The summons from the Crimson Saint came suddenly, as if offering the Cloud-top Sword Sect one last chance at survival. The elders began to bustle about excitedly, planning to restore the sect's former glory.
To this end, the elders of the Cloud-top Sword Sect swallowed their pride and sought out Chen Xia. They approached him with utmost humility, meeting him at the cliff's edge to make their plea.
"Please lend us your aid. Protect the Cloud-top Sword Sect for another hundred years. In return, we are willing to offer you thirty percent of our sect's foundation."
Chen Xia didn't turn his head. His fingers lightly tapped on his knee as he replied indifferently.
"I don't want your foundation, nor do I wish to protect you. I have no real connection to the Cloud-top Sword Sect. My presence here in your sect is merely taking advantage of the terrain. I can ensure the survival of your remaining cultivators, but nothing more. I won't prevent serious injuries."
The elders bowed their heads, offering no rebuttal. Chen Xia's words were true; he had no real ties to the Cloud-top Sword Sect. They couldn't even appeal to his moral obligations.
Chen Xia continued, "Even with my protection, it would be difficult for the Cloud-top Sword Sect to rise again within a hundred years. You still can't escape the fate of decline and disappearance."
He paused for a moment before concluding, "When you came to ask for my protection for a hundred years, your fate was already sealed."
A sect without the ability to protect itself has only one outcome: decline.
The elders didn't argue. They sighed and departed one by one.
The seasons continued to change as usual.
More elders left the Cloud-top Sword Sect, claiming they were going on pilgrimages to seek opportunities for the sect's revival. No one knew how long they would be gone.
Everyone understood that the departing cultivators probably wouldn't return.
Even the departing cultivators themselves knew this.
The wind blew cold, and fewer people remained.
The Cloud-top Sword Sect began to lack even clouds. Misty snow started to fall, blanketing the entire mountain range, as if wrapping it in silver.
An old man approached the long-deserted cliff where Chen Xia sat. He carried a jug of wine, stumbling towards Chen Xia's back. His aged face was flushed red, as if drunk. He pointed at Chen Xia's back and shouted.
"You, great sword immortal! You bear such a grand title, yet you do nothing of consequence. You sit at this cliff's edge day after day. I truly can't understand it. What's so special about this cliff that you must stare at it every day?"
Chen Xia turned his head slightly to glance at him. His temper had indeed improved considerably, and his expression remained calm as he said nothing.
Emboldened, the old man pointed at Chen Xia's nose and berated him, "You've sat in the Cloud-top Sword Sect for so many years. Shouldn't you have developed some feelings for it by now? How can you be unwilling to lift a finger to help? Even if the sect hasn't done you any favors, even if some people speak ill of you behind your back, you shouldn't be so petty!"
Chen Xia countered with a question.
"How long has the Cloud-top Sword Sect existed?"
The old man frowned, thought for a moment, and replied, "According to historical records, about three thousand years or so. The exact number isn't specified."
Chen Xia nodded and asked another question, "How long have I stayed in the Cloud-top Sword Sect?"
"Less than three hundred years," the old man answered truthfully.
"If you had lived for thirty thousand years, would you feel emotionally attached after spending a mere three hundred uneventful years somewhere?" Chen Xia inquired.
The old man's face reddened. Though still somewhat intoxicated, he seriously considered the question before shaking his head. "Probably not."
He was about to say something else when Chen Xia suddenly stood up. At that moment, snow flurried through the air, and a flash of sword light seemed to appear between heaven and earth.
Crack.
The sword-like mountain peak in front of the cliff suddenly broke off. The break was clean and even, as if sliced by a single sword stroke.
Chen Xia looked at the old man with a calm expression and asked,
"Do you have any more questions?"
The old man's flushed face instantly turned pale. He sobered up considerably, his mind clearing as he recalled their conversation.
Thirty thousand years, three hundred years...
Thirty thousand years?!
His pupils dilated, clearly shocked to the extreme. Even his spiritual consciousness seemed to freeze.
Ancient texts mentioned that some great cultivators could achieve false reincarnation and cultivation renewal. They could deceive the Way of Heaven, temporarily dispersing their cultivation power and storing it with great mystical arts, only to slowly reclaim it later, giving the Way of Heaven the illusion that they were merely cultivating anew.
If what Chen Xia said was true, and he had a lifespan of thirty thousand years, how powerful a cultivator must he be?
He must be at least a Heaven Mending Realm cultivator!
Realizing that such a terrifying being had been right beside him, and that he had dared to speak to him in such a manner, the old man broke out in a cold sweat. The intoxication from the spirit wine completely vanished, leaving him staring blankly at Chen Xia.
Chen Xia clearly didn't want to hold anything against him; otherwise, it wouldn't have been the mountain peak that was cut off earlier. Seeing the old man frozen in place, he waved his hand and said,
"Go back. Drink more wine in the future. That way, even if you die, you won't have lived in vain. At least you'll have put on a good show."
The old man laughed dryly, rubbing his head and hurriedly apologizing to Chen Xia.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were... I'm truly sorry. My old eyes failed me. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I deserve to be punished!"
As he spoke, he slapped himself hard across the face several times, leaving bright red handprints.
Chen Xia said nothing, merely waving his hand to dismiss him.
The old man hastily fled.
After the old man left, Chen Xia turned and sat down again, quietly gazing at the scene before him.
With the mountain peak severed, the view in front of him became completely clear and bright.
In the distance, he could see great mountains and rivers; nearby, he could observe the flowers and grass at the foot of the mountain.
It was a beautiful sight.
In his thirty thousand years of life, this was the first time Chen Xia had truly settled his heart to appreciate a scene.
Perhaps it wasn't about viewing the scenery, but rather that his heart had rarely been so calm.
The lake of his heart was still, like an ancient well without ripples.
Chen Xia reached out, gently brushing away the white snow covering his hair, then smiled faintly at the heavens and earth.
Thirty thousand years of time.
Nothing more than a bit of wind and frost.
lanned to earn money steadily and take life at a slower pace. But he never expected... his father's remarriage, and the stepmother bringing along a dependent, would completely disrupt his life's plans...
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
g Yu was preparing for retirement when her organization decided to eliminate her. She transmigrated to a zombie apocalypse world. However, a tiny unexpected situation occurred: She somehow transformed into an adorable little girl?!
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
