Chapter 100: The Ultimate Sword Dao: The Divine Sword!

The following days passed.

Li Hao stepped out of the Divine General’s Mansion and accompanied Bian Ruxue on a leisurely stroll through Qingzhou City.

He took her to eat delicacies, watch grand operas, and listen to storytelling.

They even went to a nearby lake outside the city, catching dragonflies and butterflies for her, then pressed a butterfly between the pages of a sword manual to make a specimen and gave it to her.

Neither of them were ordinary people, yet doing these simple, everyday things, they both wore full smiles.

While walking in the countryside, Li Hao brought paper, ink, and scrolls, painting dozens of portraits of Bian Ruxue—each with different backgrounds and angles, nearly a hundred in total, draining almost all his experience points.

But painting for her, Li Hao did not do it for experience.

Outside the city, it was not the Black Water Demon Lake that Second Master Li Mu had taken Li Hao to, but another small demon lake.

Li Hao brought a fishing rod to fish, while Bian Ruxue sat beside him, the white fox Xiao Rou curled in her lap, playfully nudging her.

When she grew tired, the girl propped her chin on both hands, quietly watching Li Hao fish.

Watching the boy’s intense gaze fixed on the fishing float, that same earnestness as in childhood, made her lips curl into a faint smile.

Before Bian Ruxue’s eyes, the courtyard of her childhood seemed to surface.

In that courtyard, while practicing swordplay, she would hear from a nearby pavilion the youthful, untainted voice calling out: “Oh no, Lin Shu, you placed it wrong again!”

“The piece doesn’t land in the square—it lands on the intersection!”

“Lin Shu, you lost again!”

Every time she grew weary from practice, she would look up toward the pavilion; seeing the boy’s figure gave her deep peace.

The joyful laughter felt as if it had happened yesterday, still echoing vividly in her ears.

The boy stared at the lake’s fishing float, while the girl stared at the boy’s profile—both seemed lost in thought.

Suddenly, the float moved.

The boy yanked the rod sharply, as if drawing a bow to full tension, and soon pulled up a fish demon of the Jihun Realm.

For demon creatures below the Jihun Realm, these sturdy metal rods and specially crafted lines were sufficient for fishing.

“Hao-ge is amazing!”

The dazed girl snapped back to reality, clapping and jumping with delight.

Li Hao smiled, killed the fish demon with a flick of air, tossed it behind him, and seeing nightfall approaching, reeled in his rod and pulled up the fish basket from the water—inside were several ordinary fish.

He released them at once.

Then he packed up his fishing stool, called to the white fox, and said to Bian Ruxue: “Let’s go home.”

“Alright.”

Bian Ruxue nodded with a smile, her hands clasped behind her back, skipping happily behind Li Hao as he carried all their purchases.

Smoke curled from mountain huts; the two by the lake returned home.

Their pace home was slow; passing the village outskirts, they came upon a melon patch.

Only a stray earth dog guarded the field. Li Hao smiled, sent Xiao Rou to distract the dog, then stealthily plucked a watermelon from another side.

He hugged it and ran off; once far enough, he tossed two taels of silver into the melon patch.

On a distant hill, Li Hao cracked open the melon, revealing its crimson flesh. He handed half to the girl; they shared it equally.

Li Hao had no such pretenses—he buried his face in the melon and devoured it, juice dripping everywhere.

Bian Ruxue, far more refined, gently pressed her sword hilt; the blade flashed silver, slicing the melon into crescent-shaped pieces.

She offered him a piece; he took it and ate.

“This kind of life… is truly comfortable,” Li Hao sat on the hill, leaning back on his palms, watching the setting sun dip beyond the horizon, its glow bathing the world.

Hearing Li Hao’s words, Bian Ruxue paused mid-bite, then smiled and said: “Yes.”

Li Hao smiled, finished his half, and Bian Ruxue gave two pieces to Xiao Rou; after they finished eating, they returned home together.

Seeing Li Hao and Bian Ruxue return late, their boots and pant legs caked in mud, Li Tiangang said to Li Hao:

“Take Xue’er to nice places when you go out, not those filthy, messy spots. And your fishing rod—when you go fishing, what about Xue’er? Won’t she get bored? Think of her more.”

Li Hao listened without expression, as if smiling faintly, nodded, uttered a single “Mm,” then turned away.

Bian Ruxue quickly said to Li Tiangang: “Uncle, I was the one who asked to watch Hao-ge fish. He’s very good at it, and he truly loves fishing—I can tell.”

Li Tiangang deeply loved and cherished this future daughter-in-law; his gaze softened as he said: “I know he loves it, but you’ve returned only rarely—you can’t always let him have his way, always follow him. If one day I’m gone, and you keep being this gentle, you’ll suffer.”

“Uncle, don’t say such things—you won’t have any trouble,” Bian Ruxue hurriedly replied.

Li Tiangang smiled. “Good Xue’er, don’t worry about me. Think more of yourself.”

Bian Ruxue paused slightly, then nodded. “I will.”

Several more days passed.

Li Hao accompanied Bian Ruxue around the city, and just then a temple fair began in the western quarter. The two went to enjoy it—watching silver trees of sparks, folk acrobatics, and shadow puppetry.

As the fair neared its end, they still felt unsatisfied.

Li Hao carried a full load of purchases; he had no attendants or personal guards trailing him, so neither he nor Xue’er would feel uneasy.

“Had fun?”

Sitting on a roadside stone, shoulders touching, they watched the sunset glow beyond the city walls. Li Hao smiled.

“Yes.”

Bian Ruxue’s eyes sparkled with joy.

Li Hao turned his head, gazing at her profile. He had to admit—there were still faint traces of her childhood contours, yet also changes. She had grown, matured.

And become even more radiant and brilliant.

Yet brilliance, though beautiful, demands a price.

Like a meteor—how dazzling, yet fleeting, burning its entire life in an instant.

Li Hao watched silently; the two sat quietly together.

After a moment, Li Hao said: “Do you want this kind of life to last forever?”

Bian Ruxue froze, turned her head, and looked at Li Hao.

Their gazes met; each held unspoken depths.

Slowly, Bian Ruxue turned away, her face breaking into a relaxed smile. “Of course I do.”

“Really?” Li Hao asked, his eyes flicking to the sword in her hand.

Never parted from her side.

Bian Ruxue’s smile faded slightly; in that moment, she realized Li Hao had sensed something.

She sighed inwardly.

“Hao-ge, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”

Bian Ruxue turned back, gazing at Li Hao again. Her relaxed smile was gone; her brows were lightly furrowed, sorrow and helplessness in her eyes.

Li Hao fell silent; the faint hope in his heart slowly sank.

Seeing Li Hao’s silence, Bian Ruxue’s words suddenly spilled out. She sighed, lowered her head, and spoke to herself: “I know you’ve been kind to me, Hao-ge. Your kindness—I can never repay you.”

“But I want to see, to try—to see what the pinnacle of swordsmanship looks like, to test whether I can reach the summit.”

When she spoke of the sword, her soft, subdued voice carried an unshakable resolve.

Li Hao’s lips moved slightly, but he said nothing.

He simply watched the girl’s lowered head. At this moment, beyond the familiar contours of her face, Li Hao saw another familiar thing.

The same gaze as countless geniuses rushing toward glory—eyes burning like moths drawn to flame.

“Actually, once you’ve seen that view, you’ll realize that our ordinary, humble life now is the happiest,” Li Hao whispered, as if sighing.

Had these days of joy been outweighed by that swordheart?

Bian Ruxue looked up at the sunset. “Maybe. But if I don’t see it, I’ll never be at peace. I want to see the ultimate of swordsmanship—I want to see the Divine Sword, as my Master described it!”

“The Divine Sword…”

Li Hao shook his head with a faint smile. Countless swordsmen had existed since ancient times, and this notion had long been passed down.

The world held countless sword techniques, countless schools, countless stances—each had reached its extreme.

Yet none of these were the ultimate of swordsmanship!

The ultimate of swordsmanship is called the Divine Sword. No one knows its drawing posture. No one knows how it is swung or thrust.

No one knows if it truly exists.

But countless people believe: if one could awaken such a sword, it could slay gods, sever ghosts, exterminate demons, subdue evils, cut down all things under heaven, split sun and moon, fill the oceans!

Such a sword—this is the ultimate pursuit, the ultimate goal of every swordsman.

Li Hao had read in the Rain Listening Tower of many masters’ deeds, even past Sword Saints’ records—all documented how they exchanged, sparred, and fought to comprehend this technique. The legend of the Divine Sword spread most widely eight hundred years ago, when sword cultivators were most obsessed, even driven mad by it.

But later, the whispers faded, for no one had ever awakened it. Thus, it became legend.

After a topic is debated for centuries, people grow tired. No one argues or explores it anymore.

Yet now, this girl before him—she held such a thought, such a wish.

Had that old man planted it in her? Li Hao thought of the elder who had refused him. He had felt neither fondness nor dislike toward him before—but now, a flicker of anger stirred.

“Did your Master teach you this?” Li Hao asked.

Sensing the slight weight in his tone, Bian Ruxue’s expression changed. She glanced at Li Hao, then shook her head. “No. My Master only mentioned it in passing—it’s what he seeks, but he never forced us. This is merely my own path I wish to walk.”

“I see.”

Li Hao’s anger subsided. “If you wish to cultivate the sword, I can accompany you. And I can teach you.”

Bian Ruxue recalled the events of their childhood courtyard.

She sighed inwardly. Today was no longer yesterday.

“The Divine Sword has no rules, no records—it’s only legend. It cannot be taught. Perhaps only when someone truly unleashes it will its form become tangible.”

Bian Ruxue whispered, “I know you also wield a sword, but this blade has already entered the Dao—neither my master nor anyone else can teach it. Only by devoting a lifetime to contemplation and exploration might one glimpse even a fraction of its truth.”

Li Hao fell silent.

Indeed, her teacher was a Sword Saint; she had no need for his instruction.

He looked at the girl, fixing his gaze upon her: “Have you truly given your heart entirely to the sword?”

To enter the Dao of the sword is to become obsessed, yet obsession and madness still lie apart.

Only one who truly loves the sword would be like this.

Bian Ruxue met Li Hao’s gaze—this time, she did not look away. When it came to the sword, she refused to evade or hide.

“Yes. That’s why I want to go see it.”

“But what if you can’t see it?” “Then I want to try.”

“Countless swordsmen have sought it in vain—it’s merely a legend, something no one has ever achieved. Will you abandon the happiness now within your grasp for such a fleeting myth?”

Li Hao stared at the girl before him, unable to understand. He had already entered the Dao in many arts, yet never become so obsessed.

Bian Ruxue fell into a brief silence before saying, “If I don’t climb even once, I may regret it for the rest of my life!”

Li Hao couldn’t help but smile, then sighed.

How many loves, grudges, sorrows, and passions in this world stem from this refusal to let go?

Yet flowers bloom again in spring, but youth never returns…

Li Hao sighed and asked, “What were your original plans?”

Seeing Li Hao sigh repeatedly, Bian Ruxue’s eyes softened with pity, yet she still bit her lip and said:

“In my sect, there are two paths: the mortal world and the Dao of the sword. Technically, one could pursue both simultaneously, but in truth, that still counts as choosing the mortal world.”

“Because the Dao of the sword is pure. It is singular.”

“Only the singular can reach perfection!”

She spoke softly: “When I left the mountain, I already made my decision. I intend to spend time with you first, then continue refining my swordcraft.”

“When the time comes…”

Her tone softened, her cheeks flushed faintly. She stole a glance at Li Hao, saw him watching her, and quickly turned away: “When you’re ready to marry and start a family, I’ll return and become your wife, bear your children.”

Li Hao heard this, but inside, he only sighed—he knew she hadn’t finished.

“And then?” he asked.

“Then I’ll continue pursuing my Dao of the sword,” Bian Ruxue said, the blush on her cheeks fading as she spoke seriously.

Li Hao understood her plan. “But marriage and children will cost you a year. That’s no longer total devotion.”

Bian Ruxue nodded. She knew this well.

To truly pursue perfection, the best path was to sever ties with Li Hao completely.

To live only with the sword.

But childhood memories made her unable to cut that bond.

That debt was too great.

She knew that without Li Hao’s help back then, she might never have had the chance to pursue the sword—never even met her Sword Saint master.

The Li family used their finest Foundation Establishment elixir, the best exotic blood to shape her sinews and bones. Li Hao himself gave her the ultimate blood extracted from the three-thousand-year demon corpse Li Tiangang had slain on the border.

Only thus was her unparalleled Ninth-Rank potential forged—only thus did she gain the chance to pursue the Dao of the sword.

How could she forget such a debt? To forget it would leave her heart incomplete—and her sword, too.

How then could she ever reach the peak, become the ultimate swordswoman?

So even if it meant sacrificing a year, she was willing.

Bearing Li Hao’s child was her deepest wish—the only way she could repay him.

“Have you truly decided?” Li Hao looked at her.

“I have,” Bian Ruxue said seriously.

Li Hao’s lips twitched slightly. He knew persuasion was useless.

She had already given her heart entirely to the sword.

He couldn’t help but sigh, feeling a touch of absurdity.

Four years of snow and wind together in that courtyard—yet they meant less than eight years of her companionship with the sword.

Yes, perhaps in time, he had only ever been half.

How could he ever compare?

But he was alive. The sword was not.

He thought of the courtyard’s nights, and the bright Milky Way above them.

He thought of the first time he saw that tearful little girl, soothing the wound left by her father’s death.

He thought of that sunlit day, two small hands linking fingers in the courtyard, making a promise: “You must be good. No matter where I go, I’ll come back.”

“Pinkie swear.”

“No changing your mind. Whoever breaks it’s a puppy.”

“Alright, alright.”

Who could have guessed that the child who had laughed and casually promised that day had truly meant it?

Each letter flown from the southern sword hermitage was like an ellipsis after a vow—unfinished, continuing.

Yet the one in the courtyard still waited for spring to come, while the girl nine thousand miles away had already given her heart to the sword.

Li Hao had never imagined that the little girl who left with her master would truly go so far.

Perhaps that day, he had been too happy—mistaking her farewell for a promise…

Li Hao also recalled a day years ago, fishing by the lake. Second Master Li Mu, unable to resist the boy’s unparalleled talent, taught him his secret art.

“Half-Step Invincible Fist.”

The old master finished teaching and asked: “Do you know why I call this fist ‘Half-Step’?”

The boy guessed: “Did you only finish half of it?”

The old master shook his head with a smile: “Everyone thinks so, but that’s not true. Half-Step is the complete version.”

The boy asked: “Then why call it Half-Step?”

The old master said: “Because only half-step makes one invincible.”

The boy didn’t understand.

The old master continued: “When a man takes a full step, he loses control of his force. If the enemy dodges, he falls into his own trap… Life is the same. Don’t take things too seriously—otherwise, you’ll lose control of your heart.”

Don’t take things too seriously—otherwise, you’ll lose control of your heart…

Only now did Li Hao finally understand: "Half-Step" was not literal—it was an artistic conception.

The fist was like this. Life was like this.

Otherwise, you’d reveal your weakness…

Li Hao looked up at the fading afterglow of the sunset and let out a long sigh.

Bian Ruxue heard his sigh, and her heart trembled slightly—as if something were slipping away.

She clenched her sword tightly, then slowly loosened her grip. Perhaps this outcome had long been expected—why grieve now?

She steadied her emotions, looked up at the boy before her, radiant as a star and moon, and asked lightly: “When did you realize?”

Li Hao slowly withdrew his gaze, watching the girl’s cheeks glow like twilight—beautiful enough to steal the soul—but his eyes held only a smile, not lingering. “Perhaps… a very long time ago.”

“A very long time ago…” Bian Ruxue froze, then frowned at him: “Why?”

Li Hao smiled, but gave no explanation.

The content of those letters, their frequency—enough to reveal something. Humans are emotional creatures; they sense emotion keenly.

Including her descent from the mountain: she didn’t head straight for the Li estate, but first tried to conquer the Mo River.

The Mo River had already seeped in; the village was destroyed. The civilians trapped within would die—whether conquered now or later made no difference, only mood mattered.

“When you returned to the estate this time, did you truly enjoy me showing you around Qingzhou?” Li Hao asked.

Bian Ruxue nodded slightly. “I did.”

“Good.”

Li Hao nodded too, then smiled—but that smile lacked something.

She was truly happy. Yet it could not reclaim a heart that had already raced far away.

Half-step… half-step… why had I taken one step too far?

Li Hao shook his head and smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” Bian Ruxue asked.

Li Hao’s gaze settled on the twilight. “I laugh because the scenery is beautiful. But people are so busy—passersby rush past. Who has the leisure to look up?”

Bian Ruxue fell silent. She knew his words weren’t about passersby—they were about her.

So she spoke for the “passersby”: “Maybe they’re struggling for survival, chasing ideals… You’re the one who taught me the word ‘ideal’.”

Li Hao burst into laughter, then suddenly stood up as if filled with grand passion: “You’re right!”

But then he added: “Still, if you truly want to, you can always spare a moment to look up. It’s just a matter of willingness.”

“But what’s the point?”

“Of course there’s a point. Isn’t the purpose of life to have that moment of looking up?”

It seemed they had both taken the matter seriously—and then both fell silent.

How long passed, no one knew.

Li Hao’s face had shed all emotion, now tinged with weariness. “I’m tired from today’s stroll. Go back now.”

Bian Ruxue fell silent for a moment, then nodded lightly and rose to her feet. “It’s getting late; we should have dinner in the courtyard. Come back soon—don’t make your uncle wait too long.”

Li Hao’s lips curled slightly.

“I waited for him fourteen years. What’s a little longer for him to wait?”

Bian Ruxue froze, lips parting as if to speak, yet found no words.

Suddenly, a strange, sharp pain welled up in her heart.

She had never felt this while practicing swordplay.

When she trained, she was pure—but now, she was not.

Bian Ruxue left first. Li Hao sat where he was, arms full of snacks and carnival toys he had bought at the temple fair.

Seeing that the girl had taken nothing, Li Hao couldn’t help but smile.

If she truly liked them, how could she leave without taking even one?

She had merely taken up that sword—and herself—departing like a gentle breeze.

Could a sword truly hold such allure? Li Hao looked up, wondering: if he ever had the chance, he too would climb to the peak of this sword Dao.

To see how many swordmasters’ bones lay buried beneath that sheer cliff.

And atop that ultimate peak—was there truly a divine sword strike? The evening glow stained the sky, like blood-dripping orange peel. Today’s sun was about to set…

(End of Chapter)