Jin Bao dropped his voice to a whisper. "A long time ago, the Sword Sect wasn't called the Sword Sect at all."
Mo Xuan's brows lifted slightly.
Jin Bao nodded gravely, clearly enjoying the weight of the reveal. "It used to be called the Immortal Gate — a massive sect, one of the top powers in the entire region. They cultivated everything back then. Alchemy, formations, spears, talismans, beasts... everything under the sky, all under one banner."
"And then what changed?"
"Then..." Jin Bao let out a long sigh, his usual playfulness draining from his voice. "A calamity struck. No one really knows the exact details, even now. Some say it was a demonic invasion. Others insist it was an internal traitor who opened the gates from within. A few even whisper it was Heaven's own punishment for something the sect did."
His voice grew heavier, more solemn. "But whatever actually happened, it brought the entire sect to the brink of extinction. Elders died. Entire peaks collapsed into rubble. Thousands perished within days. The sect stood on the very edge of complete annihilation."
Mo Xuan felt the air around them seem to cool, the weight of the story settling over the path.
"Just as the gates were about to fall for good," Jin Bao continued, his voice trembling now — not from fear, but something closer to awe — "someone appeared."
Mo Xuan's eyes sharpened with interest. "Who?"
"That's the thing." Jin Bao shook his head slowly. "No one ever learned his name. No one could even make out his face clearly — his aura was simply too overwhelming to look at directly. But..."
He turned and pointed toward the distant cliffs, where thousands of overlapping sword marks shimmered faintly with lingering intent. "The only thing anyone ever remembered clearly was his sword."
His voice dropped to barely more than a breath. "They say he walked onto the battlefield completely alone. And with one strike — just one—" He swallowed hard before finishing. "He ended the calamity."
Silence stretched between them. A breath of wind swept past, and somewhere in the distance, the Sword Cliffs seemed to hum faintly in response, as though echoing the tale being told in their shadow.
"One strike?" Mo Xuan echoed quietly, testing the weight of the words.
Jin Bao nodded.
"What happened after?" Mo Xuan asked.
Jin Bao swallowed again. "This is the ridiculous part. Apparently, after slicing apart what people describe as heaven and earth itself, the man pulled out a flask and just started drinking. Laughing the entire time, as though he'd merely finished chopping firewood instead of ending a calamity that nearly destroyed the sect."
Mo Xuan blinked, processing that image.
Jin Bao spread his hands helplessly. "Even the sword intent he left behind on the Sword Cliffs is supposedly insane. Only true sword maniacs dare go there to cultivate anymore. Normal disciples would have their souls rattled clean out of their bodies just standing too close."
He paused for effect. "After that day, the sect changed its name to the Sword Sect, specifically to honour that mysterious man."
"But then," Mo Xuan said slowly, working through the logic, "why doesn't the sect train only sword cultivators, if that's the whole reason for the name?"
"Because the man never said a single word the entire time," Jin Bao explained. "He ended the fight and left almost immediately afterwards. So the sect only really has the memory of him to hold onto — and they let disciples cultivate near the sword marks he left behind, hoping to draw some kind of guidance from what remains."
Mo Xuan nodded slowly, the pieces settling into place in his mind.
But Jin Bao wasn't finished. He glanced around carefully, as though checking for eavesdroppers, then dropped his voice even further. "And... Brother Xuan... don't get mad, but a lot of people secretly believe..." He pointed subtly toward a figure lounging lazily atop a distant rooftop, flask in hand. "That your Master might be that very man."
Mo Xuan froze in place.
Jin Bao pressed on, ticking off points on his fingers. "The drinking. The laughter. The way sword intent seems to leak out of him whenever he gets annoyed. The temper. The laziness. The absolutely monstrous strength that doesn't seem to match anything reasonable. And how he acts like nothing in the entire world is worth his effort unless he decides otherwise." He shivered visibly. "If your Master really is that same sword-wielding lunatic from the old stories, then... then..."
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought out loud.
Mo Xuan turned and caught sight of Han Long's distant silhouette atop the rooftop, leaning back with the flask tilted lazily against his lips, utterly ignoring the rest of the world around him.
Half of Mo Xuan wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.
Half found himself entirely speechless.
Somewhere beneath both reactions, a quieter part of him couldn't help turning the pieces over in his mind — the insane pace of his own training, the effortless way Han Long had once moved his father from Willow Creek Village across to the sect.
Mo Xuan shook his head slowly, unable to settle on an answer either way.
Jin Bao grabbed his shoulders in sudden panic. "Brother Xuan! Please! If your Master really is that ancient monster, tell him I know absolutely nothing! I'm far too young and far too rich to die like this!"
Mo Xuan let out a helpless sigh. "Don't worry. He won't kill you." He paused, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Probably."
Jin Bao let out a wail of pure despair, clutching at his own robes as though bracing for the end.
As the two of them continued walking deeper toward the Sword Cliffs, the sword intent radiating from the distant rock face pulsed steadily through the air, as though declaring quiet sovereignty over everything within its reach.
Far above them, still perched on the rooftop, Han Long lifted his flask a fraction higher; the drifting wind carried Jin Bao's frantic voice toward him. A lazy, knowing grin spread slowly across his lips as he took another unhurried sip, and somewhere behind him, the Sword Cliffs hummed once more in quiet response.
The story lingered between them long after Jin Bao fell silent as they continued uphill.
Before long, the Sword Cliffs came fully into view, their presence pressing against them — undeniable and heavy.
Thin lines of sword intent drifted down from the rock face like threads of moonlight, brushing against exposed skin with a cold, sharp chill that nonetheless carried an odd undertone of tranquillity, something closer to the still surface of a lake at dawn than the violent legend attached to it. The closer they walked, the more that contradiction settled over Mo Xuan — danger and calm folded together into the same sensation.
Mo Xuan paused at an overlook, and from there he finally saw it in full. A colossal wall of stone, carved through by a single sword mark so thick and impossibly deep it looked less like a scar left by a weapon and more like calligraphy written by something far beyond human hands. Even from this distance, the cliff radiated a kind of silent dominance, like the stillness of a slumbering titan.
He closed his eyes and let his senses stretch outward, attempting to trace the shape of the sword intent still lingering within the stone. It flickered faintly at the very edge of his perception — elusive, yet somehow vast enough that he could feel its scale even without grasping its substance directly.
He didn't step any closer.
"You can only gain anything from it once you actually step inside," Jin Bao said, pointing toward a narrow entrance cut into the base of the cliff. "And from what people say, once you get close enough... it feels like your soul might just collapse in on itself."
Reluctantly, Mo Xuan tore his gaze away from the cliffs. "Not yet."
He bid Jin Bao farewell and turned away from the overlook, leaving the cliffs and their legend behind him for the moment. He had other matters that needed settling first, and the sword marks, however tempting, would still be waiting for him whenever he finally felt ready to face them.
The Inner Court's registration hall was built entirely from luminous marble, its walls lined with floating crystal tablets that shifted lazily through the air above the rows of disciples queued up to have their details recorded. Elders and formation disciples moved briskly between stations, processing the steady stream of new arrivals with practised efficiency.
The moment Mo Xuan stepped through the entrance, several heads turned in his direction, and whispers immediately began trailing after him like shadows he couldn't quite shake.
"Is that him...?"
"The one who defeated Qin Hao in one move!"
"He's even more handsome than the rumours said..."
Mo Xuan ignored it all, walking calmly toward the counter without breaking stride. A stern-faced elder — the Registration Division Head, judging by the badge pinned to his robes — scanned him from head to toe with an expression that gave nothing away, then stretched out an open hand without a word.
Mo Xuan handed over his new Inner Court token. The elder collected it and placed it into an inlaid slot on the counter, making a series of precise hand seals as a soft light flared briefly across the token's surface before being absorbed entirely into the stone beneath it. Only then did he begin explaining its function.
"First," the elder said, "there are three things every Inner Court disciple must understand."