God of Swords

Tiger Hill was a mountain, originally named Haiyong Mountain. It stood outside the Lu Gate of Suzhou. According to local legend, King Helü of Wu was buried inside the mountain, in a mercury coffin and a tomb lined with gold and silver.

The Records of the Grand Historian stated: "Helü's tomb lies outside the Lu Gate of Wu County. A hundred thousand men worked on it, taking earth from beside the lake. Three days after the burial, a white tiger crouched atop the tomb, and so the mountain was named Tiger Hill."

The mountain was not tall, but it was steeped in beautiful legends and myths. Since ancient times, it had been a must-visit for talented scholars and poets.

He Heng and the others reached Gusu safely.

They did not skirt the city but went straight through it. Li Yuhan and Liu Wumei were still chatting and laughing; no one could guess the complicated thoughts in their hearts.

Soon, they had crossed the city and reached its outskirts.

Tiger Hill lay seven li beyond the city.

Yet as soon as they passed through the gate, they could see the mountain's lush, imposing outline in the distance. It looked just like a mighty tiger crouching there, vigorous and majestic.

He Heng raised his head to admire the mountain and praised it. "What a formidable mountain, commanding the terrain like a crouching tiger and coiling dragon! It was no accident that your Li ancestors chose this place to build Yongcui Mountain Villa. This mountain is truly magnificent."

Li Yuhan's face was filled with pride as well. "The Li Family is one of the three most prominent families in the Central Plains. Naturally, when we built Yongcui Mountain Villa, we chose a place blessed with outstanding people and splendid scenery."

He Heng said no more. After glancing at Li Yuhan and his wife, he continued on, and they soon reached the main gate.

Outside the gate was a small marketplace. A stream wound past, with three or five pleasure boats moored along its banks. From time to time, the boats rang with laughter as sweet as silver bells.

Beyond the gate, little shops lined both sides of the path, along with countless beggars. When they saw visitors, they crowded around to beg. Some called out from afar, bowing and smiling obsequiously. "Young Master Li, you're back? Madam, welcome." He Heng glanced at them as they passed, and soon they reached the famous Thousand Man Stone.

A vast slab of rock stretched before them, large enough for a thousand people to sit on. It seemed to have no end, and not even a blade of grass grew upon it. On its northern side stood a small stone platform.

Then Liu Wumei said, her voice calm and unhurried, "According to local legend, King Helü of Wu once built his tomb here with a thousand craftsmen. When the tomb was finished, the king feared they would reveal its hidden mechanisms, so he buried all one thousand men alive beneath this stone. That is why it came to be called the Thousand Man Stone." She told the grim tale so gently that it seemed to hold not a trace of bloodshed. Someone could not help asking, "And what is that stone platform?" Liu Wumei replied, "That is the lectern where the eminent monk Zhu Daosheng preached. It bears four Seal Script characters carved by Li Yangbing of the Tang dynasty: 'Master Sheng's Lectern.' The stone beside the White Lotus Pond is the famous Nodding Stone. As the saying goes, 'Master Sheng preached, and even stones nodded.' That tale began here." Her steps were as light as her voice. The mountain wind swept from behind the stone, loosening her hair and stirring her robes. She seemed ready to ride the breeze away.

He Heng glanced at her but said nothing. Ever since they arrived, he had hardly spoken.

Soon, they reached Sword Pool.

Trees stood thick and shadowy all around, their leaves lush and deep green. A wooden bridge lay across the pool like a rainbow. The water was cold and green, dotted with duckweed.

Standing by the bank, He Heng felt a chill wash over him. The pool's deep-green water seemed to conceal waves of killing intent.

Far away, autumn clouds gathered. Amid the breeze, the faint sound of an evening bell drifted over.

He Heng smiled faintly. "Li Xiuqing, a celebrated scholar of the Tang dynasty, ranked this water as the fifth-best spring beneath heaven. Yet he did not know it was ideal for tempering swords, and had long served as a place where swordsmen quenched their blades. The name 'Sword Pool' certainly suits it." Liu Wumei smiled alluringly. "They say the name has another origin." He Heng said, "Oh?" Liu Wumei explained, "It is said that King Helü of Wu was buried beneath this pool. Thirty famous swords were buried with him, including the Fish-Hidden Sword used by Zhuan Zhu. That is why this place is called Sword Pool."

"Is that so? Then the king wasted them. If those famous swords had remained in the world, they could have inspired countless more legends. Wouldn't that have been better than hiding them in this pool?" He Heng shook his head and looked ahead.

Liu Wumei listened closely, her expression unchanged. "Since you know this is the fifth-best spring beneath heaven, do you know the third-best is here too?" Beyond Sword Pool lay an enormous stone well, more than a zhang across. Beside it stood a hexagonal pavilion encircled by a red railing.

He Heng glanced at it coldly. "This must be the Lu Yu Tea Well, the third-best spring beneath heaven. In years past, Li Guanyu invited the finest swordsmen in the land here to brew tea and discuss swords. His elegance was truly admirable." But then he let out a long sigh. "Alas, though the land remains the same, the faces have all changed."

Dusk had fallen. The sunset clouds streamed across the sky, and a lone eagle circled among the shadows of the Tiger Hill Pagoda atop the mountain. It made the picturesque scene seem desolate and bleak.

His sigh, too, was desolate and bleak.

"Hmph! Who said things had changed?"

As He Heng sighed, a cold snort suddenly rang out. A wisp of smoke drifted from the hexagonal pavilion and scattered in an instant. In the pavilion, shrouded by its ethereal haze, an old white-haired man in a feathered robe and tall headdress sat alone, brewing tea. His solitude seemed just like that of the lone eagle circling beside the tower on the summit. He fixed He Heng with a cold stare.

"So you're the one who said things had changed. Did you think we were all old?" The old man sprang to his feet and let out a long howl. Autumn leaves around the pavilion shook loose under the force of his cry, fluttering down like snowflakes.

He Heng looked up. His expression did not change. "I meant no such thing. If you insist on taking it that way, I can't help you."

"So you're saying I was wrong—that I refuse to admit I'm old and have falsely accused you?" The old man fixed He Heng with a frigid stare, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

He Heng looked back at him and said calmly, "Each person knows the truth in his own heart. Why ask me?"

"Good, good! Each person knows the truth in his own heart!" The old man's eyes widened as he stared at He Heng. "Do you know who I am?"

He Heng met his gaze without flinching. "Do you know who I am?"

The two stared at each other, and the air seemed to freeze.

Suddenly, the old man burst into laughter and looked at He Heng. "What a Bai Yu Jing! What a Longevity Sword! No wonder Li Guanyu thought so highly of you back then. He said you might become the Number one sword under heaven."

"You flatter me. I'm not worthy of such praise." He Heng stood tall and straight, his bearing imposing. He looked at the old man. "But you, sir, once shook three mountains with a single sword and slew the Heavenly Star. You are the Star-Plucking Daoist, and you still have all your old grace."

Shuai Yifan looked at He Heng and sighed. "What a pity. At any other time, in any other place, if I met a sword master as talented as you, I would surely want to be your friend..."

He Heng cut him off before he could finish. Standing proudly, he looked coldly at Shuai Yifan and said, "There's no need to lament. No matter when or where we met, we could never have been friends. It has nothing to do with the circumstances; our natures and beliefs are simply different. Besides, we who wield swords don't need friends. We need only trust the sword in our hands."

Shuai Yifan fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. So now I'm going to take your head. Don't blame me for it in the afterlife."

He Heng smiled at Shuai Yifan. "I would never blame you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come to Yongcui Mountain Villa."

In truth, He Heng himself had asked Shuai Yifan to wait here, even though Shuai Yifan was merely following Li Yuhan's original instructions. He wanted to see whether the sword formation created by Li Guanyu and composed of the six greatest swordplay masters of the age was truly invincible, and whether it could put him under any pressure.

In the original story, Chu Liuxiang had broken this formation, but he had succeeded through a clever trick. Moreover, Shuai Yifan had not been there; Liu Wumei, who was not originally part of the formation, had taken his place, weakening its Perfect Harmony.

This time, He Heng intended to face the complete formation. He had no intention of using a trick. He would break it through sheer strength.

He Heng stared coldly at Shuai Yifan, who stared just as coldly back. A breeze brushed past, chilling their faces.

Clang!

He Heng and Shuai Yifan drew their swords at the same time. Their sword auras surged in every direction, illuminating the entire mountaintop. Brilliant swordlight swept across the ground, slicing leaves apart one by one as a cold gleam enveloped them.

Shuai Yifan struck first. A towering sword intent suddenly surged forth, sweeping in every direction. In an instant, his entire presence changed. He became a sharp sword, his boundless killing intent held within.

No one could have imagined that this old man, dressed in a feathered robe and tall headdress, with an air of otherworldly detachment, could become so sharp and terrifying in the blink of an eye.

The mountain wind swept past, billowing his robes, while his steps carried him steadily forward. Yet no one could tell that he was moving.

He had transformed all his spirit and strength into a single sword aura. People could sense only its overwhelming force and had forgotten the man himself.

He had merged with his sword aura, filling the space between heaven and earth. So when he moved, he seemed still; when he stood still, he seemed to move.

This was an exceptionally fearsome swordsmanship realm, only a fraction below the early mastery Ximen Chuixue had displayed when He Heng first saw him.

Ximen Chuixue was one of the finest swordsmen of the past several centuries, a contender for the title of Number one sword under heaven.

Shuai Yifan had reached such a realm in swordsmanship. He was already terrifying.

But He Heng was far more terrifying than he was.

In an instant, He Heng moved too!

His sword was as fast as lightning and as swift as thunder, several times faster than Shuai Yifan's.

Every move and form he used fused sword aura, sword intent, and Sword Momentum perfectly with his sword techniques, as though born of nature itself. This was an invincible swordsmanship realm, at least in this world.

To blend intangible sword intent and Sword Momentum perfectly with sword techniques and sword aura, as though they had arisen naturally, was beyond the realm of mortals. It was worthy of the name God of Swords.

And in the world of today, there was only one person who could be called the Sword God: Xie Xiaofeng.

Ye Gucheng, Xue Yiren, and Ximen Chuixue, as well as Li Guanyu in his day, were all still a fraction short.

Now, He Heng had reached that same level.