So this is what a sword cultivator is truly like?

Within the Palace of High Clouds, there stood a hall known as the Hall of the Immortal Shadow. Facing south, it welcomed the rising sun, yet such simple descriptions are of little importance. What matters is that this hall was built solely for the Supreme Saint Jianlin.

This Supreme Saint Jianlin was the only sword cultivator in the palace to have reached the state where the sword-heart shines with clarity. His cultivation had long since ascended to the upper golden core rank. According to the estimations of the Nascent Soul patriarchs of the palace, Jianlin would, at most, need ten more years to break through to the Nascent Soul stage.

For this reason, Jianlin’s status within the palace was nothing short of extraordinary.

The beautiful female cultivator who had delivered a book to Xiao Qingpei hailed from this very Hall of the Immortal Shadow. She was charged with managing all the hall’s mundane affairs, serving Jianlin with dedicated attention.

She rode a cloud toward the hall, descending before she reached its threshold. Before the hall floated a row of stone lotuses, hanging in midair without any visible support, as if rooted within the very void. These lotuses had been refined from a rare celestial treasure known as the Featherlight Spirit Stone, which could only be found near the most perilous places. For an ordinary cultivator, obtaining even a single piece and refining it would yield a precious artifact. Here, an entire row was used simply as stepping stones, a testament to Jianlin’s unrivaled standing—such extravagance befitted a figure half a step from being a patriarch.

The beautiful woman stepped lightly across the stone lotuses, making her way into the hall.

Inside, there was someone present: Supreme Saint Jianlin himself. His hair was as white as snow, giving him the appearance of an elder, yet his face was as smooth as an infant’s, without the slightest sign of age. But for the faint cloudiness in his eyes, none would guess he was approaching his hundredth year.

This was the mark of one about to live a second lifetime in the flesh.

Having reached the sixth level of the upper golden core and having devoted himself to the sword’s path, Jianlin, despite his extraordinary brilliance, could not evade the ravages of time. Yet, compared to other cultivators at the same level, he was remarkably young. While others might not reach this stage even in the twilight of a second life, Jianlin, in a single lifetime, stood at the threshold of the Nascent Soul.

“Uncle Master Supreme Saint!” The beautiful woman’s face lit up with joy upon seeing him, and she hurriedly reported, “I have already delivered the sword cultivation treatise to Junior Brother Xiao Qingpei.”

“I know,” Jianlin replied, nodding slightly, his expression frosty.

The woman was not troubled by this—she was long accustomed to it. Since arriving at the Hall of the Immortal Shadow several years ago to serve Jianlin, she had grown used to his distant manner, even in matters of intimacy.

It mattered little to her; serving at Jianlin’s side was all she wished for. She had heard that his temperament was shaped by the sword principles he cultivated. Toward all, even the Nascent Soul patriarchs, he bore the same icy countenance.

“Uncle Master Supreme Saint, is there anything else you wish of me?” she asked, her tone ingratiating.

“Mm. Remove your clothes,” Jianlin instructed with casual indifference, his sword-heart keenly sensing her devotion. Perhaps because he was soon to regain his youth, certain desires had begun to stir within him once more, as they had in his younger days. Such impulses could not be contained and needed release, which explained why the hall always retained beautiful women as stewards.

The woman showed no surprise at his request, only a trace of shy delight as she replied, “Yes, your disciple obeys.”

...

“So this is what it means to be a sword cultivator?” Xiao Qingpei closed the book in his hands, his face full of astonishment.

He had thought that the state of the sword-heart’s clarity, though an advanced realm, was merely akin to the “upper level” of the Qi refining stage—challenging, but attainable through diligence. After all, the divisions of sword mastery had nothing to do with one’s cultivation level, relying solely on personal insight—a sort of sword proficiency, if you will.

Yet, the book revealed that the clarity of the sword-heart was as difficult to attain as the Nascent Soul stage—not in terms of power, but in the challenge of cultivation itself.

Sword sense as the arm, soundless response, spirit entering the profound, clarity of the sword-heart—these were the stages of sword mastery. Beyond them lay the legendary Ancient Sword Immortal realm.

“Most sword cultivators reach only the level where their sword moves with their will, yet that alone grants a thirty percent increase in combat strength. Whether facing foes or adapting to changing circumstances, their prowess is greatly enhanced.”

Now Xiao Qingpei understood the origins of the sword cultivator’s fearsome reputation.

“Come to think of it, I can wield the Windbag and Spirit Alchemy Gourd as deftly as my own hand…” At this thought, Xiao Qingpei paused. Compared to being a ‘pouch cultivator’ or a ‘gourd cultivator,’ the title of sword cultivator was, without a doubt, far more dignified.

He began to ponder why that “strongest and most handsome cultivator” had sent him such a detailed treatise on sword cultivation, especially since they were not acquainted. Even within the Linwu Sect, no such comprehensive description of sword mastery could be found. Not knowing the source of a sword cultivator’s strength meant no one knew how to counter them—yet now, knowing their abilities lay with the sword itself, one could devise a targeted strategy.

“Could it be that my misguided comments in Cloudmud City drew his attention, prompting him to send me this book?”

Xiao Qingpei shook his head. The narrative of the first “female lead” had mentioned that this person was cold and indifferent to all, save her—never smiling at anyone else. A small, rather harmless joke he had made should not have drawn such a response.

He put the matter aside and turned back to the ancient texts on the Way of the Lunar Yin. Some were crafted from special celestial treasures; just holding them caused a faint increase in the lunar immortal power within him—subtle, perceptible only to someone with Xiao Qingpei’s formidable spirit sense.

He planned to spend several days reading through all these original texts, to gain a broad understanding of the cultivation world before the advent of pure yang immortal energy.

After all, if he truly remained earthbound for a thousand years without ascending, the cause must surely lie with that pure yang energy saturating the heavens and earth.