Chapter 422: Attack My Body, Cast It into a Sword and Coffin

Early morning. Waves unfurled, and the sky began to split open.

As light surged from afar, a wind began to blow across the horizon.

It was the first pure gust of wind, carrying an equally pure sword intent.

The sword intent originated from the direction of Gu Ling Sect.

Inside the Red Tower, the perpetual candle was lit once more. As Siming gazed at its flame, the ice in her eyes slowly melted, leaving them clear and pure.

Then, Siming felt a light peck on her cheek, as if kissed by the wind.

Siming turned her head but saw nothing. A short while later, Ye Changong appeared, wrapped in a quilt. As if all her strength had left her, she walked back into the Red Tower and gently lay down in Siming's arms.

“Master, are you sleepy?” Siming asked softly.

Ye Changong replied, “The sun is out. It’s time for the moon to sleep.”

With that, she closed her eyes and fell asleep in Siming's embrace.

Siming looked at the girl, who seemed even more delicate now. After a long moment, she sighed with tenderness. She made up a bed for her master to lie down, then pulled over Baizang, who had been idly looking outside, to serve as a soft pillow for her master.

Baizang meowed reluctantly.

By the sea, Shao Xiaoli knelt on the cliff's edge, feeling a wisp of wind envelop her. She turned to look and vaguely saw Ning Changjiu's indistinct form. It wasn't a real person, but a spiritual entity. He smiled at her, extended a hand, and gently ruffled her hair.

Shao Xiaoli stared at him, lost in thought.

The Luo River, which had been surging continuously, circling the sky with head and tail connected, now ceased its flow, plummeting like a waterfall with a rush.

Ning Changjiu extended his hand, shielding her head like an umbrella, and offered her a slight smile.

“Boss…”

Shao Xiaoli couldn't help but recall the moment he emerged from the light curtain, back before it. She murmured softly.

She reached out, trying to grasp the wisp of wind, but it lightly slipped through her fingers and drifted towards the sea surface.

The sea, having endured a brutal divine war, looked desolate and sorrowful. Yet, at this moment, a gentle breeze stirred, and the waves finally appeared soft.

Lu Jiajia turned around to look.

She was met by countless gentle currents of wind. The wind flowed into her white robe, then swept past her ears, her sides, and through her sleeves.

Beside her, a fragment of the sun floated gently upward, shattering into shimmering specks of light on the sea surface.

These countless wisps of wind, like a maiden’s flowing hair, blew from a distant place, then ascended vertically from the sea surface, converging into a human form in the ethereal realm. At the same time, the sun fully emerged from the sea, its light like ten thousand arrows simultaneously piercing the mist, illuminating this wisp of wind.

Above the ethereal realm, before Ke Wenzhou, the slender figure of a young man materialized within the endless long wind.

Behind him, the crimson sun and the Golden Crow manifested.

The young man clasped his hands within his sleeves, calmly observing the old man high in the sky.

“That sword strike just now truly deserved to be called the greatest sword under heaven. Ning will never forget it.”

Ke Wenzhou looked at him as well, sighing deeply, “Remarkable. Truly worthy of being him, and truly worthy of being the one the Heavenly Dao seeks to destroy.”

Ning Changjiu said, “And I must thank Sword Saint for sending me on this journey.”

Ke Wenzhou looked at him and asked, “At this moment, you should be a spirit body, correct?”

Ning Changjiu replied, “This is a divine body.”

“A divine body…” Only then did Ke Wenzhou truly believe that the other had indeed ascended to the Golden Crow Divine Kingdom and obtained the ancient power passed down through ages. He lowered his head, observing his own aging body, and said, “Mortal flesh is weak, and life’s pursuit is immortality. Are your divine bodies immortal?”

Ning Changjiu shook his head, “No.”

Ke Wenzhou nodded, seemingly with some regret. He looked at Ning Changjiu, and after a moment, asked in a deep voice, “After several rebirths, are you still you?”

Ning Changjiu closed his eyes, sensing the pure light within his body.

He had pondered this question before: the disciple of the unobservable past life, the young Daoist priest by Ning Qinshui’s side in this life, and… his current self. Were they truly all him?

To this day, he couldn't know if the three souls he saw during the heavenly tribulation in the Zhao Imperial City were merely a dream or illusion.

When he traveled across Southern Continent with Lu Jiajia to the Central Kingdom, he had also swallowed the Underworld Scroll, summoning the souls of the deceased. At that time, a terrifying thought arose within him: he couldn't help but think of his slightly dull self before his rebirth.

The Underworld Scroll received its command and began to summon souls. At that moment, Ning Changjiu lacked the courage to see if the scroll could successfully call forth a soul.

Because he feared: if the scroll truly succeeded, what would he then be?

When one individual differentiates into another, is it a subservient entity or another independent being? Whose will does it ultimately depend on?

Furthermore, if that entity dies, does it mean he has died? What, then, is the living one?

These were all questions Ning Changjiu had deliberately avoided.

But now, he understood and felt at peace.

Di Jun, Yi, those few brief reincarnations, the unobservable disciple, the young Daoist priest in the Zhao Imperial City, and his current self…

He lived to this day because his task was not yet complete.

When people die, if their thoughts do not dissipate, they condense into vengeful spirits. He, too, was a vengeful spirit… a spirit of light!

He didn't need to ponder 'what is me'; he only needed to know why he was born and why he would die.

Flesh and blood are weak, but the will is eternal.

This was also the meaning of his existence.

“I am still me.”

Ning Changjiu looked at the Sword Saint, extending his hand. Silver sword light condensed in his grasp, and a spiritual, short-haired girl materialized, opening her clear, slightly resentful eyes.

Ke Wenzhou sighed, “Calamity born of heaven, demon born of earth, drawing the bow to shoot nine suns… Great Yi, you have finally returned.”

The young man shook his head, stating firmly, “I am Ning Changjiu.”

The ethereal realm was bathed in sword light.

It was pure, bright sword light, like full dewdrops, reflecting the morning sun, accumulating the profound clear qi from the convergence of yin and yang.

Around Ning Changjiu, they condensed into the shapes of swords, like small flowers blooming in a barren ethereal realm.

Ke Wenzhou gazed at these sword energies, his aged eyes filled with light. He seemed transported back to his youth, looking at the first sword qi he had ever unleashed, stunned for a long time, then overjoyed.

But his body had already decayed. Even the Legendary Three Realms could not withstand the dual erosion of time and heaven and earth.

He looked at the white-clad young man bathed in light, only feeling envy.

Within the sword light, Ke Wenzhou raised his left arm.

In his hand, he held an iron token—the unique decree of the Sword Pavilion Master, a symbol of the Master’s identity. Holding this token, one could command all swords in the human realm.

If this were the Central Kingdom's Sword Pavilion, then as Ke Wenzhou grasped this token and fully channeled his spiritual power, he would witness the magnificent sight of ten thousand swords converging.

However, here, the heavens were high and the path distant; only a few hundred swords responded.

They came from the Misty Tower, from nearby large and small sects, and some were even rusty fragments of metal, long submerged at the bottom of the sea, their original forms lost.

Hundreds of swords, like a flock of birds, surged towards the ethereal realm above.

That would be the highest point they had ever reached in their lives, and also their grave.

This decisive battle, the pinnacle of human sword arts for the past five hundred years, quietly unfolded in the vast sky.

Lu Jiajia, Shao Xiaoli, Siming, Ning Xiaoling, Zhao Xiang’er…

…They stood at varying distances, all gazing at the clouds, quietly awaiting the battle’s conclusion.

The Sword Saint pushed his cultivation to the peak of his life, employing all his ultimate techniques.

Ning Changjiu was no exception.

Ning Changjiu and Liu Xiwuan's minds were almost fused as one. They shared every ray of light and felt every exquisite wisp of sword intent.

In the vast sky, sword shadows crisscrossed, and sharp edges intersected in the ethereal realm. The blue-grey sky was sliced open by them, reality and illusion intermingling, clearly layered, like the Lapis Lazuli world described in Buddhist scriptures.

The Sword Saint's hair was severed, his long robe pierced. Sword light penetrated his skeletal body, yet drew no blood.

He was like a true puppet.

The hundreds of swords summoned by the sword command also turned into iron filings and dust, scattered by the clear sword wind, becoming greyish-white snow falling towards the sea.

Ning Changjiu stood in the ethereal realm, continuously unleashing sword strikes.

Within the sword light were his child self, his teenage self, and his current self. They wielded different swords but had similar gazes.

The sword light, like ten thousand arrows, whistled through the air.

Ke Wenzhou stood his ground, his earlobes sliced off, his brows and eyes cracked, his nose broken, his left pinky finger fractured. From his gaunt wounds, bones could be seen protruding. He looked as if he had just endured the most relentless torture, with no patch of skin on his entire body remaining intact.

Soon after, blood surged forth, drenching him and turning him into a man of blood.

“I began studying the sword at sixteen, achieved enlightenment in a month, and by seventeen, I had surpassed all my peers, defeating everyone I could. At eighteen, I entered the Violet Court, lingering at its peak for over a decade until I met a saint. The saint said I had rebellious bones, yet still accepted me as a disciple.”

Ke Wenzhou, enduring the torture of ten thousand swords, spoke with a trembling voice, “A year later, I entered the Five Paths, and thereafter, heaven and earth were in turmoil… At seventy-eight, I founded the Sword Pavilion, proclaiming myself the greatest swordsman under heaven. This title, unchallenged for five hundred years, is finally… finally passed to you today.”

Ning Changjiu said indifferently, “You clearly yearned for the Grand Dao, betraying everything to pursue it, so why bother with empty fame?”

Ke Wenzhou could not answer.

Ning Changjiu held the silver sword and plunged it into Ke Wenzhou’s chest. “Then let this empty fame be buried with you in the ethereal realm, returning to the Sea of Ruins.”

Ke Wenzhou lowered his head, looking at the sword piercing his body. There was no pain or sorrow on his face.

He had lost, defeated by Ning Changjiu.

It was a defeat purely in sword intent and sword energy; a matter of being outmatched.

He was convinced and felt no dissatisfaction, yet he constantly felt there was something he hadn't finished. But what exactly it was, he couldn't recall. All he could grasp emotionally was profound regret.

That was all.

For a renowned general who had won a hundred battles, defeat was often synonymous with death.

From Lonely Cloud City until now, he had ultimately not escaped death.

He should have died peacefully.

But what caused Ke Wenzhou even greater torment was that he could not even control his own death. For he had long been reliant on the Heavenly Dao; he was the Dark Lord's puppet, utterly lacking the right to command his own life and death!

Ning Changjiu's sword should have ended his life, but the Dark Lord refused his death.

High above in the more distant sky, an eye as vast as the heavens opened in the darkness!

Within that pupil, countless insect-like shadows seemed to swarm, emitting the sound of fluttering wings, a sight that made one's scalp tingle.

To this day, it was the first time Ke Wenzhou truly perceived the Dark Lord's existence.

The ethereal Heavenly Dao had materialized.

An unprecedented power poured down from the ethereal realm, precisely descending into Ke Wenzhou's dying, mangled body.

Ning Changjiu unleashed sword light, but could not impede the process.

The Taiyin Eye unfolded. Ning Changjiu seized this opportunity to make his first contact with the legendary greatest enemy—the Dark Lord.

Light enveloped his spirit as he ascended along the fissures of the ethereal realm, finally touching merely the tip of that enormous entity's iceberg.

This was Ning Changjiu's first impression. It was exactly like the immortals on White City.

Ning Changjiu didn't know how to describe the scene he witnessed… It was a hazy and chaotic existence, formless yet resembling a large green worm crawling on a leaf, squirming and gnawing at the foliage. Within its body were endless, invisible resentments, like swirling vortices, or countless open eyes staring back at him. The sounds they emitted were like knives scraping bone, each reverberation awakening spasms and acute pain from the soul.

That was a ghost, a ghost in the cosmos!

The vortex of resentment generated infinite suction, firmly locking onto Ning Changjiu's Taiyin Eye, threatening to swallow it into the ghost's maw… It seemed to feed on authority itself!

Without hesitation, Ning Changjiu immediately commanded his sword spirit to sever the connection to his sea of consciousness, withdrawing his will in time.

Had he been even slightly later, his Taiyin Eye would have been directly devoured by the entity.

Ning Changjiu opened his eyes again.

Ahead, Ke Wenzhou's pupils were completely black. Within his flesh and blood body, his internal organs had vanished, melted by the Dark Lord's aura. A black sword, utterly devoid of luster, emerged from Ke Wenzhou's left hand.

Ning Changjiu knew his opponent had changed.

The other was no longer Sword Saint Ke Wenzhou, but a puppet, bestowed with the Dark Lord's gift.

This was the true adversary he had to face after achieving godhood.

The peak of the Five Paths was the limit for most cultivators, but for them now, the boundary of the Legendary Three Realms was about to be surpassed.

The Sword Saint, holding his sword, struck towards Ning Changjiu with an expressionless face.

Ning Changjiu knew that the Sword Saint's destiny was nearing its end; even with the Dark Lord's gift, he was at his last gasp. He had only one chance with a single sword strike. So did Ning Changjiu.

He stared at the black sword coming from the Sword Saint, and at that moment, the Golden Crow Divine Kingdom opened.

The sun burst forth with myriad rays of light in the ethereal realm.

Within the Divine Kingdom, the pillars of mythological logic glowed brightly.

Yet, the long river of memory flowed backward, arriving at a history predating mythological logic.

“Changxi, the Moon Palace has been desolate for a thousand years, with only you here. Are you not lonely?”

The young man, wearing an emperor's crown, stood at the entrance of the Moon Palace, where clear light flowed, looking towards the swaying shadow within Guanghan Palace.

A clear and captivating voice drifted out from within.

“Guanghan, a pure and ethereal abode, has always been thus throughout the ages. Why should I disturb its tranquility?”

A woman draped in a gossamer dress stood beside the laurel tree. Her dress was woven from moonlight. On one side, the laurel bloomed profusely, its rich fragrance always evoking thoughts of the crisp, cool autumn days in the human world.

Di Jun stood outside the door and asked, “Are you going to the human world?”

Changxi nodded, “The human world is named after the sun and moon, giving rise to countless faiths. You, who often visit the human world, should know better than I… Since they place their hopes in us, and their sincerity is as clear as the sun and moon, how could we bear to disappoint them?”

Di Jun sighed, “The authority you wield involves warfare. I will persuade Xihe to go instead; you need not worry.”

Changxi, however, shook her head, her voice serene, “I, too, should go and see the human world.”

Di Jun asked, “Have you never ventured out?”

Changxi stood beneath the laurel tree, her hands clasped lightly. She looked around, at this desolate and cold palace, and at the greyish-white world outside. Stars hung in the black firmament, seemingly within reach, yet infinitely far away.

Changxi's voice was as thin and cold as the palace itself: “I have never left since my birth. It is not that I wouldn't, but that I cannot.”

“Because…”

Changxi hesitated, her gaze falling on the branches wreathed in moonlight. She remained silent for a long time.

Di Jun, however, understood. He looked at the laurel tree and asked, “Because of it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Changxi finally continued, “Because it *is* me.”

Venus gave birth to Tianzang, Mars to Zhulong, Mercury to Xuanze, Pluto to Mingjun… and so on.

Within this star system, every significant celestial body would give birth to a deity unique to that star.

The moon was far smaller than them.

However, the moon was near the star with the most abundant spiritual energy. Over a long period, the first life finally emerged on the Moon Prison: the lunar laurel.

Unlike the osmanthus flowers of the human world, the lunar laurel was born on the moon without roots or leaves. It bloomed only when the moon was full in the human realm, its blossoms formed from moonlight. Solitary in its beauty, yet full of joy, it was like an ordinary plant, unable to move. It could only spread its snow-like canopy, reaching out to the human world from afar, aided by moonlight.

The lunar laurel always bloomed in the dead of night when the human world was quiet. The collective consciousness of all humanity converged into a vast sea of dreams. The dreams were still without a master, and though this power wasn't mighty, she liked it, and so she spontaneously took charge of the realm of dreams.

Day after day, year after year.

After long ages, things develop sentience.

Even a divine entity like the lunar laurel was no exception.

Eventually, one day, an incomparably beautiful woman gracefully stepped out from within the laurel tree.

She was the embodiment of all human dreams' imagination, the pinnacle of beauty in the mundane sense. With black hair and white robes, draped in a gossamer dress and wearing a moon crown, she was truly ethereal and dreamlike.

She was the deity of the Moon Prison, and also the laurel tree itself.

She circled the laurel, mimicking human customs to build herself a lonely, cold palace. Inside, she lived like a human, watching from afar as the mortal world changed, and clouds drifted and swirled.

But the laurel was ultimately the laurel. She couldn't move far from 'herself'; her range of activity was limited to the size of Guanghan Palace.

Humans are not plants; how could they know the helplessness of plants…

“So, Your Highness the Moon Goddess is actually this laurel tree itself,” Di Jun realized belatedly.

Changxi smiled calmly, “Indeed. I actually envy you, envy the common people of the human world, envy all beings that can come and go freely without enduring loneliness… Of course, I also know that they envy me in turn.”

Di Jun asked, “But if you decide to leave, how will you depart?”

Changxi replied, “Naturally, I will take myself with me.”

Many years later, a legend of felling the laurel in the Moon Palace became widely circulated among humans.

The protagonist who felled the laurel changed many times in different legends, and no one knew which version was true.

But four thousand years ago on the Moon Prison, Di Jun stood outside Guanghan Palace and personally witnessed Changxi felling the laurel with her own hands.

Her graceful and delicate figure tensed, as if enduring great pain. Then, blood seeped through her gossamer dress, staining her moon-white clothes red.

The laurel tree was felled within Guanghan Palace, transforming into a small lunar branch.

Changxi, holding this lunar branch, knelt weakly in a pool of blood.

She looked at the lunar branch, as if gazing into a mirror, her expression incomparably gentle, and softly said:

“If one were to forge an unparalleled sword from fine iron, it should be this.”

“If one were to craft an eternal slumber coffin from fine wood, it should also be this.”

This was the story of Changxi felling the laurel.

Afterward, Changxi carried it and stepped out of that deep palace, journeying to the human world.

Guanghan Palace no longer had its lunar tree, and the Moon Prison was devoid of floral fragrance.

This greyish-white star was empty, and no one watched her depart or awaited her return.

She was the lunar laurel, like this star, clearly embracing the human world with eagerness, yet inherently aloof and cold since ancient times.

“This is my sword, and also my coffin.”

Ning Changjiu murmured softly to himself.

Only today did he realize that these words were spoken by his Master, to him.

At the end of the previous life, the third nation-hunting plan had utterly failed. At the very last moment, his Master had passed the lunar branch to him by piercing her own body, sending him back twelve years.

The lunar branch was Ye Changong's original body.

She had given him everything of herself.

What would happen with time rewound twelve years was unknown to them both.

However, to unite swords in life to slay demons, and to share a coffin in death, perhaps this was her final wish from her previous life.

Within the Golden Crow Divine Kingdom, another brand new divine pillar rose from the ground.

That divine pillar stood beside the first one.

It recorded the stories from the era of Di Jun and Changxi.

These were stories that transcended this world's history, yet were truly real.

And they were their true beginning.

The Golden Crow shrieked, and even brighter light surged from it, illuminating the ethereal realm in a fiery golden hue.

“Within human acupoints, there is death; a tiny sword tip can devour the light of life; forget the hundred bones, sorrow manifests externally; sever all, and new life can be seen!”

Ning Changjiu and Liu Xiwuan's minds resonated, and they recited the sword chant in unison.

That sword chant was none other than the core mantra of the Heavenly Edict Sword Scripture!

The voices of the young man and young woman intertwined. At the same time, the silver sword ignited as if defying fate, emitting a sword radiance that pierced the cosmos.

The white-clad youth held the sword thus, striking towards the Sword Saint.

The Heavenly Edict Sword Scripture, the Sword of Certain Death, was now unleashed!

In the Red Tower outside Gu Ling Sect, the candle flickered. Siming attended to Ye Changong, whose breathing grew weaker and weaker. At this moment, she finally opened her eyes as if in a brief recovery of consciousness. Meanwhile, Baizang, under her pillow, trembled and lay motionless, only letting out soft meows: “Heavenly Dao, that is the Heavenly Dao! I smell the Dark Lord… The black sun is coming, the black sun is coming!”

Siming ignored Baizang’s cries. She helped her master sit up, and they huddled together, watching the perpetually burning candle on the table, its flame wavering unsteadily.

The candle flame flickered several times, threatening to extinguish, yet it resiliently rose again, rekindling its light repeatedly.

Finally, the candle flame went out.

But it wasn’t because light had been conquered by darkness; it was simply because the wax of this perpetual candle, which had burned for thousands of years, had run out.

Ye Changong looked outside.

The remnants of tribulation ash fell from the sky.

In the ethereal realm, only Ning Changjiu remained, standing with his sword.

Ke Wenzhou, who had gained the Dark Lord's power, had been struck down from the ethereal realm by him, crashing into a very distant sea area. His mangled body was swept away by the waves, his fate unknown.

“If I can defeat a Sword Saint like this, then if there were thousands upon thousands of me, could we not work together to kill the Dark Lord's true body in the sky?” Ning Changjiu asked softly.

Liu Xiwuan didn't know how to answer, but finally said "yes" with conviction.

Ning Changjiu nodded with a smile.

This one sword strike had also drained all his strength. He closed his eyes, spread his arms, and freely fell downward.

He was immensely pleased, feeling no fatigue or fear, for he knew that no matter when, someone below would always catch him.