Chapter 52: The Blade in Mortal Hand

Ye Xiu awoke abruptly, his chest tightening with remnants of the crimson jade's visions. It was dawn, yet the sky outside remained a leaden gray, marred by distant plumes of black smoke. He sat up slowly, heart still pounding, haunted by the cultivator's final, cryptic warnings.

"The Sword Pavilion…" Ye murmured softly. The name lingered ominously in his mind, heavy with hidden menace.

Nearby, his mother lay silent in the dim glow of her medical pod. The steady rhythm of machinery reassured him momentarily. Yet beneath that fragile calm lurked another dread—the pod's earlier message: "Tribulation fetus resonance detected."

His fingertips brushed the wooden sword pendant. Even now, it pulsed softly, radiating warmth like a heartbeat. For a moment, Ye Xiu imagined the pendant knew more about his own past than he himself did.

A sudden commotion outside interrupted his thoughts. Peering through a crack in the blinds, he saw a small crowd forming near the alley's entrance. Curious yet wary, he slipped into a heavy cloak, concealing the pendant beneath, and moved silently towards the commotion.

The crowd murmured anxiously around something—or someone—at their center. Pushing carefully forward, Ye Xiu froze at the sight that greeted him:

A frail, elderly man stood shaking at the alley's heart, a crude wooden blade clutched awkwardly in trembling hands. Facing him were two security drones, their targeting lasers pinpointed on his chest.

"Please…" the old man stammered desperately. "I-I don't want any trouble…just let me pass."

A voice barked harshly from a speaker atop one drone: "Drop the weapon immediately. Any form of resistance will result in lethal force."

Ye Xiu's eyes widened. Could the man possibly understand what he held, or was this mere coincidence? Yet, even from his distance, Ye Xiu clearly recognized the faint glow emanating from the man's wooden sword. It was undeniably similar to his pendant.

"Three seconds to comply," droned the cold electronic voice.

The crowd stirred anxiously, but none dared intervene. Ye Xiu felt every muscle in his body tense, instinctively aware of what was about to unfold. Before he could react, the old man, driven by fear or madness, swung the blade clumsily forward, releasing a startlingly powerful arc of pale energy.

The beam sliced through one drone, sending its shattered remains spinning. Bystanders screamed, scattering in panic.

Ye Xiu's breath caught. A mere mortal—clearly lacking any cultivation training—had just unleashed a sword technique.

Chaos erupted. Reinforcements arrived instantly, drones descending rapidly, rifles barking harsh commands. The old man faltered, panic clear in his eyes, fumbling with the weapon now pulsing dangerously. He swung again desperately, energy pouring wildly from the wooden sword, but his movements were untrained, raw, uncontrolled.

Ye Xiu saw immediately the sword's power was far exceeding the man's fragile body. Blood seeped visibly from his palms, staining the blade crimson.

Before the third swing could land, a bolt of concentrated plasma struck the old man squarely in the chest. He crumpled instantly, the wooden sword clattering to the ground, its glow extinguished.

Ye Xiu's heart raced. Without thinking, he lunged forward in the ensuing chaos, grabbing the fallen wooden sword and retreating swiftly, disappearing into shadowed alleys as shouting and gunfire echoed behind.

⸻

Returning to his shelter, Ye Xiu laid the confiscated wooden blade carefully beside his pendant. Their resonance was immediate; both emitted a low, synchronized hum. "How is this possible…?" he whispered, breathless with disbelief. The old man clearly had no understanding of cultivation, yet had managed to trigger the sword's latent abilities. What secrets did this weapon hold?

Suddenly, the sword vibrated intensely, producing a distinct vision—like an echo of recent events burned into its essence:

He saw brief images of a hooded figure handing the blade to the old man, whispering urgently: "Take it. Protect the child." Then a flash of a familiar symbol: the Sword Pavilion's crest.

Ye Xiu stepped back, shaken. The child—could they mean him? Was the old man sent deliberately to trigger a response from him?

He spent hours poring over the captured blade, yet no further revelations emerged. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he sank into uneasy sleep, dreams filled with swirling crimson patterns and the ominous shadow of the Sword Pavilion.

Days passed in tense isolation. Ye Xiu practiced cautiously with both wooden swords, carefully replicating the faint echoes of techniques gleaned from the jade slip. Each strike brought clarity and strength, but also a rising unease—a darkness stirring within him, as if each swing stripped away part of his humanity.

Late one night, as he meditated, a frantic pounding came at his door. He snapped alert, sword in hand, cautiously peering through a crack.

Standing breathless and terrified was Lin Hao, Ye Xiu's closest friend and occasional informant. Lin's eyes were wide, haunted by something horrific he had witnessed.

"Ye Xiu! You've got to come! Quickly—something terrible has happened!"

Lin practically dragged Ye Xiu to the edge of the city's abandoned refinery, an area known for its danger. Thick black smoke rose into the night sky, fire illuminating a scene of devastation.

Bodies lay scattered, burnt beyond recognition. Lin pointed, voice shaking uncontrollably: "They tried to summon something using a strange artifact, but it went horribly wrong."

Ye Xiu stepped forward hesitantly, heart thundering. Amid the wreckage stood a metal pedestal. At its center rested another crimson jade slip, eerily identical to his own.

"This…" Ye Xiu breathed, suddenly understanding this was a trap—but it was too late.

Around him, shadows stirred, figures emerging cloaked in darkness, each wielding glowing swords inscribed with intricate runes. A cold female voice called softly from behind them, familiar yet foreign:

"You're difficult to find, child of traitors."

Ye Xiu spun around, blood freezing. Standing illuminated by flames was a tall woman, elegant and commanding. On her chest gleamed the unmistakable crest of the Sword Pavilion.

"Who are you?" Ye Xiu demanded fiercely, voice trembling.

She smiled coldly. "My name is Ling Shuang. Your mother never told you, did she? Your father's sins…your bloodline's curse. But don't worry—I will."

The sword in Ye Xiu's hand pulsed violently, desperate, hungry. He could feel its demands clearly: blood, sacrifice, revenge. He struggled to maintain control, breath ragged. "What did you do to my mother?"

Ling Shuang tilted her head, eyes filled with cruel amusement. "She's merely collateral. Your father thought he could escape, thought he could hide you. But no one hides from destiny."

She raised her sword, pointing directly at Ye Xiu's chest. "Surrender your blade. Let me end your suffering quickly."

Rage ignited within Ye Xiu, fierce and uncontrollable. "Never."

Ling Shuang sighed softly, almost regretfully. "So be it."

A torrent of sword energies exploded around them, chaos unleashed. Ye Xiu fought desperately, fueled by rage and fear, his newfound techniques barely holding against overwhelming odds. Each strike drained him further, blood oozing freely from ruptured veins beneath his skin, matching the red veins spreading across his sword.

Just as he felt himself faltering, a familiar voice screamed weakly from the distance—his mother's cry, distorted by pain and fear.

"Ye Xiu…run!"

He looked back, horrified to see his mother dragged into view by Sword Pavilion disciples. Ling Shuang smirked cruelly, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

Ye Xiu stood frozen, mind racing, sword heavy in his trembling hand.

"Now," Ling Shuang purred softly, "shall we discuss your cooperation?"

The night closed around him, shadows thick with malice and secrets yet unspoken, his mother's desperate gaze burning into his soul.