The Heavenly Sword Sect disciple led Song Changsheng out of the stele forest to an area where many square meditation chambers had been built, each resembling a neat little matchbox.
The disciple handed him a small sword-shaped jade token, then left without another word.
Following the guidance of the jade token, Song Changsheng opened a quiet room near a corner. The space inside wasn't large, barely over ten square meters, and was simply furnished with only a meditation cushion and an incense burner.
Song Changsheng set the swaddled little Lingyun onto the cushion, then walked over to the incense burner. Picking up a stick of incense, he raised a brow in mild surprise.
"So it's Calming Incense? Quite the gesture."
Calming Incense was made from a special spiritual herb. Once lit, its fragrance could soothe the mind, dispel distracting thoughts, and prevent cultivators from being disturbed by demonic influences during closed-door cultivation.
While it wasn't particularly rare, placing it here for free use and doing so year after year was still a considerable expense.
With a gentle breath, the Calming Incense ignited without flame, sending up faint curls of blue smoke.
Inserting it into the burner, Song Changsheng took out the Taiji Diagram, sat cross-legged, and slowly closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was no longer in the meditation room but standing upon a boundless ocean. The surroundings stretched endlessly, the only sound being the surging waves.
The sky above was split evenly into black and white halves: in the center of the white hung a dazzling sun, while at the heart of the black floated a slender crescent moon.
Suspended between heaven and earth was a glowing sphere, ripples visibly radiating outward from it in all directions.
Beside the sphere lay what appeared to be an ordinary jade slip.
This was Song Changsheng's sea of consciousness, a realm entirely constructed from his spiritual power. Here, he was an absolute master, and any foreign soul force entering would be suppressed by him.
Unless the intruder's soul was overwhelmingly stronger than the power of his sea of consciousness, he would remain unshakable.
But unlike others, his sea of consciousness held two anomalies:
One was the very culprit that had brought him rebirth into the Ziyu Realm.
The other was the "gift" left by the powerful figure whose thigh he had just clung to.
Looking at the glowing sphere, Song Changsheng muttered under his breath,
"Master said that each time I break through a major realm, I can unlock one seal. I'm in the Foundation Establishment stage now, so it should be enough to view the first layer, right?"
With that thought, he approached the sphere and tentatively extended a finger to touch it.
The moment his finger made contact, the sphere erupted in brilliant light. Song Changsheng felt a sudden jolt like an electric shock and sensed that something was being transmitted into him.
"This is… Master's memory?"
Realization dawned instantly. The sphere held a fragment of the Sky-Supporting Sword Immortal's memories.
He quickly examined the newly acquired memory, and his heart began to race.
Though the fragment was brief, it revealed something extremely important:
The jade slip that recorded the Dao Scripture was a magic artifact and not a low-grade one at that.
However, after countless years adrift in the starry seas, its spiritual radiance had been worn away, leaving its artifact spirit in deep slumber.
This memory fragment from the Sky-Supporting Sword Immortal detailed the method to awaken that artifact spirit, stressing that once it was awakened, Song Changsheng would become the true master of the Dao Scripture.
Excitement burned in his chest. After years of study, he knew the jade slip did not simply contain a single Dao Scripture, but an entire, vast library of knowledge.
If it could be fully claimed for his use, how could the Song Clan not rise to greatness?
Yet when he read the awakening method, a large question mark practically appeared over his head
It contained only one line: Simply use something that nourishes the soul to awaken it.
No mention of specific treasures, no rank requirements, not even the amount needed.
A trace of confusion flickered in his eyes.
So… anything goes, but the demand is open-ended?
He sighed softly.
"Seems I'll have to keep an eye out for soul-nourishing treasures. Another bottomless gold-eater…"
After all, everything had a price; each sip and bite was fated.
Setting the awakening of the artifact spirit as a long-term goal, Song Changsheng turned his attention to the Dao Scripture beside him.
He hadn't studied it since breaking through to late Foundation Establishment. What would he gain this time? The thought filled him with anticipation.
Sending his consciousness into the jade slip, lines of golden text appeared one after another before his eyes, until he was soon immersed in a state of profound enlightenment…
....
The moonlight was enchanting, the breeze gentle against his face.
Like a sculpture, Song Qingxing sat cross-legged beneath the sword stele, a faint look of pain flickering between his brows from time to time.
At this moment, his consciousness was trapped in a confined space, pitch-black all around, without light, without sound. Only a solitary, proud man stood before him, sword in hand.
Song Qingxing struggled to his feet. His body was covered in wounds, blood soaking through his robes, silently pooling on the ground.
He had long lost count of how many times he had fallen and risen again. The man before him was terrifyingly strong.
Though they were at the same cultivation realm, the opponent felt like a towering mountain, while he was nothing more than a low mound of earth.
"You are the ninth to make it here and the weakest of them all. Leave. You are unworthy of receiving my legacy." The proud man stood with his sword, his voice cold and disdainful.
"Not interested.
Prepare to die!"
Song Qingxing gripped his longsword and thrust forward with all his might.
It wasn't empty bravado; he truly had no interest in the man's inheritance. No matter how strong the man was, even absurdly so, it was still someone else's path, not his own.
He had his way to walk, even if the road ahead was bristling with thorns and crawling with specters, he would cut it all down with the three feet of steel in his hand!
The only reason he remained in this trial was to defeat the enemy before him. Each time he fell, it was only to make his sword sharper, so that in the future, he could climb higher and go farther!
"Hmph. Saying one thing, feeling another!"
Seeing the cold glint of the sword aimed at his chest, the proud man's eyes showed a trace of scorn. With a light swing, a surge of sword qi roared forth, and Song Qingxing was sent flying once more.
But he quickly got up again, silently charging forward with sword in hand. The blood covering his face lent him a sudden, feral edge.
Another effortless strike, blood bloomed from his chest, and he was knocked flying again…
In that lightless, enclosed space, Song Qingxing was hurled back over and over, only to come charging forward even faster each time, sword stabbing toward his opponent. Again and again, the cycle repeated.
He no longer knew how many wounds covered his body, nor how many times he had risen from the ground. All he knew was to charge forward wordless and fearless.
Gradually, his sword grew faster, sharper. Though he still couldn't last even one exchange against the proud man, his tenacity and comprehension began to stir a faint admiration in the other's heart.
With another strike that sent him flying, the proud man sheathed his sword and, with a touch of appreciation, said,
"I've seen eight others whose talent surpassed yours, yet none of them passed my test.
Your perseverance is commendable; it makes me look at you differently. I could take you as a registered disciple and pass on part of my sword arts."
If it had been anyone else, they would have been ecstatic at these words, bowing their head in gratitude on the spot.
Unfortunately for him, the one before him was Song Qingxing.
Faced with the offer of an unmatched inheritance, he simply advanced step by step, sword in hand, silent but resolute, and stabbed with precise speed.
A shadow of malice flickered in the proud man's eyes.
"Since you don't know what's good for you, then go and die!"
Shua!
He raised his sword high.
Clang!
Clatter!
With a crisp sound, Song Qingxing's sword was cut cleanly in two.
One more move, and he was defeated again.
But this time, the proud man didn't stop; he lifted his sword once more and drove it forward with force.
Puchi!
The sharp tip pierced his flesh and emerged from his back.
Song Qingxing's body froze. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze full of mockery. He had been waiting for this moment all along!
Shua!
With every shred of strength left in his broken body, he swung the shattered sword, intent on trading his life for a wound.
Clang!
But sadly, that strike was still blocked. The remaining blade shattered inch by inch until only the hilt was left.
A trace of unwillingness glimmered in his eyes. His head grew heavier, his vision more blurred, until even the proud man before him doubled in his sight.
Gritting his teeth, at the very edge of consciousness, Song Qingxing used the most helpless and perhaps most laughable move of his life.
With his last ounce of strength, he smashed the sword hilt toward the proud man's face.
Pa!
Seeing the red mark on the man's cheek, a flicker of ridicule passed through Song Qingxing's eyes before he collapsed stiffly to the ground, his mind sinking into darkness.
The proud man was stunned. He had not expected that, even at this stage, the other still had not abandoned his attack.
"Truly… stubborn…"
A faint smile of satisfaction suddenly appeared on his face. Watching Song Qingxing's battered body dissolve into motes of light, he suddenly extended a finger, releasing a beam of pure white light.
As the motes drifted away, the proud man stood with hands clasped behind his back, murmuring to himself,
"Since you will not inherit my mantle, I shall grant you another opportunity instead…"
Puchi!
In the sword-stele forest, Song Qingxing suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood, a strange flush coloring his face.
Though only his consciousness had been killed, the damage was no less than being stabbed in the real world. It would take at least three to five days to recover.
Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Song Qingxing felt no regret at losing the unparalleled inheritance. Instead, he was thinking about why his final strike had failed.
Soon his brows knitted deeply, not because he had found the answer, but because he had discovered something new in his dantian.
"This is… a Sword Embryo?"
Before a cultivator can break through to the Foundation Establishment stage, they must first condense their Dao Foundation. For most cultivators, the ultimate goal is to form a Great Dao Foundation.
But as a sword cultivator, Song Qingxing's pursuit was different; what he sought to condense was not a Dao Foundation, but a Sword Embryo.
The Sword Embryo is the cradle where sword intent is nurtured. Any cultivator who succeeds in forming one can comprehend sword intent upon stepping into Foundation Establishment, thus walking a path uniquely their own.
This is the shared dream of all sword cultivators. Unfortunately, the Sword Embryo is exceedingly rare in the thousand-year history of the Heavenly Sword Sect; fewer than three people have ever succeeded in forming one.
By all logic, Song Qingxing should have been overjoyed at having condensed a Sword Embryo. Yet a faint suspicion stirred in his heart. He had only just broken through to the peak of the Qi Refining stage. Even if he were capable of forming a Sword Embryo, it should have taken at least three to five years.
Then he suddenly recalled that when his "consciousness" was slain earlier, a flash of white light had shot into his dantian. Could it be that the Sword Embryo had formed at that very moment?
Song Qingxing was no fool. In short order, he pieced together the truth with near certainty.
"Unharmed Sword Sovereign… I'll remember this name." His gaze locked on the Sword Stele, his fists clenched tightly.
From the very moment he entered the trial, he had already guessed who he was facing: a man revered as the greatest sword cultivator in history.
He also knew that before ascending, this Sword Sovereign had sealed his lifetime of knowledge within the Sword Stele. Anyone who passed his trial could inherit his legacy.
Yet from the start, Song Qingxing had never placed that inheritance in his heart, not even though it represented a height he could never hope to reach in his lifetime. That was why, when offered the chance to become a named disciple, he had still unleashed a strike meant to kill.
He had not come to comprehend this Sword Stele to inherit someone else's sword path, but to learn from its strengths and perfect his own.
When he faced the Sword Sovereign's trial, it was to hone his swordsmanship.
He never imagined that the other party would bestow such a tremendous opportunity upon him. Now, he found himself a little unsure of what to do with it.
After a moment of silence before the stele, he glanced around. He didn't see Song Changsheng anywhere, but he did notice Song Qingxi sitting cross-legged before another stele, eyes closed in contemplation.
After a moment's thought, he walked over to that same stele and began his comprehension.
Meanwhile, in his quiet chamber, Song Changsheng remained unaware that, when faced with the temptation of an unparalleled inheritance, Song Qingxing had made a choice opposite to his own.
At present, he was utterly immersed in the Dao Scripture, unable to extricate himself.
A day and a night passed. Little Lingyun woke twice from hunger, but Song Changsheng still showed no sign of awakening.
Dizzy with hunger, the child eventually sucked on her thumb, tears in her eyes, and drifted back to sleep.
At dawn the next day, Song Changsheng slowly opened his eyes, a glint of sharp light flashing within them.
This time, what he had comprehended was a strange secret art, one that could discern a person's innate aptitude.
Different people judged aptitude differently.
Some measured it by one's spiritual roots.
Others are judged by comprehension.
Still others looked to temperament, willpower, or other traits.
None could be said to be wholly right or wrong; each had its emphasis.
The secret art Song Changsheng had mastered was not flawless, but it was, at present, the most impartial method.
If one stripped away all uncontrollable factors, the results it gave could be called the most accurate.
Of course, life was not a script to be read line by line. A cultivator's path was filled with countless unforeseen variables that no one could predict in advance.
Thus, this art could only serve as a reference.
Even so, its value was undeniable.
-support me in Patreon for more chapter, 230+ chapters in there
patreon.com/LordoftheReader