Chapter 71: Broken Spear, Sunken Sand
The corners of Daoist Revered Tai Heng’s lips lifted slightly. He had not smiled in so long that his expression looked stiff, almost unnatural. But his tone was gentle, his words slow and steady:
“Back then, your master had not yet died, and you were only nineteen. He brought you to this valley and asked me to give you a proper Daoist name. He said you were dull and too honest by nature, and hoped that you would grow sharper and more perceptive in the future. So I chose the name Jianwei—‘Perceive the Subtle.’ Your master was satisfied and left.”
People living up to their names was rare; in reality, names were more like a wish, and wishes often went unfulfilled. On one point, Zhou Yi had not been wrong. If today’s matter had involved Yuan Ziye or Qian Yuzhi instead, they would likely have sensed danger much earlier. They would never have gone to this meeting alone—or perhaps never stepped foot into Jingsi Valley at all.
When Jianwei Zhenren heard Tai Heng mention the past, a flicker of pain flashed across his eyes.
Daoist Revered Tai Heng continued: “You’ve been sect leader for so many years, you must have long forgotten this. Before Ji Xiao became ‘Invincible in the World,’ who held up Han Shan’s gates and protected its disciples? You have forgotten as well, haven’t you? But I am old, and yet my memory is sharper than you young ones… Today, I had no pressing matters, so I finally had the time to sit and chat with you.”
If it weren’t for the blood pooling on the floor and the eerie purple glow of the formation, he would have seemed like nothing more than a kindly elder, exchanging casual words with a junior.
When the Sect Leader spoke, the wound tore open again, but he clenched his teeth and forced the words out: “I remember!” His blood spread across the glazed tiles, seeping into the cracks between them.
“You remember?” Daoist Revered Tai Heng answered his own question. “Ji Xiao’s and Hu Si’s masters both died at the Hinayana Realm. Your master fared slightly better—he at least reached the early Mahayana Realm. But me? I stepped into the Nascent Soul Realm two hundred years ago. And where was Ji Xiao then? He had only just entered the Dao… You never remembered any of that. You only looked at who was stronger in the moment, and followed whoever it was.”
The Sect Leader took a deep breath. “Strength is one rule, but not the only rule. The heavens and the earth are vast, but reason is greater still. No matter whether it is you or Ji Xiao, neither of you are greater than the ‘reason’ that pervades heaven and earth! Later, when your actions grew biased and unreasonable, of course I would not submit to you.”
Tai Heng Zhenren laughed, not with anger but with amusement, as if Jianwei still had not understood his situation: “You would speak to me of reason? You dare to lecture me? I am your elder—not your short-lived disciple.”
Disciple. Short-lived. The Secret Realm. The Sect Leader closed his eyes for a moment. “Cui Jing… you all…” But his words faltered; for a moment, he could not go on.
“Cui Jing is not coming back,” Zhou Yi said coldly. “Better to let you die understanding. Any disciple who was still in the Secret Realm during the final three days—none of them returned. Cui Jing was too proud, and since you pinned your hopes of victory on him, of course he stayed until the end.” Only the elite disciples who obeyed the Supreme Elder’s command would be coming back to Han Shan.
The Sect Leader’s face turned deathly pale, his breathing faint and weak.
“Ji Xiao’s rules in the past stirred too much resentment. That is why this cooperation was forged. It was the tide of fate,” Tai Heng said, his smile fading as his voice grew cold.
“Someone once told me something I thought was quite true—cultivators may defy heaven itself, but they cannot defy the tides of the world.”
…
The scales were as large as the mouth of a bowl. Yu Qishu thought: I understand all the reasoning, but why are fish scales this big?
A deep, resonant roar carried crushing pressure, like some ancient beast awakening from the abyss. At the sound, Yu Qishu’s heart shuddered, his veins trembling. His hand gripping the golden scale shook slightly. If scales this large could fall off, was it really still a koi? And to make such a sound—what kind of monster was this?
That little pond I saw before… was it really just a pond?
The currents raged, deep-sea turbulence crashing and surging, sweeping him down into the darker depths. Amidst the crushing weight of the darkness, Yu Qishu saw a streak of golden light—like a ribbon of gold. Its glow was the same as the scale in his hand, but far brighter.
He struggled with all his strength to swim toward the light. The closer he came, the more brilliant it grew, illuminating everything—the sand and silt below, the pearls and vivid coral nestled in it, the small fish and shrimp darting between the reefs. Where the sediment thinned, valleys and mountains formed intricate patterns on the seafloor.
Yu Qishu was not stunned into stillness by the beauty of the scene. His eyes widened only when he saw the source of that golden light approaching overhead. It was not a ribbon, nor a column of light, but a vast creature more than ten zhang long. Its body was like that of a giant serpent, but its head resembled that of a tiger.
“A… jiao?” Yu Qishu forgot even to blink. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. Compared to one of its claws, his whole figure was insignificant. And then, before his eyes, two more streaks of golden light coiled into view.
Note: jiao is a dragon.
It was not one—it was three. Because the koi had always been three.
“So that’s how it was. I see now,” Yu Qishu thought.
When he had first ascended to Changchun Peak, Meng Xueli had given him his very first lesson. It was on the verdant summit meadow, at the viewing platform, where Meng Xueli had taught him close-combat techniques. Later, his senior brother Xiao Tingyun had also come. At that time, Yu Qishu had asked his brother one question—what was the difference between a battle of Daoist techniques and a battle of the Dao heart.
His senior brother’s answer had been abstract, more abstract even than the rolling seas of clouds swirling around the peak. Yu Qishu had faintly grasped something, but it had remained veiled, as though through a layer of gauze. Until today, when he saw for the very first time the powers of a saint.
So that was the truth—a pond could actually be an ocean.
The three koi were, in truth, three jiao.
The three jiao gathered, and just ten zhang above his head, their combined golden radiance spread outward, illuminating the shifting waters of the deep.
The impact of such a scene was not merely visual—it etched itself directly into the Dao heart. Yu Qishu froze completely, drifting along with the current, until one jiao lowered its head and met his gaze.
Yu Qishu’s heart felt as though it were clenched in a giant’s fist. Nervously, he thought: My master and senior brother aren’t here… It was me who fed you every day. I don’t expect a wellspring of repayment for a meal, I only beg you to spare me. My body is so small, my cultivation weak, my flesh coarse and stringy—it’s not even worth filling the cracks of your teeth.
If Ji Xiao had been present, he would certainly have told him that the fierce jiao had already learned how to draw in and expel the spiritual essence of heaven and earth. They no longer ate people.
Again, he heard the cries of the jiao, resonant and long, like the lowing of an ox, like the roar of a tiger, echoing slowly in succession. If Meng Xueli had been there, he might have understood some of the ancient tongue of the demon clans.
The three jiao were asking: “Can—it—be—eaten?”
The first jiao answered: “It—can—but—there—is—no—need.”
The second jiao added: “It—is—that—man’s—junior—brother.”
But here, only Yu Qishu was present. He understood nothing, knew nothing. After a moment, his excitement surged higher than his fear, and he forgot altogether how to even spell the word “afraid.”
He wanted to go closer, to take a better look at this legendary great demon. If today was fated to be the last day of his life, then at the very least he would not waste it on prayer.
But the jiao looked away. As though in perfect agreement, the three of them lashed their tails and surged upward. Before Yu Qishu could even take a step, the tremendous current thrown up by their tails hurled him back ten zhang, slamming him hard into the sand and silt.
“This time I’ve truly lost big,” he thought. “I should never have fed those fish.”
Yu Qishu swallowed a mouthful of blood. At once, he felt the seabed beneath him shuddering. At first he thought it was dizziness, or perhaps another whirlpool about to give way to an undersea quake.
He forced his eyes open, and what he saw made him forget not only his fear, but even his pain.
From deep within the seabed, amid the sand and silt, he saw a sword.
A broken spear sinking in the sand—yet this sword’s body shimmered with a soft radiance, trembling gently. From it, circles of ripples spread outward through the water.
The more it trembled, the more violently the seabed shook. As the dust fell away from the blade, Yu Qishu realized that it was not broken, not cracked, not rusted. Its body was smooth as a mirror, clearly reflecting his own face.
What other sword could lie buried in Changchun Peak’s pond?
Though speech was impossible underwater, he sent his voice through spiritual transmission, trembling with excitement: “Endless Sky—is that you?”
The instant he said it, he regretted it. I actually sent my voice to a sword. Am I insane?!
“I am not crazy,” Meng Xueli repeated, within the Secret Realm.
Almost at the same time, Ji Xiao spoke: “I believe it.”
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
