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A breeze spiraled around Shen Lian, sweeping out behind him and carrying a barely visible pressure that surged outward, cloaking the surroundings in a suffocating stillness. That silent force radiated from his body, forming an invisible yet overwhelming presence that spread like a storm. Chen Fuhong's expression darkened immediately. Though the man before him wore the white robe of a Tai Xuan Sword Sect disciple, the difference between him and others was like heaven and earth. Between true powerhouses, there was a shared instinctâand Chen Fuhong could feel it clearly. Shen Lian was strong. So strong that it felt like his presence alone could suffocate the air from one's lungs.
But Chen Fuhong wasn't afraid. On the contrary, something in him ignited. His eyes gleamed with madness as he sneered, "What did you just say? Three breaths... to kill me?" His body twitched with manic energy as blood vessels bulged in his eyes, resembling a beast starved for slaughter. There was no trace of fearâonly frenzy. "This feeling... yes... hahahaha! This is what I live for! What Chief Disciple? What Holy Maiden? Trash! I'm so excited! So excited I could explode!" With a roar, he launched forward like a cannonball, scarlet greatsword raised, unleashing his ultimate technique.
"Domineering SwordsmanshipâSlash!" he bellowed, his muscles and tendons bulging with raw force, channeling everything into his strike. The power surged from within him like volcanic lightning. Space itself fractured beneath the sword's swing as the air shattered with glasslike cracks. "Die!" he cried savagely, pouring every ounce of strength and bloodlust into his attack. But at the very moment of impact, a blinding force erupted from the sword's tip. Pain seared through his palm. His fingers tore open and burst. Gasping in disbelief, the frenzy shattered within him as he stared aheadâonly to see Shen Lian, unmoved, with a single finger resting lightly on the blade's edge.
"What⊠theâŠ?!" Chen Fuhong had no time to respond. Shen Lian spoke with icy clarity, "One breath." And before Chen Fuhong could blink, Shen Lian vanished. A howling gust filled the silence, followed by a brilliant flash of white. Sword qi swallowed his vision. "Two breaths." The cold edge of a blade touched his throat. Then, with a faint clang, Shen Lian landed softly and sheathed his sword. "Three breaths." Behind him, Chen Fuhong's eyes widened as his body gave way. He clutched at his throat, his face draining of color, then fell as blood fanned out beneath him like a blooming crimson flower. Using the last of his strength, he turned, arm trembling, trying to reach Shen Lian's fading silhouetteâbut his hand never rose.
Shen Lian cleaned the scene without hesitation. Ensuring no witnesses remained, he silently returned to Siguoya. Time flowed like water. In the solitude of Siguoya, Shen Lian immersed himself in training. Through relentless cultivation and mastery of the "Sword Drawing Technique," he experienced explosive growth, breaking through the Spiritual Realm and eventually stepping into the Golden Bridge Realm. Though Chen Fuhong's death stirred waves of anger, when Ba Jianzong arrived to investigate, there were no remains. With no evidence, the matter faded.
Shen Lian, however, did not stay still. He left Siguoya many times in search of fortune. He walked atop the waves of the Canglang River, slaying dragons with a single stroke. He stood beside kendo masters of the East Sea, dueling atop crests of foam and learning forgotten sword arts. Rumors spread like wildfire throughout the Dayan cultivation worldâa White-Robed Sword God had emerged. His swordsmanship defied reason, and his cultivation rose at an alarming pace. From the Ninth Stage upward, he broke through bottlenecks with frightening ease. Within a year, he reached the Tongxuan Realm.
In the vast Cangxuan World, stepping into the Tongxuan Realm meant one could found a sect and rule a region. Even Zhuang Changdao, Sect Leader of Tai Xuan Jianzong, had remained stuck at the peak of the Tongxuan Ninth Stage for years. But as Shen Lian rose, the end approached for Zhenren Xuanming. Over the past year, Shen Lian had scoured the lands, collecting countless rare treasures and divine medicines to prolong Xuanming's life. Yet as Zhuang Changdao had once said, the injury Xuanming suffered was a Dao injuryâincurable by mortal or immortal means.
"So the day has comeâŠ" Shen Lian thought as sorrow churned in his chest. Life rarely goes as one wishes. Nine out of ten things bring regret. He had hoped this day would never arrive. But it came nonetheless.
"Shen Lian, right? Sect Leader remembers you. Hurryâyour Master wants to see you," said Zhuang outside the door, voice unusually solemn.
"Understood," Shen Lian replied, exhaling slowly before stepping into the room. Inside, a solitary bed stood beneath flickering candlelight. Zhenren Xuanming lay wrapped in a thin quilt, his face yellowed and sunken, his frame as brittle as dry wood. His hair was entirely white, his cheekbones jutting sharply beneath skin as thin as paper. Every breath he took was a battle; his ragged wheezing filled the silence like the ticking of a dying clock. Once a proud Golden Bridge peak cultivator, he now appeared little more than a shadow.
Zhao Linger knelt at his side, face buried in one frail hand as sobs wracked her shoulders. When she saw Shen Lian enter, she rushed into his arms and collapsed into tears. "Senior Brother⊠Father⊠he can't hold on any longerâŠ" she wept. Shen Lian gently patted her back, but in that moment, words held no weight. "Linger⊠don't cry. Everyone dies. Your father is just leaving a bit early."
Xuanming struggled upright, coughing violently, before waving Zhao Linger away. "Linger, go wait outside. I must speak with Tian'er alone." She wiped her eyes, nodded, and stepped out, leaving only the master and disciple behind.
Shen Lian looked at the frail man and sighed. His Dao injury had ruined his foundation long ago, and years of internal unrest had only worsened it. Even with Shen Lian now in the Tongxuan Realm, no miracle remained. Death was inevitable.
"Master..." he began, but Xuanming raised a trembling hand. "Lian'er, no need for comforting words. I've been waiting for this moment all year. I'm ready," he said softly. His voice was calm, his heart already at peace.
Shen Lian, never prone to sentiment, nodded solemnly. "Master, if you have any last wishes, I will fulfill them."
"Haha⊠I've lived a full life. Seen enough. I have no regrets," Xuanming whispered. "Lian'er, I have nothing left to give you. I'm ashamed."
"Master, you gave me everything. I'm the one who should feel shame for never repaying you," Shen Lian replied.
Xuanming's lips curved into a faint smile. "Ling'er is too kind. Too honest for this world. When I'm gone⊠she'll only have you. Please, watch over her."
"Master, rest easy. In my heart, she's already my Little Sister. I will protect her. Always."
"Good⊠just one last thing. May I ask something?" Each word seemed to dim his presence further.
Shen Lian already knew what he was going to ask. "Master, please ask."
"...Lian'er, the person who's been delivering those rare treasures all year⊠was it you?" Xuanming looked at him, eyes complicated and heavy with emotion.
Shen Lian paused. After a moment, he nodded. "...Yes. It was me."
The weight on Xuanming's chest lifted. He smiled, eyes finally closing. "Hahaha⊠to have a disciple like this⊠I've lived well." His smile was peaceful. In the end, he had lived a quiet life, unknown and unremarkable within Tai Xuan Jianzong. But he had raised Shen Lian. That was enough. With Shen Lian's sword, Zhao Linger would be safe. Only one regret remainedâhe would never witness the day Shen Lian ruled the world with that sword.
"...Go," Xuanming whispered faintly. And with that, he passed peacefully.
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