Try It

Lin Luoyu showed a hint of surprise, never expecting that the former owner of this Qingming sword was Senior Bai...

No wonder a single sword could suppress the myriad blades of the mountains.

Senior Bai never spoke of her past. Once, the First Senior Sister had curiously asked, to which Senior Bai replied—"I'm still too young, I haven't experienced much."

Thus, Senior Bai's age remained a mystery.

At first, it was said she was Senior Uncle Xie's elder sister, and no one questioned it.

Only later did they learn she was Senior Uncle Xie's master—and also the Grand Elder of the Tianyan Sect.

Speculations about Senior Bai's age swiftly leaped from "not yet a hundred" to "several centuries."

Cui Hao made the boldest guess—or perhaps it was simply his nature to be daring—believing Senior Bai was at least eight hundred years old.

Lin Luoyu, however, had little interest in age. She believed a person should be judged by their character and conduct.

A twenty-year-old who treated others with sincerity was good.

An eighty-year-old who deceived and stole was bad.

Age was merely a number—it couldn't define a person's morals, virtues, or intelligence.

Yet now, she caught a glimpse of Senior Bai's past—a stroke of fate, perhaps, but one that satisfied her long-held curiosity.

Lin Luoyu steadied herself and gazed curiously at the younger Bai Xuanling.

In the dream of the past...

The elderly swordsmith, having received Bai Xuanling's answer, began adding the final materials to the sword forge.

Ritual formations shifted, spiritual energy surged, and vast black flames roared.

Through the gaps in the forge, the faint outline of Qingming—now taking the shape of a sword—could be glimpsed.

The swordsmith's voice carried satisfaction, pleased to craft a blade like Qingming. He chuckled, "Naturally, with this sword I've forged and your cultivation, there's nowhere in the world you cannot go."

"Your swordsmithing?" Bai Xuanling scoffed. "This sword cost me everything I own—and left me in debt. If it turns out useless, I'll forge a new blade with your skull."

Unfazed, the swordsmith watched as the materials slowly fused with the sword's body and retorted, "A divine weapon demands a divine price. Iron ingots make iron swords—I'm a swordsmith, not the will of Heaven, conjuring whatever you desire."

"My duty is to use the rare materials you've provided and forge a sword that fulfills every expectation in your heart."

Bai Xuanling waved a hand dismissively. "Enough talk. How much longer? I still have to visit Cangyun."

"If I called you here, it means today!"

The swordsmith's eyes remained fixed as the last of the materials seeped into the blade.

Then—a brilliant azure light erupted from the forge.

"Hahahaha!" The swordsmith roared with exhilaration. "It's done! It's done!"

Yet Bai Xuanling remained calm, her gaze steady on the emerald glow within the forge.

In the next instant, the radiance intensified, and a razor-sharp sword intent pierced through the layers of the forge.

The swordsmith staggered back as the chilling aura swept over him, his expression turning grave. "This sword is ferocious! You mustn't—"

Before he could finish, the blade burst forth, shattering the ritual formations and whipping the surrounding spiritual energy into a storm of black fire.

The swordsmith retreated swiftly, evading the sword's violent range—but his face held no fear, only triumphant glee.

This sword was vicious!

A blade not easily tamed.

But that wasn't his concern. He wasn't the one who would wield it. His task was to forge a sword no one could ignore—and he had succeeded.

Now, subduing it was Bai Xuanling's duty.

If she failed, it wouldn't tarnish his legacy—he had still become a master swordsmith in his twilight years.

Bai Xuanling faced the surging black flames and the dazzling emerald light within. Without hesitation, she stepped into the inferno.

Her hand pierced through the dark fire and the azure sword intent, seizing the hilt.

Then, under the swordsmith's awestruck gaze, everything settled.

A clear, resonant chime rang out.

Bai Xuanling stood, holding the faintly glowing azure sword in one hand.

The swordsmith bowed deeply, admiration in his voice. "A peerless sword—but its wielder is even greater."

A supreme blade, subdued in an instant by a supreme warrior.

For the swordsmith, it was a sight to behold.

With newfound respect, he asked, "What will you name it?"

Naming a sword was traditionally the swordsmith's privilege—but Bai Xuanling had earned his deference.

"A name..." Bai Xuanling paused, then smiled. "Qingming."

As she spoke, the characters "Qingming" materialized along the hilt.

The wonder of a spirit sword lay in its very essence—the "spirit" within.

The illusion paused here, sword intent swirling once more.

When it settled, the scene before Lin Luoyu shifted again.

No longer vivid and lifelike, it now resembled an ink-wash painting.

Bai Xuanling stood alone, her white robes drenched crimson, her expression defiant, a carefree smirk on her lips—the emerald glow clenched tightly in her hand.

Before her, a faceless crowd loomed in the sky, their forms blurred like spilled ink, blotting out the heavens.

Then—the azure light in Bai Xuanling's hand flared, and she charged toward the crow-like masses.

In the painting-like scene, the emerald radiance tore through the oppressive darkness, shielding the lone figure in white and red at its center.

After countless clashes—sword-light against ink, storm against sky—

Exhaustion finally seeped into Bai Xuanling's eyes, yet her unyielding pride remained undiminished.

Bathed in blood, she scattered the dark clouds, allowing a blazing sun to break through.

Then—her figure fell.

A streak of crimson trailed from the sky as she plummeted downward, the emerald light still clutched in her grasp.

Lin Luoyu's heart clenched. Even someone as formidable as Senior Bai was unmistakably grievously wounded.

Sword intent surged once more.

At the summit of the Sword-Keeping Peak...

The emerald glow in Bai Xuanling's hand flickered uncertainly, as if aware of its fate.

The surrounding swords hummed—welcoming Bai Xuanling, or perhaps the blade Qingming itself.

Now, Bai Xuanling's eyes no longer held the vigor of youth but the serene depth Lin Luoyu recognized—still as a deep pool.

Her fingers brushed the sword's tip, and in that tranquil gaze, a trace of longing surfaced. Softly, as if to herself, she murmured,

"Qingming..."

The azure light shimmered.

Bai Xuanling parted her lips as if to speak—but in the end, she pressed them together in silence.

Then, she raised the emerald blade and plunged it into the heart of the Sword-Keeping Peak.

The sword intent roared—a furious farewell—shaking the entire mountain.

A burst of azure radiance illuminated Bai Xuanling's retreating figure, her back unwavering, devoid of hesitation.

The sword intent coiled inward, its brilliance dimming.

Lin Luoyu felt a cool touch against her palm—the grayish-blue sword still embedded in the peak, yet her fingers now rested upon its hilt.

Qingming's vast sword intent withdrew, and the Sword-Keeping Peak returned to silence.

Suppressing the turmoil in his heart, Cang Jian replied in a slightly somber tone,

"Let's give it a try."