Chapter 1939: Green Residence

Chapter 1940: Eight Ancestors

A strong wind rose from Lingyu Mountain, entered through the West City gate, disturbed the grass and stones, and carved a shallow sword mark across the earth.

Then, thunder struck from flat ground.

Outside the Jianzhu Weizhen, which stretched for thousands of miles, swirling snowflakes danced in the air, dazzling the eyes.

"This..."

Li You, the sect master of the Yingui Sect, stood above Fusang City, watching the battle from afar.

At one moment, she felt a chill on her purple scales, as if some power passed through her body, swiftly moving behind her.

She suddenly turned her head.

The straight sword mark behind her flowed like an electric serpent.

From the earth, it climbed onto houses, split small rubble hills, and headed straight east.

"East!"

The three individuals from the Shengfutuo City faction, led by the Pill Sage Lu Shiyu, were even further from the battlefield, almost at the East Gate of Fusang City.

As they turned to let the sword mark pass, the sound of wind brushing past their ears had already faded, disappearing into the edge of the Guifo Realm in a blink of an eye.

The three exchanged glances, suddenly realizing something, and their backs tingled.

"Qingju, in the East?"

"Yes, it seems to be in the Burial Sword Mound!"

Near the coast of Zhongyuan Realm.

With a flick of the wrist, half a net of fish didn't fall onto the boat, but scattered into the water instead.

"Ah, my fish!"

"Which sea beast dares to trifle with this old man, the Fishing King of Zhongyuan? I'll spear you to death!"

East Sea.

Yu Lingdi, holding the Yu Hai Shenji, was meditating with closed eyes in the depths of the sea, thousands of miles down. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and a brilliant array of profound principles spun out beneath his feet.

"Who?!"

He turned sharply, and the Yu Hai Shenji instinctively struck back.

But nothing happened; the sudden chill passed directly through the Yu Hai Shenji and through his body, causing no harm, and vanished straight to the east.

A faint sword intent spread out at the bottom of the sea.

"Sword念 (nian)?"

"Xu Xiaoshou?"

"No! Damn it, another nightmare..."

At the foot of East Mountain, the teahouse's green flag fluttered.

A group of wanderers dressed as sword cultivators gathered around a wooden table, staring at a bead, so excited they pounded the table with clenched fists, faces flushed.

In the image...

Gui Jianxian Hua Changdeng had just opened the Jianzhu Weizhen.

The Eighth Jianxian had just cast his gaze, his right hand just rising, reaching towards the East.

"The late evening is no more than mulberry and elm, returning is nothing but the rise of the sword... Qingju!"

Before the last two words settled, a shallow mark had already appeared on the middle of the wooden table, startling the seven or eight sword cultivators into falling back.

They hadn't yet realized what had happened.

Among the few sword cultivators, the only remaining Xiantian iron sword also rose from thin air, rushing eastward with an excited hum along the sword mark.

"Sword rise..."

The few were stunned, then suddenly screamed, clutching their heads, tossed a few spirit crystals, and bolted eastward.

"It's in the Burial Sword Mound!"

"The Eighth Jianxian is summoning Qingju!"

To the easternmost reaches of the Eastern Region, the East Mountain Burial Sword Mound.

The Burial Sword Mound was shrouded in clouds and mist, with visitors undeterred by wind or rain.

The commotion outside the mountain did not disturb the tranquility of the Sword-Washing Pool within the mound. Since the ten thousand swords left the mound, this place was left with only one person and one sword.

"Non-being can be, being can also be non-being..."

"The Dao is non-existent, a great dream of a thousand autumns..."

Wen Ting had long come down from the peak of East Mountain. At this moment, holding a half-read volume of the "Jian Jing," he shook his head and sighed, muttering.

As he muttered, his eyes suddenly dimmed, staring at the opening lines of the Wujian Shu in the scroll, his voice as low as a mosquito:

"A great dream... of a thousand autumns..."

As Wen Ting's voice lowered, the sobbing of the only broken sword still in the Sword-Washing Pool became clear.

It whimpered, like a wronged little wife, constantly weeping.

"Enough, I won't recite scriptures for you anymore!"

Wen Ting sighed deeply, clutched the scripture, and disregarding the dirt, sat cross-legged on a low stone by the Sword-Washing Pool.

He rested his chin on his hand, gazing steadily at the broken sword, Qingju:

"You are also an unyielding will."

"I've recited like this, for so many years, yet you still refuse to let go of him, refuse to be used by me."

"It's as if doing this can truly make you wait for him to change his mind, haha, ha... laughable."

Qingju's sword body was covered with uncollected sword tears, each crystal clear, reflecting scenes from the past.

As Wen Ting watched, his expression became slightly dazed, and his eyes even held a hint of nostalgia.

"Little crybaby, do you still remember?"

"The first time you two entered the Burial Sword Mound, I secretly brought you in, hiding it from Elder You."

"This thing..."

He raised the "Jian Jing" in his hand, as if thinking of something, and shook his head with a laugh:

"I really had the gall, to actually show it to you."

"That Bazun An also dared to speak!"

He impatiently shook the scripture in his hand, revealing its contents to Qingju.

Wen Ting pointed vigorously at the four opening lines of the Wujian Shu, scolding:

"A mere side-door cultivator, who only got a few pointers from me and barely stepped into the threshold of ancient sword Dao."

"And merely has a good memory, able to memorize the content of the 'Jian Jing' after reading it through once."

"What's so special about that? Yet that fellow even dared to criticize the 'Jian Jing'!"

Wen Ting pointed at the text in the scroll, reading them one by one to Qingju:

"You haven't forgotten, have you? 'Non-being can be, being can also be non-being, the Dao is non-existent, a great dream of a thousand autumns'..."

"He's just started, but after reading the whole thing, he actually dared to say that the Qingshu was 'remarkable,' and instead, these few lines of Wujian Shu had 'some flavor' when recited."

"Flavor? Hahahahaha..."

Wen Ting threw his head back and laughed heartily, his laughter filled with discontent, as if he wanted to hit Qingju hard:

"What a Bazun An!"

"One sentence made me ponder Wujian Shu here for thirty years, and I still couldn't make sense of it."

"In the end, he actually mentioned 'a great dream of a thousand autumns' to name the three realms of Huanshushu, this damned fellow..."

"Ah, I'm going crazy!"

Wen Ting messed up his hair, shaking his head wildly, resembling Hua Zu.

Not long after, his emotions settled, his face once again covered in gloom, and he mumbled hoarsely:

"But just when I thought he was playing tricks on me again, he told me, 'non-being is truly being, being is truly non-being,' through his actions."

"A great dream of a thousand autumns is also not important. What is important is that after abandoning non-being, there is being, and then merging being and non-being, only then can one truly return to zero and achieve perfection."

"Zero..."

Wen Ting gazed lost at the Sword-Washing Pool.

The pool water rippled slightly, and under the Guanjian Shu, it spontaneously etched the character "零" (zero) according to his will.

Wen Ting shook his head slightly.

That character "零" dissolved silently like a reflection in water.

After a long while, ripples appeared again in the pool. This time, what spread was an ancient character "〇".

The "〇" pattern was not large, and it could be perfectly divided into two halves.

The left half, bathed in sunlight, was Yang, shimmering with illusory waves, reflecting Bazun An's hideous, grotesque, and filthy ghost face.

The right half, shadowed by mountain rocks, was Yin, containing nothing, but it did have a sword vertically inserted, a broken sword.

Qingju was the Yin.

"Wuwu..."

The little crybaby was still weeping.

Sword tears, drop by drop, flowed into the Sword-Washing Pool, uncollected.

The Burial Sword Mound was cold without wind. Wen Ting closed his eyes heavily, goosebumps spreading from his upper arms to his forearms, finally disappearing into the tightly clutched scripture in his palm.

He stood up tall, walked out of the Sword-Washing Pool, and stood on a high rock, facing the clouds and mist of East Mountain, and laughed:

"Little one, you won."

"Saving the best for last is indeed his character, and he has never given up on you."

"After this parting, don't forget to tell him, if possible, to help me find Gu Qingyi. Those few are not ready to take my place yet."

Qingju froze.

The crying stopped.

Suddenly, a familiar aura penetrated the mountain stones of the Burial Sword Mound, stirring ripples in the Sword-Washing Pool and flowing into the sword body.

Warm and gentle.

Just like that familiar large hand thirty years ago, gently holding itself once again.

"Om!"

Above the Burial Sword Mound, mysterious multicolored light erupted.

"Qingju!"

"Look, it's Qingju!"

The mountain visitors gathered around the clouds and mist of East Mountain suddenly erupted in excitement, their eyes wide, pointing at the sky.

In the image on the palm, Bazun An held his sword to the East.

From the East Mountain Burial Sword Mound, Qingju soared into the sky.

Even though over the decades, few people remembered what Qingju, from "One Sword Immortal, One Qingju," looked like after it was broken.

But...

Broken sword!

Who doesn't know the name Qingju, who isn't familiar with it?

The sword shadow, carrying mysterious multicolored light, flashed across the sky—how many half-foot long sword bodies are left in the world?

Even if there were other broken swords, could they emit sword light with profound Dao artistic conception?

"It's gone!"

"Qingju is gone!"

"The sky is high, a foot and eight Bazun An, who dares to wield half a Qingju... My goodness, it's complete, it's complete!"

The mountain was filled with the jubilation of ancient sword cultivators, leaving only Wen Ting's solitude.

He flashed a step, went to the peak of East Mountain, and came to the side of Jianma.

The ancestral tree Jianma buzzed and trembled, envy and unwillingness clearly expressed.

Wen Ting gently patted it, speaking gravely:

"I know what you're thinking."

"But at this moment, right now, he has indeed surpassed the Sword Ancestor."

"What I want to tell you is, perhaps in ten more epochs, the Five Domains might produce another Sword Ancestor or two, but it will probably be difficult to produce another Bazun An."

Wen Ting gazed afar at Lingyu, speaking through clenched teeth, filled with discontent.

He still said it.

Behind him, the Jade Bamboo Forest had long been broken by heavy snow when the Sword Ancestor bowed to the demon spirit.

But after the broken bamboo, the broken roots still stood, the integrity and pride of the ancient sword cultivators had never died.

Wen Ting took a deep breath, extended his hand to cup a snowflake, and gently blew it into the mist:

"Xu Xiaoshou's performance was a grotesque spectacle, his behavior absurd, yet he truly had some exquisite phrases by chance."

"In my opinion, 'A hundred generations without my equal, ten thousand years may not produce another master' is more fitting to describe Bazun An."

"Jianma, I want to help him."

Jianma was silent, seemingly hesitant.

Wen Ting's expression was incredibly serious: "The Sword-Washing Pool has nurtured fame for thousands upon thousands of years, the spiritual essence of ancient sword cultivators has been continuous since antiquity, yet no one can truly understand or explain it."

"Bazun An's single sword strike, 'A great dream of a thousand autumns,' has already revealed the meaning of the Burial Sword Mound's existence to the world. Even if the Sword Ancestor were to revive, he would assist him at this moment."

"Therefore, whether you agree or not, I will bestow a name upon him, helping him directly cross the Hedao period and achieve a return to zero and perfection."

Having said that.

Before Jianma could agree.

Blood beads burst from Wen Ting's fingertips, flowing into the ancestral tree Jianma's body, causing the Burial Sword Mound to tremble and the Sword-Washing Pool to ripple.

Wen Ting pointed with joined fingers towards the Zhongyu Guifo Realm.

Following Qingju's departure with profound mysteries, the Burial Sword Mound then emitted another burst of brilliant light, surging towards Lingyu Mountain.

"Sword, rise!"

The sword fell!

Zhongyu Lingyu Mountain.

Above the Jianzhu Weizhen, which sealed the space in all four directions, the ten-thousand-zhang Shougui descended with crushing force.

The late evening is no more than mulberry and elm, returning is nothing but the rise of the sword.

But Bazun An summoned his sword from East Mountain, calling Qingju, and even with instantaneous speed, as Hua Changdeng said...

"Too late!"

A sword came from the East.

Qingju pierced through space and time, its tail blossoming with mysterious light.

When it reached the peak of Lingyu Mountain, all it saw was the familiar figure from thirty years ago, holding the East.

But, he hadn't yet grasped himself...

Under the suppression of Shougui, Bazun An's divine蛻 (tui) and sword-self were utterly shattered, obliterated into nothingness.

The world suddenly fell silent.

Qingju arrived late, suspended in mid-air.

The entire world focused on this broken sword, which was not a famous sword, yet surpassed famous swords.

Qingju's hilt was wrapped in very ordinary flaxen coarse rope. The sword guard was a common five-edged iron sword design, something one could find in any blacksmith shop on the roadside.

The only thing that distinguished Qingju from an ordinary iron sword was its palm-long, half-foot broken blade, and in the middle of the blade, there was a faint blue dragon line, which seemed to have been deliberately etched by the swordsmith.

"So ordinary!"

Qingju gained fame thirty years ago, and is now a household name.

Yet, it was only at this moment that the Five Domains truly saw the appearance of this broken sword.

But was this ordinary iron sword, whose blade was so short it was almost indistinguishable from its hilt, Bazun An's trump card, his only reliance under the Jianzhu Weizhen and the ten-thousand-zhang Shougui?

"I don't think so, perhaps?"

What was the Jianzhu Weizhen? It was constructed from five great chaotic artifacts and five great famous swords.

Shougui, compared to Qingju, had gained fame much earlier in ancient times. Although it experienced a similar transformation, it evolved from an ordinary soul artifact into a famous sword through time and reputation.

Shougui, however, was a senior!

Ten naturally occurring famous swords, a senior in the Dao of famous swords...

Compared to Qingju.

Hua Changdeng, the Ancestral God, whose boundless Guiyu (ghost realm) was at its peak of power...

Compared to Bazun An.

A bright moon illuminating a firefly, the difference was immediately apparent.

So, Qingju arrived late, Qingju only saw its master for the last time, Qingju was stunned, and the Five Domains could understand.

But what the Five Domains could not understand was...

Even though Shougui had already slain Bazun An's sword-self, Hua Changdeng reacted as if he had seen a ghost, retreating repeatedly, staring at Qingju and exclaiming in pain:

"Impossible!"

"This is impossible!"

"How... how... how could it be?!"

Qingju remained silent.

Sheathed in the Burial Sword Mound for thirty years, she also cried for thirty years.

Now, unsheathed into the world, the first thing she encountered was the death of her wielder, yet she shed not a single tear.

She merely trembled gently.

"Om."

Below Fusang City, Wuji suddenly widened his eyes. This broken sword...

What did he see?

This broken sword was actually performing Guanjian Shu like a person?

When Bazun An observed the sword, the sword gained sentience.

When Qingju observed nothingness, being emerged from non-being, and Bazun An's "self" appeared from nothingness like a sword-thought!

"By..."

Xu Xiaoshou suddenly realized something.

Hua Changdeng's series of startled exclamations were not meant to say "how dare he," but rather that he recognized it was the character "凭" (ping) from Qingshushu, Wangqing Jian, Shan Hai Ping.

Just like his own Two-Lifetimes Form, Reincarnation Ping, as long as this life does not die, the previous life will not perish; similarly, if the previous life does not perish, this life cannot be directly erased by anyone.

This is "凭"!

Shan Hai Ping, which affirms the self by the mountains and rivers of heaven and earth, has a flaw: if the mountains and rivers of heaven and earth are erased, the self becomes unanchored, a rootless floating duckweed, and can be killed.

The reason why Reincarnation Ping is superior on a superficial level is that it affirms this life by the previous life. Ninety-nine percent of people, even Ancestral Gods, cannot grasp the hyper-evolution of the Dao of Time, which would destroy Xu Xiaoshou's previous life and profoundly affect this life.

And "Qingju" and "Bazun An," they affirm "self" by "sword," and "sword" by "self," affirming each other, being Yin and Yang to one another.

If Yin does not perish, Yang does not die.

Sword, self.

This is "sword-self"!

"Chichichi."

In an instant, Qingju observed nothingness.

From nothingness came being, sword-thoughts entwined, weaving into a human form.

After sacrificing his body, spirit, and will, and then sacrificing his self under the Jianzhu Weizhen and the ten-thousand-zhang Shougui, Bazun An, with Qingju as his anchor, pulled himself back from "nothingness" and "dream."

Using Qingju as his backbone, he reshaped his indestructible sword body with sword-thoughts.

Bazun An and Qingju were no longer one left and one right, one Yin and one Yang, with distinct boundaries, needing to be held to "merge."

They directly fused into one, forming a perfect zero... no, it was "〇"!

"Hua Changdeng, do you understand?"

"The profundity of Twenty-one Famous Swords, the Sword Ancestor, I couldn't present to you, but what you, what you all most wanted to see..."

Bazun An looked up, as if seeing the Ancestral God currently staring at him from outside the realm, his sleeves slightly raised, "I think I've done it."

Dead silence, calm.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

No Dao Rhyme or glowing aura erupted.

The mysterious imagery blossoming from Qingju's tail also disappeared after it returned to zero.

After Bazun An reappeared at the peak of Lingyu, he didn't trigger any special phenomena in the world, as if he were an ordinary mountain rock left from antiquity.

He was already there.

He should have been standing there.

There was no "deviation," no "enlightenment," no "transcendence," so naturally, it didn't attract the attention of the lightning tribulation, which would then annihilate him, destroy him, and everything.

But...

"Impossible!"

"It shouldn't be!"

Hua Changdeng retreated in panic, looking up at the sky.

Above the firmament, in the outer starry sky, there was indeed no gathering of an Ancestral God's tribulation of annihilation.

Bazun An was simply Bazun An.

He simply became one with the sword and human.

Before this, he had dispersed his spiritual energy, techniques, and life, appearing in a plain, real form before him.

"Still don't understand?"

Bazun An smiled, stepped forward, and opened his mouth...

"Shut up!"

Hua Changdeng suddenly went mad, retreating several miles, "I didn't tell you to recite!"

Bazun An paused, then laughed.

He bent down and picked up a stone. There was no spiritual energy, no techniques, no sword intent. The stone came naturally, everything in harmony with the Dao, as if it were simply meant to be.

He threw the stone into the lake...

Where was there a lake on Lingyu Mountain?

Hua Changdeng's eyes widened, and the Five Domains were inexplicably terrified.

But as the stone flew, a lake indeed appeared ahead, surrounded by white jade railings, with several fat geese.

"Goo goo goo..."

The stone sank into the lake, startling the geese. They called out as they swam further away, and that was all.

"That's all."

Bazun An looked back at Hua Changdeng, his voice growing a little heavier:

"The Dao, that's all there is to it."

"The Dao, without up or down, without high or low, acts without doing, yet leaves nothing undone, thus perfect, and naturally without tribulation."

He took another step forward.

Hua Changdeng's eyes widened in fury, and he retreated another three li: "Impossible! Impossible!"

Bazun An smiled.

Hua Changdeng's pupils dilated.

He wasn't Bazun An; he was that highest mountain in the Cloud Mountain Imperial Realm that even the ancestors couldn't climb!

Bazun An smiled again.

Hua Changdeng's pupils trembled.

No, he wasn't a mountain, he was just Bazun An, just as he said, that's all.

Bazun An smiled once more.

Hua Changdeng completely broke down.

He saw the Cloud Mountain Imperial Realm again, that unreachable supreme mountain...

What was this?

What was this thing?

What kind of ability was this?

Stones, geese, a lake, things that shouldn't exist, yet appeared when he willed them... A dream? A great dream of a thousand autumns? Dream Ancestor? Had he become the Dream Ancestor?

Seeing mountains as mountains, then not as mountains, then as mountains again... Human and sword becoming one, not ordinary, but returning to simplicity?

Returning to simplicity couldn't be this "true"!

That kind of "truth" was "Dao," the ubiquitous "Dao," and with it came nature, spontaneity, and creation from nothing.

But if it wasn't "truth," not "Dao," how could Bazun An, without spiritual energy, without techniques, without life, create all this with a mere flick of his hand?

"What are you?"

Hua Changdeng's thoughts were chaotic, a tangled mess, and he could no longer control his own loss of self. Confusion turned into terror, and he roared hoarsely:

"Bazun An, what exactly are you?!"

Silence, that was Lingyu Mountain at this moment.

Bazun An was sometimes Bazun An, sometimes Qingju, sometimes Bazun An's sword-self with Qingju as his spine, returned to zero and perfected.

"What am I?"

Bazun An frowned.

That feeling came out, he had done his best.

But he became unable to explain to Hua Changdeng, to the ancient sword cultivators of the Five Domains, or rather, to Xu Xiaoshou who was observing "himself" at this moment, what "he" truly was.

"I am just me."

Bazun An took another step forward.

Hua Changdeng desperately gripped his retreating steps, watching in terror.

Bazun An tilted his hand, Qingju appeared, he instantly shattered his sword-self, and Qingju manifested him.

Bazun An flicked his hand, Qingju shattered, he once again grasped the East, and thus a sword came from the East.

Repeating this, Yin and Yang merged.

No passage, returning to zero, achieving perfection.

"This is me."

"If you still don't understand, perhaps this way, it will be clearer..."

Bazun An obliquely raised Qingju, his brows suddenly furrowing.

He took a step, using Lingyu as his foundation, and throughout the Zhongyu, a brilliant silver sword-thought unfurled.

With a rumble, the sound of a Dao tribulation exploded in the sky.