Chapter 47: One Sword Calls Her Sister

Qingzhou, north side of Pingfeng Mountain, wild forest.

As night poured across the sky, mountain mist rose within the dense woods, drifting like thin gauze between the peaks.

In a wild lake here, frog croaks began rising incessantly, sounding agitated and uneasy.

At this moment, a caravan escorting four carts moved through the forest under cover of night; all riders wore black cloaks, appearing utterly mysterious.

On the cliff beside the caravan’s path, twenty-seven disciples of Lingjian Mountain perked up instantly, their drowsiness vanishing.

Several days ago, a group of outsiders traveling through Qingzhou vanished without cause.

Zhuo Wanqiu received a secret order from the mountain gate, rushed here, investigated relentlessly, and finally uncovered traces pointing to this forest.

Soon after, Song Ziheng, an outer-court disciple from the mountain, arrived hurriedly and joined them; the group had lain hidden here for three days, and now they had finally found their trail.

But just then, Zhuo Wanqiu noticed Song Ziheng quietly drawing his sword.

“Younger brother, what are you doing?”

“Opportunity won’t knock twice—of course we stop them and demand to know where they took the missing disciples.”

Song Ziheng was already gathering sword qi, his eyes glinting with cold light.

Zhuo Wanqiu frowned tightly: “Anyone capable of abducting thirteen outsiders must have an Upper Fifth Realm expert. The mountain’s secret order was to watch this place—do not alert them!”

“Just subdue one—perhaps we can extract usable information.”

“I’m in charge of this mission. Are you refusing to obey orders?”

Song Ziheng turned to Zhuo Wanqiu, fell silent for a long moment, then released his sword hilt.

Yet as the carts drew nearer to the cliff and their aura became perceptible, he couldn’t help secretly gathering sword qi again.

For he realized the five men escorting the carts were merely at the peak of Refining Transformation, one realm below his own Full Lower Third Realm.

He glanced at Zhuo Wanqiu, sword qi still gathering.

This senior sister might not know—he was the most gifted outer-court disciple of Lingjian Mountain.

Since entering the mountain, he had passed through the Forest of Ancient Sword Intentions; now he had gathered three Dark Lights, the Upper Fifth Realm within reach, the Inner Court’s seat as good as in his palm.

But the Inner Court was merely a threshold—Song Ziheng truly desired the position of direct disciple to one of the Three Peak Masters.

Before coming to Qingzhou, he had inquired: this operation was personally overseen by a high-ranking figure on the mountain—he needed a chance to catch a Peak Master’s eye.

Yet five Refining Transformation peaks…

Song Ziheng gripped his sword hilt, then lunged out in one sudden burst the instant the caravan passed beneath him; sword qi slashed down like lightning, a blinding blade of light tearing through the night.

The blade swept past, sword hum vibrating—then a head flew through the air.

Success!

Song Ziheng immediately leapt back to retrieve his sword, but four gleaming long knives instantly met him head-on, moving with astonishing speed.

He surged spiritual energy beneath his feet, dodging with a thunderous crash, then laughed aloud and charged forward with his sword.

Amid flashing blades and clashing steel, the air crackled with killing intent.

The four knife-wielders struck with terrifying speed, their knife-light weaving into a net, pressing forward; knife qi erupted like shattered mountains.

Song Ziheng’s eyes flared in fury, his sword meeting all four knives at once; sword qi crisscrossed, sparks flew, metallic clangs rang endlessly.

But with this clash, the smile on Song Ziheng’s lips slowly froze.

The Lower Third Realm is called the Self Realm—advancement means only increased speed and strength.

Yet now, these four Refining Transformation peaks displayed an unusual force—each knife cut carried a rending momentum, wind like a storm’s wrath.

Song Ziheng frantically channeled spiritual energy into his blade, unleashing a violent burst of light to meet them again.

In the instant the sparks flew, his heart lurched.

For he realized that as the four men swung their knives, a thick, oppressive aura began spreading—and the mountain-splitting blades grew heavier with each strike, finally weighing a thousand jin, threatening to shatter his bones.

I’ll die…

If this continues, I will surely die.

Song Ziheng’s expression twisted with fear, his courage crumbling with every strike.

One slash, two slashes, three slashes… eight slashes!

As the knives before him now weighed like mountains, Song Ziheng knew he could not withstand the next blow.

In desperation, he suddenly unleashed a violent sword qi, slashed outward, then spun and sprinted toward the cliff where the others hid.

Zhuo Wanqiu watched the scene, furious but too late to scold—she drew her sword instantly.

“Damn it!”

“All disciples, follow me to rescue him!”

Twenty-seven disciples immediately soared through the air, their swords descending like shards of frost.

The four knife-wielders were clearly strange—their physical strength was no match for Refining Transformation peaks.

Yet even so, outnumbered, they had no chance to build momentum; amid the clang of steel and blade, Lingjian Mountain disciples drove them back step by step.

Zhuo Wanqiu’s heart eased slightly—though they had disobeyed the mountain’s orders, the situation still seemed controllable.

But then, she glimpsed a blinding golden light surging into the sky, like a colossal golden wheel hanging in the heavens, melting the surrounding night.

At that moment, the carriage driver seated in the lead cart rose into the air, his body radiating spiritual light.

“Another one?!”

“Senior sister—it’s a Fusion Dao expert…”

In the dark forest, all stared upward, faces ashen with disbelief.

They never imagined such a small caravan would carry a Fusion Dao expert as its driver.

A trap?

No, impossible.

No outsider knew of their ambush—only Song Ziheng’s eagerness for glory had exposed them.

Moreover, if a Fusion Dao expert wanted to kill them, why bother with a trap?

The only possibility: this Fusion Dao expert was truly just a driver—what kind of caravan was this?

As Zhuo Wanqiu pondered, her face turned deathly pale beneath the blazing golden light; a furious gale slammed into her, killing intent swirling through the night.

With a thunderous crash, a punch of roaring intent plummeted down—five disciples directly ahead had their swords shattered, flung violently backward.

The cloaked Fusion Dao expert then gathered another fist, as if holding thunder and fire, like a celestial god.

“Run, flee now!”

“Senior sister…”

“Escape immediately—report to the mountain.”

Zhuo Wanqiu raised her sword, gritted her teeth against the crushing pressure, then slashed sideways.

This was suicide—Zhuo Wanqiu knew it, and so did her disciples—but they had no other choice.

Yet just then, an even greater pressure erupted from the distant forest, causing the Fusion Dao expert’s body to freeze rigid.

The next instant, wind howled across the distant mountains, withered trees bent double—a colossal sword intent rose into the moonlit sky.

With a clear, piercing sword cry, the airborne sword intent shot forward, impaling the Fusion Dao expert and carving a deep gash into the cliffside, churning up earth and dust.

When the dust settled, they saw the Fusion Dao expert had lost one arm but still breathed, gasping desperately.

Lingjian Mountain disciples turned in shock—then saw a woman soaring through the air, wreathed in spiritual radiance, ethereal as a celestial being.

She reached Full Realm at ten, entered the Upper Fifth Realm the next year; no one dared call her cute, for she wielded Lingjian Mountain’s sharpest blade.

Among the seven immortal sects’ direct disciples, she was the only one who already held the Dao’s sacred artifact before becoming sect leader.

For all knew she represented Lingjian Mountain’s fate for the next hundred years.

Tonight, she arrived from Shengjing, and her first sword cut slew a Fusion Dao expert.

The twenty-two stunned Lingjian disciples quickly recognized her identity, immediately knelt on one knee—yet fear still lingered on their faces.

All knew a senior figure from the Inner Court would come—but none expected the Little Mirror Master of Yun Ding Palace to appear in person.

“Stop kneeling—go save the wounded.”

“Check if those four are dead—if they are, cut them again. If not, bind them.”

“Other disciples, inspect the carts.”

Yan Shuyi walked through the dust and earth, glanced at the Fusion Dao expert embedded in the cliff, still breathing, then waved her hand and yanked him down.

His cloak had been shredded, revealing a relatively young face.

Seeing that face, Zhuo Wanqiu’s complexion turned even paler: “It’s Chen Qinghe…”

Yan Shuyi turned to her: “You know him?”

“Respected Mirror Master, he is an outer-court disciple of the Chen Shixian Clan. Two years ago, at Lingjian Mountain’s Sword Inquiry, I saw him—he was then at Full Lower Third Realm.”

“Broke through to Fusion Dao in two years?”

Yan Shuyi’s brow furrowed, disbelief in her eyes.

She was the Gongren fastest in the world—but even she took five years to break from Qi Refining to Fusion Dao.

Zhuo Wanqiu stared at Chen Qinghe, noticing he writhed wildly, showing no fear: “Mirror Master, he… seems off.”

“Bind him. Notify the Chen Shixian Clan—tomorrow I will go to their mountain.”

“Go to their mountain…”

Zhuo Wanqiu held her breath, bowed immediately, then ordered disciples to carry the severely wounded back to the mountain, had the beast-like Chen Qinghe bound and sent overnight to the Chen Shixian Clan, and dispatched others to inspect the carts.

The carts carried only obscure spiritual herbs.

“Obscure” meant they offered no cultivation advancement and were not listed in the seven immortal sects’ cultivation registries.

Some were even highly toxic, like Liuquan Grass and Shengyin Flower.

These clues were insufficient to locate the missing disciples—the only lead remained the Chen Shixian Clan.

Yan Shuyi ordered someone to record all the medicinal herbs on the cart, then saw a man hurrying back—it was Song Ziheng, who had just rushed forward to shield everyone from battle.

“Outer Court disciple Song Ziheng pays homage to the Mirror Master. This disciple has just slain one man.”

“Is that so? Yet I saw you retreat.”

“This disciple… this disciple followed Senior Sister Zhuo’s orders, returning swiftly to the sect to report to the Mirror Master.”

Yan Shuyi had entered the Upper Five Realms at age ten and had forgotten how weak the Lower Three Realms’ peak truly was—so weak that a mere wave of the hand could kill.

But that fellow was only at the peak of the Lower Three Realms—how dare he pinch her cheek and boldly praise her as cute?

He ought to have seen that sword just now—it would have scared him into calling her “sister.”

“Someone, remove Song Ziheng’s jade token.”

“Mirror Master, please wait. You may not know, but I am now the most talented disciple in the Outer Court.”

“You?”

Yan Shuyi glanced at him twice, her brow slightly furrowed: “Then is our Spirit Sword Mountain truly far inferior to the Heavenly Book Academy?”

(Followers have surged—I bow deeply to all of you; in my joy, I wrote an extra thousand characters… or2)

(End of Chapter)