“A little while later, as one observes the nature of such unprecedented celestial changes, there is no need to be alarmed.” The disciples of the Qingshan Sect requested that the townspeople return home and also urged a number of visitors to go back to their inns, quickly clearing the streets. One disciple looked at the body lying on the ground and asked in bewilderment: “This disciple from the Ming Department has ordinary soul flame and meager spiritual power—how could he have dared to stay here?” Another disciple replied: “Who knows? Perhaps he simply wanted to witness his senior master’s ascension, such a magnificent scene—the kind of spectacle that no one would miss.” Suddenly, a breeze arose and the leaves of the great trees by the path began to flutter and fall. The disciples looked upward, and saw hundreds of sword flashes radiating from various points in the sky toward the mountain peaks. Following this, dozens of luminous glimmers characteristic of special artifacts spread across the heavens—then finally, a vast lotus platform floated through the air, drifting with serene breaths, rising even higher than the skies themselves. “Is that perhaps the venerable elder lady from the Xuanling Sect?” “Could it be the master of Wuren Gate?” “Or the Chancellor of Jingzheng Sect!” “That blazing sword reaching upward so majestically—could that be the person in question?” “The disciples from Liangwang Peak have returned, and so has the senior elder from Shangde Peak!” “And the Juan Lian Ren has also come?” The disciples were deeply moved and at a loss for words. Without this momentous event, they would never have seen such an array of distinguished figures gathered together in one place. Zhao Lamei paid no attention to these happenings and walked toward the town’s outskirts with Yin San’s body in hand. … … Master Meng did not leave the small town; instead, he stood atop a tall tree outside it, gazing at that distant peak, his emotions complex and layered. Jingyang Senior Master held an exceptionally high rank—being the younger brother of Tai Ping True Person, even the abbot himself would respectfully call him “Junior Senior Master.” It was said that this senior master possessed extraordinary talents, setting numerous unprecedented records in the cultivation world; yet he had spent his life quietly meditating on the ninth peak, rarely seen by outsiders. Few of the major disciples from the various peaks had ever laid eyes upon his actual appearance, let alone met him face-to-face. Today not only did the heads of many sects gather, but even several secluded high-level masters from beyond the world’s outskirts came as well. Meng was surprised to learn that even the renowned Chan Zi from the Buddhist Sect had arrived. He heard that within the deep cloud layers might lie even more powerful beings from another continent. Indeed, this was an event of rare occurrence in a millennium. If the swordlight originated from the Sword God—then what about Dao Sheng, the master of the Blade? Meng’s emotions were now somewhat confused. The names mentioned seemed distant to him. And that mountain peak… even farther away. He had only heard rumors about this senior master. Indeed, when the abbot first ascended to his position, he spoke of this elder who was quietly dwelling between the peaks—only using three words: “Junior Senior Master”—and then paused, leaving much unsaid. Meng understood this well—as did every member of the Qingshan Sect—why, for instance, when the Sword Master of Shangde Peak mentioned him, he would only offer a cold hum. Junior Senior Master was undoubtedly the strongest cultivator in both the Qingshan Sect and across the entire continent. Yet since his arrival at Qingshan, he had spent almost all his time meditating within the peaks—rarely stepping into public view, let alone engaging in any real encounters. He never represented the Qingshan Sect at the Mei Hui gatherings. He had never faced off against any royal cultivators from Chao Ge’s dynasty. He had not competed with hidden talents of other sects. In the secret battles between cultivation sects and the Ming Department, he remained unseen. Even during the three great confrontations with the Snow Kingdom’s formidable cultivators, his presence was entirely absent. On this long journey of cultivation—what had he achieved? What had he done but cultivate? Indeed, only those who cultivated without attachment to worldly affairs or severed emotional ties could reach the very pinnacle of cultivation and enter unimaginable realms. Yet—how meaningful was such a secluded life for a senior master with such extraordinary attainment—to his junior disciples? To the Qingshan Sect itself? To the people of the world at large? No matter how astonishing, legends remained stories—inevitably, they could not exist in tangible reality. Thus, it was time to move on. As he watched the peak shimmering faintly through the mist, a slightly bitter smile formed on his lips. When he saw Zhao Lamei carrying Yin San’s body toward the town's outskirts, that expression of bitterness faded, replaced by surprise and deep satisfaction. The entire world was now focused on that peak—yet she did not look at it. What quiet resolve in a young person! Indeed, such an outstanding talent had long been quietly observed throughout Qingshan Sect. Suddenly, his smile vanished again as he turned back toward the peak. As he had said, only those worthy of viewing this mountain were now gazing toward it. The mists between the peaks stirred violently—like being stirred by an unseen giant’s hand—swirling and sweeping outward until the clear blue sky gradually revealed itself. The figures from within the cloud layers emerged with some hesitation—bowing respectfully to the Qingshan Sect, appearing composed yet somewhat awkward. At a greater distance, two dark forms radiating cool flames quickly retreated, looking unsteady and disheveled. Meng could guess one of them was the high priest of the Ming Department; who was the other? The Qingshan Great Array did not launch an attack—instead, laughter rang from Tian Guang Peak, accompanied by a distinctly sharp sword intention rising simultaneously. This sword intention surged out like waves, sweeping across all the peaks. A single sword flash rose from the cliffside, seemingly compelled to respond, and then drifted away gracefully. Until that swordlight reached three thousand li beyond—eventually arriving at the western sea—the sword intention gradually subsided. “Has the Abbot of Qingshan finally drawn his sword!” Meng exclaimed in surprise. Few figures across the entire continent had ever earned the privilege of seeing the Sheng Tian Sword deployed by the abbot. Was that swordlight from the Sea of West—the very Sword God? … … No matter what transpired—whether these illustrious figures from across the realm now gathered in attendance—no significant effect was felt on the ninth peak. The solitary mountain remained as serene and still as ever, untouched by any disturbance. Suddenly, the heavens changed color—dozens of lightning bolts split open the azure sky, and dozens of thunderbolts struck directly at the isolated peak! But these powerful celestial forces failed to reach the summit—instead, they were severed into fragments and dispersed like shimmering mist. The origin of this surge was a single sword flash rising from within the mountain. No one could yet determine whether this sword was stronger than the earlier Sheng Tian Sword—the Master of Qingshan Sect himself, nor even those distant figures beyond three thousand li could tell. This swordlight seemed utterly ordinary—simple, effortless, merely cutting through the sky. Yet it extinguished the thunderbolts. The swordlight continued upward. A soft crack sounded. On the clear blue sky, a narrow fissure now appeared. An endless stream of liquid light—golden and jade-like—flowed out from this wound, dispersing into countless luminous points as it encountered the wind, illuminating the entire continent. One sword to cleave heaven? In ancient records, when cultivators achieved enlightenment and ascended, they had to endure fierce resistance against thunderbolts until finally overcoming them—the lightning ceased, and then light flowed down like a celestial maiden’s dispersal, revealing a path reaching into the heavens. Today, however, Jingyang Senior Master did not wait for the second wave of thunder—instead, he actively drew his sword. Was he daring to use his own sword to forcibly cut open a path to heaven? What an astonishing boldness! What profound confidence! Meng was utterly astonished—he had turned pale and his lips trembled slightly. The master whose swordlight glowed over the western sea, as well as those cultivators attending from Qingshan Sect, were equally stunned by this scene. On the isolated peak, that swordflash continued to move upward. Thunder roared steadily, mountain breezes surged. Yet the sword remained unmoved—steadfastly directed toward heaven. If this was the final trial bestowed upon a cultivator preparing for ascension—then this response of the swordlight could be said to have been utterly dismissive. The clash between the sword and the heavens had already dispersed the clouds separating the peaks—the nine mountains of Qingshan Sect were finally revealed to the public, yet all eyes remained fixed on that single sword. That swordlight was drawing closer to the sky—each moment the crack grew wider, and the flowing light became richer and more brilliant, gradually brightening both heaven and earth. Whether it was homes within the town or cliff-halls nestled among the peaks—all were now gilded in golden radiance, as though transported into a true celestial realm—or even a divine kingdom. (End of Chapter) 4. Chapter Four: The White-Cloaked Youth Who Once Again Walks Across That River