San could not reach them because a slender metallic chain bound tightly around his body, immobilizing him, making it impossible for him to hold chopsticks. The young woman sat silently by her side without speaking. Suddenly Yin San asked: “Where is your sword? If you had previously attacked me with a flying sword, I would have been helpless. But now you sit so calmly before me—do you not fear that I will suddenly rise and strike back? Do you truly believe this single chain of steel can hold me?” The young woman still did not respond. Yin 3 finally grew serious: “Qingshan Sect is the Grand Sect of Sword Way and the Leader of the Righteous Path—could they have silently killed someone without notice?” Then, at last, she lifted her eyes. Her gaze was bright, clear, free from any haze or impurity. As she looked into such eyes, Yin San felt relaxed; yet a cool sensation crept over his brow—as if a drop of dew had just landed there. A small sword hovered gently in mid-air before him. He did not realize that a tiny round wound with elegant contours had appeared on his forehead—so delicate one might describe it as graceful. A fine stream of blood, like a waterfall, flowed from the opening and fell into the hot pot. The blood of Ming Department disciples was warm, but compared to the broth in the pot, it seemed cold; gradually, the bubbling surface of the pot began to settle. His vitality within his eyes cooled down, leaving only lingering confusion. Hundreds of faintly cool flames drifted through the sharp sword intention toward the surroundings of the inn, dispersing upon contact with objects—these were remnants of the souls of Ming Department disciples. The young woman’s expression stiffened slightly; her brows lifted like slender willow leaves, giving off a subtle sharpness. Then, as if pondering deeply, her brows lowered again. Her small sword flew toward the window and vanished into the street. With a slight movement of her fingers, the thin chain binding Yin San transformed into a shimmering glow and settled upon her wrist, becoming a silver bracelet. “I am an Outer Gate Disciple,” she said as she stood up to address the now-dead Yin San. Yin San’s body lay motionless on the floor. She pushed open the door and stepped out. A wave of cries rose from within the inn—guests and visitors rushed toward the outer doors in panic. On the streets, where the mist had not yet fully lifted, a middle-aged man emerged—calm-faced, thin-built, eyes deeply cold, exuding an aura of grace and mysticism. “Ming Department demons have been stirring at my Qingshan Sect—worthy of death.” Hearing this, no one could doubt his identity. Visitors from outside the region dropped to their knees in fear; local townsfolk also bowed respectfully, murmuring praises as they fell to the ground. But having lived for so long within Yujie Town, they were familiar with many tales of Qingshan Sect’s holy figures—occasionally even seeing them firsthand—and thus, though startled by today's event, remained more composed than others. For over ten thousand years, Ming Department and human beings have held deep animosity, their enmity unrelenting. Yet since two thousand years ago, when Pure Yang True Person of Qingshan Sect joined the Divine Emperor to defeat a large army led by a Ming Department commander in Great Marsh—their conflict had remained dormant for many years. Even today, when major events arise, Ming Department generals are often summoned. The Divine Emperor himself personally dispatched tens of thousands of soldiers at night, swiftly advancing northward to stabilize the Snow Kingdom and the Ming Department. Now Qingshan Sect has issued a three-thousand-li ban—what kind of grand event could this signify? Hua Lai Yue’s eyes narrowed slightly—as she had been gazing steadily upward at that gray sky, it suddenly brightened. At midday, clouds began to part; distant peaks emerged faintly, like countless great swords aimed toward the heavens. The disciples followed her gaze as their vision shifted to the peaks between them. Sunlight illuminated the faces of these young faces—filled with reverence and awe. Faced with such a vast three-thousand-li ban—the Qingshan Sect felt truly under siege. For today, the Qingshan Sect is about to welcome its most momentous event in over a thousand years. Jingyang True Person will ascend to immortality. (End of Chapter) 3. Chapter 3: The Sword That Cuts Through Heaven