Chapter 64: A Match Made in Heaven
Amidst the encircling mountains, a lake lay nestled in a depression of the land. On the surface of the lake, four figures exchanged blows. Their robes fluttered, sword auras crisscrossed, and swordlight streaked dazzling arcs through the air, sending up fountains of spray that soared to the skies. Among them, one person fought alone against three, yet handled himself with ease, not falling into the slightest disadvantage.
More than twenty members of the mining team stood upon a slope, overlooking the clear lake and blue sky. From their vantage point, they gazed down at the battle unfolding below, exclaiming in wonder:
“Truly a master! This trip was worth it just to see this.”
“The book said, ‘as graceful as a startled swan, as fluid as a swimming dragon’—turns out it wasn’t an exaggeration.”
Meng Xueli muttered in puzzlement: “This really does look quite good. Why can’t I ever fight like that?”
He was well aware of himself—whenever he fought, whether enemy or ally, all they ever felt was brutality, ferocity, and terror. Words like “graceful and moving” or “pleasing to the eye” never had anything to do with him.
“Battles aren’t meant to look good. Every sect has its own unique style, none better or worse. Besides, I think you’re excellent,” Ji Xiao was glad to clear things up for his little Dao companion. “What they’re using is a tournament style.”
On a dueling platform, one fought one-on-one under the eyes of thousands. To meet the aesthetics of cultivators, one’s sword trajectories needed to be smooth and flowing, one’s movements agile and elegant.
Before disciples of great sects ventured down the mountain to travel, they tempered themselves through one duel after another. Their style bore the imprint of their sects, completely different from that of rogue cultivators. Above all, no matter win or lose, they could not allow themselves to be shamed by resorting to underhanded tricks. If sparring with fellow disciples, the fight had to be controlled, measured, and restrained—only then would they earn applause and acclaim.
For example, Yu Qishu—though he had not cultivated for long—had already been coaxed by his senior brothers into fighting more than twenty matches on the Sword Training Platform of Han Shan. She would certainly fight in many more in the future.
Hearing his disciple praise him, Meng Xueli felt quite pleased.
Amidst the falling sprays of water, he caught sight of one combatant’s attire: “That really is a disciple of Han Shan. But I don’t recognize him.”
Even as he spoke, one of the combatants on the lake shouted: “Cui Jing, let’s stop fighting! Someone’s coming, and they’ve got the numbers. They’re just waiting for us to wear each other out so they can swoop in!”
On the slope, more than twenty people had appeared, looking imposing at first glance. The four combatants in the midst of battle had no time to discern the truth and assumed they were strong enemies.
Meng Xueli thought for a moment: “That name does sound a bit familiar.”
Then another voice cried out: “Cui Jing, I’ll count to three. Let’s stop together—what are you doing? Don’t you understand human speech?!”
The young swordsman called Cui Jing remained unmoved. His sword grew even faster, swordlight blazing like roaring flames, instantly evaporating the lake water into rolling white mist. He skimmed across the water, his features hidden by the haze, his expression unreadable.
The mining team exclaimed again in awe. Someone suddenly asked: “The Red Flame Sword? Is he Cui Jing, disciple of Han Shan’s sect master?”
Meng Xueli suddenly understood and shouted down toward the lake: “Hey, you three—ganging up on one man, what sort of ability is that?”
Ji Xiao: “It’s fine. He can handle it.” The opponents, seeing their chance slip away, already felt retreat in their hearts, their sword edges losing sharpness. In Ji Xiao’s eyes, the victor of this match was already clear.
But before Meng Xueli’s words even finished, Hundred Generations of Time flashed with silver light, and his figure appeared by the lakeside below, soaring across the reed banks like a bird with outstretched wings.
Ji Xiao could only smile helplessly, while the mining team cheered loudly.
Wang Xiaohua and Li Shunqi even clapped in rhythm, chanting a spur-of-the-moment rhyme:
“Brother Meng, invincible and brave, number one in the world! Brother Meng charges forward, momentum unstoppable!”
“Everyone shout the slogan—Brother Meng gains wings like a tiger!”
The four on the lake had never seen such a spectacle and were clearly startled. Their rhythm faltered at once. Their sword auras grew chaotic, their movements disordered, and all trace of beauty vanished.
Meng Xueli heard the chants and instantly felt extremely embarrassed, utterly losing face.
He slashed down with his sword, the force of Hundred Generations of Time crashing into the water, setting off a chain of explosive splashes.
Amidst the thunderous roar, one of the four shouted: “He’s Cui Jing’s helper! We—”
Before he finished, pain bloomed in his chest as his body was flung high into the air, crashing down into the reeds. Meng Xueli had flicked him away with one strike, carving three massive pits into the lakeside reeds.
The mining team thought: truly, the fighting styles are different. Brother Meng’s way was straightforward and efficient—quick battles, decisive victories.
But the fight was not yet over. Just as Meng Xueli was about to withdraw, a gust of wind stirred behind him. Instinctively, he turned, crossing his sword in defense. With a metallic clang, their blades clashed, and at last he saw Cui Jing’s face behind the mist.
The young man’s features were hard and severe, his expression cold as frost.
Meng Xueli explained: “I’m not here to steal from you. We’re just passing through.”
But Cui Jing acted as if he hadn’t heard. On the slope, Ji Xiao stood with hands clasped behind his back, brows faintly furrowed.
Meng Xueli sidestepped, yielding him another move. “You’re not my match. If you insist on tangling with me, I won’t be polite.” He did not know Cui Jing; he had only stepped in today because back on Han Shan, the sect master had treated him kindly and given him much care. This was merely his way of returning the favor to the sect master’s disciple.
But since the other refused to appreciate it, there was no reason to press the matter. Better to part ways, leaving each other alone.
Yet suddenly, flames of intensity lit up in Cui Jing’s eyes, his sword’s brilliance blazing like burning fire. “Come.”
The mining team failed to understand. Someone mustered courage to ask Ji Xiao: “Brother Xiao, Brother Meng just helped that Cui Jing. Why are the two fighting now?”
Ji Xiao: “The sword Cui Jing cultivates grows stronger against stronger opponents, open and unrestrained. Just now, even against three, he was still holding back.”
Some martial cultivators loved battle, rare to meet a worthy opponent, rarer still to find a true match. Ji Xiao understood that feeling, yet at this moment he felt faint displeasure. He had once said Meng Xueli had the right to choose again. But if his little Dao companion truly chose another, could he accept it? Desire, he now realized, bred possessiveness.
The crowd gasped in shock. Someone asked: “Then between him and Brother Meng, who’s stronger? Should we help?”
Ji Xiao only said something none of them could understand: “A bit of setback for the young isn’t a bad thing.” Besides, his little Dao companion knew how to control his strikes.
Before long, Meng Xueli’s blade pressed against his opponent’s neck.
Cui Jing stood stunned, unwilling to believe he had lost, as though he could not fathom where exactly he had been defeated.
He asked: “Who are you?”
The man before him wore a black cloak. Though he used a sword, his style was nothing like that of a sword cultivator. His sect was impossible to discern. Behind him stood over twenty companions, chanting strange and unified slogans.
When had such a figure appeared among the younger generation of the cultivation world? Before leaving, his master had warned him—there are always skies beyond this sky, men beyond this man. Do not become arrogant and forget yourself. Was this the lesson he now faced?
Meng Xueli answered: “A good-hearted passerby, with a nickname in the jianghu—one who win others with virtue.”
Hoisting his sword, he walked away, ignoring Cui Jing’s bewildered expression. Behind him, the waters of the lake surged in restless waves, long refusing to calm.
The mining crew cheered and surrounded him as they slowly disappeared into the distance.
Ji Xiao sent a voice transmission to Meng Xueli: “What did you think of his fighting style?”
Meng Xueli nodded: “Blazing fire, surging flames—it had a certain flair.” But it was flashy rather than solid. With another three to five years of tempering, it would truly take shape. If Ji Xiao’s spirit in heaven could see the juniors of Han Shan like this, he wondered whether Ji Xiao would feel disappointed, or already content.
Ji Xiao, “A disciple should take on hard tasks. From now on, if there’s fighting to be done, let me go first.” I fight more beautifully than him—next time, I’ll show you.
Meng Xueli felt his disciple did indeed need more tempering: “Fine, I’ll stay nearby to watch and keep you safe. Your master treats you well, doesn’t he? I only ever beat your little Junior Brother Yu—I never once beat you.”
Ji Xiao obediently nodded: “You’re good to me. I like you too.”
Meng Xueli glared at him: “What are you—”
“A slip of the tongue, forgive me,” Ji Xiao immediately said. “I’ve already apologized. Just pretend you never heard it.”
Meng Xueli’s cheeks warmed, a tingling rising at the back of his neck. Something about it all felt off, though he couldn’t quite say what.
After the rain, the sky had cleared. The sunlight shone pure, streaming through tall trees and thick leaves, scattering patches of light. Unknowingly, they had reached the mining crew’s destination. The nearest teleportation array lay in a deep valley—a massive circular stone platform, carved with intricate formation runes that glowed faint blue.
At parting, the mining crew lingered, torn with complicated feelings. They bowed and thanked the two one by one.
Wang Xiaohua said, “Our safe journey was thanks entirely to the righteous aid of Brother Meng and Brother Xiao.”
Li Shunqi said, “This great kindness I cannot repay. If I ever succeed in my cultivation in the future…”
Meng Xueli waved it off: “No need for politeness. You paid for protection and talismans—we made a fair trade. No talk of kindness or righteousness. But I do have one favor to ask.”
He pulled out his storage pouch and stuffed it into someone’s hands: “It’s full of jade talismans and resources I won. I’ll be staying in the secret realm a while longer—take these and register the points for me first. With so many of you, there’ll be plenty of witnesses.”
Everyone froze in shock, silence falling before it turned into a stir. The man holding the pouch trembled as if gripping hot coal: “I swear on my Dao heart—I will never betray Brother Meng’s trust!”
The others swore solemnly in turn.
Wang Xiaohua asked, “May I ask Brother Meng’s name?” Everyone knew the two were from Han Shan, but didn’t know under whose name the points should be counted.
Then they heard the unbelievable answer: “Changchun Peak, Meng Xueli.”
Silence struck again.
Wang Xiaohua’s small team recalled that first night, when they had sat by the stone pool gossiping and boasting together—even joking about the Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion. Now their feelings tangled, faces flushing red and pale in turns.
When the mining crew finally left in a daze, the two of them headed instead toward the Central City. Having accomplished a major task, Meng Xueli felt lighthearted and even hummed a tune as he walked.
Ji Xiao said, “You really do trust people too easily.”
Meng Xueli replied, “With more than twenty of them watching each other, even if someone had bad intentions, they’d fight over the spoils first… Besides, I win people over with virtue, sincerity for sincerity. I won’t mistake character. If you don’t believe me, want to bet on it?”
Ji Xiao smiled: “No need. I believe you.”
They didn’t know that outside the secret realm, disciples who had withdrawn earlier were heatedly debating a question: “When a fat sheep stands before you, do you slaughter it or not?”
This debate ignored sect and cultivation method alike. Some argued the rules of the secret realm competition were about combat and plunder, so killing the sheep was natural. Others insisted caution—it might be a “moral trial,” where the fat sheep suddenly turned into a wolf and beat you senseless, leaving you hopeless in cultivation and in life.
Those supporting the “moral trial” view said: “Our team actually encountered Meng Xueli too. But our captain said, out of respect for the Sword Sovereign, better to let him go. So we pretended we hadn’t seen him and took another path. Only after leaving the realm and meeting you all did we realize—it was Meng Xueli who let us go!”
Someone chimed in: “Think carefully. The Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion—how could he be an ordinary man? Would the Sword Sovereign ever fall for an ordinary person? Be realistic. Talented man and beautiful woman, perfect pair—that’s reality. The poor scholar marrying a princess, the useless marrying an immortal master—that’s just storybook fantasy.”
Others excused their failures: “Right. He’s the Sword Sovereign’s Dao companion, a Han Shan elder, and current Peak Master of Changchun. With such high status, he stoops to bully juniors by entering the secret realm!”
But most cultivators revered strength. Someone immediately countered:
“That’s wrong. When the Sword Sovereign still lived, Meng Xueli stayed on Changchun Peak, tending flowers and fish, living peacefully, never heard of stirring up trouble or bullying anyone. After the Sovereign passed, it was others coveting the sword ‘Endless Sky Sword’ that forced him to act. All he wanted was to guard his late husband’s relic. How is that bullying juniors?”
“He seized jade talismans but never killed. A hero deserves a treasured sword—even if the Sword Sovereign is gone, Meng Xueli is fit to wield it. Truth is, we just weren’t strong enough. Stop making excuses—accept defeat.”
The crowd shifted to discussing the strange weapon Hundred Generations of Time in Meng Xueli’s hands—how he wielded it with flexible, unstoppable skill. “Endless Sky Sword” paired with “Hundred Generations of Time”—if the Sword Sovereign were still alive, the two of Changchun Peak would truly be a match made in heaven, a flawless pair. But fate was cruel; deep love rarely lasted.
Someone suddenly said: “Don’t you think Zhang Suyuan and his two friends are ridiculously lucky? Just shouting ‘Protect the Elder!’ and ‘Careful, Elder!’—and their score leaps far past ours!”
“Exactly. Swap them for three green parrots, and they’d do the same. I’ll respect Meng Xueli, but not those three.”
“What can you do about it? Go buy a branch of Changchun’s peach blossoms from ‘Hengtong Juyuan’ to change your luck?”
“Heard they’re already sold out.”
On this point, there was no dispute. Zhang Suyuan’s trio were dubbed “the luckiest contestants in the history of the Secret Realm Competition.”
But they forgot—the competition wasn’t over yet. When the mining crew emerged and told their dramatic adventures and lucky encounters, everyone learned there were even luckier ones: those who didn’t need to be parrots—just rhymed a few catchy chants, and survived with both life and wealth intact.
With over twenty witnesses willing to vouch for Meng Xueli’s points, the various sect elders leading teams hesitated. They convened a special meeting, and after much arguing—especially with Ziyan Peak Master pressing his case—the points were granted.
Meng Xueli’s score skyrocketed, far outstripping everyone else. With more than ten days left before the end, if nothing unexpected happened, the champion of this competition was already set.
The news spread from the yellow-sanded wastelands of the Hanhai Desert to every corner of the world.
Some questioned: “Counting points for someone else? That’s against the rules. What if Meng Xueli never comes out—whose points are those? Just erased?”
But more refuted the doubts: “Not come out? Don’t joke. With Meng Xueli’s ability, unless the entire secret realm explodes into the sky, he’s not staying inside!”
Meanwhile, the disciples of Mingyue Lake remained silent. Against the fervent debates everywhere else, their silence seemed unusually detached, even strange.
…
Inside the secret realm, in the underground palace of Central City.
The corridor wound long and narrow, shark-oil lamps glowing faintly, their light flickering with the drifting air. That air was stirred by the breath of the mirage beast.
Suddenly, the wind stilled. The beast’s breathing hitched. It opened its eyes and gazed into the deep darkness of the passage.
From the palace entrance came the faintest footsteps—but not the familiar aura. The beast was puzzled.
Other than that one human, no one—man or demon—had come here for years.
The mirage beast’s intelligence was low. It had lived long but neglected cultivation, not even learning to take form.
It didn’t like fighting or seizing territory like other great demons. It preferred lying in the cool dark, lazily napping with slow breaths. But its mirage visions came with every exhale—an innate gift of its kind. Other demons saw the mirages, mistook them for aggression, and struck first, forcing it to flee for its life, hiding from place to place.
Once, a brilliant peacock flew into its mirage, grew disoriented, then stormed underground in fury, wings raised to lash it. Luckily, a spirit ferret on the peacock’s back stopped it.
That ferret was snow-white, carrying immense pressure—the famed Snow Mountain King, feared across the demon world.
The ferret said, “Forget it, forget it. It didn’t mean any harm.”
That was the only great demon in all its years of wandering who had ever understood it.
After signing the contract with Ji Xiao, the Mirage Beast finally had a safe place to stay. It was very content with its new environment: spacious, cool, quiet, and a place where it could breathe freely.
Ji Xiao did not need it as a war beast. Whenever the secret realm opened, Ji Xiao stood above the clouds overlooking everything—no one dared cause trouble.
But today seemed different. Along with the approaching sound of chaotic footsteps, it heard a cold, sinister voice:
“This is a sacred treasure bestowed by a Saint, imbued with divine power specifically crafted to deal with it! First, it can break illusions; second, it can counter lightning! Everyone, hold it tight and attack according to formation!”
The Mirage Beast’s slow mind turned blankly. Deal with who? Attack what?
Before it could think clearly, the surroundings suddenly sank into darkness. Countless shark-oil lamps that had never gone out were extinguished at once.
The next instant, a massive net gleaming with cold light—like a sky full of frozen stars—dropped over its head!
“Roooar!”
The Mirage Beast bellowed in pain, lifting its head with a furious roar! The sky of the Hanhai Secret Realm churned, dark clouds swallowed the moon, and rain poured down in sheets.
The intruding team numbered thirty-two, their leader already at the Hinayana Realm. They formed four rings, eight men each, the formation neat and precise.
As the Mirage Beast was enraged, the eight closest to it were struck by its pressure and sent flying against the stone walls of the underground palace. Their bones shattered, their bodies broken, they fell silent forever.
Yet the leader cried out excitedly: “It’s trapped! Hold position! Tighten the net!”
The Mirage Beast tried to call down lightning to warn Ji Xiao within the secret realm. But the net suddenly contracted, binding it tight. The razor-sharp cords cut deep into its flesh. It froze in a posture of agony, head raised and tail lashing, while crimson blood streamed from between its scales and pooled rapidly over the stone floor.
The beast was torn and bloody, able only to let out low, pitiful whimpers.
The leader shouted again: “It’s almost down! Ready the divine crossbows!”
The outer ring of eight finally moved. The Mirage Beast heard the bowstrings drawn tight, and despair filled its eyes.
Just then, a clear, resonant cry echoed from the end of the corridor!
It was neither phoenix’s call nor crane’s cry, but carried overwhelming demonic might that shook the minds of those tightening the net, making their heads throb with pain.
All the crossbows immediately swiveled toward the tunnel’s depths. Arrows tore through the air, their whistling sharp enough to pierce the ears.
The response came swiftly—alongside the ringing cry, an overwhelming tide of blue demon-fire surged forth, colliding with the arrows. The arrows disintegrated midair, turning to ash. Those slower to retreat were caught by the flames, screaming in agony before collapsing.
As the blue flames swept past, the shark-oil lamps reignited. Then, the peacock revealed its form—wings of fiery orange-red and peach-pink beating like rolling waves, a long blue-green tail swaying behind it, every plume flowing like shimmering ribbons of light.
The pinnacle of nature’s splendor, the most dazzling and radiant hues under heaven, were gathered upon its body.
The peacock spewed out another blast of demon-fire. Its wings stirred a great wind, fanning the flames into a raging inferno. The underground palace became a burning hell. The intruders had no time even to scream before they were reduced to ash.
The peacock flew across the sea of flames, folded its wings, and landed before the Mirage Beast. It transformed into a youth with a strikingly strange beauty and an expression cold and proud.
Sensing a long-lost familiar aura, the Mirage Beast whimpered softly, rubbing him pitifully with its horns.
Que Xianming cursed aloud: “Useless! Can’t even handle a few humans, you worthless beast! A disgrace to the great demons! Don’t rub against me again!”
He withdrew his aura and extinguished the flames, then loosened the net around the Mirage Beast. Taking out a spirit herb, he snapped harshly: “Eat it! So useless—let’s see if I don’t poison you to death!”
The Mirage Beast’s eyes shimmered with tears, falling drop by drop, but it dared not resist him. It obediently swallowed the herb.
Once ingested, the spirit herb dissolved into warm currents. The pain melted away, its wounds closed rapidly, and its scales regained their luster, leaving only faint marks.
Only then did Que Xianming say, “That was a thousand-year Jade Orchid Grass. I didn’t even eat it myself, and you—worthless beast—got it for free!”
The Mirage Beast lowered its head and nuzzled him again, soft as if it had no bones.
Que Xianming asked, “Who were those people? Why did they attack you?”
The Mirage Beast shook its head.
“Don’t know anything, huh!” Que Xianming pushed it aside impatiently. “Then where’s Meng Xueli? You must at least know that. Shake your head one more time, and I’ll thrash you!”
Too drained to summon lightning, the Mirage Beast exhaled slowly, uttering ancient and complex syllables from its throat. With its limited intelligence, it could only answer questions, nothing more.
As a fellow demon, the peacock understood.
Then the Mirage Beast asked a question of its own—“Why are you looking for Meng Xueli?”
Que Xianming’s face grew cold, a murderous glint between his brows. “The demon world is in upheaval. Whether the Snow Mountain King can take revenge depends on this chance.”
The Mirage Beast did not understand. It slowly exhaled, turning its breath into a mirage of blooming flowers.
The dark, cold underground palace transformed in an instant—flowers blossomed in profusion, butterflies danced in the air.
…
Within the secret realm, Meng Xueli and Ji Xiao followed the current downstream. Suddenly, Meng Xueli asked, “Why are we walking?”
Ji Xiao smiled. Lately, he smiled often, sometimes without knowing why. “Then how would you like to go?”
Meng Xueli pointed to the sky. “Brother Meng will take you stargazing.”
Through the gaps in the leaves above, the night sky twinkled with countless stars. The Milky Way stretched like a silver ribbon, arching over mountains and rivers.
Ji Xiao, “These stars are false, illusions of the Mirage Beast.”
“False stars can be seen but not touched. True stars can also be seen but not touched. Does it matter if they’re real or fake? What difference does it make?”
Ji Xiao asked, “Do you want the real stars?”
While disassembling and reassembling Hundred Generations of Time, Meng Xueli replied absentmindedly, “You think wanting means having? You think you can fly up there and pluck them for me?”
Ji Xiao said seriously, “If I break through this world’s barrier and ascend in daylight, then I can touch the real stars.”
A sharp click rang out as Meng Xueli finished assembling a “bamboo dragonfly.” He raised his brow. “Then I’ll wait. In a few hundred years, you can pluck me the stars. For now—hold me tight!”
The wind roared across the land as Hundred Generations of Time soared into the sky.
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
