Chapter 2358: The Aloof Sword Cultivator and His Bound Sword Spirit 02

The rear courtyard of No-come Peak.

It is surrounded by a deep dark-green Zhu Lin.

Bamboo shadows sway, filtering dappled sunlight, making this place even more secluded, as if cut off from the world.

Deep in the Zhu Lin, a figure in plain white is practicing swordplay.

Xie Qingmo wears a snow-colored narrow-sleeved long robe; his sleeves flutter with his sword moves, like flowing clouds, like crane feathers.

His dark hair is half-bound with a jade pin; a few strands brush over his cold, frost-like profile, his eyes reflecting the green of the Zhu Lin, yet without a ripple.

When practicing swordplay, his movements flow like clouds and water; each thrust emits a piercing whoosh, unmatched in sharpness, his sword qi stirring the surrounding bamboo leaves into a flurry.

Xie Qingmo stops, lowering his gaze to his sword.

A sense of stickiness lingers between his fingertips and the sword hilt, as if a subtle rift has formed between him and his life‑bound sword of many years.

He lightly turns his wrist, preparing to withdraw his stance and regulate his breath, recentering his mind.

Suddenly, an anomaly occurs.

The sword in his hand—a silvery blade etched with flowing cloud patterns, the Morning Sword—suddenly trembles incessantly, breaking free of his grip, flying out and turning into a stream of light that shoots straight into the Zhu Lin above.

Hum—

A clear, resonant sword cry echoes through the Zhu Lin, an invisible wave of air exploding outward with a boom centered on the blade.

In an instant, a fierce wind rises; countless verdant bamboo leaves are violently swept up, filling the sky, blocking the sunlight and blurring Xie Qingmo's vision; his white robe flaps loudly in the gale.

After a few breaths, the wind ceases and the leaves fall.

Heaven‑filled emerald leaves descend like rain, and the Zhu Lin returns to calm.

Amid the falling shower of bamboo leaves, a youth in dark‑black attire appears silently, his dark hair pulled high into a ponytail by a hairband, the ends brushing his shoulders as he tilts his head slightly.

His features are handsome, with sword‑shaped brows and starry eyes; a faint natural smile plays at the corner of his lips, exuding a carefree, unrestrained youthful vigor.

Xie Qingmo looks alertly, then suddenly frowns in surprise.

He has never seen this person before.

No-come Peak's rear courtyard, especially the area near his dwelling, has always been forbidden—how could this person slip in soundlessly?

Jin Chen stands with arms crossed, leisurely amid the bamboo leaves strewn on the ground, openly gazing at Xie Qingmo.

【Detected world‑line villain, triggering Blackening Value; current Blackening Value: 60!】

Xie Qingmo's gaze turns colder, the chill around him intensifying; he flips his wrist, and the Morning Sword that had just lost control turns into a stream of light returning to his hand.

He raises the sword tip, pointing it straight at the black‑clad youth before him, his voice clear and aloof.

"Who are you?"

Jin Chen looks at the icy sword tip aimed at him, tilts his head slightly, and deepens that hint of a smile, revealing a touch of mischief.

He raises his chin at Xie Qingmo in a provocative manner.

Xie Qingmo: "……"

His brows knit tighter; he completely fails to understand the youth's strange body language.

The intent to expel him grows stronger, and his voice turns even colder.

"Who dares intrude upon No-come Peak, and where do you come from?"

Jin Chen then slowly lifts his hand; his long fingers first point to his straight nose bridge, and he says clearly, "I am Jin Chen."

Then, turning that finger, he points precisely at the Morning Sword tightly gripped in Xie Qingmo's hand, his tone matter‑of‑fact.

"From here."

Xie Qingmo is astonished, lowering his gaze to the Morning Sword in his hand; the blade trembles slightly, transmitting a faint resonance.

"A sword spirit…"

Xie Qingmo instinctively guesses, yet finds it hard to believe.

"Feel me."

A clear, youthful voice rings deep in his mind.

At the same time, a sword intent sharing the same origin as his own sword qi, yet more lively and agile, seeps through the hilt, winding thread by thread up his fingertips and finally flowing into his sea of consciousness.

The unique soul‑throb of his life‑bound sword also comes along.

For a sword cultivator to nurture a sword spirit from his life‑bound sword is a fortune countless cultivators dream of but never attain.

For hundreds of years, no one has heard of a new sword spirit being born.

Xie Qingmo is usually restrained, rarely showing emotion, yet now he can barely keep his feelings in check.

Jin Chen notices this change, furrows his brows, and voices a hint of grievance.

"You've been in a bad mood lately, and it's been affecting me."

He points to his own chest, then to Xie Qingmo, saying, "Heavy and gloomy—you're suffering."

Xie Qingmo blinks slightly, then lowers his eyes.

Indeed, during those days when close kin abandoned him, leaving him heart‑broken and dispirited… it turns out even his sword shared that heaviness.

His eyes mixed with apology, he whispers, "……Sorry."

Though his voice is faint, it carries a rare warmth.

Jin Chen immediately perks up, steps forward, and says, "Who bullied you? I'll beat them back for you."

Xie Qingmo looks at the boy's pure concern and vigor, feels a sour note, and slowly shakes his head, "No need."

Those hurts have long been shut out by him.

Jin Chen looks at him, then grasps the fingers of Xie Qingmo's sword‑holding hand.

"Your mindset was unsteady just now—feel my sword intent."

What comes through his fingertips is pure sword intent, without any stickiness.

This feeling is too wondrous; Xie Qingmo finds it hard to adapt to this sudden, intimate contact that transcends the usual swordsman‑sword rapport.

But the sword Dao instinct overwhelmed everything.

He twitched his fingertip, brimming with anticipation.

"Come."

Sword Qi rose again.

The white-clad figure flitted among the emerald bamboo, merging with Jin Chen's uninhibited, free-spirited essence, losing a touch of solitude and gaining a touch of liveliness.

Jin Chen leaned sideways against the emerald bamboo, relaxed, casually plucking a sharp-edged bamboo leaf and bringing it to his lips.

A clear, lingering leaf flute tune, off-key yet full of wild charm, sounded, intertwining with the sword's whistle and the wind's chant.

Suddenly, the leaf flute sound stopped abruptly.

Jin Chen straightened his body, staring intently at Xie Qingmo, wanting to speak but hesitating, his eyes smiling.

Xie Qingmo sheathed his sword and stood, looking at Jin Chen, "What's wrong?"

Jin Chen licked his lower lip, staring fixedly at him, "You're sweating."

"Salty."

Xie Qingmo: "……"

He couldn't believe what he had heard.

A near-panicked crimson spread rapidly from his ears to his neck.

Xie Qingmo, who had lived so many years, cultivating austere and painstakingly, had never heard such a blunt, familiarly toned evaluation.

Especially since these words came from the mouth of his bound sword spirit.

Xie Qingmo almost wanted to throw his sword away at once, as if it were a hot potato.

"You..." he tried to maintain his usual cold reprimand, but found his voice tightening, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Jin Chen looked at his rare flustered state and finally responded, "We can sever the shared feeling,"

"Don't be angry."

As his words fell, Jin Chen casually snapped his fingers.

Xie Qingmo drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his heart's flutter, striving to steady his voice.

"From now on... don't share feeling casually."

But hearing this command, it carried a hint of sternness masking weakness.

Jin Chen acquiesced with an "oh," appearing extremely obedient, as if his earlier misbehavior had nothing to do with him.

He tapped his toe, lightly leaping onto the sideways bamboo branch and sitting down, his dark robe's hem hanging down, forming a stark contrast with the emerald bamboo.

"Alright, you continue."

Xie Qingmo lifted his gaze, seeing the boy's smile clean and bright, full of vigor, yet no longer able to view him as an ignorant, naive newborn spirit.