The heavy sword has no edge; supreme skill needs no artifice

White mist buried the shadowed ravines; crimson clouds lent their glow to dawn.

Floating Cloud Mountain, Truth-Seeking Abbey, Scripture Pavilion.

Outside, the cold froze heaven and earth, and autumn frost covered the ground.

Inside, it was warm as spring, with the fragrance of tea curling through the air.

Heavenly fragrance awakened the spirit; the scent of books seeped into the heart.

The white-haired old Daoist bent over his desk, studying a scripture with such concentration that he forgot both himself and the world. He sat there for four hours at a stretch.

Once he had thoroughly digested the Daoist Scripture in his hands, he rose, stretched his limbs, and walked to the window. Gazing into the distance from that height, he eased his fatigue and relaxed his body and mind.

Far away, he watched the mountain scenery; nearby, he listened to flowing water.

Looking toward Sword Cliff to the west, he gently stroked his beard.

More than two months had passed since Sword Cliff was created. It was late autumn now, with chilly winds sighing through a world of desolation. The vegetation on Floating Cloud Mountain had withered, leaving only the pines, cypresses, and bamboo groves verdant as ever, displaying their tenacious endurance and vigorous vitality.

Just as full of life were the disciples of the Truth-Seeking Abbey. Despite the bitter cold, their enthusiasm remained undiminished, and they often lingered beneath Sword Cliff.

Some sat cross-legged on the ground, intently studying the sword marks; others practiced their swordplay on the spot, hoping to resonate with those marks.

Some practiced alone; others sparred.

An intense atmosphere of sword practice prevailed, and the disciples were in high spirits.

There were also disciples who wielded sabers or practiced with other weapons beneath Sword Cliff. The young had flexible minds and plenty of ideas. In their words, ten thousand changes never departed from the underlying principle, and weapons were bound to share common ground. Practicing martial arts beneath Sword Cliff might let them draw connections and gain insights.

Some disciples even read scriptures and scrolls beneath Sword Cliff. They felt that the cliff benefited their cultivation, that the clamor of voices helped temper their hearts, and that the atmosphere of everyone striving to overtake one another could kindle their fighting spirit.

He had learned all this from conversations between disciples visiting the pavilion during breaks in his scripture reading, and he was somewhat surprised.

He had never expected Sword Cliff to serve such a purpose.

It was not merely a treasure ground for sword practice; it had also indirectly become another exceptional place for cultivating the Dao within the Truth-Seeking Abbey.

Still, Xuanming and the other Third Generation Daoists had not stopped them. They were happy to see it happen.

A hundred boats vied with the current, a thousand sails raced ahead; now was the time to ride the wind and cleave the waves. The disciples were young, at precisely the age to strive forward.

As long as they sought improvement, what place could not be a cultivation ground?

Besides, the stronger the cultivation atmosphere beneath Sword Cliff became, the more the disciples benefited, and the better it was for the legacy of the Truth-Seeking Abbey.

Xuan Void had even seized the opportunity to order the construction of a Dao Enlightenment Pavilion, a Sword Discussion Platform, a Spell-Dueling Ground, and other facilities beneath Sword Cliff. He clearly intended to turn it into a sacred cultivation ground for the Truth-Seeking Abbey.

When it came to seizing opportunities and handling everyday affairs, Xuanxu truly lived up to his title as abbey master. He had an exceptional knack for it.

The mountain breeze brushed past, sending white hair fluttering.

Xuanming stood at the window and gazed at Sword Cliff for a while. His ears twitched slightly, and his eyes settled on a figure on Dao-Treasuring Peak.

On the steep mountain path, a young Daoist was climbing on foot with an old log over ten feet long and as thick as a millstone strapped to his back. Sweat soaked the ground, veins bulged at his temples, and his Daoist robes clung to his body.

Despite his utter exhaustion, he never stopped to rest, much less gave up. He gritted his teeth and persevered.

He climbed slowly, his steps resolute.

Only after reaching the marble plaza in front of the Scripture Pavilion and setting his burden down with the other massive logs did he slump onto the ground, heedless of appearances, panting for breath.

Once he had recovered some strength, the young Daoist gritted his teeth and rose, then began carrying the massive logs back down the mountain.

The young Daoist trudging onward beneath that burden was none other than Chang'anzi.

Watching the lad, Xuanming smiled in satisfaction. Under his almost harsh tutelage, Chang'anzi carried water, chopped firewood, tempered his body under heavy loads, and swung a heavy sword every day without using the slightest bit of magical power.

At first, he had been bruised all over, too exhausted to speak, his arms aching and his whole body swollen. Every night, he hid beneath his blankets and cried, yet the next day he appeared punctually at the foot of Dao-Treasuring Peak to carry water, haul loads, and practice his sword.

Up the mountain and down again, over and over, cycle after cycle.

His burdens grew heavier by the day, as did his sword, yet his resolve never wavered, and he never slackened in his efforts.

Precisely because of this, his appearance had transformed dramatically in just half a year. His fat had become powerful muscle, his build was burly, and his features were rugged. He had become a tough, strapping Daoist.

Watching Chang'anzi bustle about, Xuanming sighed softly. "Without enduring cold that pierces the bones, how could you savor the plum blossoms' fragrance? You little brat, did you think shedding your old bones and changing your very being would be easy? Keep enduring it, slowly."

Having voiced his thoughts, he turned and sat down again.

With a lift of his hand, a Daoist Scripture flew from the shelf and landed before him on the desk. Xuanming had already read all eight hundred volumes on the first floor.

The second floor had originally held a hundred precious Daoist Scriptures. The Imperial Court's recent reward had added more than two hundred volumes, bringing the total to over three hundred—enough to keep him reading and contemplating for some time.

Once he had fully comprehended all the thousand-odd Daoist Scriptures in the pavilion, there would still be time to find a way to obtain others.

When the cart reached the mountain, a road would appear; when the boat reached the bridge, it would naturally straighten its course.

By then, he should already have become a Qi Refining True Person, which would make things much easier.

Reading scriptures and comprehending the Dao, practicing spells and swordplay, gathering qi and regulating his breathing, exploring mysteries and Formation Deployment, practicing calligraphy and savoring tea, training Chang'anzi, entrusting his feelings to mountains and waters, taking nature as his teacher...

Xuanming's life was busy and fulfilling. Alongside its orderly routine, he balanced work with rest, the swift with the slow. His Dao attainment, Magic Power, and physical body all improved steadily, while his Dao Heart grew clearer and his foundations deeper.

There was a tranquil freedom to it, something akin to "let the mortal world bustle like fire by day; the clouds still drift without a care."

Snow blanketed a thousand mountains in white; ice sealed ten thousand miles.

In the blink of an eye, heavy snow sealed the mountains, wrapping everything in silver and white.

On Dao-Treasuring Peak, a figure trudged onward beneath a heavy load.

Looking toward the Scripture Pavilion, barely visible in the distance, Chang'anzi drew a deep breath. His gaze firm, he continued climbing.

He carried three massive logs as thick as millstones on his back. His steps were steady, slow, and powerful. His once fair, tender face had darkened, and his expression was resolute and composed.

After moving a hundred massive logs, he ran down the mountain and came to a waterfall a thousand feet high. In the depths of winter, he gritted his teeth and stood beneath it, letting the wind and snow bite into his bones and the torrent scour his body.

This was an additional cultivation task his martial uncle had assigned after winter began. At first, he had not understood its purpose, but out of trust, Chang'anzi simply followed his instructions and immersed himself in arduous training. Even when he froze until his entire body turned blue and purple, his internal organs were damaged, and he coughed up blood incessantly, he never complained or doubted. Unshakable even by thunder, he persevered to the end.

All because he knew:

My martial uncle would never harm me!

All because he understood:

I must uncover the truth behind my master's death!

Until he fulfilled this obsession, he would never slacken. Even if wild winds tore up the earth, he would ride them and break through ten thousand miles.

If a mountain barred his way, he would cleave it open; if a river blocked him, he would sever its flow; if waves rose before him, he would cut them down.

For that, he was willing to accept any training and bear any price. His will was iron, and he would never speak of giving up.

Besides, Chang'anzi was no fool.

After cultivating through this self-punishing method for several months, coupled with the body-tempering method his martial uncle had taught him, he could clearly feel his progress. By now, a single punch could shatter a thousand-pound boulder.

Two hours later, Chang'anzi finished tempering his body, pulled the heavy sword from the stone where it had been embedded, and stepped into the pool to begin swinging it.

The heavy sword had no edge; supreme skill needed no artifice.

This was the essence of the Sword Dao his martial uncle had taught him.

Although Chang'anzi's understanding remained shallow, he could grind away at it through the simplest method, practicing his sword again and again.

As his strength increased, the heavy sword in his hands had gone from thirty pounds to fifty, then to a hundred.

Practicing swordplay underwater was another trick his martial uncle had taught him.

Only half a year remained until the Dao Origin Assembly. If he wanted to stand out, he had to work even harder.

I'm feeling unwell, so there's only one update today. I'll make it up later and try to post three updates tomorrow.