Withered Bones Bloom

The banquet ended.

Night was black as ink, yet the Qin Residence's martial arena shone bright as day.

Hundreds of massive tallow candles as thick as a man's arm blazed wildly in the wind, illuminating every last detail of the thirty-yard white marble arena. Beneath the stage, nobles and dignitaries gathered in droves. Those clad in brocade and finery whispered among themselves, while wandering martial heroes hugged their weapons and stared greedily at the arena.

Old Madam of the Qin family sat upon the northern platform, rolling a string of purple sandalwood prayer beads between her fingers. Her eyes were half-closed, and she resembled a kind-faced clay Bodhisattva. Xiao Hongxiu sat to her left, dressed in red like blazing fire. She held a half-finished cup of wine, a show-watching smile curled at her lips.

A white figure drifted down.

Without borrowing any force, he landed in the center of the arena as lightly as a feather.

Qin Wuji.

He had changed into a close-fitting white robe patterned with clouds. At his waist hung Chixiao, the sword renowned throughout the realm. Though it remained sheathed, the noble pressure and sharp edge it exuded had already dimmed the surrounding candlelight.

"Step down."

Qin Wuji spoke lightly.

The Sword Slave who had won three matches in a row immediately sheathed his sword and respectfully withdrew from the stage. He did not even dare raise his head to look at his young master.

"Brother Ji."

Qin Wuji smiled, his gaze passing through the layered crowd and landing precisely on the blue-robed figure in the corner.

"The wine has sobered, and the sword has been sharpened."

"Please."

On the stage, Qin Wuji stood with his hands behind his back, white robes whiter than snow. Behind him, the night sky was black as ink, while he stood at the heart of the light, so immaculate that not a speck of dust could stain him.

Ji Ye stood below the steps.

He raised his head and looked at the white marble stairs.

In his eyes, two worlds overlapped.

One was the resplendent Qin Residence before him.

The other was that black, fetid mass graveyard buried deep in his memories.

Back then, the rain had been torrential, the rotten mud icy cold. Wild dogs gnawed at corpses, while old crows waited upon dead trees for him to breathe his last.

In his first life, he had died there. His face had been buried in mud and rainwater, surrounded by rotting corpses and wild dogs tearing at rotten flesh. Back then, he had desperately tried to grasp something, yet all he had grasped was mud.

Ji Ye stepped onto the white marble stairs.

One step.

The rain at the mass graveyard stopped.

Two steps.

The snow in Black Stone County melted.

Three steps.

He stood in the center of the white-marble arena, beneath the spotlight of power in the Great Liang Dynasty.

"Brother Ji."

Qin Wuji looked at the shabby strip of cloth wrapped around Ji Ye's sword, an elegant and cruel curve lifting at his lips.

"This is the sword from Grand Princess's Manor?"

A low wave of laughter rose beneath the stage. There was no malice in that laughter, only lofty pity. It was like seeing a wild dog barge into a lion's territory—overestimating itself and looking rather ridiculous besides.

Ji Ye ignored those voices.

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

There was no anger, not even killing intent.

Only the concentration of a hunter watching his prey.

"Unwrap the sword."

Ji Ye spoke softly.

He raised his hand and began untying the cloth strips.

His movements were slow and steady. His fingertips brushed across the coarse fabric, making an almost imperceptible rustling sound.

The first layer of cloth fell to the ground.

Like an old skin peeling away.

The second layer of cloth fell to the ground.

Like washing away a body's worth of dust and mud.

When the final layer slipped away, a sword was laid bare beneath the brilliant candlelight.

The laughter stopped abruptly, as though someone had seized it by the throat.

The blade was extremely narrow, its entire body a sickly blue-gray. It was covered in dense cracks, like wounds left by countless heavy blows, or like... a person whose bones had all been shattered, then forcibly pieced back together.

This was not a sword at all.

It was an unyielding remnant of bone dug out of a grave.

The smile on Qin Wuji's face froze for an instant, then the amusement in his eyes deepened.

"Brother Ji, this sword of yours..." He shook his head as if sighing. "I fear it cannot even withstand the wind upon this stage."

"It does not need to withstand the wind."

Ji Ye raised his hand and gripped that bone-like hilt.

In that instant, there was no hatred in his eyes, no fury—only torrential rain and endless night.

He seemed to return to that mass graveyard once more.

Rainwater washed over his wounds, and mud poured into his nostrils.

He had wanted to grasp something, yet all he had grasped was mud.

But this time.

He grasped the sword.

"It only cleaves the wind."

Ji Ye raised his sword, its tip leveled at Qin Wuji.

There was not a trace of cold gleam upon the cracked blade. Like a black hole, it greedily devoured the light around it.

"What is this sword called?"

Qin Wuji's hand finally settled upon Chixiao at his waist. As an expert half a step into Meridian Opening, he had smelled an aura from that broken sword that made every hair on his body stand on end.

It was pure destruction.

Ji Ye looked at the cracks on the blade as though he were looking at the scars upon his own soul.

"Not Long-Lived."

Two words.

Not long-lived.

Unable to live long, unwilling to live long, disdaining to live long.

"Not Long-Lived?" Qin Wuji raised a brow. "What does that mean?"

Ji Ye took a step forward.

A crack silently appeared in the white marble beneath his feet.

"Whoever wields this sword must stake his life on it, leaving no way back. Thus, it is Not Long-Lived."

He took another step.

The aura around him was no longer that gloomy deathly air, but something that sought life through death—almost glorious in its tragic splendor.

Like a flower of the other shore blooming from a heap of rotting corpses in that mass graveyard.

Seductive, deadly poisonous, and glorious for only an instant.

"If it is not long-lived, why cling to it?" Qin Wuji's voice turned cold. "Brother Ji, take one step back, and perhaps you can still leave behind an intact corpse."

"Retreat?"

Ji Ye smiled.

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

There was nowhere left to retreat.

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

The only path was forward.

"Qin Wuji."

Ji Ye bared his teeth in a grin.

There was not a trace of killing intent in that smile. Instead, it carried the purity and delight of a child.

In those eyes was reflected the vast and indifferent starry sky overhead.

"Do not blink."

"I have practiced this sword for three lifetimes."

Bzzzz—!!!

The Not Long-Lived Sword trembled.

It was not a clear dragon's cry, but a hoarse, desiccated wail that pierced the eardrums.

It was the blood-curdling cry of the last old crow in the mass graveyard.

It was the roar of an unwilling soul within reincarnation.

Ji Ye vanished.

Only a shattered afterimage remained where he had stood.

And within Qin Wuji's pupils, that blue-gray longsword covered in cracks expanded in a resolute posture, growing larger and larger...

Until it filled his entire world.

This sword.

Was called "Reincarnation."

It was also called "Not Long-Lived."