Five kalpas ago, there was a sword cultivator known as Mr. Jiaxuan. His talent in the sword was unremarkable, and he ultimately failed to attain immortality. Yet his accomplishments in ci poetry stood towering through the ages; even the sword immortals were captivated by them. The verses Jian Ziyu had chanted as she flew away on her sword that day had also been written by him.
After the sword immortals' western expedition, Sword Discussion Pavilion suffered a grievous blow. It fell from the clouds, lifeless and desolate, shutting its gates and closing its doors in hopes of preserving itself. Mr. Jiaxuan had raced about with a heart full of fervor, crying out in every direction, yet won little response. In a burst of impassioned resolve, he forcibly attempted to break through to immortality, only to die beneath the heavenly tribulation.
This poem was his celebrated work, composed as he gazed from afar in mourning upon Sword Garden, touching the present and recalling the past, his grief and hatred tearing at his heart. In a moment of distraction, the verses had already reached their end. Chen Longchuan recited in a low, hoarse voice, "A thousand ages of rise and fall, a hundred years of sorrow and laughter..."
The sword cultivators had practically grown up listening to this ci poem, and they began chanting it over and over. By now, it was no longer confined to Ming Jian Tower. Inside and outside the tower; hundreds, thousands; those who knew it and those who did not—wherever swords rang out, voices rose in song.
Voices within and without intertwined, near and far overlapped, blending into a melody of mournful grandeur and boundless desolation: "A thousand ages of rise and fall, a hundred years of sorrow and laughter—one brief ascent to take it all in."