Withered Bones Bloom

The banquet ended.

The night was inky black, yet the Qin Family's martial arts arena was as bright as day.

Hundreds of tallow candles, as thick as a child's arm, burned fiercely in the wind, illuminating the ten-zhang square jade stage with perfect clarity. Below the stage, dignitaries gathered, their silk robes rustling as they whispered. Jianghu heroes, weapons in hand, stared greedily at the center of the arena.

Old Madam Qin sat on the high platform to the north, a sandalwood prayer bead bracelet in her hand. Her eyes were half-closed, like a benevolent clay statue. Xiao Hongxiu sat to her left, her red robes like fire, holding a half-finished cup of wine, a theatrical smile playing on her lips.

A white figure drifted down.

It landed in the center of the stage without a sound, like a feather.

Qin Wuji.

He had changed into a close-fitting white robe with cloud patterns, and the renowned "Chixiao" sword hung at his waist. The sword was still sheathed, but its imposing nobility and sharpness seemed to dim the surrounding candlelight.

"Retire."

Qin Wuji spoke calmly.

The Sword Slave, who had won three consecutive matches, immediately sheathed his sword and respectfully retreated below the stage, not daring to look at his young master.

"Brother Ji."

Qin Wuji smiled, his gaze piercing through the layers of people to land precisely on the blue-robed figure in the corner.

"The wine has cleared, the sword is sharp."

"Please."

On the stage, Qin Wuji stood with his hands behind his back, his white robes like snow. The night sky behind him was as dark as ink, yet he stood in the center of the light, so pure he seemed untouched by a speck of dust.

Ji Ye stood at the foot of the steps.

He looked up at the jade steps.

In his eyes, two worlds overlapped.

One was the magnificent Qin Family mansion before him.

The other was the pitch-black, foul-smelling mass grave from the depths of his memory.

The rain had been heavy then, the mud cold. Wild dogs gnawed at the bones, and crows waited on withered trees for him to draw his last breath.

In his first life, he had died there. His face buried in mud and water, surrounded by rotting corpses and dogs feeding on decaying flesh. He had desperately tried to grasp something then, but only managed to clutch mud.

Ji Ye stepped onto the jade steps.

One step.

The rain in the mass grave stopped.

Two steps.

The snow in Black Stone County melted.

Three steps.

He stood in the center of the jade-paved arena, under the spotlight of power in the Great Liang Dynasty.

"Brother Ji."

Qin Wuji looked at the shabby cloth-wrapped bundle in Ji Ye's hand, the corner of his mouth curling into an elegant and cruel arc.

"Is this the Grand Princess's sword?"

A low burst of laughter came from below the stage. There was no malice in the laughter, only a kind of condescending pity. It was like seeing a stray dog wander into a lion's territory, not only overestimating itself but also appearing somewhat ridiculous.

Ji Ye ignored the voices.

He simply looked at Qin Wuji, his eyes as clear as an ancient well.

There was no anger, not even killing intent.

Only a kind of... focused intensity, like a predator observing its prey.

"Unsheathe your sword."

Ji Ye said softly.

He raised his hand and began to unwrap the cloth bundle.

His movements were slow and steady. His fingertips brushed against the rough fabric, producing an extremely faint rustling sound.

The first layer of cloth fell.

Like shedding an old skin.

The second layer of cloth fell.

Like washing away the dirt.

When the last layer of cloth slid off, a sword was exposed, naked, under the brilliant candlelight.

The laughter choked off as if someone had grabbed their throat, stopping abruptly.

The sword was extremely narrow, its entire body a sickly grayish-green. It was covered in dense cracks, as if bearing the scars of countless heavy blows, or perhaps like a person whose bones had been shattered and then forcibly pieced back together.

This wasn't a sword at all.

This is a piece of unwilling bone, dug out from a grave.

Qin Wuji's smile froze for a moment, then the amusement in his eyes deepened.

"Brother Ji, your sword..." He shook his head, as if sighing, "I'm afraid it can't even block the wind on this stage."

"It doesn't need to block the wind."

Ji Ye raised his hand and grasped the hilt of the bone.

In that instant, there was no hatred, no anger in his eyes, only a sky full of heavy rain and an endless night.

He seemed to have returned to that mass grave.

Rainwater washed over his wounds, and mud filled his nostrils.

He wanted to grab something, but only grasped rotten mud.

But this time.

He grasped the sword.

"It only slashes the wind."

Ji Ye raised his sword, the tip pointed levelly at Qin Wuji.

On the cracked sword body, not a trace of cold light reflected. It was like a black hole, greedily swallowing the surrounding light.

"What is this sword's name?"

Qin Wuji's hand finally rested on "Chixiao" at his waist. As a master at the half-step Meridian Opening stage, he sensed a hair-raising aura from that broken sword.

It was pure destruction.

Ji Ye looked at the cracks on the sword body, as if looking at the scars on his own soul.

"Bushou."

Two words.

Not long-lived.

Cannot live long, unwilling to live long, disdainful of living long.

"Bushou?" Qin Wuji raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Ji Ye took a step forward.

A crack silently appeared on the white marble floor beneath his feet.

"When the sword master wields this, they must stake their life, leaving no room for retreat. This is Bushou."

He took another step.

The aura on his body was no longer that gloomy deathly stillness, but a near-brilliant, tragic intensity of embracing death to live.

It was like a flower blooming from a pile of rotten corpses in that mass grave.

Bewitching, highly poisonous, and with a beauty that lasted only a moment.

"Since it is Bushou, why persist?" Qin Wuji's voice turned cold. "Brother Ji, take a step back, and perhaps you can at least keep your body whole."

"Retreat?"

Ji Ye smiled.

He remembered himself curled up in a corner in his first life, remembered himself pierced through the heart by a sword in his second life.

There was nowhere to retreat.

Behind him lay a bottomless abyss, an endless hell of reincarnation.

There was only forward.

"Qin Wuji."

Ji Ye grinned, revealing a row of white teeth.

There was no killing intent in that smile, but rather a childlike purity and joy.

His eyes reflected the vast and indifferent starry sky above.

"Don't blink."

"I've practiced this sword for three lifetimes."

"Buzz--!!!"

The Bushou sword trembled.

It was not a clear dragon's roar, but a hoarse, dry, yet ear-piercing wail.

It was the last crow's blood-curdling cry from the mass grave.

It was the roar of an unwilling soul in reincarnation.

Ji Ye disappeared.

Only a shattered afterimage remained where he stood.

In Qin Wuji's pupils, the cracked, grey-green longsword was continuously enlarging, enlarging, with a resolute posture...

Until it filled his entire world.

This sword.

Is named "Reincarnation."

It is also named "Bushou."

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