Chapter 758: I Forever Prevail Over Myself

Pei Ye felt for the first time what it was like to be stared at by himself.

As if a thread of chill descended from his skull to the depths of his soul, drenching his whole body in cold, his grip on the sword momentarily numb.

‘Am I really this powerful?’ he thought.

He still seemed dazed, but the figure across from him had already surged forward in an instant.

A cry of alarm rose from the garden—this figure’s speed was utterly unlike the Deer Tail Shadow’s; the Deer Tail Shadow moved too fast to see, like a snake beneath leaves, but this figure’s speed was direct and straight, utterly unconcerned with the opponent’s gaze, as if demanding you see it clearly.

The gray shadow advanced, sword dragging, pressing the pond’s surface down an inch, sending countless glistening droplets leaping into the air.

Pei Ye stared coldly, leaned aside a step, reached behind his back, and drew his long sword into his hand.

But the gray shadow seemed to have anticipated his evasion—this sword never thrust out; though it stood squarely facing him, no motion was visible, yet the sharp tip flashed from his flank, grazing the blade Pei Ye had just drawn.

Pei Ye arched back to evade—the blade barely sliced through his chest’s fabric, severing a few strands of hair.

The gray shadow hovered before Pei Ye, its cold, soul-piercing gaze making him nearly dizzy—how many times had he stared at some doomed life beneath his sword with this same look?

Pei Ye could already foresee that after such a gaze, he would plunge into an abyss of death.

In the space of a single instant.

Sword arts unseen in the world unfolded one after another.

Suddenly, a crisp, icy white flooded the edge of Pei Ye’s vision… coming from the pond’s surface below.

In the third month of spring, the pond’s surface had somehow frozen into a thin layer of ice; beneath it, another world of ice and jade reflected—so quiet, so beautiful: the moon, ice shards, wounded feathers… This was the first time Pei Ye saw it from this angle; his body and mind emptied, as if he would fall into it.

It was still spreading beyond the pond.

Pei Ye halted his fall, but for an instant he lost all senses except sight.

Then it swept before him like a shadow of ink, blazing with fierce gray fire.

Its sword tip dipped, piercing the thin ice.

In the moment the blade touched water, Pei Ye felt tens of thousands of icy, razor-sharp swords aimed at him.

Countless droplets, suspended in air, like a frozen white rain.

Cold rain above, ice and snow below, concealing Pei Ye at the center.

Pei Ye felt almost no surprise—he could still perceive two hidden, unlaunched intent-swords, and one poised behind: White Dew’s Call.

These powerful sword arts moved effortlessly in his hands; he manipulated them with ease, squeezing them into a single narrow space.

And with just two or three moves, he could weave a killing realm.

The gray shadow hovered midair, sword trailing behind like the sharp tail of a swallow; Pei Ye stood firm, sword raised, gazing upward, sighing softly.

In a single blink, white pearls spilled like ink, ice and jade, wind and fire churned together—fragments of intent-swords and raindrops flew everywhere. The gray shadow’s blade carved a white line through this scene, piercing Pei Ye’s throat in an instant—then, in the next, two equally elegant, pure white wings sprouted from behind both the boy and the gray shadow, flapping gently as Pei Ye escaped the rain curtain, folding his wings to stand at the pond’s far edge; in the next instant, the gray shadow’s wings burst open behind him, a howling sword-light driving straight for his nape.

Pei Ye did not turn—he raised his long sword backward a moment earlier; a soft ‘ding’ echoed through the garden, blocking the strike.

He stepped forward two paces, leaving the sword’s domain, and stared intently at the gray shadow.

As Pei Ye had suspected, this was a mighty self, forever standing atop the peak.

Though he had resisted when He Zhao pulled him, Pei Ye had not been entirely unwilling to enter the pond.

First, Ning Shuhong was a friend he’d known before entering the Jian Academy; recently, she had spoken to him several times in frustration about this barrier. Though outwardly still the bold, radiant woman in red, her inner setbacks had not been hidden from Pei Ye or Wang Shousi. With this opportunity, Pei Ye had long been planning to help her.

Second, Pei Ye himself was genuinely intrigued by this sword problem.

As Deer Tail had said, ‘Long seated in stillness, finally grasping a true sword question’—this was the first thing Pei Ye had seen today that truly stirred his interest.

Even below, he had been pondering: Li Tishui said this so-called ‘Complete Self’ was painted by a heart-sword and a pure realm—what exactly did it contain?

He was destined to think deeper than others, because his ‘self’ truly contained more than others’.

Eventually, Pei Ye understood: the heart-sword mirror reflected one’s inner spirit; the entire realm modeled one’s outer form; and Yunlang’s Celestial Tower, with transcendent means, unified and restrained these two forces within this pond—thus, whoever stepped onto its surface received this gray shadow.

For most, one inner and one outer were all that composed them—but for Pei Ye, clearly not.

Now standing here, Pei Ye also understood what this gray shadow lacked.

West Courtyard Heart, Immortal Authority, Grant of Rations, Imperial Mandate Diagram… it could not even use Sleeve Tiger.

Or rather, not entirely without—it was a peculiar state: it clearly had no Grant of Rations to burn, yet possessed certain divine traits of Pei Ye’s Sleeve Tiger state, making its sword realm transparent, its strikes as ethereal as an immortal’s, subtly surpassing Pei Ye’s normal state. Pei Ye had sensed this during their earlier duel.

At this moment, Pei Ye already knew how to crush it: simply let any one thing it lacked exert even a slight effect, and a crack would form—and to kill a man through a crack, Pei Ye had always excelled, even against himself.

But that would be inappropriate.

Because that would break the heart-sword of Wen Suo Qu, not Ning Shuhong’s sword barrier.

As he himself had just said, ‘There are no clever shortcuts—only one way: to surpass yourself with yourself.’

And apart from these things, it possessed everything identical to Pei Ye.

The full suite of mysterious sword arts, uncanny sword sensitivity, peerless control, even profound sword understanding and icy calm at life-or-death moments—Pei Ye had fought countless powerful foes, but never before felt such utter helplessness.

Yet Pei Ye truly sought this helplessness.

He gazed at the gray shadow across from him; now, by unspoken accord, they paused for several breaths—the gray shadow watched him calmly, and Pei Ye knew it was weaving a net for him.

Secret, lethal—he still could not see it, but ‘Pei Ye’ forcing an opponent into certain death upon this pond was not difficult.

Pei Ye made no countermeasures. If the net was woven, he would surrender to death.

Because he had not come here to duel himself, nor to break Wen Suo Qu’s heart-sword. His sole purpose was to transcend the Complete Self—right here, upon this pond.

Only this path could solve the riddle; only this experience could be applied to Ning Shuhong’s sword barrier.

Pei Ye’s method was simple.

That morning, seated among the guests, he had watched thousands of sword forms, seen hundreds of swordsmen—all their swords laid bare before his eyes, structures clear, until he grew weary.

So he decided to try dismantling himself.

Not one sword form, not one round of swordplay—but a complete, thorough dismantling of his own sword self.

This was, of course, a difficult task—he did not know if he could complete it.

Everyone is trapped within the shell of ‘self,’ Pei Ye thought, and he was no exception; most times he never doubted his swordplay; sometimes he noticed his own flaws, but that was not him surpassing himself—the very notion defining what was wrong or right was himself.

That was why, that night, he could not understand how he had suddenly been lifted by Zhu Gaoyang’s single arm.

Now, with this clear vision of swordplay, Pei Ye realized—what if he observed himself entirely as an object?

What did he base his sword on? What was the logic behind each strike? Was it just as clear to others?

The howling sword-light struck again toward his left eye; Pei Ye raised his sword to deflect, stepped half a pace aside, and as the ‘ding’ of collision rang out, a thread of blood and severed hair drifted through his vision.

The gray shadow watched him calmly; he watched the gray shadow calmly.

‘Hello,’ he mouthed.

It stood like an immortal in its own world, arrogant from the moment it appeared; now, as it moved freely across the pond, it lavished its sword mastery—water, wind, even sunlight became its weapons; the pond’s surface was sliced into chessboard-like segments by its sharp sword intent.

The sword in its hand was authority itself.

Pei Ye was a leaf in a storm.

He had launched no single offensive; since entering the pond, he had forever maintained calm and peace; every attacking sword that neared him, he moved his body minimally, barely parried with his long sword—at the most effective point, always.

Only when utterly cornered did he use a sword art that made others pause, slipping away before anyone could comprehend.

The entire garden had fallen into absolute silence; Deer Tail’s grace, Shang Yunning’s cold vastness could not rival the awe of this scene upon the pond—in the heart-sword, ‘intent’ lay one layer shallower, so no intent-sword realm could envelop the garden, only reflect beneath the pond, influencing the two on its surface.

But now, the ice-jade shards had spread five or six zhang beyond the pond, frost dusting the spring grass.

The gray shadow’s sword was exquisitely sharp and beautiful—not the style of any school in the garden, or rather, outside this scene, you could never find such a sword.

And the boy seemed to die with every strike, yet walked as if in a tranquil courtyard.

Pei Ye observed every sword strike, analyzed every one—this feeling was peculiar; sometimes he could not tell if he was inside or outside, whether he watched his own sword or another’s.

But gradually, he grew adept.

It seemed a cold, rational self had crystallized, observing every sword movement before him.

‘This sword was bad,’ he thought.

‘Next strike, you’ll use it again,’ he thought again.

Gradually, he saw clearer, predicted more accurately—the gray shadow’s skin seemed peeled layer by layer, piercing straight to its core.

The gray shadow, of course, had not used all its sword arts; in truth, Pei Ye’s swordplay had always been precise and restrained, never mechanically applying fixed forms. When he did use them, it was always at a critical juncture—or to sever an enemy’s head.

By now, in this duel, the gray shadow had used only five sword arts.

Cloud Veil Obscures Eyes, Lost Feather; Divine Lord Washes Sword; Flying Feather Immortal; Collapsing Snow; and The Sudden Wind and Drifting Leaf from The Willow Sword.

At this moment, Pei Ye realized what deadly net these five swords wove.

Through these five utterly distinct sword arts, it had perfectly mirrored his own dueling logic.

It now realized its opponent was identical—so its next strike utterly surprised Pei Ye: it directly activated its heart-sword.

It was, of course, correct.

In prior duels, Pei Ye had lost many sword advantages by observing—his only path to victory lay in the realm of spirit.

And better still, they were already within one heart-sword.

Within a heart-sword, victory and defeat, advantage and disadvantage, directly reflected the height and depth of spirit; now, its sword pressed down on Pei Ye’s, so it naturally held the upper hand in the spirit-to-spirit struggle—thus, at this moment, it struck first with this heart-sword.

In an instant, Pei Ye could hardly tell if it was illusion—he was not solving a sword riddle on a sunlit sword banquet where victory or defeat mattered nothing, but truly facing his inner self; one moment of dizziness, and he would truly die beneath his own heart-sword’s cut.

The mirror’s clear hue seemed to waver, as if about to be replaced—a dreamlike, thin ice-color… nearly impossible to explain: within one heart-sword, another heart-sword had been born, its sharp sprout ready to pierce through the outer shell.

But everything was halted a moment earlier.

Pei Ye did not let this illusion of true and false trouble his thoughts.

Though the gray shadow used only five sword arts, they had clashed nearly a hundred times, with twelve thousand two hundred sword movements. In each movement, Pei Ye could sense its most essential pulse—and all those sword forms already existed in his memory.

He did not need to see them from the gray shadow—he knew perfectly how he himself would use them.

Since taking up the sword, he had learned thirteen notable sword arts.

The Open Door, The Willow, The Snowy Night Flying Goose, The Jade Fei Sword, Collapsing Snow, The Unbound, The Six Swords of Spring.

Now each one was clearly dismantled in his mind; never before had he understood so clearly how he would use each form—those flashes of insight now seemed devoid of mystery; his entire sword self had been thoroughly dissected.

The thin ice on the pond reformed; all he saw turned to jade-like ice color; the gray shadow gradually washed clean into a translucent shadow, holding a sword of translucent glass.

It swept toward him.

And when this self was dissected, Pei Ye was relieved to find everything matched his expectations.

He did not become a rational being, incapable of sensing fate or perceiving spirit to strike with his sword. All those fate-sensing blades he had deconstructed and clearly seen dissolved into new understanding, merging into his mind—he reshaped a singular, new self.

He was once again trapped within the shell called “self,” and now he felt omnipotent, convinced his swordplay was profoundly mysterious and utterly incomprehensible.

The only difference was that this shell was vastly, immeasurably larger than the last.

Breaking through the bottleneck of Fate-Sensing Sword was neither “die rather than choose,” nor replacing fate-sensing with rationality—Lu Wei and the other true disciples did not truly use Fate-Sensing Sword.

Only Pei Ye truly knew how to use it.

Fate-sensing itself could indeed be elevated, he thought; the Immortal Lord possessed the most unattainable fate-sensing in the world, and Grandpa Yue had not held a sword for the first time and immediately seen the blade bare-hearted.

Before countless eyes, within that realm of ice and jade, the gray shadow struck his throat with a swordlight utterly incomprehensible—the figure was exquisite and enchanting, like a dance.

Pei Ye, as always, strolled calmly and closed his eyes; as sensation arose, he lightly raised his sword and tapped.

Like chimes ringing, the gray shadow’s ice-jade blade shattered with a clear chime, then the shadow itself, then the entire still-forming realm of ice and jade.

Finally, the pool beneath his feet.

The crisp shattering sound echoed in everyone’s ears; once again, they saw that segment of the blade, reflecting blue sky and white clouds, being pushed back into its scabbard by an aged hand. The pond’s water rippled freshly, soaking the boy’s boots.

The garden remained silent for a long time.

To surpass a complete version of oneself was truly a fantasy.

Fortunately, since leaving Fenghuai, Pei Ye had done this many times.

(End of Chapter)