The wind howled mournfully, setting the white mourning cloths fluttering across the mountain slopes.
All of Cangmang Peak lay beneath a pall of heavy, gray clouds.
Dong…
Dong, dong…
The deep, solemn toll of the funeral bell rang out, nine strikes in all.
Every member of the Song clan wore plain white mourning robes, stepping silently out of their homes.
Today was the day the Song clan held a funeral for those who had died in battle. From the highest elder to the youngest child, all wore the signs of mourning.
They gathered wordlessly, forming a solemn crowd around dozens of pitch-black coffins.
Among cultivators, ceremonial rites were simple; even funerals were conducted without extravagance. There were no spirit banners, no mourners' staffs, not a single scrap of funeral paper, only the stifled sobs of grieving kin.
In less than a quarter of an hour, every cultivator of the Song clan on the mountain had assembled. Seen from a distance, the sea of white-clad figures was like a great white dragon winding across the slope.
An elderly man, hunched and unsteady, shuffled to the very front of the gathering. Apart from Song Xianming and Song Xianyun, he was the eldest of the "Xian" generation at a hundred and thirty years old, remarkably long-lived for a Qi Refining cultivator, whose lifespan rarely exceeded a little over a century.
Gazing upon the field of white before him, the old man's eyes filled with tears. He had witnessed such scenes many times over the past hundred years, sending off countless sons of the Song clan, including both of his own.
This time, his grandson was among the dead. There wasn't even a body left, only a few broken bones in the coffin.
Drawing a deep breath, his voice rang out with unexpected strength:
"The hour has come"
"Raise the coffins!"
With a heavy, unified boom, the bereaved lifted the coffins of their dead. Song Changsheng was among them, shoulder to shoulder with a young girl as they bore the coffin of Song Luoyao.
Song Luoyao had never married, nor had she any children. After losing both legs, she had adopted a child from the mortal world, an orphan to care for in her later years.
"Return home, departed soul"
Led by the old man, the procession began its slow march toward the clan's ancestral cemetery.
The Song ancestral grounds lay on the northern slope of Cangmang Peak's midsection. Over the past five centuries, it had grown from a solitary grave mound into a vast burial ground, home to the remains of over a thousand members of the Song clan.
Once the coffins were laid to rest, Song Changsheng recited a long eulogy on behalf of the clan. He then led the rites of worship, laboring until late afternoon before the ceremonies finally ended.
When the crowd dispersed, Song Changsheng approached the elderly leader of the procession and bowed deeply.
"Grandfather Cheng, please accept my condolences."
Song Xiancheng nodded vacantly.
"I appreciate your concern, Young Clan Leader. I have matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave."
Watching the elder's withered back retreat into the distance, Song Changsheng felt an unbearable weight on his heart. For the sake of the clan, the man had lost two sons and a grandson.
There is no sorrow greater in the human world than the white-haired burying the black-haired.
The rise of the clan had never been the work of one person alone. The Song family had reached its current strength only through the courage of countless clansmen, cutting their way through thorns and brambles, piling up their lives to build the foundation.
Men like Song Xiancheng were far from rare in the Song clan.
Suppressing his emotions, Song Changsheng walked to Song Luoyao's grave. As he looked at the engraved characters on the tombstone, a wave of disorientation swept over him.
In the clan, Song Luoyao had been known for her cold and merciless nature, her iron-faced impartiality. Most feared her, avoided her.
But toward him, she had never withheld kindness. Once, to find him a Foundation Establishment Pill, she had sacrificed both her legs.
Now, he had lost yet another elder who had cared for him so deeply.
"Changyue, be strong," Song Changsheng said quietly to the girl kneeling before the grave.
Song Changyue's eyes were swollen to the size of peaches from crying. She bowed respectfully.
"Thank you, cousin."
Seeing her in such a state stirred pity in Song Changsheng's heart. She had lost her parents at the age of six, and now her adoptive mother was gone as well. She was only sixteen…
"If you ever need help, come to me. Though Ninth Aunt has passed, you still have me."
Letting out a deep sigh, he turned toward another fresh grave.
"Thank you, cousin," Song Changyue choked out between sobs, bowing low.
"Cousin, accept my condolences."
"Sixteenth Uncle, my condolences."
...
Song Changsheng paid his respects one by one, until by the end he felt almost numb.
This battle had cost the Song clan far too much.
By the time he had finished offering incense at each grave, it was already midnight. Leaving the ancestral cemetery, he did not head for the Administrative Hall but instead returned to his courtyard.
Just as he reached the gate, it suddenly swung open. Dressed in plain mourning robes, Song Qingxi, her eyes red and swollen, threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Uncle… Eleventh Granduncle is dead… Eleventh Granduncle is dead…"
A tremor went through Song Changsheng's heart. When Song Qingxi had first gone to Little Azure Mountain, it had been Song Luhuai who had taught and protected them. They had shared a deep bond.
Later, for various reasons, they hadn't seen each other for years. She had only just returned from the mortal world, to be met with the news of Song Luhuai's death.
Seeing her grief, Song Changsheng could only let out a long, quiet sigh, gently patting her back, speechless.
It was a long while before Song Qingxi managed to compose herself. When she noticed the damp patch on his chest, she looked slightly embarrassed.
He didn't mind in the least. Sweeping his divine sense over the courtyard, he frowned.
"Where is Qingxing?"
There was a trace of dissatisfaction in his tone. During the funeral earlier, he had not seen Song Qingxing at all. Whatever the circumstances, Song Luhuai had once been his teacher, and both sentiment and propriety dictated that he should have paid his respects. Yet there had been no sign of him.
Sensing his displeasure, Song Qingxi quickly explained,
"He just changed into mourning clothes and went out. I think he's gone to the cemetery."
At that, Song Changsheng's expression eased.
"That's more like it. Still, it's late. He seldom stays on Cangmang Peak; best make sure nothing's happened. I'll go find him."
With that, he turned and retraced his steps.
By now, the cemetery was empty.
From the darkness, Song Qingxing emerged, stopping before Song Luhuai's grave. His face, as cold and expressionless as ever, betrayed no hint of emotion.
He was unusually dressed in mourning robes, his hair neatly bound at the back. He simply stood there, staring at the tombstone, unmoving.
After a long silence, he slowly drew the Wuhen Sword. This was only the second time the blade had been unsheathed since it came into his possession.
The steward from the Divine Armory Pavilion had once claimed this sword could not be refined, but Qingxing had scoffed at the idea. In his mind, there was no such thing as a weapon that couldn't be refined; failure only meant one's incompetence. After all, just as men choose their weapons, weapons choose their wielders.
The very night he had acquired the sword, he had refined it completely. That was also the first time it had been drawn, and the devastating power of that strike was still vivid in his mind.
Because of that, he rarely unsheathed it; he considered killing mediocrities with this blade a form of desecration. Nor did he flaunt it before others; a sword was not a plaything.
The moment the sword left its scabbard, Qingxing's aura changed dramatically. An invisible force seemed to gather along its length.
Shua!
A flash of sword light burst forth, and a surge of sword intent swept outwards. Within a radius of a hundred feet, every blade of grass was shredded to dust, yet the tombstone and grave remained untouched. Such precision in control was astonishing.
"This strike is called Sword Three. You taught it to me. I've never forgotten."
Returning the sword to its sheath, Song Qingxing bowed in a swordsman's salute to the tombstone, then turned and walked away.
Watching silently from the shadows, Song Changsheng nodded in satisfaction. The years of effort had not been in vain; this once-wayward shoot was finally beginning to grow straight.
"Still has some human feeling after all… now I can rest easy."
Murmuring to himself, he felt much of his fatigue lift.
He returned to the courtyard ahead of Song Qingxing. But as soon as he stepped inside, a pale, delicate hand seized his ear and twisted it a full one hundred and eighty degrees.
He had known that Xia Yunxue was waiting behind the door, but he hadn't expected this.
"Oh, Mother, what are you doing? It's going to come off!"
Even Song Qingxi was stunned, quickly stepping forward to plead,
"Grandmother, what are you doing?"
"That child, where did she come from? Tell your mother the truth."
With the younger generation present, Xia Yunxue couldn't continue venting her anger. She let go of Song Changsheng's ear, pulled him aside, and questioned him in a cold voice.
Hearing this, Song Changsheng suddenly understood, so that's what this was about.
Before the battle, he had left Song Qingxi and the others in the mortal realm. In the days after, he had been too busy to fetch them. It was Song Changxuan who had returned for the funeral and brought them back.
So when Xia Yunxue came back from the ceremony and saw Song Qingxi holding a child in her arms, she nearly fainted. A teenage girl going out and returning with a child? No elder could accept that without jumping to conclusions.
From the start, her mind had gone in the wrong direction. But knowing the girl was shy, she hadn't asked directly who the "culprit" was. Instead, she had taken it out on Song Changsheng at the door, blaming him for failing to keep proper discipline.
Realizing this, Song Changsheng couldn't help but laugh bitterly and hurried to explain, "This child is one I adopted."
He quickly recounted the whole story from beginning to end.
Only then did Xia Yunxue realize she had misunderstood. Looking at his ear, she asked with concern, "Sheng'er, Mother wronged you. Does your ear still hurt?"
"It's nothing," Song Changsheng replied, then seized the chance to press his point. "Mother, this child and I are fated to meet. Now that he has no family, I want to take him as my son. Wouldn't that mean you could have a grandson to hold?"
He had expected no objection, but to his surprise, Xia Yunxue fell silent. After a long pause, she sighed. "Sheng'er, don't make hasty decisions. There's a difference between the mortal and cultivation worlds. If this child has a spiritual root, that's fine, but what if he doesn't?"
Song Changsheng sighed in turn. "If he has no spiritual root, then naturally we will follow clan rules and send him back to the mortal world. Other people's children can be treated this way, so can mine."
"In that case, I have nothing more to say. But remember: the clan has its rules. While we allow adoption, the child must completely let go of his past and, in the future, marry a Song clan woman before his name can be entered into the family register," Xia Yunxue reminded him.
"Those memories are painful. His enemies are already dead, and I see no reason for him to carry such burdens any longer. I just hope he can grow up happily." Thinking of Song Lingyun's round, chubby face, a tender smile crossed Song Changsheng's features. This child truly felt destined to be with him.
"Very well. When the Great Elder wakes, I'll personally speak to him," Xia Yunxue agreed, reassured by her son's words.
When the two emerged from their private corner, Song Qingxing had already returned, having changed out of his mourning robes into his usual black attire.
He went straight up to Song Changsheng. "I'm going into seclusion."
Song Changsheng was taken aback. He knew Qingxing was forming a sword embryo and that with his temperament, he would soon attempt Foundation Establishment, but he hadn't expected him to be so impatient.
Song Qingxi frowned. "You just reached the peak of Qi Refining not long ago, and you're already trying for Foundation Establishment? Besides, you don't even have a Foundation Establishment Pill."
Xia Yunxue also tried to dissuade him. "Exactly. The Second Elder is already in seclusion refining Foundation Establishment Pills. Just wait, given your talent, the clan will certainly prioritize you."
"That's right, you're a Purple Mansion seedling of the clan, you'll have priority in Foundation Establishment," Song Changsheng added.
But Qingxing remained unmoved, his gaze cold as he looked at Song Changsheng. "If you can do it, so can I."
At that, Song Changsheng rolled his eyes. This guy had to turn everything into a competition with him.
He shook his head and said no more. He knew Qingxing's temperament once he'd decided, not even nine oxen could pull him back.
The next day, Song Qingxing officially entered seclusion, and Song Changsheng himself was hardly idle. He convened his first clan meeting since temporarily assuming the role of clan leader.
Once everyone was present, Song Changsheng announced the latest personnel adjustments:
The position of Third Elder would be taken over by Xia Yunxue. She would no longer head the Law Enforcement Hall but instead serve as Transmission Elder, teaching the clan's underage members.
Fourth Elder: Song Lutong.
Fifth Elder: Song Changan, who would head the Law Enforcement Hall and rebuild the clan's enforcement team.
Sixth Elder: Song Changxuan, temporarily stationed in the mortal realm.
Song Changsheng himself would take charge of both the Administrative Hall and the Wind Whisper Hall.
This arrangement was fairly standard, except that Song Lutong, as Fourth Elder, was given no real authority. If not for Song Changsheng's upright reputation, some might have suspected him of hoarding power.
He didn't explain after all. Song Lutong was practically a sworn brother. There was no way he would suppress him on purpose. The reason he hadn't given him control of the Wind Whisper Hall was simple: Lutong was a straightforward brawler, ill-suited for delicate intelligence work. For now, there was no post for him because he had other plans for him later.
Song Lutong himself wasn't bothered if there was work, he'd do it; if not, he'd just focus on cultivation.
After the personnel announcements, Song Changsheng dropped a bombshell:
"I've decided to deploy the Black Star warship to the Liuyun battlefield and wipe out the remaining demon wolves in one stroke."
The room erupted. Xia Yunxue and Song Changan immediately voiced their opposition.
"Little Clan Leader, the clan is in no state to start another war. Besides, letting the demon wolves and the Liuyun Sect wear each other down is more in our interests," Song Changan urged.
Song Changsheng smiled. "This move is also for the benefit of the clan."
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