Magpie Blade Sect, Ximen Chuixue

The snow on Changbai Mountain gradually subsided.

That ethereal figure in green robes had long since vanished into the vast snowfields and towering mountains, leaving no trace.

Only a sliver of mist faintly visible above the distant mountains still indicated the direction he had gone.

Holding the swaddled baby in his arms, Zhang Qishan stood on the snow-covered mountaintop, gazing in the direction where the Immortal had disappeared, his gaze lingering for a long time.

The baby in her arms had fully recovered after taking the Immortal Elixir and was now sleeping Jingjing, breathing evenly and softly.

In Zhang Qishan's hand, he still tightly gripped the jet-black longsword bestowed upon him by the Immortal.

Ximen Changhai was also looking in that direction.

After a long silence, he slowly exhaled a long breath.

Looking at the boy before him, whose family had been destroyed yet who still stubbornly protected his younger brother, a complex mix of emotions welled up within him.

He listened as Zhang Qishan recounted his experiences in fits and starts.

The village was brutally massacred; the entire family perished under the swords of Hezhen's soldiers.

He and his brother survived by chance, were rescued by Immortals, and then rode a dragon northward.

He witnessed firsthand how hundreds of thousands of Hezhen soldiers were annihilated in the blink of an eye by the Immortal.

Ximen Changhai sighed deeply.

He looked up at the vast snowfield, then down at Zhang Qishan, his voice tinged with a sigh:

"Child, what are your plans for the future?"

Zhang Qishan remained silent for a moment.

He looked down at his sleeping younger brother in his arms, then looked up at the deserted depths of the mountains.

After a moment, his gaze hardened again, and he said, word by word:

"I want to move Zhangjia Village to the foot of Changbai Mountain."

"Generations have guarded this mountain, protecting the Immortals within, preventing outsiders from disturbing Immortal tranquil cultivation."

He spoke solemnly, as if making a vow that would last a lifetime.

Ximen Changhai was slightly taken aback, then couldn't help but give a wry smile, jokingly saying:

"You're just a little kid who hasn't even grown all your feathers yet. You probably couldn't even beat a wild wolf from the mountains. So weak, how can you protect the Immortals?"

Zhang Qishan opened his mouth, but for a moment he didn't know how to refute it.

He was indeed too weak.

He was just a teenager who had barely survived the massacre of his entire family.

Unarmed and utterly devoid of martial arts skills, unable even to protect himself, how could he possibly protect an Immortal who could annihilate hundreds of thousands of soldiers with a flick of his finger?

The impulsive passion I felt just now was completely extinguished by Ximen Changhai's words.

He fell silent, pursed his lips, but his eyes still betrayed his resentment.

Looking at the boy's stubborn appearance, Ximen Changhai's playful thoughts gradually faded, replaced by a genuine sense of pity and appreciation.

He pondered for a moment, then suddenly spoke:

Would you be willing to become my disciple?

Zhang Qishan raised his head, a look of suspicion in his eyes.

"Uncle Simon, are you very capable?"

Ximen Changhai looked at the doubt in the boy's eyes, paused for a moment, and then chuckled.

Throughout his life, he never cared about those empty Jianghu and reputations in the martial arts world.

Seeing the undisguised doubt in the boy's eyes only piqued his interest.

He didn't rush to answer, but slowly raised his hand, grasped the long sword at his waist, and drew it out inch by inch.

The sword was drawn from its sheath, emitting a clear, resonant ringing sound, and flashed with a cold, sharp light in the snow.

Ximen Changhai didn't perform any fancy swordplay; with a simple flick of his wrist, an invisible Sword Intent quietly condensed on the blade, attaching itself to the sword.

The tip of the sword faintly exuded a chilling sharpness.

He stood with his sword in hand, his gaze calmly pointing to a pine tree not far away, about the thickness of a bowl. His Sword Intent surged, and he made a light, sweeping motion.

There was no astonishing display of power, no extraordinary phenomenon of Sword Qi soaring into the sky.

But in the next instant, the slender pine tree suddenly split in two from the very middle, the break as smooth as a mirror, shattering inch by inch, crashing into the snow with a loud thud, raising a cloud of snowflakes.

Zhang Qishan stared in disbelief, his pupils reflecting the image of the pine tree that had crashed down, unable to recover for a long time.

Ximen Changhai sheathed his sword, turned to look at him, and said in a calm tone:

"I am but a humble old man, known in the Jianghu as the greatest swordsman under heaven."

Zhang Qishan gazed at the pine tree split in two, then at Uncle Ximen standing with his hands behind his back.

The doubt in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a burning light.

He knelt down in the snow with a thud, kowtowing heavily, his voice trembling with excitement:

"This disciple is willing! This disciple pays respects to Master!"

He desperately needs strength.

He wanted to protect his younger brother, to protect that mountain, and to become someone who could stand beside the Immortals.

While the chivalrous Ximen before them might not possess the extraordinary abilities of Immortal, he was still a formidable figure.

Yet he was also a renowned swordsman in the Jianghu.

Becoming his disciple is the most tangible fortuitous opportunity he can obtain right now.

Seeing the boy's eager reaction, Ximen Changhai smiled with satisfaction.

He glanced again at the sleeping baby in Zhang Qishan's arms, and slowly said:

"Then your younger brother, you shall also become my disciple. From now on, you two brothers will be my disciples, Ximen Changhai."

Zhang Qishan nodded heavily, a hint of tears welling up in his eyes.

It was as if he had finally found a new refuge on this devastated mountain.

Two helpless orphans suddenly found a master and an elder willing to teach them.

Zhang Qishan, holding his younger brother, solemnly knelt down and bowed to Ximen Changhai.

He suddenly remembered something and asked:

"Master, what is the name of our sect?"

Upon hearing this, Ximen Changhai's gaze slowly fell on the jet-black longsword bestowed by the Immortal in Zhang Qishan's hand, and he remained silent for a long while.

The long sword was entirely black, gleaming with a deep, cold light under the snow, and faintly revealing a sharp edge.

He raised his head, looked up at the vast Changbai Mountains, and slowly uttered three words:

"It originally didn't have a name, but from now on it will be called the Magpie Blade Sect."

Zhang Qishan was slightly taken aback:

"Magpie Blade Sect?"

"Um."

Ximen Changhai nodded, his tone serious.

"From this day forward, you and I, master and disciple, are members of the Magpie Blade Sect."

Zhang Qishan glanced down at the black knife in his hand.

Looking at Ximen Changhai again, the initial unfamiliarity and confusion in his heart were gradually filled with a sense of belonging.

He solemnly kowtowed again:

"Disciple Zhang Qishan greets Master!"

Ximen Changhai helped him up, and looking at this stubborn young man, a warm feeling welled up in his heart.

He suddenly asked again, "By the way, do you know what my daughter's name is?"

Zhang Qishan shook his head curiously.

Ximen Changhai looked at him, a hint of tenderness and a smile that he couldn't hide flashing in his eyes, and slowly said:

Her name is Ximen Chuixue.

"Ximen Chuixue..."

Zhang Qishan murmured the name once.

The name evokes a sense of unparalleled elegance and aloofness, as if it carries a chivalrous spirit that seems to have emerged from the wind and snow.

Ximen Changhai smiled, his gaze lingering on the distance, his tone carrying a more solemn promise:

"Once I return and cure Chuixue's illness, I will bring her back with me. At that time, I will personally teach you two brothers swordsmanship and saber techniques, and we, master and disciples, will establish the Magpie Blade Sect at the foot of Changbai Mountain."

Zhang Qishan nodded vigorously, a glint of light appearing in his eyes.

He suddenly spoke again, with a hint of childlike seriousness:

"Master, do you think... if we practice for a lifetime, can we reach the level of Immortal?"

Upon hearing this, Ximen Changhai paused slightly, then chuckled and gently shook his head.

"The realm of Immortals is something Master will likely never even touch in his entire life. But we practice swordsmanship not to become immortals, but to protect those we want to protect in this world."

Zhang Qishan nodded as if he understood, but he kept those words firmly in his heart.

Ximen Changhai glanced at the sky and said to Zhang Qishan:

"Alright, it's freezing cold. Let's go down the mountain and find a place to stay. There's plenty of time ahead of us; your master will teach you slowly."

Zhang Qishan responded and held his sleeping younger brother in his arms.

He glanced down at the long, black sword in his hand and followed behind him.

Step by step, I trudged through the snow down the mountain.

In the wind and snow, two figures, one tall and one short, gradually disappeared into the distance, leaving behind the first footprints of the Magpie Blade Sect at the foot of Changbai Mountain.

The snow in Changbai Mountain continues to fall slowly and steadily.

At the foot of the mountain,

A weathered middle-aged swordsman, a determined but naive young man, and an infant in swaddling clothes.

And so began a bond between master and apprentice.