Zhao Yan hesitated for a heartbeat, his eyes flicking warily toward the countless sword graves surrounding them.
The old man's smile did little to ease the chill crawling down his spine, yet it didn't feel threatening either.
Bowing his head, Zhao Yan answered softly, "Zhao Yan."
The old man's brows knitted tightly as he studied Zhao Yan, his voice steady but heavy with curiosity.
"What are your parents' names?"
Zhao Yan hesitated, words caught in his throat.
The elder didn't push. He waited patiently, his gaze steady.
Finally, Zhao Yan spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I… I don't know."
It was the truth.
He had no memories of the body he now inhabited, no knowledge of its past, no ties to the family whose life he had stepped into.
The old man let out a long, quiet sigh. "Do you have any relatives?"
Zhao Yan shook his head, the motion slow and solemn.
The elder reached out and rested a weathered hand on his shoulder, his touch firm yet not unkind.
"Your ancestor… he was a member of the Heavenly Sword Sect."
"He ventured into the desolate land for recruitment, but he lost his life there."
His eyes shifted toward the rows of graves, voice dropping reverently.
"Every sword of our disciples carries more than just a blade. It holds the memories, the cultivation insights, and the techniques of its owner."
"Your ancestor's nurtured sword returned to the sect after his death… and it now rests within one of these graves."
Zhao Yan felt a jolt of shock ripple through him at the revelation, his mind struggling to grasp the weight of it.
The old man's voice cut through the silence, calm yet carrying authority.
"That is why Patrick sent you here. He sensed the connection between you and the sword graves."
Shaking his head, the elder's expression hardened.
"Since you are a menial disciple here, your duty is clear."
"You will be responsible for keeping these graves clean. Every single one."
He stepped closer and handed Zhao Yan a blue-bound book, its cover worn but sturdy.
"Inside this, you will find a technique to maintain the sword graves. Learn it well."
"From tomorrow onward, this will be your task."
"You may move into the hut at the far end," he added, then turned back toward his own thatched home.
"If you can perceive cause and effect, perhaps one day you will identify your ancestor's sword… and in doing so, gain insight into his cultivation."
With that, the old man fell silent.
...
Zhao Yan stood frozen for a long moment, his mind reeling at the new information.
I have an ancestor in the Heavenly Sword Sect! his thoughts raced.
He died in the desolate lands during sect recruitment…
A shiver ran down his spine.
The swords carry the memories of their owners… this… this is too powerful!
He wanted to scream, to throw his arms up in disbelief, but he forced himself to stay calm, stepping into the new thatched hut and pressing his hands against his chest to steady his rapidly beating heart.
I got lucky, he thought.
If Patrick hadn't noticed the threads of cause and effect tied to him, who knew where Elder Gao might have sent him? The very thought made his skin crawl.
Zhao Yan carefully opened the blue book the old man had handed him and began to study its contents.
The technique within was named Silent Wind Technique.
According to the instructions, when wielded by a sword infused with spiritual energy, it could summon an invisible, harmless wind stretching over half a mile in a straight line.
This wind could sweep away light objects—dust, fallen leaves, thin branches—anything weighing less than a hundred grams, leaving heavier items untouched.
He read each line meticulously, committing the motions and principles to memory.
Then, he pulled up his status window to check his current progress.
Zhao Yan
Age: 16
Cultivation: None (+)
Techniques: Phantom Step Technique - Beginner (0/5) (+), Plum Sword Technique - Beginner (0/5) (+), Sword Breathing Technique - Not Initiated (+), Heavenly Sword Strike - Not Initiated (+), Nurturing Sword - Not Initiated (+), Silent Wind Technique - Not Initiated (+)
Revulsion Points: 8850
Pity Points: 23
This time, Zhao Yan didn't hesitate.
With a decisive click on the (+) sign beside the Silent Wind Technique, his mind was instantly flooded with an overwhelming surge of knowledge, as if he had been practicing the technique for countless years.
He quickly checked his status window and saw the immediate change:
Silent Wind Technique – Beginner (0/10)
Pity Points: 20
After tidying his room, Zhao Yan retrieved the basic sword from his storage pouch—the one Elder Gao had given him on the first day—and stepped out of the thatched hut.
Channeling his spiritual energy, he unleashed the Silent Wind Technique.
A gust of invisible wind swept outward, and he saw dust on the graves being pushed back, scattering over a hundred meters.
Undeterred, he moved forward, repeating the motion, and within five minutes he had cleared a sizable section of the sword graves.
"This… this is incredible," Zhao Yan murmured, eyes wide as he stared at the piles of displaced dust.
"Yeah!" A sudden voice rang beside him, making Zhao Yan jump in fright.
At some point, Zhao Yan didn't even notice the old man standing silently behind him, watching with a keen, curious gaze.
The old man's eyes softened into a smile as he observed Zhao Yan's shocked expression.
"Learning the basics of the Silent Wind Technique in less than half an hour," he murmured, impressed.
"Not bad at all."
"You will definitely be counted among the geniuses of the Outer Sect."
Zhao Yan quickly bowed and muttered, "I was lucky."
But beneath the calm exterior, panic churned inside him.
'I screwed up… I should have remembered there's no barrier now…'
The old man shook his head, noticing the paleness creeping across Zhao Yan's face.
"Even Patrick," he continued, his voice carrying a note of quiet astonishment, "who will join the Outer Sect in a few years, only mastered the basics of the Silent Wind Technique after a full hour of practice."
"Don't sell yourself short."
The old man placed his hands on Zhao Yan's body once more, frowning deeply as he studied him.
"I thought… perhaps you might have an Innate Sword Physique," he murmured, then shook his head.
"But… I don't think you do."
He paused, as if weighing something, and muttered softly, "Such talent…" before shaking his head again.
"Perhaps… your body is a immature Innate Physique. Not as gifted as true Innate Physiques, yet far beyond ordinary people."
The old man's eyes lingered on Zhao Yan, as if trying to decipher a hidden truth.
Zhao Yan, stunned by the words, felt a rush of disbelief.
Innate Physique? he thought, incredulous.
Old man, you've got to be joking!
I have a system!
So, instead of revealing his irritation, a sly idea formed in his mind.
'Perhaps I could turn this misunderstanding to my own advantage.'