Teaching the sword, visitors from the imperial court

Boom!

The Outer-Scenery Yellow Court Qi Scripture shone, its pages slowly turning.

The moment Xuan Ming's consciousness entered the scripture, a thunderous roar rang in his ears, and a terrifying scene unfolded before him.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the heavens.

The tides of chaos began their counterattack against the newborn world.

The world's membrane was compressed and distorted, cracks appearing across it.

The newborn world faced an annihilating calamity. Chaos collided with heaven and earth, spawning world-destroying Thunderclap.

Lightning danced like silver serpents, and purple thunder roared.

Mountains crumbled, the earth split, and rivers flowed backward.

The Eight True Divine Gods appeared again, merging with Earth, Wind, Water, and Fire. They sacrificed themselves to mend the world's embryonic membrane.

Once heaven and earth had stabilized again, the Thunderclap ravaging Heaven and Earth was instinctively enveloped by the world's will.

After long ages, five Divine beings were born, surrounded respectively by black, white, red, azure, and yellow Thunderclap.

They traveled through the five directions, bringing order to the Five Phases.

With their aid, Yin and Yang separated, the sun and moon were born, the Five Phases cycled, and mountains and rivers gained spiritual essence.

Fertile soil formed upon the earth, its profound virtue bearing all things.

Plants broke through the soil, sprouting fresh green shoots.

Rivers surged without cease, vast and majestic.

Heaven and earth gained color, becoming a dazzling tapestry of countless hues.

All things in the world were renewed, nurturing new Divine beings.

The Eight True Gods appeared once more, descending anew to guard the eight directions of heaven and earth according to the positions of the Eight Trigrams.

The sun and moon vied in brilliance, and Yin and Yang joined in harmony.

The two primordial qi of Yin and Yang collided, giving birth to twelve Divine beings—six yang and six yin, each generating and restraining the others.

The twelve Divine beings flew into the heavens and concealed themselves, regulating the Clear and Turbid qi of heaven and earth and ordering the Cosmos's spiritual currents of Yin and Yang.

Heaven and earth grew ever more spiritual, brimming with life.

For as long as the world evolved, Xuan Ming watched.

Then, one day, heaven and earth shook.

Stars emerged throughout the heavens, one after another, revolving around the sun and moon—three hundred and sixty-five in all.

The twelve Divine beings and the Five Directional Thunder Gods manifested, demonstrating the principles of Yin and Yang and the Five Phases. Xuan Ming became immersed in them.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

A rooster's crow woke Xuan Ming.

Through the window, he saw a sliver of fish-belly white appearing on the horizon.

He rose from his bed and walked outside. Following his usual routine, he sat cross-legged atop a tree and gathered purple qi from the morning sun. After breakfast, instead of heading to the Scripture Pavilion as usual, Xuan Ming remained in the Dao Inquiry Courtyard.

Beneath a gnarled old pine, the white-haired Daoist sat cross-legged.

He closed his eyes and focused, carefully contemplating what he had gained from viewing the scripture the night before.

Upon entering the Outer-Scenery Yellow Court Qi Jade Scripture this time, he had once again witnessed the evolution of heaven and earth. Beyond comprehending its many principles, he had gained three insights, just as before. In addition to perfecting the Primordial Unity Qi Formula through the Qi Refinement realm, he had also comprehended two powerful techniques.

Yet he was in no hurry to practice them.

On the path of cultivation, the Dao was the foundation.

Compared with supernatural powers and techniques, Xuan Ming cared more about principles and cultivation formulas. These were the foundation of his pursuit of the Dao and everlasting life.

The sun rose and the moon set. For three consecutive days, aside from accumulating magical power, Xuan Ming devoted himself to digesting those principles and making them his own.

Then came the fourth day, with the morning sun just rising.

Having gathered purple qi, he was about to practice his techniques when he spotted Chang'anzi peeking into the courtyard.

"You little brat, what are you skulking around outside for?"

"Get in here already."

At those words, Chang'anzi immediately scampered into the courtyard. After bowing in greeting, he stood with shining eyes, looking as though he wanted to speak but was holding back, his expression practically begging Xuan Ming to ask.

They had spent six years together, day in and day out. This martial nephew who had fallen into his lap always reacted this way whenever he had juicy gossip, and Xuan Ming had long since grown accustomed to it.

But he had no intention of indulging him.

The more Chang'anzi acted like this, the less inclined Xuan Ming was to ask.

He beckoned with one hand. The Peachwood Sword on the table trembled, flew out of the cottage, and landed in his hand. Raising it, he began practicing the Eight Trigrams Sword Art.

The sword followed his intent as naturally as fingers followed the arm.

Its forms flowed into one another with seamless perfection.

In his hands, the Eight Trigrams Sword Art moved like drifting clouds and flowing water, every form suffused with Dao resonance. It had undergone a transformation as profound as shedding its bones and being reborn, as though something dead had come alive. The entire sword art now possessed life, brimming with spirituality.

And indeed, that was precisely what had happened.

After watching the Eight True Divine Gods demonstrate the Eight Trigrams, returning to reality, and digesting his gains, Xuan Ming had developed a broader understanding and deeper appreciation of their profound principles.

Like a boat rising with the tide, the Eight Trigrams Sword Art had undergone a qualitative transformation as well. Not only was it more complete, its technique approaching the Dao and its power multiplying, but it was also filled with subtle mysteries and wondrous principles. If he laid down the Eight Trigrams Sword Formation, it would surely become even more elusive and unpredictable.

If he encountered another powerful foe comparable to the snake demon, dealing with it would not be as troublesome as it had been that night.

Xuan Ming practiced his swordplay over and over, never tiring of it. Chang'anzi had once reached the third stage of Essence Refinement, and though he had now fallen to the first stage, his discerning eye remained.

Even without his martial uncle using Magic Power, he could still sense the difference in the sword art. Some of the irreverence faded from his face, replaced by solemnity, and before he knew it, he was lost in watching.

Only when Xuan Ming lightly tapped his forehead with the peachwood sword did the pain jolt him awake.

Clutching his aching forehead, Chang'anzi looked at Xuan Ming with both astonishment and admiration.

The Eight Trigrams Sword Art was the Truth-Seeking Abbey's foundational sword art.

The more fundamental an art, the fewer its flaws.

He had practiced the Eight Trigrams Sword Art and attained considerable mastery among the disciples. Even compared with the abbey's elders, he believed himself no less accomplished. Precisely because of that, he understood how powerful the sword art his martial uncle had demonstrated was, and how difficult it had been to perfect it.

The forms had changed only slightly, yet the art's overall spirituality and Dao resonance had multiplied severalfold. It looked familiar yet different, with a gulf between the two as vast as that between clouds and mud.

It could easily serve as the Truth-Seeking Abbey's defining sword art.

Even in a great sect of the Daoist Tradition like the Purple Dawn Sect, it would likely rank among the finest.

"Martial Uncle, this—!"

Xuan Ming waved a hand, cutting off what Chang'anzi was about to say.

"Some things are best understood and kept to yourself."

He had no intention of making this New Eight Trigrams Sword Art known to everyone—not because he was unwilling, but because he could not.

This sword art contained profound principles. Only someone who had perfected the old Eight Trigrams Sword Art could practice it.

In the entire Truth-Seeking Abbey, only Chang'anzi qualified.

In the past, Senior Brother Xuan Ye had excelled most at the Eight Trigrams Sword Art.

After his unexpected death, Chang'anzi had practiced this sword art day after day, and no other.

Over those long years, he had long since perfected it.

After entering the Dao, Xuan Ming had seen him perform it in the neighboring courtyard. Every form already bore his own distinctive flair.

Chang'anzi was quick-witted.

How could he fail to understand that his martial uncle had deliberately taught him this exquisite sword art?

Warmth flowed through his heart. He bowed solemnly. "Thank you for teaching me, Martial Uncle."

Xuan Ming waved a hand dismissively.

"There's no need for that."

"You've taken such good care of this old Daoist over the years."

"I'm merely returning a peach for a plum."

Putting away the peachwood sword, Xuan Ming prepared to go inside.

Chang'anzi turned to leave, but after only a few steps, he suddenly remembered why he had come. He hurriedly turned back, ran up to Xuan Ming, and eagerly spoke without waiting to be asked.

"Martial Uncle, someone has come up from below the mountain."

"The imperial commissioner assigned to disaster relief came in person to visit the abbey master and commend the Truth-Seeking Abbey on behalf of the Imperial Court."

"Guess what else he brought besides gold, silver, and medicinal herbs?"

Seeing Chang'anzi waggling his eyebrows, deliberately keeping him in suspense while grinning smugly, Xuan Ming's hand began to itch. He very much wanted to smack something, and Chang'anzi's position made him a perfectly suitable target.

A martial uncle smacking his martial nephew was entirely reasonable.

Wait. His position.

Remembering Chang'anzi's other status, Xuan Ming's eyes lit up, and he lightly slapped Chang'anzi's forehead.

"You little brat, deliberately keeping your martial uncle hanging."

"Do it again, and I'll toss you straight onto Pure Maiden Peak and let Martial Niece Chang Ning deal with you."

The moment his words fell silent,

a pleasant voice rang out from outside.

"Martial Uncle, what are you leaving to me?"