Within the Sword Pavilion, a cold moon hung high. This strange space formed a realm of its own, clear and chill, quiet and still.
Inside and outside the pavilion, masters of the sword from every major faction had gathered in one small courtyard after another, all attending the Boundless Sword Feast.
Within one inconspicuous courtyard, the red-clad figure stood quietly beneath the cold night, lost in silent thought.
Over the past hundred years, he had developed a habit: whenever he did anything, he weighed the gains and losses and arranged a path of retreat.
If something lay within human capability, failure could not be allowed. If it lay beyond human reach, the risks had to be reduced to the lowest possible limit.
Martial strength, intellect, and luck—these were what every cultivator relied upon to survive. Luck could not be changed, but martial strength and intellect were determined by human effort. If one was lacking, the other had to make up for it.
"What are you thinking about?"
At some unknown moment, Lin Yuzhen appeared behind him and asked softly.
Ning Chen came back to himself and said, "I was thinking about what tomorrow's meeting with the Sword Pavilion's three Pavilion Masters will be like."
"The Sword Pavilion was once the foremost of the Four Pavilions. Its three Pavilion Masters must be among the strongest experts at the very peak of this age," Lin Yuzhen replied.
"Your Highness, it is no fault to measure a gentleman's heart with a petty man's yardstick. We need to prepare for the worst," Ning Chen reminded her.
"Brother Ning believes the Sword Pavilion may mean us harm?" Lin Yuzhen asked, her eyes narrowing.
"One must never lack the heart to guard against others. I have never dealt with the Sword Pavilion, nor do I bear