Chapter 5
Beyond the slightly ajar door of the bedroom, the only other room at the far end of the corridor remained. If nothing had changed over the millennia, that room should be where Xie Zhefeng stored some unused magical artifacts. There were no wards around the room; as long as one didn't touch the spiritual treasures or magical instruments, Xie Zhefeng would not be disturbed.
An Wuxue acted decisively, turned around, and quietly slipped inside. The room was filled with luminous pearls refined from fire spirits, neatly arranged magical instruments and spiritual treasures, each wrapped in various protective wards. The illumination was bright, and there was not a speck of dust in the corners.
Why did it feel as though people frequently came and went here?
Xie Zhefeng’s aura was drawing near.
He had no time to ponder further; he closed the door softly, took a gentle breath, and hurriedly suppressed his presence.
He had been careless.
His eagerness to leave the Falling Moon Peak blinded his prudence.
Even the gatekeeper disciples knew that at this very moment every year, Xie Zhefeng would unfailingly depart for three days. So he assumed the other would not return early.
Yet fate was cruel, and this time was an exception.
He could only gamble.
He gambled that Xie Zhefeng would not suddenly release his divine sense inside his own dwelling.
An immortal’s divine sense could sweep over the entire Frost Sea, leaving no creature or plant unseen.
An Wuxue had not used his spiritual power to resist the cold for a long time, and now his whole body was numb with cold. He could only stand motionless by the door, quietly spreading his divine sense to survey the movements outside.
Xie Zhefeng seemed to be heading toward the bedroom, his footsteps unsteady.
Was he injured?
No, his aura was stable.
Unsettled in mind?
In any case, that was good news for him.
As long as Xie Zhefeng remained distracted, either leaving the Frost Sea or entering meditation, An Wuxue could find an opportunity to slip away.
He breathed a slight sigh of relief.
Feeling more at ease, he swept his divine sense over the magical instruments and spiritual treasures, all enveloped in various wards.
He needed to note their locations carefully to avoid accidentally triggering any wards while hiding inside.
As his divine sense passed a corner—
Suddenly, An Wuxue saw something unmistakably familiar.
His thoughts went blank in an instant.
That was...
How could it be?
How could that thing be here?
He turned his head toward the direction where his divine sense had just glanced.
A sword rack stood against the wall.
The sword rack leaned against the wall, occupying its own space amid the room filled with countless spiritual treasures, the surroundings unusually empty.
The rack was made from a special spiritual stone, wrapped in spiritual energy, suspending a longsword as thin as a cicada’s wing in midair. Protected by wards, the sword was perfectly sealed.
He had not mistaken it.
This was what his divine sense had detected.
His bonded sword, Chunhua.
—
Chunhua was the spiritual sword chosen for An Wuxue by their shared master—former Immortal Venerable Nan He.
Nan He had ruled over the two realms for thousands of years, with many disciples at Falling Moon Peak.
But Nan He had only two apprentices—An Wuxue and Xie Zhefeng.
At first, Nan He had no intention of taking disciples.
But a thousand years ago, An Wuxue was born.
He came into the world in an unremarkable mortal village. At that time, the two realms had long been ravaged by immortal calamities—corpses lay everywhere, bones piled high, countless vengeful souls. Amid the chaos, the heavens bestowed a blessing—An Wuxue was that blessing.
—
He was born with a golden body and jade bones, blessed with exceptional talent for cultivation.
The moment the infant cried his first cry, spiritual energy gathered from all directions, forming a vortex. Clouds layered, and spirit beasts howled.
Coincidentally, several demonic cultivators passed by.
Demonic cultivators enhanced their power by cultivating the turbid energy of heaven and earth; otherwise, their cultivation methods were similar to ordinary cultivators.
A golden body and jade bones, if infused with turbid energy from childhood, would only aid demonic cultivation.
The demonic cultivators could not let him go.
The mortals sensed their ill intent.
They hid the infant, refusing to hand him over even at the cost of their lives.
In anger, the demonic cultivators slaughtered the entire village.
When Immortal Venerable Nan He sensed the surge of spiritual energy and arrived, he found corpses strewn everywhere, the air thick with a lingering scent of blood.
Vengeful souls, wrongfully dead, surged with resentment, stirring frost and summoning heavy snow. The falling snow mingled the dazzling white with the glaring red of blood.
Mortals’ resistance was but a mantis trying to stop a chariot; yet it delayed the demonic cultivators just long enough. Before they found the child, Nan He arrived and swiftly slew the low-level demons.
Nan He brought the child back to Falling Moon Peak.
—
From youth, An Wuxue was trained by Immortal Venerable Nan He and possessed the golden body and jade bones. Before the age of ten, he reached the stage of fasting.
When Xie Zhefeng joined the sect, An Wuxue was already moderately accomplished.
On the day he broke through to the Great Accomplishment stage, his master gifted him the Chunhua sword, saying, “After the snow comes the spring blossom; this sword suits you.”
Chunhua was a spiritual sword as gentle and peaceful as spring water.
Nan He hoped he would follow a path with a clear and enlightened Dao heart to ascend to immortality.
He once hoped so too.
But later, wielding Chunhua and accompanied by Xie Zhefeng to handle an issue with demonic cultivators refining souls, he discovered the vengeful spirits from the village that had perished long ago.
The spirits who once protected him were exploited by the demonic cultivators, their resentment forged into fierce ghosts.
An Wuxue grasped Chunhua tightly but could not release the exorcising sword strike.
When the fierce ghosts attacked, Xie Zhefeng struck the blow.
The sword’s light fell, freeing souls imprisoned for decades.
His junior fellow apprentice still wielded the ordinary spiritual sword common to Falling Moon Peak disciples. Turning back, he saw An Wuxue’s pale expression. The junior’s voice, unlike his usual cold tone, was firm: “Senior brother should be happy. They waited decades for this strike.”
Chunhua trembled lightly, emitting a pleasant sword hum.
That strike severed An Wuxue’s innate mental demons, but his junior apprentice planted another emotional tribulation deep in his heart.
From that day, Chunhua lost its gentle clarity, becoming sharp and fierce. Later, with Nan He’s demise and Falling Moon Peak’s decline, Chunhua stained countless bloodstains in his hands.
Standing before the mountain gate of Falling Moon Peak, shattering the soul of a cultivator, watching the crimson drip from Chunhua’s blade, he recalled Nan He’s words: “I pulled you from snowy ruins and corpses. I named you Wuxue and gifted you Chunhua, hoping you would hold this sword to protect the mountains and rivers of both realms, sweeping away all rootless snow. May your Dao heart be as clear and bright as spring after snow.”
He ultimately failed to fulfill that hope.
—
Countless memories passed through his mind in the blink of an eye.
Perhaps only he, this damned man, still remembered.
And this damned man now hid above the Frost Sea, outside the room, as Xie Zhefeng seemed to be heading towards the bedroom.
Yet An Wuxue suddenly felt an overwhelming unease.
Something was wrong.
What was it...
The sword!
A bonded sword was connected to its cultivator’s soul; where the heart moved, the sword followed.
He hadn’t sensed Chunhua before because it was sealed by Xie Zhefeng’s wards.
But just now, his divine sense brushed over Chunhua—
At that moment—
“Hum—”
Chunhua inside the wards trembled slightly, awakened by his divine sense!
This alone was not a problem.
As long as he did not deliberately awaken Chunhua further, his identity would not be exposed.
But Chunhua’s tremor triggered Xie Zhefeng’s wards!
At the same time,
A powerful surge of spiritual energy rushed in, flinging open the door and mercilessly striking An Wuxue’s front, instantly knocking him backward!
His body, only at the fasting stage, could not withstand the blow. He was slammed into the surrounding wards and spat out a mouthful of blood.
He staggered, not yet fallen, when a cold hand gripped his neck, pressing against his Adam’s apple.
An Wuxue gasped for air.
The chilling spiritual energy numbed his final body sensations. He was so cold that he lost all feeling; the spiritual energy he had suppressed surged instinctively.
Xie Zhefeng stood before him, palm pressed on his throat, needing no force—the surrounding spiritual energy could take his life in an instant.
His hands instinctively grabbed the man’s wrist.
The frigid spiritual energy swirled around them, stirring the faint spiritual power within An Wuxue’s body.
As Xie Zhefeng’s spiritual power brushed over his arm—
The Furnace Cauldron Mark, forcibly suppressed by An Wuxue, suddenly burned fiercely, recklessly tugging at his emotions.
It hurt.
It was cold.
It was hot.
And somewhat dizzy.
His fingertips pressed harder; the wrist beneath his touch, though cool, seemed to warm.
“Mm…”
Was that his own voice?
He quickly bit his lip.
The Furnace Cauldron Mark linked the two parties; Xie Zhefeng’s spiritual power faltered momentarily, his breath hitching.
The man’s expression darkened, his gaze heavy and laden with killing intent. His voice dripped with menace: “What are you doing here?”
An Wuxue’s breathing was faint; his heart pounded wildly.
“I… these past days, I couldn’t find the Immortal, the Immortal Venerable,” he struggled to speak, his voice trembling and broken, “the Furnace Cauldron Mark flared up, I… I wanted to find the Immortal Venerable, but couldn’t…”
Xie Zhefeng would kill without hesitation anyone harboring ill intent who infiltrated the Frost Sea. Yet he might overlook a favored Furnace Cauldron randomly wandering about.
The man glanced down at the flaring Furnace Cauldron Mark; the killing intent in his eyes seemed to waver for a moment.
Then—
“Cough…”
The hand pressing his throat tightened!
He once held this hand to teach the other to wield a sword, and led this hand across countless mountains of Falling Moon Peak.
Now, this hand gave him no breathing room.
In an instant, spiritual power surged from the man’s fingertips, killing intent returning with fury.
Xie Zhefeng seemed to have lost reason, forgetting he possessed the spiritual power of an immortal, holding An Wuxue’s neck like a mortal.
The wind blew in from outside, carrying Xie Zhefeng’s low voice: “You touched what you shouldn’t have.”
An Wuxue felt a metallic sweetness in his throat, pain all over his body.
The pain just surfaced, then was overtaken by burning heat; he trembled involuntarily.
In the blink of an eye, myriad thoughts flickered in his mind, yet everything seemed dark and intangible.
…What did I touch?
Chunhua…?
The feeling of impending death surged familiarly.
This was not the first time he had felt that boundless darkness approaching in the final moments.
No fear, only bitterness.
“An Wuxue” had been dead for a thousand years, yet this man was so heartless—he not only sealed his bonded sword but, in anger, the reason for his wrath over the Furnace Cauldron was not his intrusion into the Frost Sea, but that he touched Chunhua.