Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter 71: Ancestral Discourse on the Sword

Sea of consciousness, banks of the River of Forgetfulness.

Yun Que stood with hands clasped behind his back, a heavy sword’s shadow suspended before him. With a flicker of thought, the sword surged forth, cutting like ocean waves. Opposite him, the Blind Serpent flicked its crimson tongue, deftly parrying each strike with the skill of a seasoned swordsman.

The two had sparred countless times, neither gaining the upper hand. Only when the sword’s light began to fade did Yun Que halt his cultivation.

Floating silently in midair, Kongwang was as silent as a specter—his face chiseled, expressionless, his tattered black robe rustling in the wind.

“Uncle Wang, how much longer must I practice the Blade Cleansing? What is the next realm in the Sword Path?” Yun Que asked, not out of impatience, but because he felt he had reached a bottleneck.

His clan’s ancestral sword art possessed intent but lacked form. Yun Que’s progress was slow, like a novice trying to comprehend a master’s soul without any written guidance. It was only his exceptional mind that kept him from losing himself entirely; anyone else would have gone mad.

Kongwang, in his black robes, finally spoke a cryptic phrase:

“The cord cannot be named; it returns to nothingness. Thus is the shape without shape, the image without substance.”

Yun Que frowned, pondering for a long time, growing ever more bewildered. He whispered, “Formless and shapeless, nameless and imageless, ceaseless yet empty…”

Kongwang’s words were strange: without beginning or end, endless and cyclical, shapeless and without substance—like the shape of what isn’t, certain that something is present but unable to grasp it.

Yun Que gave a bitter smile, feigning frustration. “Uncle Wang, I’m still young—I don’t understand. Can’t you explain it simply?”

Kongwang slowly shook his head.

Yun Que expected his stern teacher to refuse, only to hear, “I don’t understand it either.”

Yun Que’s face fell instantly.

He guessed the reason: the phrase was likely left behind by his ancestor, nothing more than a fragment.

Sure enough, Kongwang recalled, “Once, a peerless swordsman debated with our master. He boasted, expounding on more than a hundred sword arts, each one worthy of being called supreme. Our master listened in silence.

After finishing, the swordsman asked what our master’s sword path was. The master replied with, ‘The cord cannot be named; it returns to nothingness.’

The swordsman pondered for three days and nights, then left without a word, admitting defeat.”

As Kongwang finished, Yun Que felt a chill run through him.

Just a debate—no swords drawn—yet he made a peerless swordsman concede defeat. Such prowess was truly astonishing!

No wonder they called him the Celestial Sword Immortal…

But even immortals have descendants. Why didn’t he leave behind a simple sword manual for his heirs?

Yun Que grumbled inwardly, blaming his ancestor for such difficulties.

“The ancestral sword path is too arduous. Uncle Wang, can I practice the sect’s sword skills? Will learning other sword arts hinder my path?”

“The master once said: ‘All swords return to the same origin. Every sword art in the world is, in essence, but one sword. Practicing any sword art will not conflict with your own path.’”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Yun Que wailed, while Kongwang gave him a cold look that plainly said: You never asked.

Yun Que had gradually figured out his uncle’s temperament: stubborn, single-minded.

Thinking deeper, it was understandable. One of the Nine Tribulations—the Death Tribulation—was little different from living death.

Having learned that other sword arts would not hinder his own path, Yun Que gained new insight into his ancestor’s phrase: “The cord cannot be named; it returns to nothingness.”

The ancestral sword path placed intent above form; the two complemented each other, neither dispensable, and only when fully integrated could one achieve mastery.

Yun Que understood a simple truth:

There is no shortcut on the sword path—only diligent cultivation.

Geniuses shine because they constantly hone themselves.

At last, he understood why the second form in his ancestor’s sword path was called Blade Cleansing.

Only by cleansing the blade at all times can its edge remain ever sharp!

Awakening from his sea of consciousness, Yun Que stretched, his joints cracking.

As spiritual energy coursed through him, four magical weapons floated up: the two long knives and two daggers from the market’s Blood Savage. Instantly, the weapons transformed into four sharp beams, darting through the cramped room like agile fish.

Controlling four magical weapons at once was akin to wielding four swords simultaneously!

Yun Que had now reached the fifth level of Qi Refinement.

At the third level, he could wield two swords; at the fourth, three; at the fifth, four. With each advancement, he could control one more flying sword. If the pattern continued, by the tenth level of Qi Refinement, he could wield up to nine swords at once.

Nine swords unleashed simultaneously—not something achievable at the Qi Refinement stage. It demanded not only spiritual energy but deeper understanding of the sword path.

Half a month had passed since the celebratory feast at the Duke of Yu’s residence. For that entire time, Yun Que remained secluded, tirelessly cultivating.

Finally, after exhausting the remaining thirty spirit stones, nine Spirit Essence Pills, and the two superior flying swords from Xuan Wenyan, he advanced two more levels.

Half a month, rising from the third to the fifth level—such rapid progress would astonish anyone.

Of course, Yun Que had no intention of flaunting it.

In others’ eyes, he was still a humble sword servant unable to cultivate.

But now, Yun Que was no longer obscure. As the fiancé of Mu Qingyao, his name had spread throughout the Sword Palace.

When the news first broke, furious disciples gathered outside the North Courtyard, threatening to tear it down and bury the audacious sword servant who had sullied their goddess.

How could the first sword heir of the Southern Courtyard—the most beautiful woman in Yan—marry a mere sword servant?

And not just any sword servant, but the top-ranked jinx of Yan!

Intolerable!

The commotion was such that even the senior sister struggled to keep order, scaring Ma Yong and Niu Bucai half to death.

After learning about Yi Hongwen’s predicament, the rioting disciples vanished within moments, never again coming to the North Courtyard.

A hundred million taels of debt—a terrifying thought!

Sympathizing with Yi Hongwen, Mu Qingyao’s admirers now harbored deep apprehension toward Yun Que.

Their goddess could only be admired from afar; complaining was one thing, but shouldering a massive debt was another—no one was willing.

Yun Que knew none of this at the time. Only after half a month did he hear it from Wu Dachuan.

After half a month of cultivation, Yun Que had depleted all his spirit stones, pills, and flying swords. He urgently needed replenishment.

Moreover, his storage pouch was due for an upgrade.

Last time, the fish bones from ten golden pomfrets barely fit, leaving a lingering fishy odor. Anyone opening it now might think Yun Que was a fishmonger.

Besides the storage pouch, he needed a spirit beast pouch for live creatures.

A hundred corpse-eating insects kept in a sack was hardly convenient; they frequently squirmed in the corner. Yun Que didn’t mind, but he feared alarming others.

He had many needs, all of considerable value. Thus, after emerging from seclusion, Yun Que planned to visit the Sword Palace treasury.

He possessed plenty of soul stones, if nothing else.

He intended to bargain with the elder in charge, to see just how much he could exchange for a single soul stone.