Suddenly, the longsword in Jian Chen's hand slipped free of his control. At that instant, the blade seemed to come alive like a spirit sword with a will of its own. It turned into a streak of light and shot toward Dugu Qiubai a hundred meters away at unbelievable speed.
Before Dugu Qiubai could even react, the sword was already at his throat. Piercing through his neck in a flash of overwhelming sword aura, it left the elder staring in utter shock. Then, surrounded by a faint white glow, the sword circled through the air and flew back into Jian Chen's hand on its own.
A fist-sized hole gaped in Dugu Qiubai's throat. Though Jian Chen's sword was slender, the sword aura surrounding it had ripped the wound wide open.
Dugu Qiubai's eyes widened as he stared at the sword now back in Jian Chen's grasp, his face twisted with disbelief—as if he had just witnessed the most impossible thing in the world. He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, but his throat was pierced; no sound came out. At last, filled with unwillingness and terror, he slowly collapsed to the ground.
Jian Chen gripped his sword and silently watched Dugu Qiubai fall before him. He sighed inwardly. He had never expected to break through once more at the final moment, reaching the realm of controlling the sword with his spirit. Yet even so, death was already upon him.
His gaze dimmed. A breakthrough in power meant nothing—his heart had been run through by Dugu Qiubai's sword.
Soon after, Jian Chen too fell, following in Dugu Qiubai's footsteps.
The very moment he collapsed, the two sword-shaped peaks they had stood upon erupted with a earth-shattering boom. The entire mountainsides exploded, sending countless rocks flying in all directions. The sky was instantly filled with a flood of purple and green light, illuminating the whole world. But Jian Chen and Dugu Qiubai would never know what came next…...
Inside a spacious, luxurious mansion, a large crowd gathered outside the door of a magnificently decorated chamber. At the front paced a young man around thirty, his face twisted with anxiety and worry. Handsome and dignified, he still carried the charm of his youth despite approaching middle age. He wore a white robe embroidered with golden silk, exuding the aura of a ruler, his features firm, his brows deeply furrowed.
Three meters from the door, more than thirty people stood with equally worried expressions—old and young alike. The eldest among them was nearly seventy, his hair white, his face lined with wrinkles, yet his eyes shone with a frightening sharpness. One would hardly take him for an elderly man, so fierce was his spirit. Most others were middle-aged men in their thirties and forties, each imposing and bright-eyed, clearly extraordinary individuals.
From the chamber opposite them came the repeated, pained groans of a woman.
"Madam, push! Harder! He's almost here! Almost there!" an urgent, elderly female voice called out.
The middle-aged man pacing outside suddenly stopped. "Ugh… It's been a full day and night. Why hasn't Yun given birth yet? If this drags on, it'll be dangerous for her!" His voice was thick with dread.
"Patriarch, don't worry. Lady Yun will be fine. Don't forget—she is a Light Sage Master," a white-haired, wrinkled elder tried to reassure him. Though his tone was confident, his expression betrayed his concern.
"Sigh…" The white-robed patriarch let out a heavy sigh, his anxiety and unease not fading in the slightest.
They waited outside for another two hours. At last, an excited voice rang out from the chamber:
"Patriarch! Patriarch! Lady Yun has given birth! She's given birth! Mother and son are safe—it's a boy!"
The anxious look on the patriarch's face vanished at once, replaced by pure joy and excitement. Without a word, he pushed open the door and vanished inside in a blur—speed far beyond that of an ordinary man.
In an instant, he was beside the large bed, his eyes full of concern as he looked at the woman lying there. "Yun, are you alright?" His voice was soft and gentle.
Lying on the bed was a beautiful young woman in her twenties, her features stunning, her face covered in sweat, her complexion pale and exhausted.
She looked at him with a tired but gentle smile. "Husband, I'm fine. Let me see our child."
"Good, good, good! As long as you're safe," the man said happily. He turned toward the midwife holding the baby, but before he could speak, he saw her frowning deeply, staring strangely at the infant in her arms, patting him repeatedly and muttering:"Cry, little one. Cry! Why won't you cry? Strange… I've delivered hundreds of babies in my life, but I've never seen one that didn't cry right after birth."
Just then, the rest of the group filed into the room, smiling and congratulating the exhausted woman on the bed.
The patriarch turned to her softly. "Yun, rest a while. I'll bring the baby to you."
He walked over to the midwife, his voice slightly lowered. "What's wrong? Is something the matter with the child?" It was not uncommon for infants to be born with hidden ailments, and he feared the worst for his son.
The midwife's face paled. She bowed respectfully. "Lord Patriarch, I cannot say if the young master is unwell. But in all my decades of delivering children, every newborn cries. Yet your son has not made a single sound. It is most unusual."
The patriarch frowned and looked at the baby. The infant's big, clear, untainted eyes wandered about the room, staring here and there, looking perfectly healthy and adorable.
What he could not see was the deep shock and disbelief hidden deep within those bright little eyes.
The patriarch placed a hand on the baby. A faint, earth-yellow glow appeared on his palm.
The midwife grew nervous. She was but a common servant, and if anything was wrong with the heir, she would be the one to bear the blame—even though it was not her fault.
The patriarch quickly pulled his hand back, relief flooding his face. "The child is perfectly healthy. There is nothing wrong with him at all."
He took the baby from the midwife's arms.
The midwife breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled. "Lord Patriarch, this must mean the young master is extraordinary! He will surely become a peerless expert in the future!"
Though the patriarch knew such a fate was rare, he laughed heartily. "Excellent! Let it be so!
Someone, reward Mother Hong one hundred gold coins!"
The midwife's face lit up. "Thank you, Lord Patriarch! Thank you!"
The patriarch carried the baby back to the bed. "Yun, look at our son. Isn't he lovely?"
Lady Yun reached out and held the baby, kissing his cheek tenderly. "Husband, since he is a boy, let us name him Changyang Xiangtian, as we agreed."
The patriarch laughed loudly. "So be it! From today, his name is Changyang Xiangtian! Prepare an invitation for all the nobles of Lor City! Tomorrow, the Changyang Mansion will hold a great feast to celebrate!"
...
A year passed in the blink of an eye.
Before a small lake in a grand courtyard stood a small boy less than a meter tall, staring blankly at the rockery at the center of the water. He wore fine, luxurious clothes, yet his expression was strangely complicated—highly unusual for a child not yet three years old.
This was Changyang Xiangtian.
Inside his mind, vivid, heart-stopping scenes played out like a motion picture: endless mountain ranges, two sword-shaped peaks, a handsome young man in his twenties wielding a sword, fighting a fierce battle against Dugu Qiubai—the unrivaled expert who had dominated the martial world a century earlier.
And at the brink of death, the young swordsman had broken through to the realm of controlling the sword with his spirit, piercing Dugu Qiubai's throat…
Until the two had perished together.