Chapter 191: True Heart

The vast land stretched out below, buried beneath a rustling snowfall.

Atop Ember Sword Peak, a streak of golden light descended from the heavens like a slender river of stars. It spiraled downward with the ceaseless shriek of tearing air. If one looked closely, they would see it was no mere streak of light, but golden longswords connected tip to hilt, forming a flowing river that surged endlessly in midair.

As the golden river of swords reached the airspace above the peak, it abruptly contracted. The blades slotted together, their spiritual light merging into a single sheet that unfurled across the sky like woven golden brocade.

After a moment of twisting transformation, the mass of golden light morphed into a massive golden fire phoenix. With sharp eyes and spread wings, it opened its beak to spew a blinding torrent of golden flames. The falling snow evaporated into hissing white mist before it could even touch the ground, and vast swathes of the snowpack melted and churned, filling the air with rising heat.

The fire phoenix let out a low cry. Its wings slowly folded inwards as its body shrank back, transforming into a perfectly round orb of golden light that hovered in midair, resembling an unhatched egg.

A moment later, several cracks fractured the orb's surface. Golden light spilled from the fissures, accompanied by a resounding dragon's roar. The sphere shattered, and a brilliant golden flood dragon burst from the shell. It twisted and soared, whipping up violent gales that sliced cleanly through a large swathe of the bamboo forest below. The cuts were as smooth as mirrors, sending bamboo splinters scattering into the wind.

"Return," a cold voice rang out from the peak.

Nine Nether reached out a finger and pressed down lightly. The golden flood dragon silently withdrew its edge and fell back into his palm, reverting into a single golden longsword that he casually stored away in his dantian.

He stood at the peak, his robes snapping in the wind. His calm gaze swept over the leveled bamboo forest below as he assessed the results. 'Sword Qi Materialization, controlled as easily as my own arm. The transitions between offense and defense are completely seamless. It feels much smoother than I expected.'

He did a quick mental count of his swords. 'With the seven newly refined ones, I now have forty-nine Ember Moon Swords in hand. This half-set of the Jinli Sword Formation has finally taken shape.'

Yet he felt no complacency over this.

After inheriting Perfected Jinli's complete legacy, his progress in the sword dao had indeed far exceeded his expectations, even surpassing some sword cultivators who had immersed themselves in the path for years. At this rate, he might hope to step into the realm of a sword dao Grandmaster in just a few decades.

But precisely because of this, he could not afford to reveal too much in front of others. Before one's Sword Intent was fully formed, they were easily underestimated; once it was established, they easily drew wariness. Rather than invite unnecessary attention, it was better to keep it hidden for now.

Retracting his Sword Intent, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back and squeezed his hands together, feeling the increasingly steady physical strength surging within his body.

He had already cultivated his path as a physical cultivator to the Peak Golden Core stage, yet the bottleneck refused to yield. No matter how many miraculous elixirs and spiritual medicines he consumed, that barrier remained completely motionless, as if jammed by some invisible force.

He suspected that either the Heavenly Flame Body Tempering Art was incomplete, or he had gone astray at some step in his practice. He had considered seeking advice from the Nascent Soul cultivators of Daoyang Sect's body refinement peak, but quickly dismissed the idea.

What he cultivated was the closely guarded secret art of the Northern Plains' Tianyan Tribe. If anyone recognized it, they would likely connect it to the upheaval the Heavenly Flame Tribe suffered back then. Once the seeds of suspicion were planted, it would be difficult to resolve.

He would not take that risk.

Just as Nine Nether was about to turn back to his cave dwelling, his movements suddenly paused. He raised his eyes toward the foot of the mountain, his gaze sharpening slightly before his figure blurred and vanished from the spot.

In the blink of an eye, he reappeared at the base of Ember Sword Peak. Almost simultaneously, a tall, slender figure landed softly not far away.

When the young man saw Nine Nether, a fleeting hint of surprise flashed through his eyes, clearly not expecting to be detected before he even drew close. But the anomaly vanished in a flash. Quickly composing himself, he cupped his hands toward Nine Nether with a polite, mild expression.

"Junior Brother Ge Qingfeng greets Sixth Senior Brother," he said, his tone giving away little emotion.

Nine Nether cast a cold, evaluating look over him. He remembered this man—Ge Qingfeng, a cultivator at the Middle Nascent Soul Stage. He was the fifteenth Supreme Elder of Daoyang Sect and one of the few sword cultivators within the sect.

"Your surname is Ge," Nine Nether said. "Are you a nephew or junior of Senior Brother Ge?"

Ge Qingfeng nodded. "Ge Jingyuan is my uncle. I heard him mention that Sixth Senior Brother is a Grandmaster of the sword dao. I have admired you for a long time, and I came specifically to seek your guidance today." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I know my cultivation is lacking, so I dare not ask for a full-powered bout. I only wish to test my Sword Intent against yours. Please grant my request, Senior Brother."

With that, he bowed with cupped hands once more. His posture was humble, yet his eyes shone with an unyielding determination.

Nine Nether sneered inwardly.

'Well played, Ge Jingyuan. Still not at ease with me.' How could anyone feel entirely secure about a Nascent Soul Late Stage cultivator who joined the sect halfway through without testing him a few times?

He could have simply refused outright, but on second thought, backing down would only confirm their suspicions.

He needed to find a foolproof solution.

After a brief moment of thought, his expression returned to normal. He tilted his head slightly to look at the other man.

"Are you certain?"

"I am," Ge Qingfeng answered resolutely. A flash of golden light sparked in his hand, and a three-foot-long Flowing White Longsword appeared in his grip. His eyes locked onto Nine Nether like a falcon's. The blade trembled slightly as a milky-white thread of Sword Intent quietly crept up the edge, winding around it like a vine.

Nine Nether's heart tightened.

Although his own Sword Intent had reached a minor stage of success, there was still a gap between him and a Middle Nascent Soul Stage sword cultivator like Ge Qingfeng, who had spent centuries deeply immersed in the sword dao. In a head-on clash, he would very likely expose his lack of foundational depth, inviting even greater suspicion. But refusing the challenge would provoke just as much doubt.

The answer was already obvious.

He spoke slowly, his tone entirely flat.

"Very well."

The instant his voice fell, a golden flash of sword light erupted.

Before Ge Qingfeng could even see how the blade had been drawn, an Ember Moon Sword was already pressed a mere three inches from his throat.

A single, incredibly fine strand of golden Sword Intent wound around the hilt of the blade. Though it was as thin as a spider's silk, it carried a heavy, absolute sense of oppression. That wisp of Sword Intent was weak—so weak that even a Foundation Establishment sword cultivator could have manifested it—yet resting there, it was more impossible to ignore than the fiercest blast of sword qi.

Ge Qingfeng's pupils shrank to pinpricks. He jerked back two steps, his eyes nailed to Nine Nether. His voice trembled with barely suppressed fury.

"You... We agreed to compete with Sword Intent, yet you used speed to win! And that strike of yours clearly only carried the faintest trace of Sword Intent. Are you trying to humiliate me?"

Nine Nether stood quietly in place, watching him as if looking at someone who had rushed to attack but forgotten how to pull back. He sheathed the sword back into his sleeve in one seamless, fluid motion.

"You lost," Nine Nether said. "I did indeed use Sword Intent. If your skills are inferior, why blame others?"

"I haven't lost!" Ge Qingfeng looked ready to argue, but found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Nine Nether had indeed used Sword Intent in that strike, and he had indeed placed the blade directly at his throat. There was no denying it. "I wasn't ready," he insisted. "Senior Brother, can we go another round? This time, I absolutely won't let you succeed so easily!"

"You have already lost," Nine Nether replied, turning away. The snowstorm whipped at his robes, making them snap sharply in the wind. He looked as if he had nothing more to say, taking a step to leave.

"Impossible!" Ge Qingfeng's voice grew frantic. "I am the most powerful sword cultivator in Daoyang Sect! For four hundred and eighty years, ever since I first picked up a sword, I have never been defeated in the sword dao! I am only one step away from the Grandmaster realm—how could I possibly lose to someone else in the way of the sword?"

He chased after him, closing the distance by two steps. "Senior Brother, one more match! I can give you whatever cultivation resources you want! Jinli Stone—yes! The sect vault still has Jinli Stone. I can exchange for it on your behalf!"

Nine Nether's footsteps paused slightly. Thinking he had moved him, Ge Qingfeng hurried a few steps closer. Instead, Nine Nether let out a soft sigh, like a man looking at someone walking the wrong path without realizing it.

"Junior Brother, you have already lost. You lost in your state of mind."

Ge Qingfeng froze in stunned silence.

Turning back around, Nine Nether looked at him with perfectly calm eyes. "You are obsessed with seeking the sword, yet you trap yourself in the strength and weakness of your forms. You have already fallen into the lower paths. Swords may be ranked high or low, but the Dao has no beginning or end. The title of Grandmaster has never meant having sword arts that reign supreme over the world; it means having a heart free of contention, and not flaunting one's edge when facing an enemy.

"Day after day, you polish your techniques, comparing speed and power, obsessed with using your sword arts to crush others. By chasing outward like this, your sword heart has long since gathered dust. Weapons are mere external objects. Victory and defeat are illusions. If your eyes can only see winning and losing, then even if your single strike could cleave mountains and sever rivers, you will ultimately remain a brute swinging a blade. You will never step into the true realm of the sword dao."

Ge Qingfeng opened his mouth, as if something was lodged in his throat, but he swallowed the words back down.

Nine Nether continued, "The world often believes that fierce, ruthless slaughter is the pinnacle of the sword dao. Little do they know that for a true sword wielder, the sword is an anchor for the heart, not an instrument for grasping victory."

"This..." Ge Qingfeng fell silent for a long time. The frantic urgency in his eyes was gradually replaced by an indescribable confusion.

"Then dare I ask, Senior Brother," he said softly, "if I am only one step away from becoming a sword dao Grandmaster, how should I break through?"

Nine Nether gave him a look. He didn't rush to answer, as if waiting for the question to fully settle before catching it.

"The very fact that you ask an outsider for the answer is your obsession. Your true heart is hidden within your sword. There are thousands of techniques, but amidst myriad changes, they never stray from the original heart. Blindly imitating the paths of others and craving their guidance for a shortcut is nothing but binding your own hands and feet. My Dao only suits my cultivation. Telling it to you would only disrupt the foundation of your sword dao. Watch the mountains and the clouds on your own; in time, the answer will naturally come to you."

Having said this, he didn't give the man a chance to ask further. His figure transformed into a golden sword shadow and vanished deep into the bamboo forest.

Ge Qingfeng stood frozen in place, his gaze lingering on the spot where Nine Nether had just been, unable to look away for a long time.

"True heart... true heart..." he repeated in a low whisper, as if chewing on a pit that was hard but left a sweet aftertaste. "So I was wrong this entire time. Utterly wrong."

He let out a long breath, as if putting down a great burden—or perhaps having just accepted something heavy but reassuringly solid. Cupping his hands, he bowed deeply toward the bamboo forest. Then, without lingering another moment, he turned and walked away, his steps visibly steadier than when he had arrived.

The tall, slender figure quickly disappeared into the snowstorm, like a pebble sliding across ice—leaving only a shallow trace before the fresh snow covered it over.

Inside his cave dwelling, Nine Nether finally exhaled a long breath of stale air after confirming Ge Qingfeng's aura had completely faded. He wiped his forehead, brushing away a cold sweat that hadn't actually formed.

That entire speech just now sounded impossibly profound, but the truth was, he had simply copied it out of the Bamboo Scroll left behind by Perfected Jinli, changing the tone to say it in his own way. If he hadn't slipped away as fast as he did, and Ge Qingfeng had managed to ask even one more question, it wouldn't have been nearly so easy to fool him.

Shaking his head, he flicked his sleeve to shut the stone door. His footsteps gradually faded away down the tunnel.

The snow continued to fall. It landed on the spot where the figure had stood, quickly vanishing from sight.