Shang Jiuming had experienced the fragmentation of the rubbing copies of the Town God and Startling God sword techniques, as well as the sect's rise and decline. He hungered for the sect's revival with an almost pathological desperation. For all these years, he had scraped and schemed, running everywhere and currying favor under martial heroes and great sects of the jianghu. To secure a place for himself, he had endured every kind of fickleness and spent away his years. As a result, he had only five or six disciples, and only one child—Shang Lingxi. Outnumbered and powerless, they could hardly be called a sect.
Now, having suddenly obtained one of the Four Great Strange Books—the Divine Sword Puppet, so closely connected to the sect's inheritance—Shang Jiuming was instantly overcome by the sensation of waking from a dream. Wild joy, excitement, and lofty ambition filled his heart. The gloomy, repressed man seemed to have returned to his youth, spirited and impassioned.
That had been his previous impression: reality was like a dream. Yet at this moment, a strange enlightenment arose within him. He was in a dream, seeing a white-robed figure standing proudly with a sword. And yet the scene also possessed a lifelike quality, as though the dream were reality.
Amid the rise and fall of his thoughts, he saw the white-robed figure turn around, revealing a handsome, heroic face. The long sword in his hand let out a dragon's cry and broke free of its sheath.
A streak of white light flared, as if lightning had illuminated the heavens. It was unbelievably fast. Shang Jiuming felt the qi sea in his Dantian surge along with it, splitting off a stream of True Qi that passed through the Three Gates and pierced the Seven Apertures. It became refined and pure,